The Beginning of the Crack

Seoyeon staggers out of the taxi and makes her way to the apartment entrance on unsteady feet. Her reflection in the elevator mirror is horrifying. The hastily reapplied makeup is streaked with tears, and her eyes stare back empty. During the short ride up, she desperately practices a neutral expression.

She arrives home, and the clock points to 1 a.m. Unlocking the door, she finds Cheolsu sitting on the living room sofa. He has stayed up late, waiting for his wife. "You're late. I was worried—you didn't pick up..." His voice mixes relief and concern.

In truth, while Seoyeon endured that hellish drinking party, Cheolsu called her three times. But with her handbag tossed aside, she never noticed. Even on the taxi ride home, lost in silent tears of shame and rage as she gazed out the window, she remains oblivious to the missed calls.

"Ah... sorry. I left my phone in my bag... didn't notice." Seoyeon sets her bag down, forcing a casual tone.

The strong stench of alcohol wafting from her makes Cheolsu's brow furrow slightly. "You drank a lot... Did something bad happen?" His tone holds no reproach, only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠genuine worry. It's the first time since their marriage that his wife has come home this late, reeking of booze.

"No... just... we met after so long, and the conversation dragged on. Some good news too..." Seoyeon mumbles a feeble lie. Avoiding his eyes, she heads to the kitchen for water.

Cheolsu watches her back and asks cautiously, "Still... I called three times. It must've been loud—really didn't hear? I was freaking out, thinking something was wrong."

"Sorry... really. I must've been too caught up talking."

Her reply is curt, her voice lifeless. So unlike his usual wife. Cheolsu senses something off but decides pressing her would only make it worse.

"I'm exhausted... gonna shower first. Sorry, honey." Dodging more questions, Seoyeon heads straight to the bathroom.

She stands under the scalding shower for ages. No matter how hard she scrubs, the filthy touches and leering gazes from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those men tonight cling to her skin.

Finally toweling off, she enters the bedroom. Cheolsu lies in bed, back turned. Assuming he's asleep, she slips quietly beside him. At last, this endless hellish day is over, she thinks.

Cheolsu, who wasn't asleep, slowly turns. In the darkness, his eyes fix on her. Wordlessly, as if to comfort her, he reaches out, gently cupping her voluptuous breast. He moves to climb atop her naturally.

Seoyeon's body freezes like stone. It's her husband's familiar, tender touch—but tonight, she can't bear it. The Chairman's slimy tongue, the executive's greasy hands, Park's lewd gaze flash before her eyes, churning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her stomach. Instinctively, she grabs his hand and pulls it away.

"Honey... sorry. I'm too tired today... really... I can't."

Her voice softens the refusal, but it's firm. Cheolsu pauses, then silently turns away again, showing his back. Silence stretches between them.

Seoyeon lies awake, eyes open in the dark. She endured that hell today solely to protect her husband. Yet now, she rejects his touch as if it's dirty. She did it for him—so why the guilt toward him? Why does his embrace feel not like sanctuary, but an extension of her shame?

Her emotions feel utterly abnormal, heartbreaking. Quietly, she turns away too, buries her face in the pillow, and forces sleep amid soundless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tears.

The next day—late morning by the time Seoyeon drags herself out of bed. Nightmares leave her body heavy as cotton. Cheolsu has already left for work.

Pacing the empty apartment, memories of last night make her shudder involuntarily. Then her phone buzzes shortly. It's Park.

Seoyeon flips the screen away the instant she sees it. Just his name nauseates her. She ignores the message.

Minutes later, another arrives.

It's a threat. Short, but laced with icy warning. Realizing she can't ignore it anymore, Seoyeon dials him.

She cuts him off before he finishes and hangs up unilaterally. She wants nothing more to do with him.

But her hopes shatter. A KakaoTalk notification pings. Photos and a short video from Park.

The pictures capture last night: her forcing a smile amid the Chairman and executives, pouring drinks... and dancing in humiliation. The video is worse—her mouth-to-mouth feeding the Chairman liquor, him forcing a kiss on her, all preserved perfectly.

Seoyeon pales. Blood drains from her body. But knowing yielding here means doom, she clings to reason and fires back defiantly.

Seoyeon freezes, breath catching. It's like a hammer blow to the head. Of course—he never cared about Cheolsu. His target was always ex-idol Ciel: her. Her husband's blunder was mere bait to snare her.

Terror grips her; her hands tremble violently. The final message arrives.

Seoyeon sits on the sofa, clutching her phone in turmoil. What do I do?

As she agonizes, her phone rings. Cheolsu.

Chill prickles her skin. Park's "Don't worry about that" echoes. "...Okay... Drive safe."

She answers weakly. After hanging up, she stares into space for a long while. Finally, like someone who's surrendered everything, she slowly types a short reply to Park.

As quitting time nears, Seoyeon heads silently to the entrance. The meeting spot is Cheolsu's company front.

No sooner does she arrive than a message from Park: Company front cafe. Go in and wait. An order.

She obeys, entering the cafe across the street. She claims a window corner seat, pulling on a black cap that nearly hides her face. Two years post-retirement, people still recognize her—no, most remember her vividly. Head down to avoid eyes, she stares at her cooling coffee.

Time crawls like torture. An hour passes with no word from Park. Paranoia grips her—everyone's staring. Then, at last, her phone buzzes shortly.