Chapter 9: The Haughty Neighbor Wife Caught Shoplifting at the Mart
She was clearly trying to close the elevator doors before I could get in. But I slipped inside faster than they could shut.
"For real..." she grumbled.
I'd arrived first and even stepped aside to let her board ahead, but she shot me a look of utter contempt.
"Let's go up together. I'm in a rush today too."
"I've always wanted to say this—have you ever thought about how uncomfortable it makes people to ride with you?"
What the hell had I done wrong? What was her problem? This woman... Part of me wanted to tell her to just spit it out already, but there was no need to pick a fight. Besides, that haughty look on her face was about to come to an end.
The elevator started rising. I pulled out my smartphone and resumed watching the video.
"Seriously, so noisy... What the hell are you doing in an elevator? Don't you know any public decency—"
The haughty wife threw another jab my way, but her eyes locked onto my phone screen mid-sentence.
"Ah!"
A sharp cry of shock.
"Hmmm..." I played dumb and kept watching.
"Y-you! Why do you have that?"
She seemed at a loss for words.
"That's... that's upskirt footage!! Delete it right now!"
Just like with those kindergarten teachers earlier, she demanded it from me in a bold, sharp voice.
"Right? Upskirt filming... That's a crime... Guess I should report it, huh?"
I flashed her a sly grin.
Ding!
The elevator stopped. I stepped past the trembling neighbor wife and got out first, slipping my phone into my pocket and pressing my thumb to the door lock.
"Wait! Hold on!"
By the time she scrambled out after me, I was already opening the door.
"Gotta hurry inside and make that report."
I didn't forget to add that smug, infuriating tone.
"Wait! I said wait!"
I ignored her shouts and shut the door behind me.
Bang! Bang!
"Open up! Open this door!"
Her frantic voice came from the other side.
"What's the problem? At someone else's house. Making all this noise. The neighbors upstairs and down are gonna hear everything."
"P-please... Open the door. Just a bit."
She stopped pounding and lowered her voice.
"Um... Mister... Neighbor mister..."
First time I'd heard her call me that.
After letting her stew for a bit—long enough to really sweat it—I opened the door.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
She glared at me. Typical—her attitude flipped the second the door opened.
"What?"
I asked with a shit-eating grin.
"That video! Why the fuck did you film it? What are you planning? You think shit like that's okay?"
Anyone overhearing would think I was the villain here. She was so damn confident.
"Delete it right now!"
She still hadn't grasped her situation. Some people are like that. Instead of stepping back to calmly figure out a response to an unexpected crisis, they charge in and make everything worse.
Maybe because I work at a women-dominated company, but I've seen women do this a lot. Not saying women are superior or anything—it's just experience. When shit hits the fan unexpectedly, if you haven't trained for it, you freeze or lash out. A lot of Korean guys go through the military, dealing with all kinds of bullshit, so they're a bit more prepped for chaos. Women don't get that kind of boot camp. In our company, the veterans don't react like this. Once you hit manager level, you try to understand the situation first instead of panicking. You see it more in fresh grads or housewives with little social experience.
And this lofty wife was a prime example. I'd take a step back, think it through, and plan my move. But she was yelling her way out of the crisis barreling toward her.
"Hey! Are you deaf? I'm talking to you!"
At least she'd dialed back from full-on banmal to semi-polite mid-rant. A tiny sign she was starting to get it.
"If you don't delete it right now, I'll report you! You think I'll let this slide? If my husband finds out..."
Time passes, panic fades, and reality sinks in. By dragging her husband into it, she'd finally clocked her predicament.
"Then let's talk it over with your husband."
"Ah. No... That's..."
How many wives in the world would want to tell their husbands they got caught shoplifting? Sure, some couples are on the same level. Hell, that's probably the majority. If the wife's rude, the husband's often a whole other beast—ignorant, shameless, violent. A buddy on the customer service team says dealing with crazy wives is stressful enough, but when the husband calls back, you feel your life flashing before your eyes.
But this wife seemed different.
"Perfect. Your husband works at city hall, right?"
I knew he was a civil servant. A high-up elite one at that. Even a minor family fuck-up could be leverage against someone like him. I don't know the ins and outs of government office politics, but imagine the rumors: "So-and-so's wife, the mayor's secretary, got busted shoplifting at the mart..." How long before that bites him? Sure, if he were the mayor himself, maybe he'd shrug it off. But a secretary? That's a disposable position. Elite from the outside, servant on the inside—replaceable anytime.
