Even looking back through time, I couldn’t recall ever having gotten angry at anyone. As a child, there hadn’t been anyone worth directing it at; as an adult, I had simply never felt the urge. When someone said something rude, or when a subordinate made a serious mistake, I might have thought it unpleasant or bothersome, but I don’t think I ever felt anger.

And yet the moment I heard Kwon Yido’s apology, I felt something I couldn’t name. Too heavy to be called annoyance, too small to be called fury. No other word seemed to fit.

My head understood well enough. That I had no right to be angry with him, that angering him would only bring consequences back to me. I knew it all.

When Minjae spat insults at me, when Father slapped me, when Kwon Ijeong nearly harmed me. Anger was a kind of right, so I had always tried to make rational judgments instead. Ordinarily, I would never have directed it toward Yido either.

That night, sleepless, I regretted everything I had done. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at him, I shouldn’t have let my disappointment show, I shouldn’t have pretended indifference and left the table first.

It felt shameless—having already taken so much from him, to shamelessly want more. I loathed myself for being so emotional, yet at the same time I was sure that even if I turned back time, nothing would change. I caught myself trying to excuse it as inevitable, then flinched at my own complacency.

But in the end, what I felt most was relief. At least I had spoken what I’d kept inside. The relief of letting it out slowly erased the regret of having done so. Though the sight of Yido’s hurt face—and a trace of guilt—remained.

“...”

“...”

The next morning, Yido and I ate quietly, as we had the past few days. He never mentioned what happened the night before, and I offered no apology. To be precise, I opened my mouth a few times but couldn’t bring myself to follow through.

If things were going to be like this, perhaps it would be better to eat separately. That thought came, but I had no will to act on it. Maybe he felt the same way—I could only vaguely guess.

Even as we went down to the garage, the air stayed strained. He pressed the “open” button, waiting for me to step into the elevator first. Perhaps it was the black suit he wore, or the way he stayed wordless, but he seemed even more composed and still than usual today.

Ding—the elevator stopped at the basement. Again, Yido waited for me to step out first. Was {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} this how we would go to work, without a word? I was just taking my first step when his quiet voice came from behind.

“...Are you not going to talk to me anymore?”

The slow-spoken words stopped me cold. I turned back. One hand in his pocket, Yido gazed at me steadily. He hadn’t met my eyes at the table, but apparently he’d been watching me from behind all along.

Flustered, I glanced aside and muttered back.

“...You weren’t speaking either.”

“I thought if I stayed quiet, you might talk to me like you did yesterday.”

Expressionless, he stepped out of the elevator after me. His tone was calm, but the ease he usually carried was gone. Stopping briefly at my side, he looked down at my face.

“...You look very tired.”

The caution in his tone was thick with concern. Maybe that was why—just that single phrase loosened the air between us. His pheromones settled gently over me, and the fatigue I’d been carrying seemed to melt away.

“You should rest for a day.”

“No...”

I rubbed at my ear, embarrassed by his concern. Looking at his face now, last night felt almost like a dream.

“Work isn’t that hard.”

“That’s a relief, then.”

He answered plainly and stepped forward first. My gaze dropped without thinking, landing on his shoes—a brand I knew well. Like his suit, they were plain black. Head to toe in black, as though heading to a funeral.

“Take care.”

At the car, he offered his usual farewell. I paused before getting in, glancing back at him. Lee Taeseong, holding the car door for me, glanced between us discreetly.

“...See you tonight.”

What a trivial thing to say. But at my words, Yido’s eyes curved softly. The sight of his delicate features forming a smile was something I never could grow used to. Perhaps even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

Once I was in, Taeseong closed the door. As always, Yido stood watching until the car drove out of sight. Only when he finally vanished from view did Taeseong quietly speak.

“Forgive me, but...”

A very formal preface. What followed was blunt.

“Did you two fight?”

“....”

