The Threshold of Choice
The decision came down to whether I would endure it or finally unravel the mystery.
“There was none. I never left the house at all. Thanks to the ban on outings, I couldn’t follow our madam’s every move after you snatched away all the hosts.”
With a hum and a nod, Kim Ui-jae continued.
“You didn’t even consider that he might actually be a host?”
Steam rose from the teacup, misting Kim Ui-jae’s face. Yeon-jae moved only her eyes, staring through the window toward the garden.
A host. The word had always carried the ring of an athlete in her mind.
“Don’t joke around. What could he possibly be starving for?”
“You think Sa Hee-eon looks like a saint?”
“I don’t even know what a saint looks like.”
He let out a scoff. At that moment, a long-coated man appeared on the path linking the main house.
His gait alone snared her attention. Sa Hee-eon moved like a painting drawn in dense, fine ink—untouchable, serene.
The man with the world-weary expression turned and headed toward the right building. Unable to tear her eyes away, she heard Kim Ui-jae’s voice beside her.
“He looks exactly like that, doesn’t he? A saint.”
She lowered her gaze as naturally as possible, then lifted it again to face him directly.
“As I said, Sa Hee-eon is the chairman’s most cherished… treasure, you could say. The security must be high. How far are you willing to go, Jeong Yeon-jae?”
“How far would you like me to go?”
“As far as the love of our youngest master requires. It would be nice if you could reach that level.”
“What? You want me to go to the level of a pillow-talking mistress?”
She answered with a mocking laugh, but her heart hammered. The words from that morning still echoed—dress in mismatched luxury and handle your part.
The love of the Sahwa family’s youngest master.
What Kim Ui-jae’s scheme had never predicted was that Sa Hee-eon knew nothing of the treasure’s existence. Nor did the request differ from Lee I-ryeong’s.
Kim Ui-jae crossed his legs and snapped his fingers at her. Her startled face, as if roused from hypnosis, quickly twisted into a light scoff.
“A pillow-talking mistress… what a good idea.”
“Hah, why do men think the truth only comes out in bed?”
“Maybe because it’s enjoyable?”
“Not even a stallion in heat.”
“I am in heat. I’m a beast.”
Indeed. There was no easier place than a bed for men.
Sa Hee-eon.
She had thought of his strange name first, but the image of frost-rimed dawn colors had come to mind immediately.
A pillow-talking mistress for that man. It made no sense.
Even with the title of an old man’s mistress, why would he bother with such a strange woman? Not a pervert. Not at all.
Ah, so was she the young viper that usually appeared in melodramatic dramas, waiting to steal the inheritance?
Yeon-jae glared at Kim Ui-jae with disgust. The mocking man pointed his chin at the car on the table.
“Drink the car. The main house must be in chaos, so no one will come looking today. And officially, you’ll be announced to your family as the young woman who works at the pottery studio. Here… survive in the fox’s den.”
First day. Damn. What a filthy stroke of bad luck.
Silver sunlight flowed across the surface of the pale-blue porcelain. The Glass House, built entirely of special glass, served as Sa Hee-eon’s workshop and exhibition hall—an extremely private space.
Entering the display room where the porcelain of similar shapes stood neatly arranged, Hee-eon removed his coat and draped it over the sofa’s back.
Unlike the near-freezing exterior, the interior was warm. He rolled up his sleeves, then opened the door to the drying room.
His forearms, slim yet tightly defined, showed prominent blue veins. The hands of a man who touched clay.
Hee-eon sought peace in the quiet. Noise was distasteful.
His relatives and family had turned the main house into a mourning atmosphere, some far too excited.
Did she know? How many people were cursing her name right now.
He could not understand why they all opposed such a ragged woman and ran about in panic. According to his grandmother, if they thought she might become the new mistress, they were clearly all insane.
He stepped forward to inspect the porcelain he had completed two weeks ago, spitting venom. The sound of the display-room door opening stopped him.
When he turned, Sa Jae-cheol stood there—the old man who had vanished for nearly a month without a word and left the family holding its breath.
“I thought you would be in the main house.”
He met Sa Jae-cheol without surprise. With bodyguards outside, Sa Jae-cheol walked in and surveyed the space with a gentle expression.
“You’re not in the main house. Why are you here?”
“It’s too noisy and chaotic there.”
You know that.
In a low murmur, Sa Jae-cheol clicked his tongue.
“Indeed. Why did everyone gather?”
Hee-eon walked over to his grandfather and naturally assisted him onto the sofa. Normally Sa Jae-cheol did not need help, but Hee-eon knew his grandfather’s legs were troubled today.
The moment the door opened, Sa Jae-cheol’s footsteps had been different.
“At my age, I thought you would be led astray by a young woman and offer up your everything.”
“Everyone seems to think so.”
“Why? Because the girl is doll-like and pretty?”
Perhaps.
Hee-eon recalled the woman’s back and soon let out a quiet laugh.
“Maybe. It’s not my taste. It’s vintage.”
“Hah. As expected, you talk big.”
Sa Jae-cheol, who had let out a rattling laugh, pointed at the porcelain on the central shelf with his cane.
“Move that one to the main house.”
When Hee-eon turned, his brows furrowed. He walked to the porcelain. It was the moon jar he had completed two weeks earlier.
He stared at it for a moment, then casually touched the surface and let it drop to the floor.
Clang!
With a loud crash, shards scattered everywhere. Sa Jae-cheol’s thick eyebrows twitched, but Hee-eon simply gazed at the broken pieces with indifferent, icy eyes.
“I couldn’t bear it. I was wondering when to break it. It didn’t please me.”
“To me, it looked beautiful.”
“It has to please me.”
“Hee-eon.”
The only person in the family who spoke to Sa Jae-cheol with such tenderness was Sa Hee-eon. The fierce old tiger had always been ruthless, yet with him his voice softened.
The sole bloodline of his third son, whom he had driven to death with his own hands. Sa Jae-cheol had raised the wounded, left-alone Hee-eon as his own child.
Perhaps it was pity. Or guilt. The responsibility of failing to protect his child.
“You don’t want anything? Everyone is ordering you to do this and that, but you say nothing.”
Sa Hee-eon lifted his smooth, long mouth into a smile.
“Indeed. I still have nothing I want.”
“Why is a man like you so free of greed?”
“Me?”
He flicked the shattered pieces with his toes.
“Greed keeps me unsatisfied.”
“You don’t have greed. You crave.”
Crave. Perhaps he had never truly felt such a sophisticated emotion. Throughout his life he had never succumbed easily to desire, had never known thirst for anything.
Thirst, craving, desire—those were things that did not suit him. He had never failed to obtain what he wanted, nor had he ever suffered in anguish.