The Cruelest Way to Destroy an Enemy

The door clicked shut behind her.

Congratulations.

The words that had vanished with the doctor still echoed through the bedroom like a ringing in the ears. To one person they were the lingering resonance left after a bomb exploded; to another, they were the echo of a church bell.

Seated at the edge of the bed, the woman stared blankly into empty air. Tears welled in her eyes. Leon looked at her face, which had gone deathly white, and then knelt.

It was the first time anyone had ever seen him kneel. Yet it did not signify submission.

On the contrary, he was the conqueror.

Leon buried his face in the woman’s lower belly. A laugh that he could not hold back slipped again and again between her tightly pressed lips.

This child inside her was his.

He had bound her with an unbreakable leash that would never let her go.

And there was one more thing.

The seed of a king had taken root in the very sanctuary where the next heir of the Blanchard “dynasty” would be born.

The gleeful arrogance with which he had earlier boasted that he had simply violated the path leading to a mere sanctuary—and that too only because it was a conquest—now struck him as absurd. The thrill of forcing open a forbidden place and stepping inside had been overwhelming. His heart felt as though it might burst.

Leon found himself eager to see James Blanchard Jr.’s face. He imagined how the man’s expression would twist upon learning that the child inside this woman was his.

No.

From the very beginning this woman had been his. The filthy little rat had merely taken her for a moment without knowing her place. The damned religious zealots had only brainwashed her and stolen her away from him.

Leon drew in a deep breath, then exhaled a torrent of joy and declared aloud:

“You are mine.”

He had said those words countless times. Yet they had never truly been the whole, unadorned truth. He now believed they would become immutable truth.

“Forever.”

His face, buried between her thighs, let fall a few lukewarm drops of water. He lifted his head and met her tear-streaked, pallid face.

Why are you crying? Weren’t you supposed to do this with your child? You said you wanted to do it with me. You said you liked me. Having the child of the man you liked—laugh.

Yet from Leon’s lips only mocking laughter spilled out. The woman bit her lip, glared at him as if she wanted to kill him, and then squeezed her eyes shut.

Tears overflowed the corners of her eyes. Leon seized her face and pulled it roughly toward him. The tears, heavy with overwhelming emotion, were as salty as blood.

When he licked up the endless stream of tears that ran down her cheek, she pushed him away.

Slap.

The man laughed even after receiving the blow. Like an idiot.

On the contrary, he turned his head and offered his opposite cheek.

Slap.

No matter how hard he struck her, the woman could not laugh. Even when he hit her until his hand ached, she still could not laugh.

She had to make him suffer. Only then would the seed of destruction planted inside her body wither away.

Finally Grace buried her own face in the man’s cheek and pressed her hand to his face. Leon buried his throbbing cheek against her lower belly and asked her:

Is this the fruit of love, or the fruit of hatred?

Whatever it was.

To him, who weighed every action in terms of gain and loss, the essence of anything was irrelevant; the result was always desirable.

The shoulders of the two of them rose and fell in perfect unison. The sound that erupted from the extremes of emotion was nothing but discord.

Today I will finish this paper.

The author, seated at the desk, had not written a single letter all afternoon because he had not let go of the telephone.

“Then let’s count: one, two, three—and we hang up at the same time.”

Jerome, fingering the stem of the candlestick-shaped receiver as though it were a lover’s hand, hesitated for a moment before asking:

“Does Roselyn want to?”

When the other side began to count and remained silent, he burst into laughter.

“Why didn’t you hang up?”

He had been about to give an amusing reply when the other asked why he hadn’t hung up.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.

Employees did not make noise. Moreover, a thick carpet lay in the corridor, yet the person approaching his study made a sound as if measured with a ruler. It was clearly deliberate.

“Sorry. It sounds like my brother has come. Then I’ll hang up first.”

Even if he knew the two were related, his brother would never feel betrayed. Yet the treacherous brat would certainly exploit it to his advantage. It was dangerous.

Could he really have noticed already?

Leon knocked on the door as soon as Jerome hung up.

“What is it? Surprising that you’re still alive.”

Jerome opened the door and mocked Leon with sarcasm. A man who had been hiding like a hermit in the Annex for days had suddenly come all the way to his underground study.

“Still alive? Who’s saying that?”

Leon snorted. He approached the desk with leisurely steps and reached it in a single breath.

“You look wilted, like a fallen leaf.”

He mocked Jerome for being withered in his study. Yet the one who looked most withered was himself, and Leon did not realize it.

Jerome looked up at his elder brother standing on the other side of the desk. The towering frame and military uniform still imposed awe, but he seemed exhausted.

Exhausted.

A word that would be marked wrong if applied to Leon Winston.

Yet it was an undeniable fact backed by his gaunt face and hollow eyes.

‘What is going on?’

A month ago he had looked as joyful as someone who had just received a title; in the blink of an eye he had grown thin.

Observing with the scholar’s habit, Jerome placed the document bundle that was tucked under his brother’s arm on the center of Leon’s desk as though it were something to be thrown down.

“What is this?”

“A brand-new topic I’ve personally brought for the bug to study.”

Jerome frowned and flipped through the pages. When he saw the titles—quarterly financial statements, overseas investment profit reports—his eyebrows tightened further. Every document contained the family’s financial information.

“You’re enjoying study. You’re trying to dump your own workload onto me.”

“My workload? Saying something like that with the name Winston attached to you is shameless.”

“Shameless, so Winston.”

Jerome gave no retort to the mockery, only a short, tired sigh. It was not the Leon Winston of a month ago, who had clung to him until the very end.

“Well, since I’m getting married and becoming independent, almost all of this family’s fortune will be yours, right? That’s the fate of the second son.”

Leon merely snorted at Jerome’s addition.

Marrying a grand duchess and still playing house.

Moreover, the brat would not be able to divert his gaze to any other woman. The only woman willing to look at him as a man would be the one who was himself boring and tedious.

“Jerome Winston, how long will you waste the family’s money on shameless entertainment?”

Jerome’s face darkened when he belittled research and running the newspaper as entertainment.

“Are you jealous? Then do something profitable.”

The newspaper’s characteristically low profit margins made his brother’s face flush visibly.

“If you can’t do that, at least do something that helps the family.”

“I have always done only what helps the family.”

An easy target. Leon knew there was no one who would not fall for his provocation.

Suppressing a smile, he finally voiced the second purpose of his visit to this underground chamber.