I should have brushed it off, but the question struck me dumb for a moment. Not because I didn’t know what to answer, but because it shocked me.

“Fight...?”

Only then did I realize. We had fought yesterday. Strictly speaking, I had been the one demanding answers, but to others, it would look the same. Since when had I grown so comfortable with Yido that others could see us this way? That, too, startled me.

“...No, nothing like that.”

I denied it, belatedly, but Taeseong didn’t look convinced. His glance in the rearview mirror told me as much. Luckily, he didn’t press, so I kept my face carefully neutral.

The drive from Yido’s house to the company took about thirty minutes. Longer if traffic was heavy, but never too far. Just enough time to look out the window, check my schedule.

“Good morning, Representative!”

Despite the unrest still in my chest, by the time I arrived at the office I could hide it well enough. I returned my employees’ greetings with a warm smile. Pretending composure during work was something I’d already done on the day my father was arrested.

“What shall we have for lunch today?”

At noon, I again used Yido’s card to pay for staff meals. One of the few things unchanged despite everything. Meals together, the nightly conversations before bed—habits ingrained, continuing unless deliberately stopped.

“Representative, aren’t you spending too much on us?”

“Yeah, our company allowance is decent too.”

At first they had been delighted to eat on me, but lately they had started worrying about my finances. Likely since Father’s arrest. They must have thought the fallout would reach me too. What amused me was that still, none of them mentioned Haesin directly.

“It’s fine at this level.”

I nearly said it wasn’t even my card, but stopped myself. With Father jailed for embezzlement, I couldn’t make such a remark. And in truth, this much expense was within my means even without Yido’s card.

“If it ever becomes too much, just quietly switch to kimbap.”

At that, the staff stopped arguing. They seemed content to take it in stride. Their joke about changing the menu to kimbap made me laugh as well.

“...Wow, you won’t believe this.”

After lunch, as I was about to return to my office, one employee gasped at their phone. I caught the word “Seonho” in passing and stopped. The employee was showing the screen to their colleagues.

“CEO Kwon Ijeong has gone missing.”

“...”

The name struck my ear, sharp and familiar. Missing? What did that even mean? For a moment I couldn’t grasp it. As I replayed the words, another unbelievable report followed.

“And Chairman Kwon Byung-wook has passed away...”

***

For the first time since deciding to earn my perfumer’s certification, I skipped class and went straight home after work. Every article on my phone was about Seonho Group, and the radio played nothing else. I gathered up every word, not missing a single one. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

—Early this morning, CEO Kwon Ijeong of Hotel Myeongseong was reported missing. While staying at a villa, he went for a walk and apparently met with misfortune. Police and firefighters are searching, but his whereabouts remain unknown.

—Chairman Kwon Byung-wook of Seonho Group passed away at the age of 85. His funeral was attended by his family, including Vice President Kwon Sangmi. Vice President Sangmi expressed condolences for the successive misfortunes....

“...Mr. Lee, please drive faster.”

I fidgeted with my spotless phone, restless. I thought of calling Yido, but held back, afraid to disturb him. Besides, I was somehow certain he would be at home.

'Chairman Kwon Byung-wook is nearing death.'

When Yido had told my father that, I had half disbelieved it. I hadn’t thought Seonho would give up treatment so easily. I assumed he had years left at least. I hadn’t believed.

—Chairman Kwon Byung-wook’s wake will be held at Seoul Seonho Hospital’s funeral hall. The funeral will be private, family only....

But he was dead. Right after Kwon Ijeong went missing. The timing was uncanny, like planned. No one could have predicted it. No one but one person.

'Did something happen?'

'Nothing. If anything, it will tomorrow.'

Last night, Yido’s uncharacteristic quiet. This morning’s black suit. His silence when I asked if it was my heat cycle.

It wasn’t my cycle. The “event” he meant was his grandfather’s death. But how had he known in advance?

