#21 Venting Anger, Exposure Training 1
Seizing the moment while Harin was still asleep, Yuchan slipped out to a nearby mart and picked up some basic ingredients. He simmered fusilli pasta in a plain chicken broth for chicken noodle soup—a light, stomach-soothing dish with barely any seasoning, perfect as both his breakfast and her restorative meal.
He sliced onions thin and sautéed them in butter until they turned caramel-colored, then added diced carrots and broccoli. On the induction burner beside it, bay leaves, whole peppercorns, and just a pinch of curry powder simmered with chicken breast. It was a process to draw out impurities while infusing flavor deep into the meat.
He skimmed the fat from the broth and tossed in a block of chicken stock. If he'd had more time, he'd have simmered chicken bones from scratch, but for now, the stock would do. Once the broth had some depth, he added the vegetables and the briefly blanched fusilli, letting it bubble gently.
Harin wandered into the kitchen right as the sharp onion-butter aroma faded, replaced by the subtle savoriness of chicken. He'd washed her last night after they'd rubbed against each other until they were both exhausted, then tucked her into bed as she was. She wore a V-neck slip dress similar to the one he'd torn yesterday.
Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she froze at the sight of Yuchan cooking. The faint wine-red silhouette flickered at the edge of his vision, so he paused, ladling some broth into a small ceramic tasting bowl.
"Want to taste? It's chicken noodle soup. Made it bland like you like."
Harin just stared at him, ignoring his outstretched arm. Suppressed memories flooded back. Yuchan used to invite her over when she was worn out body and soul, treating her to gourmet meals. They were always exquisite, but more than that, sitting across from him and eating what he'd made filled her with happiness.
"My arm's getting tired. Take it already."
At his playful urging, she accepted the bowl and touched it lightly to her tongue. Nothing fancy or luxurious, but it brimmed with care. Skimmed meticulously to avoid greasiness for breakfast, the soup was crystal clear. Processed to eliminate any off-flavors she hated, it could pass for a vegetable dish aside from its umami depth. Curry lingered softly behind the butter and pepper, whetting the appetite. Simple, but warm.
Harin's nose tingled unexpectedly. She couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe joy at glimpsing his old self again—or anxiety that even this was just another deception.
"It's delicious. Let me help set the table."
"Just sitting there helps. You're hopeless at housework. Remember how many plates you broke in my place?"
"I-I'm way better now!"
"Every one you shattered was Rosenthal. Sit quietly."
His genuine horror left her no choice but to settle for pulling side dishes from the fridge. Soon, beautifully plated chicken noodle soup arrived in single-serving bowls. He'd saved some color-vibrant veggies for garnish, blanching them lightly atop—the kind of subtle finesse that hinted at his skill.
"Itadakimasu."
Since that day she'd lost everything, her heart hadn't felt this serene. Ironically, the source of this peace was Yuchan, the one who'd stripped it all away. Praying silently for this false tranquility to last forever, Harin slowly brought the soup to her lips.
2. Morning coffee after breakfast was one of Yuchan's favorite rituals, doubly so with a pretty girl tucked against his side. Harin, who'd clumsily brewed it herself, sat demurely beside him, watching him sip.
After utterly breaking her, he'd enjoyed tormenting her futile attempts at normalcy. Quiet moments like this between just the two of them were rare lately.
"How is it?"
"Delicious."
Last night, they'd gone at it more than four times. She'd clutched him tight, moaning his name sweetly, leaving scratches all over his back. She'd kept some distance before, but now she obeyed like his wife.
He couldn't fathom why, but he could guess. Exhaustion. Hating and resenting him gained her nothing. Amid her tangled love-hate, her subconscious had tipped toward love, he figured.
Not that he'd treat her any differently. Morning mellowed his savagery; playing normal couple now and then wasn't so bad. Though with her husband in the picture, they were anything but normal.
"You not having any?"
"I'll have mine later. More importantly..."
Harin gazed at him with veiled intent, her conflicted eyes reflecting him in his pajamas.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
The vague question screamed her motive. After last night's screams, her rekindled lust still craved him. Had she forgotten his slippery demeanor, the threats, his atrocities? Ethics be damned for a married woman.
