Fate's Bitter Mockery
Whenever little Je-hyeok threw a tantrum demanding candy, Seung-shin would insist that fruit was far better for the body. She would spear a piece with her fork, then chase after him as he stubbornly shut his mouth. Only when he finally gave in, spitting out the dried fruit he claimed tasted horrible and had been tricked out of him, would Seung-shin catch it with both hands and plead with him in the sweetest voice imaginable.
“Fruit is better for the body. If you eat this, our Je-hyeok will grow even taller.”
She would patiently explain the precise nutrients inside that particular fruit and how they would benefit every inch of his young body, staying right by his side no matter how much he pouted.
To this day, in Seung-shin’s eyes, Je-hyeok remained the same little boy she had loved so fiercely back then.
Je-hyeok obeyed, lifting the fork with perfect obedience. Seung-shin smiled at him, gentle and indulgent, and took a sip of her tea.
“Your father was only concerned. He wanted to leave you the best he could—better than anyone else ever could. But he worries whether that heart of yours, the one that rushed into Wooshin, was truly serious. Whether you’ll carry the group with real responsibility, and whether this path is truly right for you. That’s why he thinks so deeply.”
Those words were pure Seung-shin, unchanging as the day she first learned them.
Ever since they were children, she had worked tirelessly to bridge the gap between her husband and his only son. She tried to make the stern, unyielding father understand his rebellious, willful child and, in turn, to make the selfish boy see why his father was so strict.
Her efforts were admirable, yet neither man had changed. The father remained cold and rigid; the son remained arrogant and self-absorbed.
“If you ever feel even a little easier later, I hope I was the reason your father gave you such a difficult position from the very start. He must also be relieved that you haven’t endured more hardship. Taking the chair of chairman of the group isn’t an easy thing. Look at your father—at his age he still can’t sleep properly, and every waking moment is spent on Wooshin. His entire life has been dedicated to that company. Even if he did what he wanted… I feel sorry for him.”
“I know. Father thinks of Wooshin night and day, and we Miss Baek think of Father night and day.”
Je-hyeok’s light reply drew a tired smile from Seung-shin.
“I think of our son every waking moment.”
She said it, yet everyone knew that her true first priority had always been her father.
Je-hyeok’s biological mother had been the only exception. If the father had not been so completely smitten with that young pianist back in his youth, Seung-shin would have claimed the seat beside him without hesitation. They had been promised to each other since they were children, bound by family obligations.
The betrayal had been the father’s.
Je-hyeok’s biological mother had been a poor pianist. The father had abandoned every promise and every duty for her sake.
In the end, Seung-shin had lost the seat to that woman. Even after the father left her, she had never forgotten him and had refused to marry anyone else.
Finally, eight years after the mother’s death, Seung-shin had reclaimed her rightful place—only after the father remarried and she became his stepmother.
“Your mother must have been worried about your father all this time. Your mother is right. Why not lay everything down and just travel with her? Oh, and of course, lay it all down for me.”
Je-hyeok’s words were half-teasing, half-sincere. Seung-shin laughed, the kind of warm laugh she had not allowed herself when her father was present.
The father had brought in a mother for his only son to replace the wife who had passed. He had married a woman who swore she would never have children, just for the sake of the boy. And on top of that, the man had forced Je-hyeok himself to undergo sterilization surgery.
From the spare bedroom came endless, heart-wrenching sobs. The cold-hearted Tae-young never once looked at Seung-shin with tenderness.
Both of them were utterly poisonous, Seung-shin used to whisper when she thought no one was listening.
Je-hyeok had heard those stories often enough as a child. “Our son has finally grown up. Well, I hope the day comes when you can lighten your father’s burden.”
Seung-shin was sometimes admirable and mostly pitiful. She had raised Je-hyeok like her own son without ever receiving the love she deserved as a stepmother, and she had endured that long, lonely life.
The father was just as foolish. Thirty years had passed since his wife’s death, yet he still clung to that dead ghost as though he could not let her go.
Finally, it was Seung-shin who had been there for her husband all these years—alive, ready, and waiting.
Was it truly extraordinary love that kept the father blind to his own stepmother’s devotion? Or was it the stepmother’s love that endured rejection after rejection yet still stood by his side until the end?
Any love that wasted a person’s entire life was simply disgusting.
“The hiring date is set after next year’s regular shareholders’ meeting.”
