***

Hyejin watched as Yejun walked back to the table, cradling his cup of tea. The scene made her smile, but she couldn’t help the persistent knot of unease gathering beneath her ribs.

She picked up her own teacup and took a measured sip, letting the steam blur her view of him for a moment. When she set it down again, he was already seated between Haemin and Jinwoo, murmuring something in reply to Haemin’s easy question. On the surface, it looked perfectly ordinary: a dutiful son honoring his family, a polite young man preparing for his future.

But Hyejin knew better than to trust appearances.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, just loud enough for Taehyun to glance over. Her husband nodded, his expression as always betraying nothing at all. Hyejin dipped her head in brief acknowledgement and slipped away from the table.

The hallway beyond the dining suite was hushed, carpeted in a pale pattern of peonies and cranes. She walked past the small alcove with its arrangement of orchids and lacquered screens until she reached a narrow door marked Private. Inside was a side lounge reserved for family use during memorials, somewhere to step away from the formalities without drawing attention.

Hyejin closed the door behind her and took out her phone. Her reflection in the dark glass screen looked composed as ever, but she could feel her pulse in her throat. She scrolled to the familiar contact and pressed call.

It took only two rings before her secretary answered, his voice low and deferential.

“Chairman Lim.”

“Have you confirmed the transitions?” she asked, her tone quiet but edged with steel.

“Yes, ma’am. All staff who handled and were responsible for the booking mishap have been dismissed and replaced. The onboarding packages have been signed. The new team begins work tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, exhaling a slow breath. It had taken longer than she liked but she preferred thoroughness over haste. Every protocol, every clearance, every exit interview had been double-checked, leaving no room for later claims of wrongful dismissal.

Hyejin’s gaze drifted to the window. From this angle, she could just see a sliver of the memorial room, the flicker of the incense candles outlining the bowed head in the portrait. Sungmin’s eyes, caught in the grainy photograph, always seemed gentler than she remembered. She blinked, looking away before the memory could catch her off guard.

“One more thing,” she said, soft but unmistakable. “I want someone placed on discretionary observation of Kwan.”

There was a pause. “Kwan Jieun, ma’am?”

“Yes.” She pressed her free hand against the cool lacquer of the sideboard, feeling the tension in her shoulders gather and tighten. “I don’t care what private arrangements she makes on her own time, but I want a record of them.”

“Understood. And… Yejun as well?”

Hyejin hesitated, her lips parting before she let them settle again in a line. The thought unsettled her. It felt invasive, almost insulting to the boy who had spent so many years trying so hard to be what she asked of him. But she could not allow sentiment to make her shortsighted. Her parents had finally managed to separate him from her. She couldn’t let them win, not let them undo everything she had fought so hard for.

“Yes,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “Both of them. If something is happening, I want to know.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She listened to the soft rustle of papers, the click of a pen somewhere far away. If there was nothing amiss, she would apologize to Yejun herself. If there was, she would fix it before it could hurt him or the family. That was her role. Her responsibility.

“Chairman Lim,” her secretary said after a moment, “is there anything else you require?”

“No,” she murmured, her hand curling around the edge of the sideboard. “That’s all. Thank you.”

She ended the call and set the phone down, feeling the weight of it echo up her arm. For a few heartbeats, she let herself breathe in the hush of the lounge. Outside the door, her family would be settling into the last courses of the meal. No doubt Taehyun would have already noted her absence and begun composing the polite excuses he would offer if asked.

She didn’t care.

Her gaze drifted back to the faint sliver of the memorial room visible through the frosted glass. She could almost imagine Sungmin there, one hand tucked in his pocket, that mild smile in place as he tried to reassure her it would all work out.

But Sungmin wasn’t here. She was, and she would not fail Yejun the same way she failed her brother. 

Not this time.

***

Yejun stepped carefully out of the elevator, his gaze skimming the glossy directory just inside the lobby. The building smelled faintly of new paint and polished concrete: clean, modern, a little sterile. Haemin paused beside him, adjusting the strap of her handbag as she studied his face.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” she said mildly.

“I’m fine,” he lied, though his voice came out thinner than he’d meant. “Just… thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking all day..” Haemin’s hand brushed his shoulder. “If you hate all of them, you can say so.”

“I don’t hate them,” Yejun said quickly. “I just… I don’t know. It feels strange.”

“Always does,” Haemin grinned and he managed a weak smile, as they followed the leasing agent down the hall to the corner unit. The woman gestured to the keypad, murmured the unlock code, and stepped aside to let them in.

The place was bright. Big windows lined one wall, and from the threshold, Yejun could see the Han River glimmering silver between the buildings. Pale oak floors stretched across an open living space. The kitchen was small but sleek, all matte white cabinets and integrated appliances. In the corner, a sliding door opened onto a narrow balcony.

Haemin walked in first, her heels soft on the polished floor. “It smells new.”

“It is,” the agent said. “The complex only opened two months ago.”

Yejun stepped inside. The air felt almost too clean, like a showroom instead of somewhere people actually lived. He set his hand lightly on the kitchen counter, feeling how cool it was beneath his palm, as if the whole place hadn’t yet absorbed any trace of real life.

He tried to picture himself here: coming in late from work, setting down his keys, putting water on for tea. It felt impossible, like imagining someone else’s story. He didn’t want this; he wanted to return to the estate, to return to his room. To cry and tell his mother the truth, to let her handle it and let him go back to his life. 

But he couldn’t.

“At least the air’s decent,” she said over her shoulder. “Some of the other buildings we looked at smelled like old varnish.”

“It’s nice,” Yejun murmured, though his voice still felt small in the wide, echoing space. He trailed past the kitchen into what would be the main bedroom. There was a built-in wardrobe along one wall and another window that framed a view of rooftops and a distant slice of the river. The light was clean and bright, not like the filtered hush of the main house.

Haemin joined him a moment later. She didn’t say anything, just folded her arms and watched his face. He could feel her assessing him, the way she always had since they were children. No judgment, just quiet concern.

“Do you want to see the rest?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he said, even though he was still trying to make sense of the first room.

They moved back through the hallway, the leasing agent politely pointing out the details: underfloor heating, triple glazing, a coded parcel room downstairs. Yejun nodded when it seemed appropriate, but his mind felt distant. He kept imagining all the contingencies he would need if the plan failed. How he had lied to get this freedom and how he might have to start over from nothing.

By the time they stepped back into the living area, Haemin turned to the leasing agent with her polite, professional smile. “We’ll need a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Once the door clicked shut behind the woman, Haemin’s expression softened. She took a slow breath, like she was deciding how much of herself to show him.

“You know, Seoyeon and I were thinking about staying in Seoul a little longer.”

He looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“She’s opening her own boutique. We weren’t certain, but apparently her mother approved it,” Haemin said with a small smile. “And honestly, I think it’s time we spent more time here. We’ve been away too long. Staying  for a while will be good for both of us.”

Yejun smiled with her words. Even if he couldn’t tell her everything, it was nice to know she’d be nearby. He glanced back at the window, letting his gaze rest on the pale glimmer of the river. For the first time since he’d started this, he felt a small, solid place inside him steadying. This… he would like it here.

“That’s… I’m glad,” he said quietly. His voice didn’t tremble the way he half-feared it would. “I’ve missed you.”

Haemin’s smile deepened, warm and lopsided the way it had been when they were children. “I’ve missed you, too. And I’m glad you said it first.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. The sound was small but real, and some of the tightness in his chest loosened.