chapter 7
The soft click of the front door echoed as I stepped inside.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that filled every corner.
I slipped off my shoes and looked around. No sign of her.
“She’s still at work,” I murmured, placing my bag near the hallway table.
I checked the ti. Almost 6:30 p.m. She usually ca ho late on days with board etings. Still, a small part of hoped maybe tonight she’d be early.
I walked into the kitchen, rolled up my sleeves, and pulled out ingredients from the fridge.
Beef bulgogi, stead rice, miso soup, and stir-fried vegetables. Sothing light and warm. Sothing she could eat without fussing over calories or spice levels.
Even though she rarely said it out loud, I knew when she liked sothing I made. The way she cleared her plate without comnt. The faint nod of approval. That was enough.
I was rinsing the lettuce when I heard the door open.
Keys. Heels. A pause in the foyer.
She was ho.
I turned off the water, dried my hands, and peeked out of the kitchen.
She walked in slowly, removing her coat with one arm. Her usual expression—calm and unreadable. The dim hallway lights caught the shine in her hair.
“Welco ho,” I said with a small smile.
Her eyes flicked toward . She gave a short nod. “I’m back.”
“You can shower first,” I offered. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You cooked?”
I nodded. “Of course. I thought you’d be tired.”
She didn’t say anything, but she walked toward the bedroom.
I turned back to the stove, carefully placing the sliced beef on the hot pan. The scent of sesa oil and garlic quickly filled the air.
⸻
By the ti she returned, her expression was a little more relaxed.
We sat across from each other. I set down two bowls of rice, soup, and the rest of the dishes.
She ate in silence for a while. I didn’t mind.
Until I couldn’t keep it in anymore.
I cleared my throat lightly. “Yuna.”
She looked up.
“I heard from my professor ,” I started carefully. “Our university is scheduled to visit Nara Group next Monday.”
She blinked. Her chopsticks paused mid-air.
“…I know,” she said after a beat. “I was inford this afternoon.”
I hesitated. “So you’ll be at the building that day?”
She shook her head. “I won’t be eting the group. I have a eting that afternoon.”
“Oh,” I murmured, nodding a little. “Okay. Of course—you’re busy.”
I tried to sound casual, but it ca out quieter than I expected.
I looked down for a second before glancing back at her. “Do you know Director Baek was involved?”
Her eyes lifted, faintly narrowing. “Yes.”
I hesitated, then spoke softly. “That doesn’t worry you?”
She set her spoon down slowly. “Why should it?”
“I just thought…” I exhaled quietly. “He’s soone close to your inner circle, right? If he sees —if he connects the dots...”
She didn’t react right away.
Then she leaned back slightly, eyes steady on mine. Her voice was calm. “You’re thinking too much, Haemin.”
I lowered my gaze. “Maybe. But still—I just don’t want to cause you problems,” I murmured.
“You won’t.” She picked up her spoon again. Then, after a pause, she added, quieter this ti, “And I already told you before… I wouldn’t care if people knew.”
Her words left a strange heaviness in my chest.
“Oh by the way, our class was really excited when they found out we’re visiting Nara Group,” I said, offering a small smile. “I an… it’s not every day a group of undergrads gets to step inside a building that important.”
Her eyes lifted slightly from her bowl, just listening.
“And everyone kept talking about you,” I added, carefully watching her expression. “About how young you were when you beca CEO… how smart, how elegant, how powerful.”
She didn’t say anything, but I saw the faintest shift in her expression—just a flicker in her eyes.
I smiled a little more to myself and looked down at my food.
“I didn’t say anything, of course,” I continued. “But hearing them praise you like that… I don’t know. I felt kind of proud.”
Still no words from her, but she set her spoon down gently. Her posture didn’t change, but I noticed the slight pause in her breath.
“You’re really amazing, Yuna,” I said softly. “I know I don’t say it enough. But I’m proud to be your husband.”
That’s when I finally saw it—a small, almost invisible reaction. Her fingers tensed slightly near her chopsticks. Her gaze didn’t waver, but I knew she heard every word.
Maybe she didn’t know what to say. Or maybe she didn’t want to see what it ant to her.
I hesitated for a second, then tried to lighten the mood.
“Oh, and the one who’s probably most excited about the visit is this girl in my class—Soojin. She kept saying she really hopes to see you in person. Apparently, you’re kind of her role model.”
Just as I was about to continue, the sharp sound of chopsticks slamming down onto the table made flinch.
I looked up—Yuna’s eyes were fixed on , her expression unreadable.
“Don’t talk about another girl in front of ,” she said, voice calm, but the undertone was firm.
I blinked, startled. “O-okay,” I mumbled quickly, lowering my gaze. “Sorry.”
I didn’t say anything after that. The air between us had shifted again.
I shouldn’t have ntioned Soojin. I wasn’t thinking. I was just trying to share my day, share my excitent—even if it was sothing small. But for Yuna, there was no such thing as “small” when it ca to . Especially not when another girl’s na left my mouth.
Across the table, she continued eating slowly, unbothered—at least on the outside. Her face remained composed, like nothing had happened. But I could feel the tension in the way she held her chopsticks, in the precise way she cut her at. She was irritated. Again. Because of .
I quietly finished the last few bites of rice, still not looking up. The silence stretched longer. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just quiet. Like waiting for a wave to break.
A few minutes later, I heard the faint clink of her chopsticks being placed down.
She stood and walked to the sink, setting her bowl down without a word. Then she paused next to .
I could feel her presence before I even looked up. Her steps were soft, barely audible against the floor. Still, I didn’t move. I stayed seated, staring at the bit of rice left in my bowl.
“I’ll go first,” she said. Her voice was calm.
Then her hand reached out—her finger gently tilted my chin up.
Her touch wasn’t rough this ti. But it wasn’t exactly gentle either. I had no choice but to et her eyes.
“You’re not planning to sleep on the couch again, right?”
Her voice was smooth—low—but the warning in her tone was clear. It wasn’t a question. It was a command wrapped in a velvet threat.
I swallowed. “No.”
She gave a small smile—satisfied.
“Good.”
Her fingers lingered on my cheek, brushing over it slowly—like she was smoothing sothing out. The touch sent a chill through my skin. It looked affectionate on the outside, but it didn’t feel like love.
Then, without another word, she turned and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
I stayed seated, my head still tilted slightly from where she had touched .
That spot on my cheek still felt warm. But not in a comforting way.
It felt like a reminder.
Then slowly, I leaned back in my chair—and let out a long, quiet sigh.
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