Chapter 09…
Chai Do sat Sehee back down on the bed and set up a small table for her. Soon after, another servant entered and handed a tray to Secretary Ahn.
“You’ve lost so much weight. You look awful. Anyone would think I was mistreating you.”
His gaze was no longer the same as it had been yesterday.
Sehee knew now that the woman Chai Do had held in his arms last night wasn’t her. In that brief lapse of rationality, the one he had burned with desire for wasn’t Yoo Sehee.
“I can take care of it myself…”
“As my wife, you should maintain your dignity. Unless you want to disgrace me.”
Dignity? After putting me in this state?
It was so absurd she couldn’t even laugh.
Wouldn’t his image only be preserved if she completely fell apart? So that everyone could watch, with their own eyes, the downfall of Yoo Hyungjin—the man who betrayed Chai Do.
This act of Chai Do pretending to care was nothing more than hypocrisy.
Sehee decided she’d play the role of the zoo monkey he wanted. She knew her role now, and she would act accordingly.
She could sit quietly by his side, emaciated and docile. If he preferred a show of thrashing and struggling, she could match his rhythm too. It didn’t matter if people laughed at her. As long as her father and younger sister returned safely.
“I’m not hungry,” she answered, her exhaustion plain.
“If you’re done talking, could you please just leave—”
Chai Do ignored her words completely. With a slight wave of his hand, Secretary Ahn froze in hesitation. Her gaze wavered faintly as she looked at him.
“Oh, do I have to feed you?”
He spoke slowly, as if only just realizing it. When he sat down on the opposite side of the bed, her mouth went dry instinctively. Sehee quickly lowered her gaze to the blank bedding.
“Give it to me,” he said, signaling for the tray from Secretary Ahn. Steam rose from the tray as it was handed to him.
“I’ve spoiled you too much,” he muttered.
While Sehee tried to force her tangled thoughts into order, Chai Do looked completely at ease. He seemed refreshed, like someone who had quenched a long-standing thirst.
He must have been satisfied. Watching her cry beneath him must have felt like strangling Yoo Hyungjin with his own hands. Parents, after all, always suffer more from their children’s pain.
But too bad for him—she wasn’t the real daughter. The grief her father would feel might not be as intense as Chai Do imagined.
He had chosen the wrong target. And in a way, Sehee was glad it was her, not Sejin.
“You should learn to do some things on your own,” he said, muttering as if speaking to a spoiled child while cooling the rice soaked in soup.
“Hm?”
His tone was noticeably softer than usual, something he used only with her. Ironically, he spoke formally to every employee, which only added to the intimidating sense of distance he projected.
“Washing you, dressing you, feeding you…”
“I told you, I can wash myself.”
She cut him off, snatching the spoon with her left hand. With movements that were becoming familiar, she brought a spoonful of rice to her mouth. Their gazes briefly met as he wiped the corner of her mouth with a faint smile.
“It’s fine. It wasn’t that hard,” he said as his hand brushed her lips casually.
It wasn’t concern for her health that prompted it.
Sehee lowered her eyes in silent rebuttal.
“What are you standing around for?” Chai Do spoke in a low voice, not taking his eyes off Sehee. Secretary Ahn’s shadow stiffened for a moment before she quickly disappeared.
The warmth of the food sliding down her throat was almost too warm. It brought back faint memories of warmth from long ago.
When she was a child—though the memories were blurry—her first foster parents had taken her in. Just as she was getting used to receiving love without reason, a miracle happened for them too: they had their own child, something they had long desired and awaited.
It wasn’t that their affection vanished in an instant because of some big event. Like water drops wearing away stone, little by little, every hour of every day, the gap in their hearts widened.
There was nothing young Sehee could do about it.
She could only watch the change she couldn’t accept unfold silently.
She couldn’t hold on to their retreating hands, or promise to be better, or act spoiled anymore.
Like an abandoned puppy, she watched the back of the car disappear into the distance, recalling the warmth of the past. But no matter how long she waited, her foster parents never returned for her.
Her second foster parents picked her out personally during a business trip to Korea. Their son had said he wanted a cute little sister, and they eagerly agreed.
After Sehee arrived, her foster brother apparently became much more well-behaved. He stopped setting fire to the storage room or torturing weak animals—a “bad hobby” he’d once had.
Of course, it made sense. He simply redirected all that energy toward her.
He used her to satisfy his twisted curiosities.
He conducted “experiments,” like testing how long it took for a person to lose consciousness—by pushing Sehee, who couldn’t swim, underwater. Or leaving her soaked and shivering outside in the middle of winter.
Yet outwardly, he acted like a caring brother who doted on her.
Their parents were always pleased with him. Their one and only son was, to them, a source of pride—a good boy.
She couldn’t tell the truth. She had already realized that they only believed their biological son.
They were generous benefactors who supported refugees and orphans, and their son was their precious, well-raised child. In between them, there was no one who would take her side.
“Our parents are traveling. They won’t be home for a while. It’s safe. We won’t get caught.”
Listening to her foster brother plotting something over the phone in the backyard filled her with dread. Ropes, tape, sacks—the purpose was obvious.
He was the kind of person who could set fire to her hair instead of the storage room. That day, Sehee ran away from home for the first time.
She ran and ran, not even knowing where to go.
Fourteen years old. It was the first—and brief—taste of freedom in her life.
But the escape didn’t last long.
Her foster brother found her hiding nearby and beat her nearly to death. He struck her with whatever came to hand, without discrimination.
Tired from the night-long “game of tag,” his cruelty was sharper than ever.
At some point, she couldn’t breathe properly. Yet in those final moments, she felt almost relieved.
Now, surely, her parents would see. They’d finally believe her.
But upon hearing the news, her foster parents rushed home from their trip, quickly cleaned up the situation, and sent her back to Korea as if discarding a defective item.
After that, she never again trusted anyone’s affection.
“No matter what, you’ll never be like a real daughter, right?”
She paid the price for ignoring those whispers behind her back.
What her foster parents expected of her wasn’t to be pretty, smart, and talented so they could be proud of her.
They wanted her to supplement their real children’s flaws and make them shine.
Sehee knew exactly how far she could go to continue being “loved.” Even when she wanted something, she never threw tantrums.
If Sejin wanted something, she would smile and yield. She never stood out in anything—appearance, academics, or relationships.
A fake daughter. A fake wife.
Her entire life was fake.
“You’re just a trophy. He wants everyone to see it clearly—the fate of Yoo Hyungjin, who dared to run away from home.”
Just as she had never been a real daughter, she couldn’t become a real wife now.
Even if she slept with Chai Do, ate meals together, and shared a space with him.
Don’t get the wrong idea, Yoo Sehee.
Leaning back in her chair, she reminded herself silently under Chai Do’s watchful eyes.
Know your place. That had been her only survival strategy in her last family.
“Eat slowly. You’ll choke,” he said.
For some reason, tears threatened to fall. She should have been used to this by now.
“Take your medicine too,” Chai Do added as he poured her a glass of water.
Sehee glanced down at her arm, now mostly healed, and shook her head.
“I’m fine. I’ve already—”
“I tried to keep it under control,” he interrupted smoothly.
Only then did Sehee look down at the box of pills placed beside the glass.
“It’s better to be sure,” he said lightly, wearing a neat smile as if it were nothing.