And this haughty wife acted all high-and-mighty in public, but at home? Her husband looked older, like he held the power there.
"No! You can't!"
She blurted it out desperately.
"...Please..."
Her face was draining of color.
Love? Fear? Hard to say yet. But dragging her civil servant hubby into this? She could see where that road led.
"I'm begging you. Delete that video... please."
Her voice was much softer now.
"What video are you talking about?"
I played innocent.
"The one from the mart earlier..."
She was visibly shaking now. Rage? Terror?
"Tell me exactly what video you're referring to."
I pressed her again, even as she shot me a venomous glare beneath her pitiful plea. She still had some fight left.
Say it. Admit what you did. With your own mouth.
"The... video of me... shoplifting at the mart."
She bit her lip, forcing the words out.
"Huh? Shoplifting? So you were stealing from the mart?"
I smirked, mocking her.
"Oh yeah! Those kindergarten teachers stopped by earlier, right?"
I tossed in something else she'd hate.
"Ah! No! Absolutely not!"
She jumped like I'd shocked her. Bigger reaction than even mentioning her husband.
"Please, I beg you. I'll go apologize to the kindergarten teachers myself."
"Hmm... You must have me mistaken for someone else. Whatever beef you have with them has nothing to do with me."
"Ugh!"
The lofty neighbor wife finally realized I wasn't after justice or anything noble.
"I don't know anything about it, so just go home already."
I kept grinning the whole time, my face screaming threat, blackmail, ridicule.
"I... I'll do anything."
She collapsed to her knees, clutching my pant leg. She'd finally grasped her place in all this.
"Sorry, but I don't want anything from you."
"Please. If you report it... I'm dead."
"Who said anything about killing someone over one little theft?"
"My husband... my kid... They can't find out. I'd rather die for real..."
Her eyes were bloodshot, brimming with tears ready to spill.
"Fine. I'll delete it. Now go home."
Even after getting what she wanted, she didn't budge—just stared at me.
"What?"
"Spare me."
"I said I'd delete it."
"I can't trust you."
Of course not. I hadn't wiped the smirk off my face even while saying it.
"Sigh. So what now?"
"I don't know."
Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at me.
"Look, I'll delete the video, so go home and calm down. What if your husband sees you making a scene like this?"
She hesitated, then stepped inside, closed the door, and silently grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward the living room.
Her grip wasn't strong enough to resist anyway, so I let her lead me in.
"Delete the video... and I'll do anything."
She glared as she said it.
"Do what? I don't need anything."
"I'll sleep... sleep with you. Will you delete it then?"
There it was—the line I'd been waiting for her to say first.
"Pardon?"
"I'll sleep with you. That work?"
She bit her lip hard.
"Hmmm..."
I pulled my phone from my shirt pocket. The screen was still on, showing the camera feed—recording everything.
Thud!
She dropped the bag from the mart, stuff spilling out. Genuinely shocked.
"What was that again?"
I kept smirking.
"This is bad. Your husband would be thrilled to see this."
"You bastard!"
Her face twisted in a new kind of despair—not just the theft, but offering her body to keep it quiet. Which was worse?
"You vile piece of shit!"
She looked ready to lunge.
"Watch your mouth, or I won't hold back anymore."
I had no intention of respecting her now. The scales had tipped hard the moment I got that shoplifting video. And with a little extra effort, I'd snagged footage of her offering herself up as payment too.
The whole time she talked, my eyes roamed her shamelessly—from face to tits to crotch and back. Lingering, leering. I even licked my lips now and then.
She had eyes—she knew exactly how I was looking at her. That's why she'd jumped straight to the bed talk, assuming that's what I wanted.
"Ahh..."
She got it now. Fully.
"So, shall we negotiate?"
Blackmail and negotiation differ by one syllable—and nothing else. The side with more to lose is fucked. Legally, she might not be doomed, but dragging this to court? With these videos? Her elite civil servant hubby facing rumors of his shoplifting, blackmail-bait wife? Who knows how he'd react—I don't know the guy. But it'd be marital armageddon, no doubt.
She went silent for a moment, staring daggers like I was the scum of the earth.
"Fine. I'll do whatever you say."
Decision made. She bowed her head.
"Hand over your phone first."
I knew she hadn't touched it before coming in—I'd watched via intercom. But she might try recording or voice-memoing now.
"Password? Pattern?"
I asked with a mocking sneer.