Chapter 151.2

Chapter 151.2

Messy, unkempt hair. Thick glasses that made his eyes look like tiny ant holes. How could this shabby, disheveled man be the same person whose single research paper had put America on high alert?

She still couldn’t believe it. He was just an eccentric obsessed with his work, socially inept to a pitiful degree.

And yet, his paranoia was off the charts, hyper-sensitive to the slightest sound, living on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

When he got tense, his stuttering became unbearable. If she so much as touched his hand, he’d throw a fit like she’d shattered his entire world.

“N-no, Zoya, today’s your ovulation day… W-we can’t!”

“Why are you keeping track of that?”

“T-this is for our own good. A-ah, don’t… don’t touch me, stay away, Zoya!”

But the papers he published were nothing short of revolutionary. He had taken the mind-control project, something even the mighty U.S. had failed at, and refined the theory, sending shockwaves through the intelligence community.

He even claimed that recycling brain functions could achieve perfect mind control. As the Cold War drew to a close, Rigay’s research emerged as a new kind of weapon.

It was the kind of technology that could shift the tides of war.

But like all weapons, if they couldn’t have it, they had to destroy it.

America had tried everything to recruit him, but his paranoid personality made him nearly impossible to approach. Add to that his status as a second-generation Koryo-saram (ethnic Korean in Russia) and his fanatical devotion to a fringe religious sect, and he became a headache nobody wanted to deal with.

That’s where Zoya came in. Assigned to monitor Rigay’s every move, she soon discovered that the “honey trap” approach worked.

Every time she caught him staring at her with that dazed, lovestruck expression, she almost laughed.

Once this mission was over, her career would skyrocket. She might even become the youngest executive in NIS history. In exchange for this high-risk operation, the CIA had promised her unlimited backing.

She had to become his wife.

“Wait. You’re a celibacy advocate?”

“Y-yes. I’m sorry.”

“You should’ve told me that before we got tangled up!”

“I-I did say it! I told you I never planned on being with a woman.”

“What kind of scam artist does this?!”

But the road ahead was long and treacherous. After countless hurdles, she did become his lover, but every time they slept together, he’d drop to his knees afterward like a sinner, lost in prayer.

At least he didn’t recite scripture while thrusting. That was something, she supposed. Still, the absurdity of it all left her feeling hollow.

Just as the CIA’s dossier had warned, Rigay was a devout follower of Sakhalin’s doctrine.

She wasn’t his first. She wasn’t the one he clung to in desperation, the one he whispered all his secrets to. Rigay loved and worshipped his God.

How was she supposed to compete with his God?

The frustration gnawed at her. ‘This pathetic, repressed man… Who else would even look at someone like him if not for her?’

The only thing she hadn’t accounted for was the sharp, piercing intelligence behind those thick glasses.

Even after marriage, Rigay’s paranoia never faded. Despite being his only spouse, his lips remained sealed.

She tried probing him about emigration, nothing. His research? His parents? The monastery he grew up in? Nothing.

She never met a single friend of his. She never set foot in Sakhalin. She was a healthy woman in her prime, but time kept slipping away. Every time she met her handlers, shame burned in her chest.

“We’ve received intel that the Russian Orthodox Church has been colluding with the KGB to expand its influence. Specifically, the Sakhalin Monastery, the sam

e one Rigay Viktor was raised in. Have you heard anything about this?”

“N-no.”

“If he has any ties to the KGB, we’ll eliminate him before his research is complete.”

“…!”

“Zoya, any progress on the pregnancy?”

Damon’s gaze dropped to her flat stomach. The frustration of wasted time was hers to bear. Her return to Korea kept getting pushed further and further back.

“If you haven’t even been to your husband’s hometown, then you haven’t gotten close to his core. He still doesn’t trust you.”

“…!”

“It’s an extremely insular place. Unless you’re an ethnic Korean farming Sakhalin’s land, they won’t accept you. The only way in is to be born as one of them.”
“…..”
“Zoya, how much longer are you going to rot in Russia?”

Humiliation made her clench her jaw.

“If you can’t change Rigay’s mind, then it’s your job to create a new weakness.”

Every debriefing left her feeling worse. But then she’d take off her husband’s ridiculous glasses, stare into those wide, vulnerable eyes, and for a moment, she’d believe everything would work out.

‘Yes. This is my creation. Every inch of him bears my touch.’

She rested a hand on her stomach.

“What? A child? Zoya, did you just say our baby?”

“Why do you react like that?”

“N-no… No. A child can’t— No! NO!”

Her husband, who never raised his voice, screamed like a madman. He collapsed, pounding the floor, sobbing. She froze.

He rejected the idea of a child with his entire being, then passed out on the spot.

And from that moment, everything began to unravel.