Chapter 10…
It felt as though her heart had been wrung out like a dry dishcloth. She couldn’t understand why she felt this way.
‘Yoo Se-hee.’
‘Open your eyes, Yoo Se-hee.’
Throughout the entire act, Chaido hadn’t called out anyone else’s name but her own. He met her gaze as their tongues intertwined again and again. He stroked her hair gently, as if to ease her pain with affection.
He had even been incredibly considerate toward her. When she cried that it hurt, he slowed down. He kissed her, caressed her cheek with warm hands, and patiently waited until she was ready.
Though his movements were urgent and rough, there was also a strange tenderness, as if they were making love rather than simply sharing a physical act.
The act of joining bodies was a peculiar thing — it stirred odd emotions even between people who meant nothing to each other. Unfamiliar intimacy, relief, warmth.
The memory of that night when he held her tightly without taking his eyes off her overlapped naturally.
And now, she could admit it: Se-hee had known all along. In that moment, she had truly embraced Chaido.
With real emotions, not false ones.
‘I… like… it, ah…’
She had simply cried and clung to him, guided by instinct, accepting him. The words she’d poured out to appease him hadn’t all been lies.
Se-hee bit the inside of her lip invisibly and quietly raised her hand, reaching for the medicine box on the table.
A version of herself that resembled “that woman” was nothing more than a tool to satisfy Chaido’s desire. She mustn’t act like it was real. She mustn’t cross the line — keep it moderate.
That way, she wouldn’t be thrown away.
Biting the inside of her lip again, Se-hee quietly picked up the pill bottle.
She obediently placed a pill on her tongue and swallowed it with a sip of water. A bitter aftertaste lingered in her mouth for a long time, stinging her throat.
Seated in the back of a sleek black sedan that mirrored its owner, Chaido had his long legs crossed as he reviewed some documents.
“Is there something you want to say?”
He didn’t lift his eyes from the page as he asked. Chief Secretary Lee, who had been sneaking glances at Chaido through the rearview mirror, wet his dry lips and turned his gaze toward the parked car.
“…There’s strong opposition, even if no one’s openly saying it. About sweeping this whole matter under the rug.”
After the celebratory dinner for the victory, a small commotion had broken out.
Even if not as compensation, they had expected thorough punishment for the Yoo Hyung-jin family. When that didn’t happen, grumbling spread among those who had come expecting an entertaining spectacle.
“People don’t seem to have a favorable view of Ms. Yoo Se-hee either. Now that her whereabouts are known, there’ll be plenty trying to make a move on her.”
Yoo Hyung-jin, once Chaido’s most loyal and capable hound, had made plenty of enemies. Now that he had disappeared without a trace, many were targeting Yoo Se-hee as the next best thing.
“Even the staff aren’t cooperative. I hear she hasn’t had a proper meal for weeks. If you care about Ms. Yoo Se-hee’s safety, we should at least—”
“Leave her be.”
Chaido replied flatly.
“If we loosen the reins, she’ll get complacent and start plotting to run.”
He could sometimes appear kind, but beneath it, he was utterly cold. It was difficult to know how to position oneself around him—whether he meant to protect Yoo Se-hee or torment her.
Even when rumors spread that Yoo Hyung-jin’s eldest daughter was being overprotected, Chaido had shown no interest.
No matter how beautiful she was, no matter how desperately Yoo Hyung-jin had hidden her—aside from one woman, Chaido had no interest in women at all.
“…What are your intentions?”
Even after years by his side, Chief Secretary Lee couldn’t understand Chaido’s actions. Then again, had there ever been anything understandable?
“…Do you really see Ms. Yoo Se-hee as Lee Hae-soo…?”
He cautiously uttered the name that had always been treated like a taboo. Otherwise, he never would have imagined Chaido actually spending a night with Yoo Se-hee.
“You worry too much, Chief Lee.”
Chaido flipped to the next page of the document, his gaze as indifferent as ever.
“If I thought she was Lee Hae-soo, I wouldn’t have touched her.”
Chief Lee, who had been dancing around his words, was taken aback by the blunt reply.
“Let them do what they want.”
“I just meant—”
“As long as she doesn’t die.”
It was the kind of thing only Chaido could say about a woman he had spent his wedding night with.
There were no emotions involved. He hadn’t forgotten how pure and sacred Lee Hae-soo had been to him.
If Yoo Se-hee had truly overlapped with Hae-soo in his eyes, he wouldn’t have remained so detached. Even when screams echoed outside the villa, he’d calmly smoked his cigarette.
So in the end, it had only been a one-night release.
“Did you find her?”
Chaido abruptly shifted the topic, as if Yoo Se-hee’s safety was of no concern to him. Chief Lee clicked his tongue inwardly and continued his report.
