Prologue
Two days ago, she received her mother’s body from the police.
Cause of death: drowning.
With a record of depression, a suicide attempt two years ago, and a letter found in her belongings, the case was quickly ruled as suicide.
Han Seul-ah sat blankly in front of her mother’s portrait.
Then, without warning, footsteps echoed through the empty funeral hall.
The sound was rough, heavy, and out of place.
Slowly, Seul-ah turned her head. The movement was sluggish, weak.
She had always been frail since birth, living her whole life without much strength. But this time, it wasn’t just her body—it was the two sleepless nights and the weight of losing her mother that had drained her completely.
“…”
When she turned all the way around, the first thing she saw was black socks.
Four of them. Two pairs. Two men.
Who were they?
There shouldn’t have been anyone coming.
Only her mother’s only friend, Aunt Chaeyoung, knew about the death. She had visited on the first day, mourned deeply, and left.
So who were these men?
Before the thought could settle, someone clicked their tongue.
“Great. Another corpse to clean up.”
The low, gravelly voice came from right above her.
It must have belonged to the man in black socks.
She slowly lifted her gaze.
Her eyes followed the black pants upward until they met the hem of a gaudy shirt swaying over his thighs.
Her gaze traced the line of buttons up his chest; the shirt was black, patterned with gold, open just enough to show dark skin underneath.
Seul-ah looked higher.
A sharp neck, a pronounced Adam’s apple, lips curled in a crooked line.
His neck was thick, his throat large, his lips dark red.
As she stared, his lips moved.
“Pretty sure she’s undressing me with her eyes. What do you think, Kang Jin?”
Seul-ah couldn’t look any higher.
Her vision dimmed, her strength vanished, and the world went black.
“Pathetic.”
The man’s sharp, irritated voice cut through the silence as he looked down at her collapsed body.
His brows were furrowed, his gaze flat with annoyance.
When the man beside him asked if they should call a doctor, he waved his hand dismissively.
“Keep watch. I’ve got a few things to ask when she wakes up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once his subordinate stepped back, silence filled the room again.
The man stared down at Seul-ah for a moment, then crouched and sat cross-legged in front of her.
He pulled out a cigarette pack, flicked one out, and placed it between his lips—all without taking his eyes off her.
“…”
She looked small, curled up like that.
They’d said she was twenty-five, but with that baby face, she could’ve passed for a high schooler if you put her in a uniform.
Just like they’d said.
Maybe it was her pale skin, or the way she breathed so shallowly.
He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, then exhaled toward the incense burner.
Cough. Cough.
Suddenly, Seul-ah coughed, curling into herself even tighter.
Watching her struggle, the man snorted under his breath.
They’d said she was born premature: weak lungs, weak heart, the whole body below average.
Not that it mattered.
He inhaled, exhaled, then again.
The smoke curled thick around the burning incense.
“Ugh…”
“…”
She groaned faintly, pressing her cheek against the floor as if trying to escape the smoke.
The man’s eyes rolled upward, restless, irritated.
Then he pinched the cigarette between his fingers and snuffed it out.
Still, Han Seul-ah kept wheezing, small and pained.
“What more do you want from me,” he muttered, half annoyed, half exasperated.