“Oh? Then writing a deep-analysis article isn’t hard, is it?”

Jerome sighed long and spread out his notepad.

“Call them.”

“The strong contenders for the mining rights of the Briar Diamond mine that have emerged thanks to Sinclair’s sudden collapse: the Aldrich ducal house and the Chapman baronial house.”

When the name of the family to which his lover belonged appeared, Jerome stopped moving his pen. He hesitated, unwilling but unable to refuse outright.

“Be kind to both houses.”

Only then did the pen move again.

“Contrast them sharply with Sinclair, who participated in the ugly crime of rebel activity. Avoid subjective praise and be thoroughly objective. I believe you know the right balance.”

Jerome looked up, eyes asking why he was being given such a difficult task. Leon twisted his lips and scratched his brother’s pride once more.

“If you don’t know, you’re not editor-in-chief material.”

As expected. Jerome exhaled a long sigh and obediently wrote down the requirements.

“Economic journal?”

“And the general-interest newspaper.”

Jerome paused and looked up.

“The general-interest newspaper?”

He meant the daily Winsford Herald, whose circulation was highest. Yet it was asking him to write a deep-analysis article on mining-rights auctions for a newspaper read by people who had no interest in economics.

“Why?”

Because that would make the coming media war easier. It was a tactic of secretly planting mines in the opponent’s camp.

“Don’t ask. Just do as I say. When have you ever seen me order the family to do something harmful?”

Of course the ultimate goal was selfish, but it was never harmful to the family. Regardless, Leon intended to fulfill his duty as a Winston.

The decision had been impulsive, yet once made he stepped through the prescribed procedures without hesitation, just like the person he had been waiting for.

The doctor had said it might take years, but this woman had conceived after only one month. It only strengthened Leon’s conviction.

Until now everything had gone according to his plan. Yet he was not as lighthearted as he wished. As always, the variable called “this woman” remained.

“By the way, what is it?”

Jerome, having finished scribbling the memo he would pass to the reporter, looked up and asked.

“You look wilted. Like someone who hasn’t slept well.”

Recently Leon had heard this complaint so often from Campbell and Lieutenant Colonel Humphrey that it was boring.

“Ah, so you’re trying to play doctor now.”

“I’m worried.”

“Worrying about me? When I die the family will be yours.”

Of course, the fiancée as well.

Jerome made a pale face and began flipping through the financial report Leon had handed him. On the cover was written in large letters: “New Continent Investment Profit Report.”

“Columbia has been especially hard hit recently.”

Jerome clicked his tongue and made a tsk sound.

“It’s only because investment is in the early stage and no profit has been made yet. I’m not as short-sighted as you.”

The place that had caused such enormous losses was, in truth, a ghost company Leon had established in the New Continent under a false name. In other words he was laundering money, but Jerome, who had never cared about the family’s finances, would not have noticed.

“So forget Columbia. I’ll handle it. You don’t need to supervise the family’s finances.”

His mocking smile was directed at the brother who was now seriously examining the financial documents and saying he needed supervision.

Fool. Think whatever you want.

Leon left the study and headed for the Annex.

While walking along the gravel path, the gardeners who had been raking fallen leaves on the blue grass lifted their hats and greeted him. Leon merely nodded in return and continued without meeting their eyes.

He entered the Annex and headed not to the basement but to the third floor. After conceiving the child he had moved the woman’s quarters to his bedroom.

It was the room she had always wanted, one with a window. Of course he had installed bars so she could not escape.

Although ugly, it was not hard to enjoy the view outside. But he had never seen the woman sitting at the window and savoring the autumn scenery.

“Ugh…”

The moment Leon opened the bedroom door he heard retching. He went straight to the bathroom and sighed at the familiar sight that had not changed in an hour.

The woman was sitting on the bathroom floor with her head bowed over the toilet, retching repeatedly. The maid, who had been standing behind her, hastily gathering her dark brown hair, met Leon’s eyes and became flustered.

It had only been an hour since they had bathed her and put her back to bed. She had returned to her original state the moment he stepped away.

“Ha… ugh…”

The woman tried to draw in a breath but vomited again. There was nothing left in her stomach, yet her vomiting continued without sign of stopping.

“…”

Leon stepped into the bathroom and the woman collapsed limply onto the rug. He took her from the maid’s arms.

In her half-closed, pale eyes there was no focus. Her face was soaked in tears and vomit. He had watched this exact scene many times in the past month, several times a day.

“Warm washcloth.”

At Leon’s familiar order the maid silently rose and went to the sink.

“Winston…”

He was unbuttoning the wet pajamas when he heard his name. The woman’s bloodless lips moved with effort, but her voice was too weak to hear.

Leon leaned closer and the woman whispered in a tired voice:

“Is this your new torture technique?”

“……”

“Congratulations.”

Leon said nothing.

He changed her into a fresh nightgown and helped her sit on the bed. He gave her a warm mint tea with plenty of sugar; she managed a few sips, but she could not even take a biscuit.

While the maid, now skilled at this, attended to the woman, Leon sat on the edge of the bed and grappled with the same thought that had tormented him all month.

She is too light.

The woman he had lifted just moments ago was far too light. A corpse hangs limply; a living body is heavy. Yet she felt only light.

This thought had haunted him for a month. And she grew thinner with every passing day.

She had begun her hunger strike the day she confirmed her pregnancy, but it had not lasted even a week.

In the first few days of her morning sickness Leon had called the doctor every day. Yet even the doctor had no solution.

“Is this what happens when you get pregnant?”

At Leon’s question the doctor shook his head. Severe morning sickness in pregnancy was a known condition. How could this woman be the one?

“Even so, once the early stage passes, the sickness usually disappears. Don’t worry too much. The baby is healthy, so it’s not necessarily bad.”

Was that true?

The child was healthy, yet the mother was dying. Since means consumed the end, joy was unlikely.

The doctor gave him one thick book on pregnancy, childbirth, and child-rearing. The book had lain forgotten beside the bed for weeks.

Was Leon really someone who would take an interest in such things? The thought that he had leisure enough to read it was absurd.

“Cold.”

The woman curled up in bed. Leon covered her with a thick blanket and signaled the maid standing beside him.

The maid, who understood, closed all the windows left open for ventilation and returned. Seeing her standing blankly by the bed again, Leon gestured toward the door.

“Go.”

