Divorce Contract C5

Chapter 5

Had this been what happened every time Igyeol was sent to the main house? He had believed his mother-in-law sincerely when she said she only called him over to drink tea and have someone to talk with—but perhaps that gullibility had been his mistake.

“Huu.”

Out of habit, Seo Dohyeon slid a hand into his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and slipped one between his lips. No sooner had the flame caught than Go Igyeol appeared, stopping in his tracks at the sight of smoke drifting from Dohyeon’s mouth. He hesitated, reluctant to approach.

Dohyeon’s gaze swept over him steadily, noting his wary stance. Igyeol—who almost never betrayed his feelings—was keeping his distance. Strange. He hadn’t seemed to mind cigarettes before. With a sharp exhale, Dohyeon dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out after only a few drags. Only then did Igyeol resume walking toward him.

Seeing that he wore only a thin cardigan, Dohyeon draped his own coat over Igyeol’s shoulders, one arm slipping around him.

“Did you leave without making things awkward?”

“…Yes.”

“Has it always been like this, whenever you came here without me?”

“No, it hasn’t. We just shared tea with Mother, and she asked how I’d been, how things were between me and you. That’s all.”

With no change to his blank expression, Igyeol clutched at the coat collar wrapping him in warmth. His tone held no waver, and his eyes showed no disturbance. Dohyeon stared into them, trying—but he couldn’t tell whether or not he was lying.

“Hard to believe. Especially after what I saw today.”

“…It’s true. You can trust me.”

As he held Igyeol’s head safe from bumping against the car frame while seating him in the passenger side, Dohyeon let out a derisive laugh. The longer his words went on like this, the more it sounded like excuses.

“Fine.”

“…Then why did you come here so suddenly today?”

“Because you’re here. Thought to bring you back—and maybe eat dinner together at the main house.”

“…But it feels a little early for dinner with them.”

Muttering faintly as he clipped his seat belt, Igyeol glanced away. Dohyeon gave no reply, closing the door. A shiver raced through Igyeol’s body as the cold air inside seeped into his skin, but Dohyeon climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and set the heater higher.

“Let’s just eat out and go home.”

“…All right.”

Unconsciously, Igyeol inhaled, chasing the faint traces of Dohyeon’s pheromones left in the coat. He wrinkled his nose, but the scent was weak—carefully controlled as always—and mixed with his preferred cologne. Quietly, he released a breath, careful not to let it be noticed.

“Igyeol.”

“Yes?”

His shoulders jumped as though caught in some wrongdoing. Dohyeon’s gaze lingered on him, but instead of rebuking, he asked what he wanted to eat.

“…Anything is fine.”

“Sushi?”

“…Korean food, please.”

A thin smile escaped Dohyeon, amused that his baiting had worked.

“Why not just say Korean food from the start?”

“……”

“Every time I take you somewhere you don’t like, you barely move your chopsticks. And still, you always answer like that.”

Over the years together, Dohyeon had come to know his habits. Because he never voiced his likes and dislikes, one had to watch closely. He never touched shellfish, raw food, or anything fishy—yet he had still gone with Dohyeon several times to Japanese restaurants. He never once asked for something else; never said he disliked it. He just quietly picked at whatever morsels he could tolerate.

“…It was really all fine.”

“Right. Because I’ve already avoided the things you hate. Anyway—did you call your father yet?”

“…No, not yet.”

“And why not?”

The car, gliding smoothly, slowed to another stoplight. Dohyeon’s gaze rested directly on Igyeol.

“You’re making me repeat myself a lot today.”

“…I thought it might be better to call later.”

“Your father seemed restless. Already talking about playing a round.”

“……”

Igyeol silently cursed himself. If he had known this, he’d have pushed himself to call that morning. He should have told his father not to bring things up with Dohyeon. To leave it alone.

“…I’ll call.”

“Do it now.”

“……”

“If you must, isn’t it better to make the call while I’m here?”

With little choice, Igyeol pulled out his phone. Scrolling far down through his contacts, he finally found the number. Swallowing dryly, he brought it to his ear, anxious the sound of his nervous breath might escape. Soon, a rough voice crackled through.

“It’s me.”

— “Oh, yes.”

“Have you been well?”

— “Eh, the same as always. Once you’re past sixty, you’re falling apart head to toe. Clear skies, aching bones; cloudy skies, aching bones. Eyes dimming. Even with Director Seo helping me, the business wobbles.”

His words came strong, far from frail. And his eyesight? That too was a lie. He had never been fit for business. A lifetime of work in factories and logistics, he jumped shamelessly to demands once Igyeol married: there’s this venture, that investment, he’d say, always pressing Dohyeon for money.

But never having run anything himself, every attempt ended in ruin. The latest: he had scooped up a near-dead packaging company, playing president only because Dohyeon secured him some connections. Without that, it would have collapsed weeks in.

Suppressing bitter anger, Igyeol only murmured softly, “Is that so.” Soon followed by a rasping cough on the line. When he asked if he was listening, Igyeol said yes. Then the voice lifted, emboldened.

— “By the way, has Director Seo mentioned it to you?”

“…Father.”

Legally his father, but in truth his uncle, Go Daesik had taken him in only after tragedy struck his younger brother’s family, leaving Igyeol alone. Their grandfather, Go Chunseop, had insisted that their own blood must be raised by kin. If Igyeol had been younger at the time, he’d have thrown him to an orphanage without hesitation. But at sixteen, Igyeol could already bathe, feed, and clothe himself.

So, begrudging, Daesik added him to the family register. Overnight, his uncle became his father. Igyeol, too busy fearing removal to an orphanage, swallowed grief and called him Father.

But day by day, Daesik’s eyes changed. The boy ripened rapidly before him. Once the shy green of an unripe apple, suddenly matured and red. And noticing that gaze, Igyeol lived more quietly, careful to avoid him under the same roof. Breathing itself became difficult when Daesik was near.

By spring of his twenty-third year, trapped in that suffocating silence, he was dragged out to meet someone—Seo Dohyeon, for the first time.

— “Hello? Are you not hearing me?”

It was for this reason—when the wedding meeting concluded, and Dohyeon handed him a ludicrous contract, he signed without revision. Just for freedom—from living with Daesik again. If only he had known what burdens his so-called family would continue to drag into his life, he might have reconsidered marrying Dohyeon.

“…I can hear you.”

— “Well. They say all your friends are picking up golf these days. Some supplier of ours is into it, too.”

“…Have you ever played golf, Father?”

Cautiously, lest he offend, Igyeol asked—but silence stiffened over the line, followed by a scoff.

— “What. You think I never have? Are you looking down on me too? Do you think I live off my children like a parasite?!”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

— “See! They say never to take in a black-haired beast. And look what I did. My wife begged me not to, but I added you to my register. And this is my reward? You’ve no idea what hardship I went through keeping you under my roof! And here you are, slighting me, after all I did…!”

“I didn’t… Father, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. Please. Still, perhaps think again about the golf—”

Short nails bit into his palm. Face flushed with humiliation, Igyeol bit his lip. Golf was never a one-off sport; equipment alone could cost tens or hundreds of thousands. Why couldn’t he spend his own money? Why pressure Dohyeon? Why this sudden whim for golf? No matter how he tried, all he could see was reckless vanity.

— “I should just die, huh? Isn’t that what would make you happiest, Igyeol? Yes, how convenient for you if I just kick the bucket! You’d be rid of me—and all I’ve done, raising you! They say there’s no gratitude for raising another’s child, well, now I see it! And me—fool that I was—finding you too pretty not to care for!”

 

TL – Im gonna kill this old ass shart