Chapter 34
Hye-seon also felt Hye-jeong's presence and opened her eyes. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen, and her eyes were red and swollen.
The two sisters lay side by side on the bed, looking at each other's faces.
Only heavy silence filled the room. Normally, greetings like "Did you sleep well?" or "How are you feeling?" would have been exchanged, but now, not a single word escaped their lips.
No, they couldn't.
The memories were all too vivid.
The frantic hours when they were violated, one after another, and simultaneously, by Minho, their son and nephew.
Even knowing that the secretaries were listening outside, their disgraceful behavior of screaming louder and begging for pleasure.
And even those immoral moments when they were aroused by seeing Minho's bodily fluids on each other's bodies.
Hye-jeong's gaze lingered on the red kiss mark imprinted on Hye-seon's neck.
Hye-seon's gaze lingered on Minho's handprint left on Hye-jeong's chest.
As they stared at each other for a long time, shame, guilt, and a sticky sense of camaraderie over the inescapable pleasure underlying it all, intertwined in their eyes.
It was Hye-seon who first broke the sticky, heavy silence.
In a voice hoarse and cracked, she abruptly threw out a question that, though out of the blue, was the most important between the two of them.
"But... older sister."
"......Why?"
"Who won the bet?"
The bet.
A childish and secret competition between the sisters, waged over Minho's ownership, about who could satisfy him more, or who would have him all to themselves.
Even when they were heading to the conference room, the two of them had eyed each other, dreaming of being the victor.
Hye-jeong stared blankly at the ceiling. A dazzling chandelier caught her eye, but in her mind, only the image of herself, howling like an animal on the conference room floor and begging her son, came to mind.
Who won?
Hye-jeong, who accepted him first? Or Hye-seon, who seduced him again?
Hye-jeong let out a weak, hollow laugh. Debating victory or defeat was laughable in itself.
"It's a draw...."
"......"
"We both lost. Thoroughly."
Hye-jeong slowly turned her head and looked towards the door. The door was closed, but it felt as if the victor, who dominated this entire situation, was leisurely waiting beyond it.
"The only one who won... is our son."
Those words were not a simple declaration of defeat. They were a kind of surrender document, redefining their future relationship.
Hye-seon nodded, a bitter smile on her face, at her older sister's words.
"Agreed."
She gripped the bedsheet and laboriously pushed herself up. Then, she felt a heavy foreign sensation gush out from between her legs.
"Hngh..."
Hye-seon frowned and squeezed her legs together. The sticky traces Minho had planted deep within her uterus couldn't defy gravity and were flowing down her thighs.
Hye-jeong, who was beside her, was in the same state. As she tried to get off the bed, her trembling legs wouldn't obey, and she swayed.
"Haa... that boy, how much did he ram in...."
The two women supported each other as they headed to the bathroom.
Hot streams of water from the shower washed away their bodies, which were covered in sweat and semen.
The naked bodies of the two sisters reflected in the mirror were a pathetic sight. Red handprints and kiss marks left by Minho were etched all over their chests, buttocks, and thighs, like medals.
They silently scrubbed each other's backs. Seeing the bruises revealed through the soap suds, the two women felt a strange sense of camaraderie, along with a renewed immoral throbbing sensation below.
"Phew... now I feel like I can live again."
A while later, the two, having finished their refreshing showers, put on their robes and came out into the living room.
Hye-jeong, who was drying her wet hair with a towel as she came out, suddenly stopped.
"......"
A plush sofa sat in the middle of the living room. On it, the culprit of this entire situation, the conqueror who had brought down two queens, was fast asleep, oblivious to the world.
Minho was fast asleep, one arm over his eyes, his shirt unbuttoned. The image of the predator who had been thrusting his hips like an animal and driving them to their limits in the conference room just moments ago was nowhere to be seen.
What was before their eyes now was just an innocent boy, tired from play and asleep, or like a 'baby tiger'.
A smile naturally spread across Hye-jeong's lips. His face was infuriatingly peaceful, but even that sight was so lovely she couldn't bear it.
"He has such stamina. We're practically dying, but he's sleeping so soundly all by himself."
Hye-seon, who followed her out, also let out a hollow laugh as soon as she saw Minho sleeping. But her gaze was also as sweet as dripping honey.
She carefully approached, picked up the blanket that had fallen below the sofa, and placed it over Minho's stomach.
"Sleep well, our Master-nim."