The middle-aged woman left without a word.

The maid could not speak; she could not even read or write. After he needed someone to care for the woman, Leon had hired a maid through the head housekeeper who could neither speak nor read or write.

At the same time he removed all military personnel from the Annex. Private security now guarded the property.

Their true purpose had shifted from preventing the woman’s escape to preventing intruders from entering or leaving the estate. She was no longer capable of fleeing.

Leon stared at the woman, whose eyes had gone slack, then reached out and touched her belly. She did not resist; she had already fallen asleep.

Perhaps she no longer had the strength to resist.

Maybe the child inside her was the most effective shackle of all. He no longer needed to bind her with a leash or shackles, yet she could not escape him.

He wanted to break her. He had never succeeded with any method before, yet this child had done it so easily.

Torturing her mother from inside the womb. It was his own child.

“Enough.”

He stroked her belly and soothed the unseen child.

The shackles’ effect was too good.

One dawn she could not even make it to the bathroom and collapsed on the bedroom floor retching. When he woke in alarm and rushed over, she asked:

“Are you happy?”

He had been about to ask if she thought he looked happy when she spoke in a face that was neither laughing nor crying:

“My pain is soon to be your pleasure.”

No.

Then he had been speechless and said nothing. If she asked the same question again, he would answer “no.”

“Sometimes I wish you had been ill. It would have been much easier.”

No. He would have answered the same to his past self.

A few days earlier.

“Um…”

While preparing to go out, the woman staggered over and asked cautiously:

“There’s something I want to eat…”

Since being confined here and watching two seasons change, she had never once asked for food. This was the first time she had shown a will to eat after conceiving.

Leon delayed his departure, forced the café open, and brought her the food she had requested.

Almond cake. The woman smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time and made a shocking remark:

“Thank you.”

She could not even finish a few bites before vomiting. Exhausted, she cursed him.

Yet what sank deep into Leon’s heart was not the harsh curse but the soft words of gratitude.

Thank you. Not only had he imprisoned her but he had forced her to conceive. All because of a single cake.

The woman who had always been bold while imprisoned in his jail had broken.

Only after he broke her as she wished had Leon realized he had never truly wanted this.

“Hurry up and gather your strength. You need to bite me.”

Leon stroked the sleeping woman and looked at the back of his hand. The hand with no nail marks looked unusually empty.

Leon’s sixth sense flashed; he opened his eyes.

And his intuition was correct tonight as well. The woman was sitting on the edge of the bed exactly as usual.

Only her silhouette against the dim light was visible; he could not tell her expression or what she was looking at. Her thin body looked as though it might crumble at any moment.

He swallowed a quiet sigh.

Morning sickness had been followed by sudden midnight actions for a month now.

When this had first begun the woman had cried every night. Like a child. She was nothing like the woman he knew.

Even when he woke and tried to comfort her, she would sob and cling to him.

“Please send me away.”

“Where are you taking my child? To your fiancé?”

She was a woman who knew such pleas would not work and still said them. Proof that she was no longer in her right mind.

The woman soon stopped asking to be sent away. The midnight sobs stopped along with the pleas.

Yet that was not the end.

One night she woke with the same bad feeling and sat beside him, staring down. Her empty eyes revealed nothing.

“Do you want to kill me?”

He had asked, but the woman gave no reaction, unlike before.

After that she simply sat with her back turned. If he did not interfere she would sit for hours until morning sickness struck and then stop.

Last night he had unwittingly pulled her into his arms and laid her on the bed when she suddenly rose as though she had made up her mind. He had spent the night thinking without sleeping.

Was she trying to escape?

Or trying to flee death?

Morning sickness might be the woman’s body expressing a desire to die rather than live with him.

The bluish moonlight leaking through the curtains began to illuminate the woman. The pale woman looked like a ghost; she seemed about to scatter and vanish in the moonlight.

Leon’s heart began to beat violently as though it would burst, just as it had the moment she rose last night.

Don’t go.

Unconsciously his hand reached out and caught her wrist. Even when he squeezed her bony wrist painfully she did not turn her head.

Suddenly he saw his own desperate clinging to her. It was pitiful.

After everything, she had become afraid of him and would not even look at him anymore.

His obsession had gone beyond pity to possessiveness.

Leon knew better than anyone that this woman no longer had the strength to walk out the door or even tie a noose around her own neck.

Yet every morning he bought the cake she would vomit and asked:

“What kind tomorrow?”

He hoped she would endure one more hellish day just for the single moment she could laugh happily.

In other words he hoped the woman who wanted to die for him and the child would want to live just for a cake.

Upon realizing this Leon suddenly understood.

She had never actually said she wanted to die. That she wanted to die was his own illusion.

A coward trapped in delusion.

That was the man before him now.

The woman who had turned him from a man unafraid of power, money, or blackmail into a coward.

With this realization anger surged.

All the things he had been doing lately were far removed from his past self. And this change was not the first time.

In his youth pure Leon had become a bloodthirsty madman because of this woman. The man who had lost his pride and become a pathetic coward was also her fault.

She had always been the one to change him.

What are you to me that you can control me at will? What right do you have to destroy me so cruelly?

Emotionally unrefined feelings had raged through his cloudy mind for nearly a month. Finally Leon could no longer suppress the strange impulse and rose.

Tsk-tsk.

The sound of crickets was ringing in his ears. Leon pressed his temple with the tips of his fingers.

His vision was hazy with fog, yet the woman standing before the iron door was crystal clear. The lights installed at both ends of the wall were shining on her like spotlights.

Leon stared at the woman standing precariously, as though she would collapse at any moment, with cold eyes.

He had brought her out wearing only his trench coat over her thin nightgown. The hem of the long coat brushed against her ankles. The ankles visible between the coat and slippers were unusually slender and pale.

This insignificant woman had been looking at him in confusion since earlier. She was asking with her eyes why he had suddenly brought her to the Annex garden, specifically in front of the only exit of the Annex.

Leon, avoiding her gaze, signaled the guards standing outside the barred door.

“Open.”

The iron door creaked open slowly. The questions swirling in the woman’s empty eyes vanished; a little life returned to her eyes.

Life.

The woman who had looked like a corpse came back to life the moment the door opened.

Suppressing the rage rising in his throat, Leon stepped back a pace from her.

“Go.”

The words that should never have come from his mouth spilled out. The woman turned to look at him. Leon closed his eyes, searching those turquoise eyes filled with bewilderment.