“Arriv—”

Before Taeseong could finish, I was out of the car, running to the elevator. Even hearing of my father’s arrest, I hadn’t felt such urgency. My hair bristled, my heart pounded with chills.

How did he know?

Since when?

How much?

I thought he knew me. Now it seemed he knew everything. As if he foresaw the future, prepared before anyone else. A disquiet I could not ignore rose from deep inside.

“...”

“...”

When I burst through the front door, Yido was there. Dressed as he had been in the morning, checking his watch. One hand in his pocket, he lifted his gaze to me.

“Good timing. I almost missed you.”

His perfect composure looked fragile now. His eyes, usually so calm, were heavy with fatigue.

“I’m only here briefly. I have to go out again. Sorry, but eat dinner alone.”

He started past me toward the door. I caught his arm as he passed.

“....”

His dark eyes met mine head-on. His pheromones at close range put my perfumes to shame. I looked up at him, forcing my voice steady.

“How did you know?”

His expression never shifted. He blinked slowly, lashes moving without life. Even when his lips moved, it didn’t feel real.

“They call it euthanasia.”

The words came flat, without rise or fall. His voice followed, calm, dry.

“We decided there was no further point in treatment. Life support was withdrawn. You consented before he was admitted, and I was with him at the end.”

“...”

“I only stopped here briefly on my way.”

Even in my dazed head, his voice carried clear. His precise enunciation left no room to miss a word. He blinked again, gave a small nod.

“Do you need more explanation?”

“...No.”

I released his arm. It was a perfect answer—nothing left to question. If it was a death already arranged, my suspicion was only delusion.

Though that didn’t erase every doubt.

“Rest. I won’t be back for three days.”

I didn’t ask how he knew. I didn’t specify whether I meant Ijeong’s disappearance or Byung-wook’s death. Yet Yido answered without hesitation, as though he knew exactly what I would doubt.

“...Mr. Kwon.”

At my call, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked back. I knew I had no place to interfere, but his figure seemed as fragile as a child left by the water’s edge.

“Let me...”

So even amid the unease, my lips moved of their own accord. If I let him go alone, I would fret until he returned.

“Let me go with you.”

***

On the way to the funeral, Yido worked continuously. Busy, or perhaps in need of distraction. He kept his mouth closed, eyes only on the documents. The sight reminded me of the day after our engagement, when he drove me home.

I sat staring out the window, then stealing glances at him, over and over. Should I not have come? The thought nagged me. Tomorrow was the weekend, and I couldn’t sleep alone in the house anyway. Circumstances weren’t a problem. But perhaps this was overstepping.

I watched the black tie he adjusted, the scenery sliding past. Finally, awkward, I offered the safest topic.

“The weather’s nice.”

It was what he’d said to me once, in his car. Not a fitting comment for the summer heat. He twitched at the eyes, turning toward me slowly.

“...”

Our gazes tangled and held. When he parted his lips, it was only to murmur:

“It is.”

Plain, unadorned. The very reply I had once given him. I chuckled quietly, and he frowned faintly, embarrassed.

“Sorry. For working beside you.”

“No, you must be busy...”

“Not so much busy.”

From the side, his features looked delicately drawn. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, exhaling softly.

“Working in the car has become a habit. I hated wasting the time.”

A diligent habit, I thought. I had no reason to scold him. Yet he set the papers down on his thigh, no longer reading. Perhaps unwilling to work more. So I said gently:

“You must have been close with your grandfather.”

I had sensed something heavy beneath his impassive face. At that, Yido gave a faint smile.

“It was ordinary.”

Which meant it had been good. Just as when he spoke of Hye-yul.

“...”

I had no talent for condolences. I dropped my gaze, but Yido seemed to notice.

“Well... it isn’t particularly sad.”

A hollow laugh slipped out. His voice softened.

“I knew he would die...”

His words broke. His lashes trembled faintly.

“But it isn’t pleasant when someone you love dies.”