Hye-seon whispered playfully, yet sincerely. The two sisters silently looked down at the sleeping Minho for a moment. Now, a bond of camaraderie, not as rivals but as partners serving one man together, enveloped the two of them.
*Grrr...*
Breaking the silence, a small sound came from Hye-jeong's stomach. It was the natural hunger that followed strenuous exercise. Hye-jeong rubbed her stomach, seemingly embarrassed, and looked at Hye-seon.
"Hye-seon."
"Yes, older sister."
"You're... staying for dinner, right?"
"......Yes. It's no fun eating alone, is it?"
Hye-seon nodded silently, and rolled up the sleeves of her robe. It was a strange yet romantic scene: the sisters, owners of buildings across the land, rolling up their sleeves and heading to the kitchen themselves, all for one man.
"Shall I show off my skills after a long time? I heard Minho likes stew."
"I'll grill the meat. He used up a lot of energy, so we need to replenish it."
The two women entered the kitchen side by side and opened the refrigerator. The clatter of dishes and the rhythmic chopping sound on the cutting board peacefully filled the living room. The sounds seemed like a lullaby for Minho.
Minho's consciousness, as he lay on the sofa, was falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of sleep. His body was weary and warm. The subtle scent of the diffuser and the skin scent of the two women who had embraced him just moments ago lingered at the tip of his nose. A comfort that couldn't be more perfect. But as his consciousness deepened, that comfort slowly began to transform into a cold, damp sensation.
*Pitter-patter-*
It was the sound of rain. Not the elegant rain tapping against the window. It was the sound of heavy downpour, hitting his helmet, piercing through his cheap raincoat, and chilling him to the bone.
(Huh...?)
Minho opened his eyes. There was no dazzling chandelier, no plush sofa. All he could see was a sky stained gray, and black asphalt, slick and glistening with rain.
"The delivery's late! When are you coming?!"
"Hey! Aren't you going to ride that motorcycle properly? Do you want to die?"
Sharp horns and people's curses buzzed and pierced his ears. It was familiar. A scene so terribly familiar it made him nauseous. That was the 'original world' he so desperately wanted to escape.
(Ah, no... I hate it....)
He tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey. He was tied to an old delivery motorcycle, dangerously speeding through the rainy streets.
The world seen beyond his helmet shield was cold and indifferent. No one called him 'Young Master', and no woman cast a gaze of desire upon him. He was merely a consumable item, used and discarded. A 'pauper', a being worse than a pebble on the roadside.
*Screech-! Crash!*
With a flash, a terrible impact struck his entire body. His body was flung into the air, then thrown onto the cold ground. He felt hot blood flowing onto the asphalt. More terrifying than the pain was someone's voice, heard within his slowly fading consciousness.
[Give it back....]
From the darkness, another 'me', covered in blood, crawled out. It was the 'real Kim Minho', dressed in a luxury suit, with an aristocratic face. He stood beside my crumpled motorcycle, looking down at me with cold eyes.
"Ah, no! I hate it! Aaaargh!!"
"Gasp!"
I snapped my eyes open with a scream. My heart pounded as if it would break my ribs, and my entire body was drenched in cold sweat.
"Haa... haa... haa...."
I gasped for breath and looked around. There was no gray sky, no cold asphalt. What met my eyes was the dazzling chandelier on the high ceiling and the spacious living room illuminated by soft indirect lighting.
"A dream... was it a dream...."
I ran a trembling hand over my face. The cold sweat on my palm was chilling. It was too vivid. The smell of rain, the metallic scent of blood, and that gaze that scorned me.
*Clatter. Sizzle-*
Just then, from the kitchen, the savory smell of food being stir-fried wafted over, along with the sound of cooking. The rich aroma of doenjang jjigae and the smell of grilling meat. It was a warm, realistic 'scent of wealth' that instantly covered the stench of the nightmare.
I stared blankly towards the kitchen. Beyond the translucent glass partition, I could see Hye-jeong and Hye-seon standing side by side, cooking. The top 1% women of Korea, wearing aprons and preparing dinner, solely for me.
(Yes... this is reality. I haven't gone back.)
A wave of relief washed over me, but beneath it lay a persistent, sediment-like anxiety.
The Prince and the Pauper. In the fairy tale, the pauper enjoys luxury for a while, wearing the prince's clothes. But he knows. The moment he takes off the clothes, he will become nothing again. I was no different.