Go. Never show yourself in front of me again. Please.

His unbreakable conviction of a mere few hours ago had begun to waver. The plan that had seemed to fit perfectly was now raising doubts whether it was truly his.

Was this path, which was so unlike Leon Winston, the free path he had chosen himself, or the path of ruin he had been forced to walk?

From the silhouette of the woman in white nightgown sitting motionless under the sinister moonlight, Leon recalled an old legend. In dark nights a woman in white signaled oncoming misfortune.

Even then, even now, in the moments when his perfect life had collapsed, this woman had always been there.

Daisy. Sally. And Grace.

The harbinger of his misfortune.

Please disappear.

…Go?

Grace stood in the same place for a long time, trying to understand the meaning of the word “go.” Was that the meaning she knew? Or had the meaning changed while she had been imprisoned here?

What kind of trick is this?

Grace stared blankly at the man standing far away. She wanted to ask what the word “go” actually meant.

But the man had his eyes closed. His tired face looked as though he had already given up on her.

Give up?

Even as she thought the word did not suit the man, her heart began to race.

Grace turned her gaze forward. The male servants in their uniforms were watching Grace and the man with bewildered faces. All of them were unfamiliar.

Am I dreaming?

She blinked slowly, and the wind blew. The cold wind brushed against her ankle. In that moment Grace suddenly snapped out of her daze.

This was not a dream. That man was really trying to let her go.

Freedom. I am free.

Grace opened the collar of her coat so cold air could enter. Her trembling lips were tightly pressed together so that a sob of relief would not escape.

Forgetting even that a shackle had been implanted inside her belly, Grace took her first step toward freedom.

Click.

The moment the sound of a pistol hammer being cocked rang out behind her, Grace laughed.

Yes. You can’t let me go, can you?

She did not stop. Dragging her wobbling legs, she continued walking.

Until she returned to the devil’s embrace.

The man waited until Grace had returned to his arms on her own before handing the pistol back to the guard standing beside him.

He could no longer hide the naked emotion on his face. Grace buried her face against his hard chest and hid the man she had once pointed a gun at.

His eyes bloodshot, his cheeks trembling from gritted teeth, his throat rising and falling as he swallowed surging emotions.

In short, a face that looked as though it might cry.

This cold-blooded man had a face that looked as though it might cry. How ridiculous.

Leon kept taking deep breaths even now, while Grace lay obediently in his arms. Through the silk pajama shirt his heart was hammering roughly against her cheek.

“Why are you cold?”

The man’s voice was slightly trembling.

“It’s cold.”

No. Actually she was shaking from deep sorrow and anger.

The man who did not know her heart pulled her close and kissed her forehead. His lips were as cold as ice.

“Yes. Let’s go inside.”

Leon carried her in his arms and walked toward the Annex.

“Shall I have soup brought?”

He whispered as though he were her lover. Grace leaned her head on his shoulder and nodded. Her despairing gaze never left the closed iron door behind them.

What kind of trick is this?

He had given me hope only to snatch it away, pushed me to the edge, and then done this?

When will you be satisfied with playing with me?

Grace bit her lip.

I’ll play with you too. I’ll make you experience the same fate. I’ll break you thoroughly.

She silently replayed the conversation that had tormented her like the devil’s whisper ever since she had been imprisoned here.

“Grace.”

“Yes?”

Her mother emptied her wine glass in one gulp and asked:

“Do you know the cruelest way to destroy an enemy?”

Grace tilted her head. Her mother’s smile looked sad for some reason.

“It’s making you fall in love with me.”

How could love be a cruel weapon? She had thought her mother’s drunken boast. But now she knew love could be the cruelest weapon of all.

Yes. I didn’t want to do this much because it was too cruel. I thought all this bad fate was my fault.

But you took it too far. You made me into a cruel human.

Leon Winston.

I will make you love me sincerely. Then I will disappear forever.

Even if I screamed until my voice gave out, in the bottomless pit where no echo returned, I would suffer for a lifetime in the curse called unrequited love.

I will torture you like that. Forever.

“Are you curious, darling? If you mix fire and ice, what happens?”

He had spoken of fire and ice, yet after conceiving, Grace’s body and mind had burned hot with fire and cooled with ice repeatedly.

By contrast the man sitting across the small table with her looked as though he had forgotten last week.

The man had read the Winsford Herald every morning without fail. He held the paper with his chin lifted and eyes lowered, tilting it diagonally as though he were looking down on the entire world.

Grace found herself drooling at the thought that this arrogant man would soon crawl on the ground and look up at her. She pretended not to notice his repeated glances and played with her fork.

The crisp exterior of the almond cake crumbled in her mouth. The rich sweetness of the caramel-coated almond lingered, then the creamy sweetness burst from the soft sponge and coated her tongue.

After safely swallowing the cake Grace sighed in relief. Her morning sickness, which had once driven her to hell, had become infrequent lately.

It was time. Grace’s mind was clear, yet the man was still troubled by fatigue. Now was the perfect time to begin the operation.

Not too hot, not too cold. Yes, lukewarm like a mixture of fire and ice.

Recalling her strategy, Grace cut a large piece of cake with her fork and offered it to him.

“Eat.”

The man, who had never done such a thing, looked at her and the fork with suspicion.

“That’s my favorite.”

“You’re giving me your favorite?”

The man turned his gaze back to the newspaper and said in a listless voice:

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat.”

Grace pouted and slowly brought the fork to her lips. A sigh came from behind the newspaper.

The newspaper was whisked away in an instant. The man suddenly reached out and grabbed Grace’s hand. The cake she had been about to put in her mouth went straight into his.

Grace quickly pulled her hand away and stared at the man who had taken the newspaper with an odd expression.

You really ate it.

This man, who was so fussy about his own actions, had put her fork in his mouth.

Well, what was the difference between that and a kiss?

There was something else to focus on. The sarcasm in “Why are you giving me what you like most?” revealed the man’s inner turmoil.

Yes. You like me. But do you love me? If you do, how much do you love me?

She needed to know how far he was from his target.

“Winston.”

The man raised only his eyebrows when she said his name.

“Do you really love me?”

His pale eyes finally looked at her across the paper. After observing her intently for a moment he nodded shortly and lowered his gaze again.

He was not the attitude of a man in love.

“Daisy, Sally, Grace. Which of these three do you love?”