“They searched the entire Minnesota area. Thirteen years ago and again this time—no one knew a girl named Lee Hae-soo.”
She had been a refugee organization goodwill ambassador and the adoptive daughter—almost like a pet—of a prominent Minnesota family.
He had once seen a photo of the girl during the investigation. It looked like a passport photo: a pale face that looked almost foreign, thin and timid.
Her appearance was so plain that it was hard to understand why Chaido had spent over a decade searching for her.
Still, he had searched for her every year.
When Chief Lee was younger, someone else had been assigned the task, but there had never been any results.
Thirteen years had already passed. If she was alive, she’d be in her mid-to-late twenties now. Even if they met, he might not recognize her.
One thing was clear: Lee Hae-soo and Yoo Se-hee were completely different people. Their eyes and features might be vaguely similar, but Se-hee had a far more refined beauty.
Her face clearly showed she’d been raised in privilege—her skin and hair shone with health, and despite all her suffering, she hadn’t lost the elegance instilled deep in her bones.
And she was none other than the biological daughter of the famous Prosecutor Yoo Hyung-jin.
They were fundamentally different people—in looks, personality, background, and status.
No one knew what about Se-hee reminded Chaido of Hae-soo, but it had certainly complicated matters.
“If the family hadn’t been wiped out like that, we might’ve gotten more information…”
The entire family had perished in a mysterious fire. It was likely the son had set the warehouse ablaze, but it was Chaido who had left the spark.
He’d gone mad the moment he heard of Hae-soo’s death.
And after burning everything to the ground, he expected them to find something? Chief Lee muttered under his breath, stealing another glance at Chaido.
‘I only did what needed to be done. I felt it the moment I saw her.’
The girl, called by an unfitting name, sat in the spotlight, picking at her Caesar salad.
‘I’d always wanted a daughter. We’re even planning another adoption soon.’
He had seen her at charity events he attended with his father on business trips to the U.S. Her dyed hair and unusual clothes had struck a strange chord of familiarity.
‘Ever since Ayla came, the house feels warmer.’
She would pause mid-meal to join her adoptive parents on stage for photographs, like a trophy meant to glorify their accomplishments.
Everyone called her a lucky girl.
A blond boy beside her cut pieces of barbecue and placed them on her plate. Their adoptive parents looked at the two with satisfied smiles.
She smiled, but she was an unhappy child.
Her nails were short and jagged, her shoulders flinched every time her name was called, and her expressions were stiff and rehearsed. He had noticed this from the moment he first saw her.
It was unnecessary information brought by his sharp sensitivity, but he had no intention of meddling in someone else’s family affairs.
Still, her resigned expression occasionally bothered him.
Perhaps it was because a girl with the same eye and skin color as him was being treated like some ornamental trophy in a foreign land.
It wasn’t until a few years of these events had passed that she spoke to him first.
Pretending to pick up a glass of non-alcoholic champagne, she brushed past him and muttered as if to herself:
‘…Lee Hae-soo. That’s my Korean name.’
Then she repeated it more firmly, as if to make sure he remembered.
‘Lee Hae-soo.’
She then returned to her seat, receiving the blond boy’s forced attentions as if nothing had happened. She never once met his eyes.
She sat like a doll, seeing and hearing nothing, smiling dutifully at her adoptive parents.
He had known it was a cry for help.
Her empty eyes seemed to search for someone to take her back to her homeland—but he ignored it. He couldn’t even take in a stray dog of his own accord, let alone a grown girl.
Nothing happened for the rest of the event.
As he left the venue, she had watched him briefly, then, as if she had expected nothing else, lowered her head and trembled.
He never saw her again after that. When he finally inquired about her later, all he learned was that she had died.
‘Lee Hae-soo. That’s my Korean name.’
The hesitant voice that had crept out back then had been like the desperate hand of a child trying to crawl out of a pit.
At the next year’s event, he had unconsciously searched for Ayla—no, Hae-soo’s—presence, and finally understood the source of that nagging discomfort.
Every year afterward, when he reluctantly accompanied his father to Minnesota, he checked whether she was there.
It had been the only way a boy who had never learned emotions could express himself.
In hindsight, Hae-soo had been the first and last girl he’d ever held in his heart.
‘Haah, Jo…’
A brief afterimage flashed before Chaido’s eyes as they rested on the papers.
‘I… like… it…’
The image of her pale waist dipping with each breath. The red line mingled with his traces. The tears slipping from her eyes as she acted out her distress.
In that moment, his instincts had gone wild like a beast scenting blood.
‘…Help… you’ll help me, right?’
The image of Yoo Se-hee’s tearful face overlapped with the blank expression of the girl who had never cried.
They were worlds apart—Se-hee was a cheap imitation.
Chaido shifted his gaze toward the car window, the meaningless afterimage fading from his eyes.
