The Uninvited Guest
One month later, Cheolsu's project achieves resounding success. The team-wide celebration dinner turns into a frenzy of revelry. As they hit the second and third rounds, most employees vanish into the dawn mist, but the star of the show, Cheolsu, lingers, buoyed by a pleasant buzz that keeps him glued to his seat.
Park, on the other hand, holds his liquor like a champ. He downs bomb shots one after another without a flicker in his expression, perfectly pacing himself. He drapes an arm around Cheolsu, who's about 50% sloshed, and whispers low.
"Kim, you really killed it today. Shame to call it quits now. I'd love to chat all night with a sharp subordinate like you."
"No, sir... I should really head home..." Cheolsu thinks of Seoyeon and tries to beg off politely.
But Park tightens his grip on Cheolsu's shoulder, refusing to let go. "What, drawing a line already just 'cause you succeeded? You making me uncomfortable? I'm hurt. Can't let a night like this slip by. Let's head to your place for one proper celebratory shot. Gotta give your wife—our dear sister-in-law—my thanks properly too."
It's pressure he can't refuse. Cheolsu figures dodging now would brand him petty. He nods reluctantly.
Only once they're in the taxi does Cheolsu call his wife.
"Honey... it's me... Heading home now... with Director Park..."
His voice, soaked in alcohol. The image of Park beside him flashes in Seoyeon's mind, and her tone drops icy cold.
"Now? At this hour?" Disgust and rejection seep through unmistakably. "...Do you have to, honey?"
"Sorry... Director Park... couldn't say no. He swears just one drink, then gone. Sorry, honey..."
His voice over the line brims with desperation and regret. Seoyeon sighs deeply and hangs up.
Minutes later, the doorbell rings. Seoyeon steels her face into cool indifference and opens the door. Park stands there, supporting a happily tipsy Cheolsu.
"Sister-in-law, sorry for the late hour. I've been terribly rude."
"Not at all. Come in." Her voice is a tone lower than usual, her face smile-free. She's forcing politeness, but her reluctance hangs heavy in the air.
She hands Park slippers and helps settle Cheolsu on the sofa.
"Only cheese and fruit—will that do?"
"Haha, of course. Anything from you tastes divine."
Seoyeon brings simple snacks and whiskey. Glasses fill for the three. She doesn't want to drink, but knows refusing here would scream rudeness. Park tops off Cheolsu's glass and continues.
"You've got top marks in the performance review locked in, Kim. I pushed hard for you. Team leader promotion's a done deal too."
"Really... thank you so much, sir!" Relief, burden, and pressure mix as Cheolsu gulps like water.
Seoyeon watches her husband anxiously. A few more rounds pass, then Park finally turns to her.
Right then—Cheolsu's head drops with a thud. He slumps against the sofa and falls dead asleep.
Seoyeon startles at the sudden turn. Heavy silence blankets the living room. Park breaks it casually.
"Tsk tsk, guy's tension snapped. Sister-in-law, just you and me now—let's finish this drink."
He tsks at sleeping Cheolsu, then chats on as if nothing's changed. Naturally, he refills Seoyeon's glass. Now it's just the two of them, perfectly alone.
Park eyes her with far more relaxed, brazen gaze. Seoyeon wants to bolt, but can't coldly eject the man pivotal to her husband's success. She lifts her glass grudgingly.
"Y'know, looking at you... it's wild. You're just Kim's wife now, but a few years back, you were Ciel, making every guy in Korea's heart race."
Seoyeon stays silent. Idol-era flattery like this wore thin long ago. But hearing her old stage name from her husband's boss stirs something subtle.
"I was mid-forties then, and even old guys like me knew Ciel. TV on? Channel stayed glued. Not like these kids now—you had aura."
"...Thank you."
Short, businesslike. Not warming up—just social grace. Park presses on, unfazed by her chill.
"Tons of execs our age were your fans. They still remember. When Kim said he was marrying the legendary Ciel? Jaws dropped. Everyone stared at him."
No lie there. Post-announcement, Cheolsu was a company celeb for weeks. Seoyeon sips indifferently, but her ears burn.
"Hate to say it to Cheolsu, but sometimes I think... a woman that incredible, cooped up in this cozy home? Kinda wasteful."
"My choice."
She cuts him off—a silent warning: no more past-talk tangles. Park nods with a knowing smile, getting it.
"Sure. Wise one too. How do I know? 'Cause..." He pauses, locks eyes. "...Kim's success this time? He worked hard, sure—but truth is, it's all thanks to you. Home's comfy, you holding it down strong—that's what powers him out there. I know."