The man frowned and flipped a page before answering with a mocking laugh:

“Is that important?”

He was turning the question aside, even though he clearly did not understand it. In truth it was difficult to answer.

Daisy, Sally, Grace. They were all the same person.

But the man still refused to acknowledge that fact.

What are you to me?

The man had never once called her Grace properly.

He stubbornly avoided having to say her name. When he could not avoid it, he used a nickname or alias and added some mockery.

Grace Riddle. It would be difficult to love a name that was only that of an enemy. Yet that was the same as saying he did not love her as she truly was.

Grace swallowed the surge of bitterness and gritted her teeth.

Watch and wait. I will make you love me sincerely.

The man, having flipped another page, asked casually:

“Why are you suddenly asking something like that?”

“Don’t lie. You don’t love me.”

Grace attacked in defense when she sensed he was probing her. She even added a little tear.

Grace, act as usual.

Daring provocation and pitiful pleading. Her instincts told her that the man would become suspicious of any behavior that did not match his past pattern. To act obedient or coquettish would be foolish. Moreover, this man only grew hot when there was friction.

“Don’t lie.”

The man flipped through the newspaper irritably and sighed.

“Why do you keep editing my emotions?”

“Because you’re not acting like a lover.”

“Each person has their own way, darling.”

He gestured at the dessert plate in front of her as though telling her to eat and returned to the article.

Yet before long a discontented murmur came from behind the paper.

“I still don’t understand why this isn’t considered love. Who on earth would delay going to work to give breakfast to a government that doesn’t even love him?”

“I have an answer for that soon.”

The man lowered the newspaper slightly and looked at Grace.

“I am only your government. At the time when you should have locked me in a prison. In short, I’m a time bomb that can topple you at any moment. This annoying existence I must hide for a lifetime…”

Grace pointed the end of her fork at her own face.

“You would love me.”

The man’s eyes darkened. Grace continued her operation without understanding the meaning.

“If you really love me, you shouldn’t have locked me away and tormented me.”

The man tried to counter with some anger, but Grace poured out words without giving him a chance.

“Ah, yes. According to your logic that would be your kind of love and protection. But you made me have a child with an existence I must hide for a lifetime. A child who cries loudly enough to be heard outside the Annex? It makes no sense.”

Thud. The folded newspaper fell roughly onto the table.

“Darling, what exactly do you want? Stop circling around and just tell me what you want straight out.”

“What I want? That’s what I’m asking you.”

Grace placed her fork loudly as well.

“What do you plan to do?”

Her hand gestured at her slightly protruding belly.

“What exactly do you want? Do you want to live an ordinary life like everyone else?”

“I asked the question first. The one who started the argument is you, because you wanted something.”

She had known he would act this defensively. Grace paused to steady her emotions before answering.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

She made a face that was trying to hold back frustration and added a little catch in her voice.

“I still hate myself for becoming like this.”

At her words about conceiving his child, the man’s eyes became faintly cold.

“But it’s done and irreversible, right?”

“I accept your situation. It’s late, but you thought well.”

Grace shot him the same cold look before sighing as though she had given up.

“The child is innocent. Do you know how hard it is to grow up watching your parents under the same roof without love? Like me…”

Her addition made the man’s eyes soften a little. Interest was also visible.

She had successfully drawn his interest. Grace chose a private story that would capture his full attention.

“Actually our parents weren’t very close. I thought they were great comrades, but as a couple…”

She had not expected to say such words herself, even as a way to deceive him. Grace hesitated, feeling guilty. The man tapped the table with his fingertips to urge her on.

“Continue.”

“What I mean is, shouldn’t we stop this consuming fight and think wisely about the future?”

“You mean you’ll obediently stick to me?”

“Is that what you want?”

The man nodded slowly. Grace deliberately sighed deeply, then reluctantly added a condition.

“If you treat me as human.”

The man snorted as though he found the words ridiculous.

“Darling, I don’t give cake to a dog. I don’t dress it in silk or let it sleep in my bed.”

Grace pretended to understand, though she had no intention of asking whether treating her as human meant so little.

“Good. Then what will you do for me if I live as you want?”

“You don’t want to live like this, right? I’ll let you live as you want. But beside me.”

“I want to live an ordinary life.”

The man judged the deal sealed, nodded, and spread the catalog again.

“You won’t do that.”

“How?”

“I have a plan.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out when the time comes.”

Grace looked at him without filter. The man narrowed his brows while staring at the newspaper.

“I take full responsibility for the things I’ve done. Unlike you, who throws them away and runs.”

Grace narrowed her eyes and pouted.

“Don’t eat my cake.”

She even brought the dessert plate toward herself as though she were angry.

“Your cake? Who gave it to you?”

The man looked at her with a baffled expression and snorted.

“You’re as bold as ever. Are you still alive these days?”

The man’s lips, which had been giving her advice, curved upward. He kept teasing her while stuffing cake into his mouth and occasionally let out a soft laugh.

It was not because the article was funny. The man’s attention had spent more time on Grace beyond the newspaper than on the paper itself.

Grace finished her plate and waited as though nothing had happened. A single piece of cake was placed on the empty plate. Grace glanced at the man neatly arranging the cake server on the tray and smiled inside.

It’s already working.

Just as her body had seduced him to survive, her mind would seduce him to take revenge. She felt that was certain.

“Ha…”

She breathed in the fresh autumn air and smiled brightly under the warm sunlight.

Is this how to pretend to be happy thanks to the first walk in nearly half a year?

No. In truth she did not need to pretend. She was truly happy. She had even forgotten the coldness inside her belly for a moment.

Grace kept stealing glances at the man following her at a leisurely pace in the Annex courtyard.

“It would have been better if you had brought me out sooner.”

“It would have been better if you had listened to me sooner.”

With cheeks puffed up like a squirrel stuffing nuts in its mouth, the man’s lips curved slightly upward. The change looked subtle from the outside, but it must have caused a huge wave inside.

“It’s getting chilly.”

He turned her around and pulled his coat collar tighter around her.

The man’s coat was thick and warm, but it was still too big for her. She could not wear her own clothes even though they were worn and thin; she could not button them.

‘This man isn’t a miser at all…’

Grace looked at the man who had raised the collar to wrap her neck and pouted.

They had bought her other clothes too. All from famous boutiques.

