Chapter 21 #2
“Rich people hate getting caught up in poor people’s bullshit,” Jin commented. “I bet they won’t let it go. They have to find someone to blame, don’t they?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Hara said in a hushed voice. “There are new allegations that Jang Hyukjoon was the one behind the whole thing. He took the videos and shared them himself, and his family paid everybody off to cover it up.”
“What?” Lisa and Haneul said at the same time.
“Yup. One of his friends leaked screenshots from their chatroom. He’s a pig,” Hara said, making a face. “The messages are horrifying. I felt sick reading them.”
“Can you send us the link?” Jin asked. “I haven’t heard about this.” The other women nodded.
“Sure. Anyway, I’m not surprised,” Hara continued. “I knew a girl who dated him a few years back. She said he was a total scumbag. Cheated on her a bunch.”
“Isn’t that why they announced his engagement to that woman? Lee Seoyeon? To bury the other news?”
“It must be,” Lisa murmured.
Dahye stood abruptly. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot I have to be somewhere now.” She gave a small bow and left, tuning out their shouts for her to return.
+
Outside the café, Dahye leaned against the wall. She looked at the pencil case, still clutched in her hand, and removed the lid. Took the ice pick and scratched it down the length of her wrist, lightly, so it didn’t break the skin. She wondered what it would feel like to plunge it into her flesh.
A notification popped up on her phone, ending the thought.
The tracker was moving. Hyukjoon was moving.
She opened the app and watched as the car made its way from Seongbuk to Gangnam, coming to a stop.
Where was he going? She frowned, zooming in, and then—she looked up, her heart thumping.
He had just parked in front of a restaurant. In front of Namu.
She hurriedly flagged a taxi, throwing herself in the back seat.
Glancing at her reflection in the window, she pinched her cheeks to add a little color and tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles out of her clothing.
At least she wasn’t wearing Bora’s old sweatpants.
She kept her eyes glued to her screen as the dot blinked. It seemed almost like an invitation.
By the time Dahye made it to the restaurant, Hyukjoon had been inside for nearly an hour. She scurried into the lobby where the hostess was standing, a smile plastered on her face. The woman looked Dahye up and down as she approached, her eyes growing hard.
“Can I help you?”
“I was here last week with my boyfriend,” Dahye said. “I lost my necklace, and it was very near and dear to me. My grandmother’s. I was wondering if you had a lost and found I could peek through?”
“Unfortunately not. As far as I’m aware, we haven’t seen any lost necklaces.”
“It’s just … It’s a family heirloom,” Dahye said plaintively. “Is there any way I can pop inside? Take a look around? I won’t cause a disturbance. I swear.”
“Unfortunately, the restaurant is at capacity tonight. You’re welcome to come back at midnight, though I can’t guarantee anything. We’re very strict about letting people inside without a reservation.”
“I see,” Dahye said, thinking hard. All she needed was a few minutes inside. To see who Hyukjoon was with. “Well, since I made it all the way out here, is there any way I can use the restroom before I head home?”
The hostess shook her head. “I’m sorry. If you go next door to the hotel, they’re very gracious about that kind of thing.”
“Right. Thank you.”
Dahye walked away slowly, waiting for the hostess to be distracted. Once the woman’s back was turned, Dahye ducked behind the restaurant’s enormous stone sign out front and crouched to stay out of view.
By the time Hyukjoon emerged, Dahye had been waiting for nearly two hours. He was with a woman, and it wasn’t Seoyeon. Dahye’s thighs ached, but she hardly felt the pain, staring as Hyukjoon led the woman to his car.
If Dahye had to guess, she was sure this was another one of Hyukjoon’s “common whores.” She got a good glimpse of the woman as they drove past: short, dark hair, an angular face, and sharp, upturned eyes.
Her tanned skin went well with her silky dress, which was the color of pistachios.
Even in the distance Dahye could hear the roar of Hyukjoon’s engine, and she tried to take calming breaths.
Adrenaline was surging through her as the screenshots flashed in her head.
If she’s still around in a few months, should I give her money for a boob job?
She stared as Hyukjoon’s blinking dot wound its way through the streets, stopping in front of the Park Hyatt. She felt as though someone was pressing against her chest, squeezing all the air from her lungs. The edges of her vision went black.
She didn’t know how she got to the Park Hyatt. She hardly remembered talking to the front desk, or what she said that convinced them to give up Hyukjoon’s room number. In the elevator, she watched the button to the 20th floor glow under the tip of her finger.
