Why Is There No Middle Ground
That moment when he had found himself standing in the middle of a deep forest he had somehow wandered into. Though the memory was hazy now, the face with its distinct features still rose clearly in his mind. He had stared at it with such intense focus.
Yet no matter how long he looked, he couldn’t tell whether the expression was one of anger or simply frustration at how pathetic he himself appeared.
That night, as he tossed and turned in bed, terrified that earthworms would crawl into his dreams, a sudden thought had crossed his mind.
‘Did I look that insignificant to him?’
Like a fallen leaf scattered across the ground, or some invisible microorganism clinging parasitically to a tree.
The childish, self-serving, and twisted notion—one that slightly wounded his pride and sparked a stubborn defiance—only drew him in even more.
To the son of the madam his mother served. The boy was three years older, but calling him “Oppa” felt strangely repulsive, so he stubbornly insisted on “Young Master.”
“Young Master.”
It was only after he had been lost in meaningless thoughts for a while that he belatedly realized the incident from earlier had not been a simple mistake.
“There you go again, calling me that.”
The sigh he let out without cutting off the end of his words fully revealed how utterly fed up he was with her.
It seemed he was recalling that day long ago, right after the fire, when he had poured out every possible resentment, telling her never to call him that again or even meet his eyes.
“It may be uncomfortable for you, but I ask for your understanding.”
Reality was reality. She had already moved into the residence, and after a discussion that could hardly be called a discussion, they had agreed she would serve as his personal attendant. He needed to understand that she could not simply follow his wishes.
“Until you become Vice Chairman, I don’t have any other title to use for you.”
“You really know how to push someone into a corner with things that aren’t even yours.”
This conversation had not begun as an argument, and they didn’t have time for one. If she had already left the mansion in the meantime, they would have to go through yet another stage.
Seol-hye straightened her neck with rigid poise and opened her mouth once more. She barely managed to swallow down the tension that came from not being able to predict his reaction after her words left her lips.
“I believe it would be best if you went to see Han Sun-joo.”
One second. Three seconds. Ten seconds passed. The eyes that had been staring straight at her only furrowed their brows fiercely without saying a word. Finally, she saw his lips part.
“Just what the hell is your…”
Right. Just why had she ruined everything earlier by picking a pointless fight?
She was nothing but an insignificant secretary in everyone’s eyes.
Control tower, they called it. In truth, she was exactly what the man before her said—just someone who waited on him hand and foot.
She knew now. That expression he wore wasn’t born of anger, nor of frustration. It was simply the reluctant gaze one gave to something utterly beneath notice.
That was why.
It had been an impulsive decision, but with so many eyes watching, leaving the scene had been the best choice at the time. Yet her head had been filled with the single thought that she needed to clean up the mess before any more time was wasted.
“Do you realize how far you’re overstepping right now?”
Seol-hye brought her perfectly aligned legs together and fixed her posture even more rigidly.
“Yes, I am aware.”
“You’re aware, and yet…”
She had learned over the past few days of conversation that when his words grew shorter, it was a sign that his mood had soured considerably.
In other words, he might drive her into a corner—or perhaps something even worse could follow.
Seol-hye stepped back, widening the distance she had closed of her own accord, and clenched both fists. Though she had retreated two steps, the gap between them seemed to shrink instead.
“Why is there no middle ground with you?”
His voice was low in tone but rose sharply at the end. He stepped forward without hesitation, like an enraged cat cornering a terrified mouse.
Seol-hye refused to avert her gaze in the narrow space between them and parted her tightly pressed lips.
“I am simply suggesting a measure to minimize risk in accordance with my role.”
Her heel struck the baseboard of the round pillar, bringing her to a halt. Unlike her, he continued to press forward with that persistent stare, lowering the foot he had just lifted.
“So tell me, why does that measure involve me going to see that woman?”
Was it to force their unbridgeable gazes downward? He tilted his head at an angle and lowered his body.
“The two of you.”
“The two of us?”
