Divorce Contract C83

Chapter 83

When Go Igyeol collapsed before even stepping past the gate—dropped not by injury, but by sheer mental shock—Go Daesik just rubbed his scruffy jaw like it was entertainment.
He dug out a crumpled cigarette pack, shook one loose, bit down, lit it, and inhaled deep.
The smoke came out in one long, nasty exhale.

“A few bills in their pocket and suddenly they act high and mighty. Rich folks—always rotting with suspicion. If Igyeol got pregnant, obviously it’s his blood. And yet he doubted it? Psycho bastard.”

He snorted, spit on the ground, and kept going.

“And Igyeol—should I call him innocent or just pathetic? He gets the perfect chance to cash in, and he faints instead? Dohyeon’s gonna hand over his house and fortune to someone who swoons like a Victorian maiden? No. He ought to flop on the ground and demand it. Kid’s useless—honestly.”

He spat again, bit down on the soggy filter, then let the thought drift.

“If that stiff, uptight guy’s the one begging forgiveness, then there’s a LOT more I can squeeze out of him.”

And with that, Daesik’s little rat-brain started spinning.
He’d waited days—finally something he could profit off.
He walked down the hill feeling light, practically whistling.
Hell, maybe this would be steady income.
He could cry about “emotional damage” and “offense against the child” and demand compensation.
Oh yes, money was coming.
He just had to survive until then.

He walked for ages but didn’t lose breath—too busy fantasizing about scams he hadn’t yet committed.
He tugged out a few crumpled ₩10,000 notes and flagged a taxi.

Inside, he scrolled through contacts until he found “President Choi.”

He called.
And again.
And again.
Finally, a gruff voice answered.

—“WHAT.”

“Why’d you take so long to pick up!”

—“I picked up now, didn’t I? What is it?”

“I’m on my way. Save me a seat at the table. That’s why I called.”

Choi scoffed, asking what seat Daesik thought he had any right to occupy with no money.

Daesik swallowed the insult and puffed up his chest.

“Who says I’m broke?! My son—my Igyeol—money’s gonna flow in soon!”

—“Igyeol?”

“That boy! Well—my son-in-law messed up BAD. He’s groveling now. Can you imagine? He doubted the baby! Thought it wasn’t his! HA!”

Daesik cackled, spitting disdain between his teeth.
He told the story—half guessed, half invented—all with smug delight.

Choi asked how that gets him money, and Daesik roared:

“BECAUSE THE CHILD IS HIS BLOOD, YOU MULE! Where else would the money come from?! Anyway—I’m coming. Keep the damn seat.”

He hung up mid-sentence, shoved the phone away, chuckling like he’d discovered gold.

Then another idea hit him.
Brilliant (to him), awful (to everyone else).

He scrolled to “Wife” and hit call.

“Hey, it’s me. What’re you doing?”

—“Working, obviously. I’m busy.”

“When you get home tonight, make seaweed soup for Igyeol.”

—“Seaweed soup? For him? After disgracing us like that? How could he even EAT? I’m still shaking with embarrassment!”

Her shriek nearly burst the speaker.

“Oh, come on, Mijin! If even YOU don’t trust him, then who will? You raised him! Have a drop of motherly instinct!”

—“What nonsense are you drooling? Are you drunk again?”

Her sharp tone made him laugh like a hyena.
Still grinning, he explained the “truth”—that everything was a misunderstanding, and the child was definitely Dohyeon’s.

Suddenly HER tone flipped, just as disgusting.

—“I knew it. That boy would never!”

“See? So make the soup. I’m bringing it with me.”

—“Very well. I’ll make it. He has to regain strength—I AM his mother.”

Her sudden moral awakening made Daesik snort.
“Nonsense,” he muttered, ending the call.

The sky looked pink and bright to him today.
He leaned against the taxi window, humming, until even the driver asked:

“Did something good happen, sir?”

“No. Life’s just… full of wonders.”

He hummed again, itching for a deck of cards, high on delusion.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” the driver said carefully, “but it sounded like your son has suffered a lot…”

“Well, everyone suffers. That’s life.”

Daesik rolled the window down, letting the cold air slap his face as he daydreamed about winnings he would absolutely never earn.

---

Meanwhile—
Dohyeon carried Igyeol all the way to the threshold of the house.
And stopped.

He couldn’t step inside.

Even he had enough shame left to know this was wrong.

Jaeseon held the door open, confused.

“Director?”

“…”

“Sir? Aren’t you coming in?”

“This house… won’t do.”

He turned away abruptly, heading back down the steps.
Jaeseon scrambled after him.

“Why? What happened?”

Dohyeon shut his eyes tight—then opened them.

“If YOU woke in the same room where someone violated you… how would you feel, Jaeseon? If I were Igyeol, I’d want to kill everyone I saw upon waking.”

The word violated landed like a brick.
Jaeseon’s face drained.

Not because the word was crude—
but because it was true.

Every mark on Igyeol’s body—
every bruise, every wound—
they were from him.

“Yes. I forced him. Night after night in that house. He begged me not to. He pleaded. I silenced him anyway. And now—like a madman—I tried to bring him back here. What a monster I am.”

His voice stayed steady, but the regret in it was immense.

He looked down at Igyeol’s unconscious body and sighed shakily.
They didn’t have time to waste.

Jaeseon, still stunned, opened the door to lay Igyeol inside.

“Is the new house ready?” Dohyeon asked.

“…Almost. Maybe a bit messy still. The schedule was tight.”

Dohyeon cursed himself silently.
He’d planned to move them soon—closer to the hospital.
But the work wasn’t done, so he delayed.
He thought Igyeol might find comfort in familiar walls—
forgetting these walls were soaked in trauma.

“Ha…”

His hands tightened on the wheel.

He had promised not to hurt Igyeol again—
yet he was failing at every turn.

He didn’t understand why—but he forced his thoughts into order, turned the car, and drove back the way they came.

The new residence was a private villa near the hospital.
Only five houses on a massive estate, each one completely isolated.
Once inside the main gate, the road split into five, each leading to a single home.

Privacy, silence, safety—
that was why he chose it.

For Igyeol.
And for their child.