A slideshow of images flickered through her mind.
Hyukjoon smoking outside the noraebang. Hyukjoon sitting across from her in the car.
Hyukjoon and his fiancée, the sunlight streaming around them like a halo.
Bobby’s limp body slumped over the toilet.
Hyukjoon’s body. A puddle of blood on the floor.
Dahye flew down the empty hallway, staring at the room numbers on the doors.
Suite 2001. 2002. 2003. In front of 2004, she stopped.
Pressed her ear flat against the door. She could hear Hyukjoon and the woman.
They were talking in low voices. Giggling.
With her eyes tightly shut, Dahye tried to picture what they were doing.
Lying in bed. Caressing each other. Kissing.
She thought she could hear the faint pop of a wine cork, the liquid sloshing into a glass.
Then—soft moans. A quiet whimper. Was he undressing her? Kissing her naked body?
She slid down the length of the door and knelt on the floor, a sob escaping her throat.
The light above her head flickered once with a sharp hiss.
Dahye buried her face in her hands. The rattle of a housekeeper’s cart caught her attention, and Dahye jolted upright.
The woman stopped and looked at her with a worried expression.
“I got locked out of the room,” Dahye said shakily, getting to her feet. “I knocked but … Um. I left my phone inside, and my boyfriend is asleep, I guess.”
“Sure, sure,” the woman said easily. “I can help. You were here a while ago with Mr. Jang, right? I remember you.” She dug around in her pocket for the key card and held it to the door.
It unlocked with a small click. Dahye gave the woman a grateful nod and watched as she wheeled the cart away, turning the corner.
Once she was inside, Dahye looked around.
It was a suite. She couldn’t remember exactly, though it seemed like the same one she had shared with Hyukjoon the night everything had fallen apart.
Hyukjoon and the woman weren’t in the bedroom, but Dahye could hear noises coming from somewhere else.
The bathroom door was partially open. Dahye crept slowly toward it and peered inside.
Through the crack, she could see into the clear glass of the shower.
Hyukjoon was standing behind the woman. She was bent over, her hands flat against the tile. Her head was thrown back. Rivulets of water snaked down her tan, toned body. They both moaned loudly as he thrust into her. Dahye’s mind went blank. She took one step backward, then turned and fled.
+
Just one block from the Park Hyatt was an art gallery. Behind the glass was a cream-colored piece of pottery perched delicately on a white, rectangular plinth. A circle of light beamed directly onto it. Dahye stopped. She started, pressing one hand flat against the glass. It was a moon jar.
Once, Hyukjoon had told her about his fascination with moon jars. He collected them, a hobby he had inherited from his grandfather. Their family owned the largest collection of Joseon-era moon jars in the world.
“Only twenty of those exist,” Hyukjoon had said to her.
They were lying naked in a hotel bed, the blankets thrown to the floor.
It was cold, Dahye remembered. Her arms had been covered with goosebumps.
“Three are considered national treasures and are the property of the Republic of Korea. Of the remaining seventeen, seven are in other private collections. The other ten belong to us.”
“I didn’t know you had any interest in pottery,” Dahye said. She had meant for it to come out as a joke, but Hyukjoon cupped his chin in his hand, suddenly serious.
“My grandfather always said that moon jars were special,” he said, stroking the outer edge of her arm. She shivered. “In the old days, the potters would form one half first, and then the other before combining them. Two halves of one whole.”
He smiled, and Dahye felt a twinge in her chest. “As a result, none of them are perfect. But that’s part of their appeal, I think. You find perfection in the imperfections.”
She studied the picture Hyukjoon held out to her. “They’re beautiful,” she said. “I can see why you like them so much. What were they used for?”
“Decoration, mostly. But Harabeoji once told me a story about a king whose beloved consort died. He had her heart embalmed and kept it in a moon jar he had custom-made so that she could be with him forever. What do you think?”
“I’d do that for you,” Dahye said without hesitation. She mimicked scooping her heart out with her hands, presenting the imaginary organ to him. Hyukjoon laughed and swatted at her playfully.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
But she had meant it. She really had. Dahye envisioned scraping everything out from inside her body—heart, liver, kidneys—and placing them into the jar.
He was her beloved, and she had been willing to give all of herself to him without reservation.
She peeled her fingers from the window, leaving behind a damp print on the glass.
How foolish Dahye had been. Hyukjoon hadn’t needed her permission. He’d been planning on taking everything he wanted from her all along.