The air in the room wasn’t particularly dry, yet he licked his parched lips once before continuing, cutting off her words.
“Yes. You should marry Han Sun-joo.”
He dragged his palm down his face with those unusually long five fingers, then took one step back.
“You’ve gone beyond meddling. Now you’re practically crawling all over me.”
“I was rash earlier.”
“You’re still being quite rash.”
The fact that he had begun nitpicking her wording meant he had already accepted the essence of the conversation. She continued.
“I may be presuming, but I believe the Chairman has likely suggested marriage to you.”
“If you can see that far ahead, why don’t you just lay out a mat and sit down?”
“Before your return to Korea, I reviewed the data. The truth is, the shares you currently hold are not enough to securely defend your management rights.”
She had known that Chairman Kang had considered countermeasures in advance, but she had not guessed what method he would choose.
Still, in the short span of about a month, there was no more efficient way to secure shares than through a marital alliance.
“So I’m supposed to wrap myself in a woman’s skirt and solidify my management rights?”
“Wouldn’t Han Sun-joo be the optimal candidate with the best conditions?”
“Fine. I’ll do as you wish.”
With those final words, he left the room. Perhaps that was why the space he had occupied suddenly felt unbearably empty.
Even though the room maintained an appropriate level of humidity, her lips felt dry no matter how many times she licked them. Moisture refused to return.
It was as if no matter how much water she drank, the thirst would not subside. A burning sensation rose from deep inside her.
The following evening, the place Seol-hye entered was the Royal Center located in Cheongdam-dong. It was a luxury pavilion targeting second- and third-generation women from chaebol families.
This was the third time she had run an errand for Soo-ran, including today, and as expected, she didn’t like the atmosphere of this place at all.
It was partly because she had once accidentally overheard the true feelings hidden behind the managers’ artificial smiles that never seemed to dry up.
“Chief Ahn, you’re here! I’ll escort you this way.”
Seol-hye followed the manager up to the second floor where the private lounge was located.
Royal’s system strictly determined VIP rankings based on cumulative spending. Soo-ran held the second position.
Brands were divided according to that ranking, granting access to highly rare luxury items that only true connoisseurs would recognize.
In other words, Soo-ran had access to everything from limited editions released in Korea to unofficial products in the VIP-only line.
“This is the scarf that Director Kang has been waiting for over a year.”
“Ah, yes.”
It looked no different from the three-hundred-thousand-won scarf around her own neck. She accepted the receipt showing a price a hundred times higher, listened to the polite explanation about its classic design, rarity, and investment value, and was just coming down from the second floor when it happened.
She felt someone’s gaze from the waiting sofa on the first floor.
Was this the so-called woman’s intuition?
“Hey?”
At the sound of Sun-joo’s voice—the owner of that intuitive feeling—Seol-hye turned her gaze and gave a polite bow.
“What a coincidence, running into each other here.”
Without hurrying her steps or hesitating, Seol-hye finished descending the stairs and stood squarely in front of Sun-joo.
Slap.
The stinging heat spreading across her right cheek snapped Seol-hye out of her daze. She lifted her head along with her lowered gaze.
“I just couldn’t let it go. I was still so furious.”
“Have you relieved your anger now?”
“Hey! What the hell makes you so arrogant?”
Though unable to hide her dumbfounded expression, Seol-hye took one bold step forward like a true professional, conscious of the blind stares from those around them that Sun-joo was so wary of.
“If you’re acting this way because you think I might interfere with what you want to do, then you don’t need to worry about that.”
“What?”
With a gaze full of confidence and devoid of any resentment, Seol-hye lifted her heels ever so slightly to match the height of the taller Sun-joo.
“I’m telling you that I could be an ally, not an enemy.”
Their gazes pointed in completely opposite directions as low voices passed back and forth between their ears.
“You really are ridiculous the more I look at you.”
“I might even be able to give you some tips.”
Seol-hye’s stubborn eyes wavered faintly as her words trailed off. It was as if she had just made an incredibly difficult decision.