Chapter 08
Seoha very easily recalled one simple fact: Seoyoung had never once gotten angry at Naeun.
When Seoyoung suspected the two of them and poured out her anger, the target had always been him alone.
Seoyoung, who had been kind to everyone she met, had been kind to Naeun at first as well.
She took care of Naeun’s little needs as if tending to a young child, attended school counseling sessions Naeun’s mother couldn’t make it to, and even called Seoha on Naeun’s birthday, telling him to come home early.
It was hard to believe Naeun’s claim that Seoyoung was cold and stingy when he wasn’t around.
Just as he began to wonder whether Naeun might be misunderstanding something, Seoyoung abruptly cut her off completely, as if slicing cleanly with a knife.
But even then, her resentment had never been directed at Naeun.
The harsh words Seoyoung was said to have spoken to Naeun had all come through Naeun herself.
And even those were vague—fragmented, uncertain, more suggestion than substance.
It was his own temperament, unable to tolerate ambiguity, that had added flesh to those hazy hints and given them solid form.
A dull throb pierced his head again.
Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, he saw Seoyoung standing blankly in front of the greenhouse.
Her legs had looked unsteady—perhaps they hurt.
The crack that had appeared on the face of his wife—always as beautiful as if painted—felt vivid enough to touch. So did the faint memory of the hand she had half-extended toward him.
Caught off guard by the tangled situation, he hadn’t even asked if she was hurt. When Naeun suddenly staggered, he hadn’t taken the hand Seoyoung had held out. He had only told her to go home.
Had she answered him?
Something had changed, but he couldn’t grasp what.
What was it? That strange sense of déjà vu.
But he didn’t have long to dwell on it.
A notification chimed on his monitor. The meeting was about to begin.
Han Seoha pushed thoughts of Seoyoung far to the back of his mind.
Work alone was enough to make his head feel as if it would explode, and his body—deprived of proper rest—was protesting from every angle.
He pressed the intercom to the secretary’s office and asked for painkillers, then turned his gaze back to the screen.
They were almost there.
With just a few more adjustments, the company’s system would finally settle into place. Once they succeeded in defending management rights in two subsidiaries and concluded negotiations to sell five others, it would be nearly complete.
Ten years ago, the company had nearly reached full group status. Just before listing on the stock market—right before being named a quasi-conglomerate—it abruptly changed direction.
It had been his mother’s decision, and his father had naturally followed. Everyone had clicked their tongues, calling it incomprehensible. It was no different from throwing away the chance to join the ranks of the chaebol with their own hands.
They liquidated the simple manufacturing businesses that had expanded under his grandfather’s generation and sold off several consumer brands they owned.
They didn’t hesitate to sell competitors either. Over several years, they gradually shrank what had once been a massive corporation.
Instead, Seoha brought the investment company he had run since university with a few friends back into the country.
By then, the group—rich in capital but lacking management—had been reduced to little more than a lone holding company.
That was how S Company was born. It made a name for itself as a private equity firm, and after Han Seoha took the helm as CEO, it shifted course again into a hedge fund.
Thus followed years of grueling battles and negotiations.
Now, it was time to assemble the gears.
Hundreds of gears—different sizes, shapes, and functions—had to be fitted into place and set turning. If they didn’t mesh, they had to be trimmed, or remade entirely. It had taken more than five years to reach this point.
In a few months, with a simple turn of a small handle, S Company would run smoothly on its own.
When that time came, he would carefully resolve the issues with his wife, and with Naeun.
For now, it was another meeting.
Swallowing the painkiller the secretary brought in, Han Seoha rose to his feet.
Having once again erased Seoyoung from his mind, he strode toward the conference room.
It had been chaos since morning.
Seoyoung could describe it no other way as she looked at the Yeongjin Hotel concierge sitting before her.
It had begun with the department store’s dedicated team manager arriving pale-faced right after breakfast. Next had been Assistant Manager Lee Hyun-jung from the secretary’s office. Now this was the third visit.
Did it really warrant even the hotel concierge chasing her down?
I’m really fine.
Thinking that, Seoyoung offered tea once more and slid a dessert plate filled with fruit and chocolate forward.
“There’s no excuse. I sincerely apologize.”
Manager Yoo Seon-i, the hotel concierge, bowed deeply again.
There are days when a mistake insists on becoming a mistake.
Yesterday had been one of those days.
The S Group secretary’s office staff member who came in person to reserve the dessert room had simply booked the greenhouse and ordered dinner and a cake.
Later, just before the reservation time, a call came asking to add a birthday card.
The reservation staff had merely written down what was dictated over the phone and set it with the cake.
No name had been given, so naturally none was written. And there had certainly been no mention of “the CEO’s wife.”
Then, at the reserved time, S Group’s madam appeared in the hotel lobby.
Guiding her, as she walked gracefully toward the restaurant, to the table reserved by S Company’s secretary’s office had been the most natural thing in the world.
And that was when everything went wrong.
Though the tight-lipped manager hadn’t shared details, he had said that the birthday cake did not belong to the flower-like madam now sitting in front of her.
Then whose was it…?
As Yoo Seon-i followed the thread of thought, horror slowly spread across her face. Afraid her expression might betray her thoughts, she quickly lifted her teacup to hide behind it.
A rose greenhouse dessert room. A twenty-third birthday. A cake clearly designed for a woman’s taste.
It was an obvious story, impossible to deny.
You’re telling me he cheated—with someone even younger—while having such a young, flower-like wife?
And he left the reservation to the secretary’s office?
Working at a hotel, she had seen all kinds of scandals, but this was a first.
Powerful men meeting women other than their wives was common enough to trip over. But they didn’t bring them to restaurants—certainly not ones booked by their own secretary’s office.
Sipping tea over her dry lips, Yoo Seon-i let her eyes drift over Seoyoung.
She was a rare, dazzling beauty.
Graceful brows, doll-like lashes, a straight nose, and full pink lips—beautiful as if deliberately painted.
And what of that elegant posture, like a noble crane? Even the fingers holding the teacup were long and pale.
Having worked as a concierge, she had seen countless celebrities and models up close. Seoyoung stood at the very top among them. To cheat while having a wife like this?
What kind of woman could it be?
Unaware of the thoughts blooming in Yoo Seon-i’s head, Seoyoung smiled gently at her.
“You didn’t have to come all this way. It really wasn’t a big deal. I’m fine.”
And so kind, too!
The kinder and more beautiful Seoyoung appeared, the deeper Yoo Seon-i’s sorrow grew.
What must it feel like to come face to face with roses and a cake your husband prepared for another woman?
A sharp ache pricked her chest. Leaning forward slightly, she lowered her voice.
She couldn’t quite bring herself to say, Stay strong, but she offered something else instead.
“I’ll personally make sure the dessert room is available on any date you want, madam. Please contact me whenever you’d like to visit.”
Seoyoung laughed—brightly, freely, yet with elegance—and looked at Manager Yoo, whose eyes held an odd resolve.
“Pink roses aren’t really my taste, so it’s all right. I’m sure the concept will change next year. I’ll be sure to visit then.”
With her looks, delicate pink roses would indeed seem too soft. Deep black roses would suit her better.
Once back at the hotel, she would tell the flower team to send only roses in bold, vivid shades—far more beautiful than the ones in the dessert room.
Manager Yoo looked once more at the beautiful madam before her.
The beautiful Yeonhaedang. The beautiful madam.
It felt as though she were gazing at a princess locked inside a castle surrounded by high walls.