"Then do me a favor."
No sooner had he spoken than she slipped between his legs on the sofa. She lifted her hips to make it easy, and he yanked his pants to his knees. Her ringed hand fished his cock from his underwear. Even soft, it dwarfed her husband's.
She bit her lip at the vulgar thought, self-mocking, but guided it slowly to her mouth anyway. Before, guilt had tainted these acts. Now? Sucking another man's cock to hardness—pregnant with his child, husband or no—that depravity fueled her arousal.
How foolish to think she'd lost everything. Yuchan remained. Only he offered this sweet, perilous pleasure. Embracing her fall, she savored his cock filling her mouth.
"Still so good at it."
"Hmrph... You taught me from the start, Yuchan."
Not fully hard yet, he felt every inch of her mouth. Her softer tongue and mucosa enveloped his pliant shaft. Her tongue probed under his natural foreskin, swapping slick saliva in a lewd deep kiss with his dick.
Less than a minute in, it swelled to full glory. Each throbbing pulse sent jolts to her core. Knowing it was wrong only heightened the thrill. His uncharacteristically gentle head-stroking ignited her service instinct, that pet-like desire to be cherished.
"Haah... Impressive for morning."
Cupping her jaw like a treasure as she gripped him, he lifted her for a deep, molten kiss. Her body melted under his sensual tongue work. Years of defiance, and now even her heart had surrendered.
It should've felt better. Irritated instead, he seized her nape roughly and pulled her off.
"Why are you acting like this? Nothing's changed."
He had to ask. Riding this mood to sex would blur everything.
"Nothing's changed. It's just like before— you dominating, one obedient bitch submitting."
It must hurt from his grip, but she answered calmly, even lowering her shoulders to offer her neck, eyeing him provocatively. The eerie pressure made him sigh.
"Don't expect me to change, no matter what you do."
"You never will. You'll dangle strings, make puppets dance to your tune, and smirk. Just like always."
"Then why bother?"
"If you like it, I'll dance. Even if it's pathetic, even if you mock my stupidity—that's my love."
"..."
Yuchan was silver-tongued, thriving as a counselor by stirring hearts. But this left him speechless. Absurdity.
Women who learned his nature fled in disgust, hating him. Even bodily submission wasn't love—just compromise with inevitability.
"You're pathetic. Far more than someone like me."
Her gentle voice clashed discordantly. Second woman to pity him; the first was gone. Straight compassion for a monster like him was alien—and unpleasant. A mere sheep pitying the wolf? Preposterous.
He'd mocked his father's chosen-one complex, yet here he was influenced still. Shoving stray thoughts aside, he gripped her slender neck. Impulse surged.
Her pristine canvas felt muddied. Snapping a frail woman's neck was no harder than plucking a rose. Evidence? Aftermath? Irrelevant in the heat.
"You'll die like that."
"Kill me after the baby. Your irresponsible seed made it, but it's my greatest treasure."
She, who once trembled at raised voices, spoke evenly despite his bloodshot glare. Love's power? Mother's resolve? His anger fizzled, grip slackening. He shoved her away, dressing hastily.
Her words from yesterday echoed: Are you running away? He'd denied it. He'd faced every peril, thrilling in near-death games.
But this? Turning tail in fear?
Harin watched him prepare wordlessly until he twisted the door open.
"I'll call when the house empties again."
Ignoring her, he slammed it and took the elevator to the underground garage. In the car, far from her, he realized his movements were far rougher than usual. Uncontrolled irritation demanded a cigarette.
Everything off-script. He'd planned to savor her body until tonight. Now? He might actually kill her.
Worse, she offered her neck knowing it. Rebellion or fear might've spared this mood.
He lit up, desperate for distraction. He needed fresh prey like early Harin—raw, vibrant reactions.
Phone in hand, he called. Seohyun picked up before the second ring.
"Haa... What?"
"Where are you?"
"On set. You monitor everything anyway—why pretend?"
"Call when you're done."
He checked her studio location via app. The SUV glided out of the garage like silk on ice.