Spending such a fortune on clothes for a woman imprisoned here. Was this what it meant to be a billionaire’s doll?

She could not understand why he had not bought her the coat. To prevent escape? He would know better than anyone that she would flee naked if she could.

Grace scanned the man from head to toe.

Sunday.

She no longer needed to guess the day from his clothes the way she had in the interrogation room.

Monday through Friday he wore officer’s uniform; on weekends he wore stylish suits or neat polo shirts. The man had never broken this rule.

Because the temperature had dropped, today he wore a light gray sweater and gray wool trousers. The white shirt beneath the V-neck sweater was unbuttoned a few at the top.

A man who usually buttoned his pajama shirt all the way up now looked rather loose. There was something going on.

This man, who did not look like he would go to church with his family on Sunday mornings, had the devil stepping into the holy sanctuary of God. Either there was no God, or if there was, it was on the side of the rich.

Perhaps for this man church was not a place to serve God but a place for affairs. And he was spending time with Grace like a family man who returned before lunch and spent the rest of the weekend with his family.

When he loosened the collar she turned. The moment she tried to continue walking he caught her. The man behind her smiled faintly and stroked her hair.

“You look like you’re having a picnic on a pile of fallen leaves.”

The yellow fallen leaf he offered over her shoulder had turned bright red at the edges.

Did it fall from there? What kind of tree was that?

She caught the leaves and looked up at the tall tree beyond the wall. The man’s solid body touched her back. He pulled her into an embrace and began stroking her belly.

Her belly was quite visible now. It had not shown before because she wore loose clothes, but pressing the hem of the shirt with her hand made it obvious.

He took every chance to stroke her belly. As her belly grew, so did his pain, yet Grace never rejected his touch.

Because she had been pretending to accept his changes quite well lately, the man had changed. He had not done cruel things for a long time. He had not even demanded her body for months. He spoke as though he truly cared about her health and the child’s.

It was absurd to say he was kind, but it was almost too much.

Even now, when Grace suffered from her appetite instead of morning sickness and snacked at night, he said nothing.

That was this fussy man.

The surprise did not end there.

Yesterday afternoon the doctor had come for the regular check-up. Now that she had reached the stable stage, the doctor had advised her to get sun and walk often. Leon, who would usually ignore such advice lightly, had actually made her walk.

Yes. He was gradually loosening the reins. She would slip through that loosened gap.

She would take a huge place in his heart. After she disappeared only a large hole would remain. He would bleed from that wound that would never heal.

“What are you thinking?”

The man whispered suddenly beside her ear.

This man was asking what she was thinking?

“I was thinking whether you’re going to do something unpredictable again.”

A soft laugh brushed her ear.

“What about you?”

Grace turned to him and asked. Her face was close enough for her reflection to be clear in his turquoise eyes.

“What are you thinking?”

The man stared at her for a long time with eyes that held no emotion, then answered:

“I’m curious what you’re thinking.”

Goosebumps rose on her nape. Leon only wished the collar he had kindly raised would hide that naked reaction.

Seeing his eyes so thoroughly devoid of emotion, she understood the question.

At first she had thought he wanted her affection and interest. But now the question “What are you thinking?” sounded like an interrogation of what scheme he was planning.

“In short, we both think we can’t trust each other.”

Grace attacked again. The man laughed vaguely and said:

“We seem to be fated. We stand at opposite ends and still think the same.”

Whispering an irritating remark, he overlapped their lips.

“Do you believe I love you?”

He asked while their lips were pressed together. Grace stared at the man and answered his cold lips:

“No.”

The man pulled away and smiled lightly.

“I can’t believe you, so how can I believe you love me? Besides, you usually don’t make breakfast as evidence of love.”

p>

No, Winston. Actually you’re doing well. So loosen the gap even more than now.

The man’s face became slightly frustrated, yet he asked bluntly:

“Then how should I make you believe me?”

“Love me normally, like other men.”

The man’s eyes grew cold. Grace knew why such a reasonable demand would be unpleasant to this man.

None of their meetings or separations or reunions had ever been ordinary. Normal lovers did not walk through swamps of death, betrayal, conspiracy, and hatred.

In a relationship where everything was twisted, twisted love would be the normal one. Normal love would be the thing that was horribly twisted.

The man who had been silent for a moment began to mock her with a face that was clearly twisted.

“Ah, like Jimmy? If I say I love you by giving you poison normally, will you believe it?”

Grace’s mind had twisted as well.

“Why do you keep bringing up the past?”

“I’m curious whether it’s really all in the past.”

“Then you’re also—”

“I know better than anyone that it’s only a transaction based on careful calculation. Don’t change the subject with your fiancé, who’s fundamentally different from mine.”

Grace could not hold back a tired sigh.

A man who was not only difficult and sensitive but also stubborn. It was obvious that psychological tactics would not work on him from the beginning.

Grace stopped trying to change the topic and lowered her hand that had touched her belly, something she had found disgusting until now.

“You made the past into this?”

She had widened her eyes to keep from crying. If even a little tear gathered in her eyes, the man would think there was still deep feeling left for Jimmy. All her efforts until now would be wasted.

Her hand, which had been following the gentle curve, touched the man’s hand. He overlapped his fingers with hers. Her hand, trapped between her swollen belly and his large hand, looked like a child unable to move while being held by the man and her.

“I’m not satisfied with your acceptance alone.”

“You’re greedy. You’ve made it so I have no one else to rely on…”

“Do you really think that? I’m curious about that too.”

Of course she did not think so. Grace quickly recalled the faces of the people she could count on for help.

“Think it over, darling.”

The man whispered beside her ear.

“A man who gets killed the first time he’s caught by an enemy. And a man who gives everything to protect you even after being betrayed countless times.”

“……”

“Which one of them do you think loves you more?”

Protect. Give everything. Both were wrong.

Yet Grace feigned being shaken, closed her eyes tightly, and sighed.

“Even so, you’ll become like Jimmy.”

It was not said as provocation but in an ominous tone.

Yet inside she thought differently.

No. Jimmy never changed. He would never change. He wouldn’t.

Grace steadied her heart and glanced at the man sideways. His eyes had softened, as though he believed she had been persuaded by his words.

“There are no men who love only one woman for their entire lives. I don’t expect that from you either.”

“You’re saying that to me, who has struggled and wavered three times for a single woman in my lifetime.”

