Chapter 9
Suddenly, Seung-hyuk slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a hard stop. Lost in thought, Yu-ju’s body lurched forward. As she instinctively braced herself, a sharp pain shot up through her right ankle.
Seung-hyuk immediately turned to check on her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. What happened?”
Only after hearing Yu-ju’s reply did he explain the situation.
“A wild animal suddenly ran out. That happens from time to time around here.”
“Oh, I see…”
Even after confirming her condition, Seung-hyuk’s expression hardened in a subtle way. He seemed to drive faster than before, his grip on the wheel noticeably tighter. Yu-ju wondered if she had made some mistake but couldn’t figure it out.
The car finally pulled into the parking lot of a townhouse. Its clean exterior suggested it was newly built, and the quiet surroundings gave off a calm atmosphere.
“This is where I live. And from now on, it’ll also be where you stay, Ms. Chae Yu-ju.”
Following his lead, Yu-ju stepped into the house. The interior was modern and well-organized. Clean, orderly, and calm—it felt like a reflection of Seung-hyuk himself.
“Go ahead and sit on the sofa for a moment.”
While Yu-ju sat down, Seung-hyuk rummaged through the shelves and refrigerator before returning with some ice and a cold pack.
“Let me see your right ankle.”
Ah—so that’s what this was about.
“I wasn’t sure in the car, but watching you walk made it obvious you’re hurt.”
“Oh, really, I’m fine.”
Yu-ju tried to stand, but the throbbing ache in her ankle stopped her. Seung-hyuk gently pressed her shoulder, guiding her back into the seat.
“Saying you’re fine when you’re clearly not—is that a habit of yours?”
He knelt on one knee in front of her, slipping ice into the cold pack.
“What…?”
“You keep saying you’re fine, like it’s automatic.”
When he lifted her ankle slightly, Yu-ju flinched. Not from pain, but from how tense she suddenly felt at his touch.
Why am I so nervous?
“While you’re staying here, I’d prefer it if you’d be honest with me.”
He secured the pack to her ankle and stood.
“If you keep saying everything’s fine, I won’t know whether you’re truly okay or just forcing yourself.”
Yu-ju blinked rapidly as her vision blurred. She pressed down hard on her emotions, unwilling to let herself cry here.
“Come to the hospital tomorrow. We’ll take an X-ray.”
“I really am—”
“Again.”
Cut off mid-sentence, Yu-ju closed her mouth.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Something came to mind, and Seung-hyuk gestured toward a corner of the living room.
“A gift.”
There stood a dark walnut upright piano. Its quality was obvious—solid hammer action and key response, more than suitable for a serious pianist.
“…!”
Yu-ju was too shocked to speak.
As she froze in place, eyes wide, Seung-hyuk cleared his throat and beckoned.
“Go ahead and play. It’s yours, Ms. Chae Yu-ju.”
Heart pounding, she slowly walked over. Lifting the walnut lid revealed cream-colored keys lined up neatly. She pressed one with her fingertip.
Ding—
The clear note filled the room.
Thump.
It was only her finger touching the key, but her heart was the one that trembled. It always happened—when she played the piano, it felt as if her heart resonated with it.
Every strike of a key sent excitement coursing through her.
Her talent had shown early. At five, she played back children’s songs she had only heard. By ten, she could skillfully perform Fantaisie-Impromptu. Her father, Man-ho, had been thrilled, calling her a genius, while her mother, Young-ok, was indifferent, more worried about how her son might feel overshadowed by his sister.
Her misfortune began in her third year of middle school, when her father collapsed from illness. Their financial situation plummeted, and lessons became impossible. Attending an arts high school—an expensive dream—was out of reach.
But her homeroom teacher took pity and helped her enter an international arts high school through a “socially disadvantaged student” admission.
That’s when Gong Seol-a appeared—like fate prepared to drag Yu-ju’s life into endless downfall.
“If I’d had more time, I could’ve found you an even better model, but things were a bit rushed,” Seung-hyuk said, suddenly close by.
Yu-ju shook her hands quickly.
“No, no, this is more than enough. I only teach kids now—this is more than I deserve.”
And she meant it. It had only been two weeks since she accepted his offer and came to Gangwon-do. Securing such a piano in that short time couldn’t have been easy.
“I had the top-grade silent system installed, so it shouldn’t affect touch or tone.”
At that, Yu-ju remembered something.
“Now that I think about it, back at the hotel bar… you seemed to know quite a bit about pianos?”
He had recognized her as a pianist just from the way she tapped on the instrument.
Back then, she thought he was just observant.
“Ah…”
For a moment, his gaze wavered, but he quickly composed himself.
“My mother… had a deep love for the piano.”
The past tense.
Yu-ju felt a prickling sensation in her fingertips. She already knew his mother had passed—she had read it in the background report from the errand service.
But she couldn’t let on that she knew. So instead, she bit her lip and gently closed the piano lid.
Then Seung-hyuk shifted the subject as if nothing had happened.
“A housekeeper comes three times a week, but she’s quiet. She won’t bother you.”
“Okay…”
“I usually eat at the hospital, so at home, live however you’re comfortable.”
“Yes…”
“Will you wash up first?”
“…Sorry, what?”
Startled, Yu-ju blinked at him.
“I asked if you wanted to wash up first.”
“T-that… you said we could just live as roommates, so…”
Flustered, she backed away, clutching her T-shirt tightly as if to cover herself.
Seung-hyuk tilted his head, then a faint smile touched his lips. Deliberately, he took a slow step toward her.
Thud.
Her back hit the wall. Trapped, her face crumpled as though she might burst into tears.
A dangerous desire stirred in him—just a little more and he could make her cry.
“I only meant you must be tired, so wash up and rest. Your room is that way.”
Reluctantly, he let her off the hook.
“Oh…”
Yu-ju’s face flushed crimson.
With a teasing slowness, he added,
“What exactly were you thinking I meant—”
“Th-thank you, then…”
Cutting him off, she bolted into the room he had pointed out, her face still bright red.
As soon as she disappeared, Seung-hyuk tugged at a shirt button, his movements rough.
The way her face twisted, hovering between tears and confusion—suddenly, the memory of that night on the bed surged back.
The trembling eyes, the erratic breaths, the lips parting just slightly, damp with tears… even the faint quiver of her wet eyelashes.
The memory of her slender wrist clutching at his chest, the urge to pin it down and kiss her roughly, the lingering sweetness of her lips—they all rushed back, vivid and raw.
Even with the cool air from the AC brushing his skin, his thoughts only burned hotter.
