The Master's Leash
On the way home in Manager Park's car, no conversation passes between the two. He cranks up the radio and hums along, while Seoyeon simply stares out the window at the passing scenery.
Left alone in the empty apartment, she heads straight to the bathroom again and washes her body. Then she lies in bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. There's no relief from having saved her husband. She just senses that a deeper hell has only just begun.
The next evening, Cheolsu returns from his business trip. The sound of the front door opening makes her body stiffen involuntarily. She's spent the whole day agonizing over how to face him, but found no answers.
"Honey, I'm home!"
Cheolsu's voice echoes brightly from the living room as he enters—far more cheerful and lively than when he left. The heavy shadow that had weighed on him is gone, replaced by the face of her old, ordinary, kind husband. Seeing that innocent expression confirms what Manager Park said was true. Her entertaining had been a success. Her husband is saved.
But the price is hers alone to bear.
"You must've had a tough time, honey."
"Look, I bought this on the way home because I was thinking of you."
Cheolsu holds out a small box of walnut pastries. At this ordinary, everyday kindness, a surge of inexplicable anger wells up in Seoyeon. He'll never know what she's gone through. But knowing it's not his fault, she swallows her boiling emotions and forces a smile.
"Thanks. Go wash up quick—I'll set the table for dinner."
That night, as they lie side by side in bed, an awkward silence flows between them. Cheolsu looks relaxed for the first time in ages, all his burdens lifted. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and whispers in her ear.
"Honey..."
His hand moves softly toward her breast. Rejected last time over fatigue, he wants to make love with his wife tonight. But the moment his touch reaches her, Seoyeon flinches involuntarily. The red marks left by Manager Park still linger vividly across her body. She can't let her husband see them.
"Honey... sorry. I'm just really tired today..."
She gently pushes his hand away, refusing him tactfully. Cheolsu's face hardens for a moment.
"Again? You said you were tired last time too. Did I do something wrong?"
Hurt and a hint of irritation mix in his voice. Seoyeon knows he has no idea this is all for his sake. It's not his fault. But seeing him express grievance without knowing her plight, her suppressed emotions erupt.
"I said I'm tired!"
Her sharp retort makes Cheolsu's face freeze in wounded shock. Seeing it, she immediately regrets it.
"No, honey, sorry... that's not what I—"
But the words are already spilled. Without a reply, Cheolsu turns his back to her and lies down. Like a sulking child, his rigidly stiffened back speaks volumes about the distance between them. Seoyeon doesn't apologize further. She quietly turns away too, showing him her back as she lies there. In the cold silence, she tries to sleep with her eyes open toward the darkness, tears streaming soundlessly.
The next day is Saturday—a weekend morning when Cheolsu doesn't go to work, meant to be ordinary. But the air in the house is anything but. Only the clink of spoons and bowls echoes awkwardly at the table; no words pass between them. Last night's cold war has erected an invisible, transparent wall.
Cheolsu glances at his wife several times, trying awkwardly to speak, but Seoyeon gives curt replies, deliberately avoiding him. She can't reconcile. Reconciliation would lead to intimacy, and her body still bears the humiliating marks left by Manager Park, sharp and clear. She's terrified he'll discover these horrific traces. Terrified of how he'll look at her then.
Every space in the house feels like a prison. The living room where they watch TV together, the table where they eat side by side—she has to escape this suffocating place.
"Where are you going?"
Cheolsu asks as she finishes the dishes and heads to the entryway.
"Yeah. Meeting a friend for a bit."
She doesn't want to make any more excuses to him. Cheolsu asks nothing else. But once outside, Seoyeon has nowhere to go. Masked in a black one that covers most of her face, topped with a hat, she wanders aimlessly through the familiar neighborhood streets.
The weekend afternoon streets buzz with life: couples holding hands, children laughing over ice cream, ordinary housewives heading home with market bags. All that peaceful scenery feels like a tale from another world to her now. Once cheered by throngs of fans, she's become a pathetic ghost haunting her own neighborhood, homeless in spirit.
Then her phone buzzes briefly in her pocket. It's Manager Park.
The typical ajusshi texting style. The smiley emoji at the end disgusts her more than anything.
He's invading her weekend now, her neighborhood, her most private time—like it's nothing. Not a casual check-in, but a master yanking a leash.
She can't ignore it. With a short, curt reply, she texts back.
On any other day, she'd refuse, saying her husband's home this weekend and today won't work. But not today. She's already fled the house to avoid him, drifting the streets without destination. And anyway, she no longer has the right to refuse.
Seoyeon turns off her phone screen with utter resignation. Then, slowly—oh so slowly—she turns her steps toward the station where he waits.
Not resistance, not anger. Just a doll moving without will, following the prescribed path.
At the station entrance, a familiar black sedan sits with its hazard lights flashing. Manager Park. The moment she spots the car, her feet turn to stone. She wants to run. But against her will, like iron drawn to a magnet, her body moves toward it.
As she approaches, the passenger door clicks open with a clunk. Manager Park watches her from inside, saying nothing. Just the silent pressure to get in.
Seoyeon climbs in quietly. The door shuts, and the car pulls away smoothly. He turns on the radio, humming to the old pop song. He doesn't speak a word to her. As if she's not even there beside him. The dismissal and contempt make her feel even more wretched.
The car heads a different direction than before. Leaving central Seoul behind, it veers into quieter outskirts. The unfamiliar scenery flashing by heightens her anxiety.
"Where... are we going?"
Seoyeon breaks the silence. Only then does Manager Park glance at her.
"You'll see when we get there."
He answers curtly, focusing back on driving. A leisurely smile of total dominion plays on his profile.
How much farther do they go? The car pulls into the underground parking lot of a new officetel building tucked in a shadowy, secluded spot by a quiet riverside road. He parks expertly and kills the engine.
"Get out."
He exits first, jerking his chin at her. Seoyeon follows wordlessly. He takes the elevator to the top floor. At the door at the end of the hall, he punches in the code and opens it.
It seems like his private secret space. The spacious living room holds a luxury leather sofa and marble table; one wall is floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the serene river view. Beautiful scenery—but to Seoyeon, it's just a cold prison.
"How's this? Way better than that tacky unmanned motel the other day, right?"
Manager Park tosses his jacket onto the sofa.
"Figured a girl like you hasn't seen places like this, so I took you to the motel for a novel experience, haha."
His words chill the blood in her veins. He heads to the kitchen, returning with an expensive-looking bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.
"Sit comfortably."
He pours red wine into her glass with a brazen grin.
"Won't be as rough as the other night. Don't worry."
But his words offer no comfort. Seoyeon takes the glass he offers, trembling hands fighting to hide as she perches precariously on the edge of the sofa, wondering what fresh humiliation awaits her tonight.