Grace laughed. Winston laughed with her. A self-deprecating, light laugh. He nipped her earlobe teasingly and whispered:

“We were destined to end up like this.”

Both of his hands gently stroked her belly.

“I fixed what was wrong. Even though the method was extreme, you’ll understand it now.”

A strong wind blew, whipping her hair. Grace closed her eyes tightly, gritted her teeth, and suppressed the rising anger as though the wind were to blame.

Watch and wait. I will decide what fate we will meet.

“The wind is cold. Let’s go in.”

Following the man’s hand, Grace walked toward the back door of the Annex. She could not tear her eyes away from the clear sky without a single cloud and the leaves falling one by one.

“I want to take this.”

Just before entering, she lifted the yellow fallen leaf she had been holding as if it were a souvenir. As expected, the man frowned.

“You’re a beggar, a squirrel? No, even a beggar or a squirrel wouldn’t take this.”

Grace hid the leaves behind her back to avoid his reaching hand and grumbled.

“But I want to keep one as a souvenir for having come out for the first time in a long time.”

The man looked at her with a pitiful expression before saying in defeat:

“We can walk anytime.”

“Really? Good.”

Grace discarded the leaves without hesitation. Muttering that she wanted hot cocoa with plenty of marshmallows, she entered first, and a soft laugh came from behind.

“I felt it even as a child, but you’re really strange.”

Today permission to leave the building had been granted for the first time. Yet she had already walked around inside quite a bit.

Of course she had to follow the man like a tail.

Grace sat across the table from the man and rested her chin on her hand, staring at him. The man, who had lost his queen a moment ago, looked serious as he stared at the chessboard.

Boring.

Plus the warmth of the fireplace made drowsiness come.

The Annex had only one maid who could not speak and no soldiers. It was as silent as a ghost house. The man’s gaze, choosing the most quiet and obedient entertainment in such a place, was not kind.

Grace had chosen billiards. But the man had used his own body to criticize her when she opened the study door, then taken her to the study.

“What does pregnancy have to do with billiards?”

“I don’t look like I’d only play billiards.”

Winston answered vaguely while staring at the chessboard. Grace remembered the incident in the study and realized he had avoided the billiard table because he thought she would climb on top of it again.

“Is it because I’m pregnant that you’re being so kind?”

“Who made you act so generously?”

Grace wrinkled her nose and burst into laughter at the next memory.

“Why? Were you worried I’d hit your head with my billiard ball too? Well, I can break your head even with this body.”

“You’d be pitiful.”

The man twisted his lips and picked up the knight. Grace clicked her tongue while the queen was being captured and put a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

The crystal bowl on the table held a variety of chocolates. Grace picked a heart-shaped one and recalled a few days earlier.

“Did you eat the chocolate I gave you?”

She had brought up the story of the chocolate given at Abington Beach.

To make the man accept that Daisy was not some mysterious girl who had stolen his heart and then shattered it, but a woman lying in the same bed with the child he had conceived, Grace had deliberately stirred up painful memories.

She had to break the wall he had built with the lie that Daisy, Sally, and Grace were different people.

Moreover, Grace was desperate enough to use even the pure affection he felt for Daisy.

You made me into a monster.

She knew touching a sore spot was cruel. So she had to remember that the man had already done worse to her. She stared at her swollen belly.

Actually what Grace most wanted to ask was something else.

What happened to the dolphin plush toy I left behind? Why did that toy still make her curious about its whereabouts even decades later?

But she had been afraid she would stir the man’s anger as she had last time. So she had chosen the relatively safe topic of chocolate, but he had reacted as though it were just as painful.

“Why ask about something like that?”

“I just suddenly thought, what happened to it…”

“Why? Now that I think about it, do you regret the chocolate I gave you?”

“I’m curious what kind of taste it was! I never got to eat it!”

They had gone back to being innocent children the moment they recalled childhood.

“That chocolate I bought with the money I earned as a delivery boy… I didn’t eat even one bite because I was saving it as a gift…”

She grumbled while turning over under the blanket. The man was silent for a moment.

“A parent who doesn’t even give cheap chocolate is a very good parent.”

Of course he had not said anything for long.

“If you were in a position of power, you could have kept a decent fortune. A mother like that and an adoptive father who still respect them and follow them…”

He continued to belittle her parents. He even slipped in the word “adoptive father” to reveal the story Grace was trying to forget.

Yet she gritted her teeth and did not rise to the provocation. She let him think whatever he wanted. She wanted him to pity her.

Her unexpected effect came from telling him that her parents had not loved each other as lovers and had shown weakness.

“I don’t want to raise a child in an environment like that either.”

She had grown up with such parents and understood. The man began to reveal her private story.

The man’s wall crumbled as though she had broken his.

After that Grace gradually revealed more of her weak side. So even on the day when the chocolate story led to a tirade against her parents, she had only sulked and gone to bed.

The next day.

Before Leon left for work she was still sulking under the blanket.

“Does the brand name come to mind?”

She had been worried about it the whole time. He was asking about the brand of the cheap chocolate that might have been discontinued long ago.

“No.”

She had actually remembered it. She could not forget it.

But because the item had been sold only in the area where she was from, she pretended she did not remember.

From that day the crystal bowl was always placed beside her. The chocolates inside changed every day.

Grace offered the man a heart-shaped chocolate. He opened his eyes slightly and looked at her, then opened the tightly closed lips. Recently the man had received what she gave him without comment.

He was an easy man after all.

But the mind game was not easy.

Winston moved his pawn to the end of the board and promoted it to queen. The moment she had taken the queen was meaningless.

Yet the man defended and kept his most powerful piece while hoarding it. Even in the situation where Grace attacked aggressively because her queen had been taken, he acted as though he were protecting the queen instead of the king.

Why protect the queen?

The goal of chess was to capture the opponent’s king. The queen was merely a means, not the goal.

Yet the moment Grace shifted her attack elsewhere out of boredom, the man changed. He attacked her most prized queen recklessly and said:

“Checkmate.”

Eventually he placed her king in his hand.

Yet the man’s eyes were not those of a winner. He stared at the queen she had taken back after driving the king into a corner with an annoyed expression.

Why? That look had not left Grace’s mind all day.

It was as though she had looked into Leon Winston’s mind.

Nearly a year had passed. The leaves had all fallen, and the end of a turbulent year was approaching.

It was a morning only days before the birth of the Baby Jesus, who had come to save sinful humanity.