Unexpected strike. Ciel-praise bounces off; but praising her as Cheolsu's supportive wife? Hard to counter. Her husband's win matters to her, and this man's the key enabler. Revulsion and duty tangle inside. Unthinkingly, she pours Park's empty glass.
A calculated courtesy to the boss who aided her man's rise—and recognized her role. But as she pours, Park's satisfied gaze licks her wrist relentlessly.
"See? You get it, sister-in-law."
Praise or insult? He takes the glass, downs her pour in one go, then leans deep into the sofa back. Their gap shrinks an inch. His hand climbs the backrest, landing casually right behind her shoulder.
Seoyeon feels his body heat at her back, straightens instinctively.
"This glass is small. Whiskey doesn't shine right."
He grumbles, rises, heads to the cabinet. Pulls two wide whiskey tumblers. Holds one to the light, frowns.
"Whoa, dusty rim."
He wipes the edge with a finger. The instant Seoyeon's gaze flicks to sleeping Cheolsu, thinking no one's watching—he darts his tongue sly, quick over the thumb-obscured rim.
Seoyeon whips her head back. So fast, she doubts her eyes. Hallucination? But his smug lip-curl and the faint hand-tremor confirm her horrific suspicion.
Park acts oblivious, fills that glass with ice and golden whiskey. Offers it to her politely.
"Here, sister-in-law. My turn to pour. Call it... a toast to our secretive future. Haha, kidding."
Seoyeon freezes. Her eyes lock on the glass. That clear rim—smeared with his saliva. Drinking it? An indirect kiss. Nausea surges. She glances at sleeping Cheolsu—peaceful, oblivious. To protect that face, his success—she's here tonight.
Her hand rises slow, so slow, wraps the glass. Fingertips tremble faintly. Park doesn't miss it. His eyes gleam with greedy thrill.
Seoyeon brings it to her lips. Squeezes her eyes shut. Long lashes quiver. She feels the cold smooth glass—and vividly, impossibly, his wet tongue—then pours the whiskey down her throat.
The burn scorches. Shame brings tears pricking. Park watches, lips curling wicked. Heat rises from his gut. The haughty beauty sips from his spit-rimmed glass, clueless. Like smearing secret filth on a holy goddess—taboo ecstasy floods him. Her poise before him, blind to the violation? That dissonance drives him wild.
Then—too harsh liquor? Or bottled humiliation bursting? Seoyeon coughs mid-swallow. A drop of golden whiskey escapes, trails her full lower lip, beads on the tiny mole just below.
That mole. Park swallows dry. No mere dot—from Ciel's idol days, the "sexy point" that maddened men. Close-ups, photos: red lipstick contrast exploding sensuality. Legend—guys fantasized licking it sleepless.
Now, her lip-spilled whiskey jewels it like a gem. To Park, purest erotica: flushed shame-cheeks, tight lips, precarious droplet glow.
Ciel... Past fantasy crashes into present flesh. TV goddess, now swallowing his humiliation, spilling before him. That drop—like her tears. His sweet tears.
Park clenches his fist to cage bursting arousal. Leans forward casually. "Aigoo, sister-in-law. Too strong?" His thick thumb extends, wipes the whiskey from her chin—up to press that mole firm, then blunt-rubs her lower lip.
Seoyeon's blood ices over. Revulsion curls her lip in instinctively—but his finger's already memorized her lip and mole's feel.
Park settles back casually. Then—slow, so slow—brings that thumb (her whiskey, her saliva trace) to his mouth. Smack—sucks it loud. His eyes bore into her, lewd satisfaction sparkling.
Seoyeon can't take more. She rises, tucks blanket to Cheolsu's chin. Clear "end" signal.
"Sir, husband's out cold. Too late anyway. Let's call it."
Calm voice, steel resolve beneath.
Park feigns regret. "Already? Just getting fun. Could talk to you all night."
"Plenty of chances later. You must be tired—head home."
She parries softly. No anger, no snap—just impeccable courtesy slamming the door on more talk.
Park knows he can't push her iron wall. He smacks his lips in regret, stands. "Haha, alright. If you say stop, we stop."
Seoyeon escorts to the door. Before it shuts, his gaze rakes her face once more.
Door closes. Alone in the cold hall, Park stares at it long. Regret gnaws—mad regret. But a satisfied smile plays on his lips.
Tonight, he glimpsed real possibility. A tiny, vivid crack in that haughty queen's fortress.
He turns slow, savoring the whiskey's taste—and her lip's texture. Just the beginning.