It wasn’t Hyukjoon.
Her face fell. The receptionist bowed. He had been the one to check them in when they first arrived, and now he seemed shy, almost nervous. Seeing her in the towel, her hair dripping down her bare shoulders, he quickly averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Good evening, miss. We received a call of a disturbance, and I wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.”
“I’m fine. Nothing happened,” she said curtly.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. If there’s anything we can help you with, please feel free to call the front desk.”
As he rounded the corner, understanding dawned on her. He had seen her crying outside, had watched Hyukjoon drive away, leaving her behind. He felt sorry for her. Without thinking, Dahye stepped over the threshold, wet feet on the carpeted hallway, and half shouted, the tears already thick in her throat, “You don’t need to feel bad for me. I’m fine.”
He stopped but didn’t turn. Trembling, she stomped back inside and slammed the door. She returned to the bathroom. All the steam had escaped, and the floor was wet. Dahye looked around. It was empty. There was no sign of the monstrous thing she had seen.
A small trickle of water dripped from the vent.
By the early hours of the next morning, the news was splashed all over the internet. Numb, Dahye scanned through the headlines, the words barely registering in her mind:
YS MEDIA GROUP CEO’S SON CAUGHT IN MOLKA SCANDAL
YS MEDIA IN CRISIS? QUESTIONS SWIRL AROUND FAILURES FOLLOWING JANG HYUKJOON SCANDAL
YS MEDIA CEO JANG INSU IN HOT WATER AFTER SON’S MOLKA VIDEO DISCOVERED
Dahye lay her phone down on her chest. Sunlight was peeking through the gaps in the shades, a stray sunbeam sloping across the ceiling, but otherwise, the room was dark. A randomgurgling came from the closed door of the bathroom, and Dahye, remembering the thing that had crawled out of the vent, burrowed deeper into the bed. She opened Naver again and clicked on the first article that appeared about Hyukjoon.
There was no mention of Dahye by name, though screenshots from the video he’d shown her had been featured in the articles. Her body and face had been blurred out completely, but Hyukjoon’s body was only blurred from the neck down, leaving his face visible. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were staring directly into the camera. Unable to look at his picture any longer, she continued to read.
“These videos are not the fault of my son,” CEO Jang said in a press release issued by YS Media Group late Wednesday. “This was a malicious act done without his consent, and we will work together with our legal counsel to make sure that the criminals responsible for the egregious invasion of his privacy are punished. Hyukjoon has acknowledged that his actions have not been in line with YS Media Group’s vision and ideals, and he is fully committed to his family, his personal integrity, and the company’s future. He is apologetic and begs for forgiveness from the public. Hyukjoon will be spending some time abroad focusing on our expansion into North America and the next steps of his personal journey. We have no further comment on this matter and ask for privacy and understanding as we navigate this difficult time.”
There were so many other places they could have been seen. Parking garages and bathrooms. There was a club in Itaewon, a different one, where they had hooked up in the men’s restroom. And the department store in Apgujeong—surely theyhad security cameras. Perhaps that footage was already making the rounds on the internet. She picked up her phone and dialed Hyukjoon’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She called again. She tried twenty times before giving up and turning back to Naver, looking up Hyukjoon’s name. When they had first started seeing each other, Dahye had looked him up nearly every day. Pictures of him with his brother and father—all ones she had already seen back when they had first started dating—populated the screen. The Jang men were handsome and well-dressed, smiling and happy. They exuded power. Wealth. Privilege. She could not reconcile this version of Hyukjoon with the one she loved.
Dahye glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. She had to go to work, but how was she supposed to face her coworkers today? The thought of it made her sick. How many people had seen the video of her by now? Thousands? Millions? Thanks to the news, she was certain people all over the country were searching for the video.
A sudden thought came to her, and she sat up to look at the ceiling. There was a smoke detector right above her head. All night it had blinked, on and off at random intervals. She stood on tiptoe, her toes sinking into the mattress, and wrenched off the circular plastic cover, revealing a tangle of colorful wires and a battery. There was nothing unusual about it. Maybe under the bed? Dahye got on her hands and knees and shined her phone’s flashlight underneath. It was empty. Sweating, she made her way to the bathroom, turning on all the lights and treading carefully, her eyes glued to the vent. She peeked inside. Nothing. She examined the mirrors, pressing the tip of her finger to the surface of the glass. There was a small gap between her fingernail and the reflection. She let out a small breath of relief, then turned to the bathtub, the drawers. They were empty.
She threw herself back on the bed and tried to call Hyukjoon again. The phone rang five times, and then she heard his crisp, businesslike voice:Hello. I’m not available right now, but if you leave a message …
Disappointed, Dahye ended the call. It was a long flight; he wouldn’t have landed yet. She searched online to find out the time difference between the two cities. Seoul was thirteen hours ahead of New York. Hyukjoon, it appeared, was traveling back in time. Where he was going had not yet been touched by the scandal.
Voices floated through the wall. She pressed her ear against it, listening hard. Soft murmurs came from the people in the room next door. They seemed to be saying her name.Dahye. Dahye.She tore herself away and scooted into the corner, hugging her knees to her chest. Had they seen the video? Had they somehow learned her identity?
No. It wasn’t possible. Her mind was playing tricks on her again.
It was her fault that he was in trouble. Her fault that he was gone. If only she had been more careful. It was her responsibility; hers alone. Hyukjoon had been focused on more important things, and rightfully so. Her mother’s voice sliced through her like a knife.
There you go, Dahye, ruining everything again.
Pressing her knuckles into the center of her forehead, she squeezed her eyes shut. She missed Hyukjoon so badly that it hurt.
She thought about begging Hyukjoon’s father for his forgiveness. She could throw herself onto the ground and prostrate herself until he relented and allowed Hyukjoon to come back to Seoul. The press could reissue the article with corrections and pin the blame on her instead, as she deserved. And if the twoof them ended up together, would it matter that they had slept together before marriage?
+
Checkout was at eleven, and at noon, the hotel phone rang. It was probably the front desk, Dahye thought, lifting her head from the pillow. She stared at it blurrily until the ringing stopped. Then she put her head back down, drifting on the edge of sleep. In her semiconscious state, she could hear sounds swirling around her. Someone was whispering her name. A figure came to the edge of the bed and climbed in. Panicked, Dahye tried to get up, but her body had grown inexplicably heavy. She couldn’t move. She opened her mouth to scream as rough hands grabbed at her body, pushing her into the mattress. Her eyes were sealed shut.
She jolted upright, looking around wildly. She was still in the hotel room.
“Miss?”
The man who had knocked on the door the previous night—the receptionist—was standing at the foot of the bed. A security guard stood by the door, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face.