Grace had felt movement for the first time.

At first she had not known. The strange sensation like bubbles in her belly was the feeling of the child moving. Only when the doctor came for the regular check-up in the afternoon did she understand.

He’s alive.

Grace sat at the edge of the bed and touched her belly with trembling hands.

Here, something is moving inside me.

She could ignore the growing belly, but the sudden movements could not be ignored.

This unfamiliar existence shouted throughout her body as though warning her not to forget.

You are carrying Leon Winston’s child.

She had only pretended in front of that man; she had never truly accepted her situation. Her own lie had driven her into a corner with her weak movements.

Grace stared at Winston talking to the doctor on the opposite side. She had thought she was skilled at hiding her emotions and pretending to accept, but at this moment she could not hide her resentment in her eyes.

She even had the impulse to discard the resolve to make him love her. Too much hatred. Too much burden.

She wanted to lean somewhere to endure the burden of despair. Yet the only place she could lean on was the devil who had sown that despair himself.

She wanted to cling to him unreasonably, to wail.

I hate you so much! How could you do this to me! Kneel and beg for forgiveness right now!

Grace silently screamed and let out a dry laugh.

Beg for forgiveness? This is not a sin light enough to forgive by begging.

Only when she saw the same, or worse, suffering on his face could she vent her resentment.

But forgiveness was impossible.

Yes. The more I hate you, the more I must make you love me. The only way to revenge on that man was this.

“…How big must it be to allow long-distance travel?”

“If you mean long-distance travel…”

Grace looked at the man continuously asking the doctor questions and steadied her wavering will.

The late-night bathroom was brightly lit even without turning on the lights. Incense burners on the tub edge and shelves gave off a faint glow.

Splash. Rustle.

Water sounds and pages turning occasionally hit the moist tile walls. The bathroom was not filled with only quiet noise.

She drew in a deep breath and the sweet scent flooded her nose. The humid air mixed the scent of incense, soap bubbles, and the perfume in Grace’s hand.

The idea of taking a bubble bath with perfume had been the man’s.

She felt like a child who did not suit the situation. The man was doing something he did not suit either. Reading in the bathtub.

The book leaning against the tray crossing the bathtub was even more unsuitable.

An encyclopedia of common knowledge about pregnancy, childbirth, and child-rearing.

Every night when the man read this book Grace could not trust her eyes. She wanted to ask the one doing the trick why he was doing it.

She had just turned the page when she felt something bubbling inside her belly again.

At that moment the cream and chocolate in her mouth tasted bitter.

A child made by enemy and enemy. An existence that should never have been conceived.

Just like me.

No. I’m not like that.

Grace forced down the contents of her mouth and asked Winston:

“When do you think you’ll feel movement?”

“Well, it’s not in the book yet.”

“You’ll feel it soon too.”

It’s unfair that I have to endure this pain alone.

He must not have known what she meant by saying that. He had slipped his hand under the covers and begun stroking her belly as though he wanted to feel the movement.

“I heard in the book that if you eat something that suits the baby’s taste, movement becomes more active.”

“So that’s why it keeps moving. I like it, so does the child.”

Grace had lifted the perfume bottle and forced a smile.

“Then the child will like me.”

A crack appeared in Grace’s smile.

“It might hate me as much as it likes me.”

“Better to be a hater than nothing.”

The man did not pursue deeper because he had seen through her petty acting. The moment he looked back at the book, another unpleasant movement began inside her belly.

“It just moved. Feel it too.”

Grace pulled the man’s hand and placed it on the spot.

“Hmm… amazing.”

“You felt it?”

“No.”

“Then what’s so amazing…”

“I thought you were depressed all day because of the baby.”

Grace paused for a moment. She had acted as though she was not depressed and acted normal all day. The sharp man had seen through not only her mood but the reason for it.

“How did you know?”

She had chosen the quick path of admission. Denying words she had already spoken was foolish.

“I spent this whole year analyzing you, so I know.”

She had laughed at the words that could have been creepy as though they were a joke. The man’s lips overlapped hers, and he had accepted her gentle kisses and even naughty tongue games to deceive him.

She had rubbed his nape like a lover complaining and grumbled:

“It’s just… now that I feel the baby, I feel real and get depressed. I don’t know how to raise it.”

She had mixed honest emotion with a false reason and turned the focus back to him before he could dig deeper.

“You’re not at all lost.”

He shook his head without hesitation.

“You don’t need to worry.”

Grace received long kisses on her cheek and recalled only a few months earlier.

“I take full responsibility for the things I’ve done. Unlike you, who throws them away and runs.”

On the day she had first raised the topic, the man had been sharp. But now it felt like a dream. It was almost like the boy at Abington Beach.

You’re doing well.

Grace lifted her head and offered the man a spoonful of perfume. He accepted it without hesitation and placed small kisses on her exposed shoulder. His left hand, which had been out of the water, swept gently from her shoulder to the edge of the tub. He dried the wet hand neatly on the towel and turned the page again.

“Ugh…”

Grace twisted her body and looked up at Winston. He did not take his eyes off the book no matter how she made an unpleasant face.

This man was noble above water but petty below.

Thick foam surged. The man had wrapped his legs around hers and spread them. The right hand, which had been gently stroking her belly, became lewd the further it went down.

He had been suppressing his sexual desire lately and was gradually and carefully releasing it. And Leon Winston had changed not only outside the bed but inside as well.

While she was lost in the ecstasy of melting under his soft touch, the man asked:

“I have a question.”

“Hic, ugh?”

“Why did you use my bathtub that day?”

The moment he spoke of that day, the events in the bathroom came to life vividly, like a soap opera.

“I thought it was a honeytrap, but it wasn’t. You often do things that don’t make sense. It’s difficult. The hardest thing in the world… for a woman.”

The man paused briefly and finished his sentence. Had he been about to say “I was going to call you that”?

“I know it’s not easy for you.”

The moment he acted irritatingly the man’s hand between her legs grew naughtier. Grace gasped and continued:

“But in difficult problems sometimes the simplest answer is correct.”

“So, what is the correct answer?”

The man urged her impatiently as she circled around.

“Do you know the hot water doesn’t come out well in the maid’s bathroom? I just didn’t want to take a cold shower like ice.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t know you would come that day.”

“Your excuse is too flimsy. Well, that’s why you got caught.”

“The discovery wasn’t my mistake, ah—”