“Yes. No point stirring up unnecessary noise before the meeting.”
“So around early April next year, then. What will you do in the meantime?”
“Study the construction industry and come up with ways to improve the underperforming results.”
“Our son is such a thoughtful boy. You must tell your father.”
The faintest smile curved Je-hyeok’s lips.
“Excuses, of course.”
He leaned back against the sofa with lazy grace.
“We should play. As much as you like.”
Before that, he reminded himself, he had to deal with that annoying woman. His gaze drifted to the long window on the side wall, its frame a stark white frame holding the lush green of Bukak Mountain. The tips of the dense leaves caught a subtle red in the late sunlight. Even though the scorching summer heat had lingered, autumn was finally approaching.
Was this fate?
As he turned his head, sunlight flooded in from the ceiling windows of the building. Woo-hee frowned slightly, shielding her eyes.
“It seems we’ve run into each other more than three times by accident.”
Light sliced through the air, and a man’s voice reached her from across the room. Woo-hee, lost in the black labyrinth of the painting, snapped back to herself a second too late.
The man wore a grey knit sweater beneath a long black trench coat. His hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets as he walked toward her with easy strides.
Why did this man always feel like dawn, even in broad daylight? His smile was cooler than it had been the last time she saw him.
“What do you think?”
Still, Tael walked toward her with the same practiced ease he always used. He had been flawless in every move.
Woo-hee gripped the strap of her bag tighter. Just as she had practiced, just as she had planned, the corners of her lips curved upward in a gentle smile.
If Woo Je-hyeok had not spoken first today, she would have approached him soon—maybe even as early as the next encounter.
“Yes… we meet often, don’t we.”
That was how their conversation was supposed to begin. She had planned to use the same tired, common trick that always worked on men. Yet Woo Je-hyeok had saved her the trouble by speaking first.
“Oh, fate?”
“I don’t believe in anything so grand. Maybe a short connection is enough. We keep running into each other like this.”
“Fate can be plenty grand.”
He was strikingly handsome in his perfectly tailored clothes, yet something unnatural lingered in the smirk that curved his lips. It felt like he was saying the word “fate” between them was almost too cheap.
Before she could react, Woo Je-hyeok had closed the distance. His eyes swept slowly over her body.
“The clothes suit you.”
They were modest, almost plain. Praise of that kind sounded like mockery.
Still, the corners of Woo-hee’s mouth lifted. The more openly he behaved, the better.
As though reading her thoughts, the man raised the corners of his own lips in response and asked her a question.
“Do you come here often?”
“No. This is my first time.”
“I come here often.”
Whatever.
Normally she would have agreed. But today, for some reason, she continued politely.
“Then could you give me directions?”
“Directions?”
“Yes. I don’t know much about paintings. I came alone and I’m a little bored.”
She had already turned away from him twice before and regretted it. She should have smiled. She should have approached. What was this ridiculous pride anyway? It was only embarrassing for a second.
Myeong Eun-ju had been right. Woo-hee had never had the talent for this sort of thing. She had never felt the desperate need for sex or a man before. Men kept approaching her naturally—until she had turned away more than twenty times, sending two of them away without a word.
This time she had run endless simulations in her head. She recalled every tactic she had seen others use, every line they had spoken. She analyzed them like clues in a puzzle.
Next time she met Woo Je-hyeok, she would smile and speak to him just as he had spoken to her. If he ignored her again, she would grab his arm this time. She would act exactly as cool and close as he had before. Surely that would work.
Even as she thought it, guilt flickered in her chest. But it faded quickly.
Woo Je-hyeok, completely unaware of her scheme, wandered the gallery with peaceful curiosity.
“What should I show you?”
“Just… what is your favorite piece here, Mr. Woo Je-hyeok?”
“You remembered my name, I see.”
“Of course.”
“I forgot yours.”
It was strange. The conversation now was heavier than it had been the first time they met.
Was it because her own intentions had changed? Back then she had had no plan; now there was something impure stirring inside her. Maybe that was why.
“My name is….”
“You don’t need to tell me.”
Woo Je-hyeok cut her off mid-sentence and turned away. A few steps later he glanced back. The deep lines of his eyebrows rose slightly. His gaze asked whether she was still following.
If it felt as though he was looking at her, was she the one imagining things?
Anyway, he had said to follow. Since he was no longer ignoring her, Woo-hee trailed behind him without another word.