He waited until she was out the door and down the street before following. He was still painfully erect.
The apartment was in terrible condition—barely fit for habitation. Cracks ran across the walls like spiderwebs. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt at painting the ceiling, but the parts that had crumbled off were still visible through the thick layer of white. Cobwebs covered the single dusty window, and lying squarely in the center of the windowsill was a dead cockroach. Evidently, it had been there for a long time. Its shell was shriveled up; its little legs were dried stiff. In the bathroom, Dahye peered at the tub and saw mold blooming around the grout between the tiles.
“The other unit is occupied by a Chinese family,” the landlord said loudly. “They’re fine tenants. Won’t bother you at all. In fact, I often forget that they’re even there.”
“I wasn’t worried about them,” Dahye muttered, looking around. The vent in the bathroom was dry and dusty. She tested the faucet, and a weak stream of water dribbled out.
It was such a gloomy place, but it was the only thing she could afford. All the other places she had called had wanted ajeonse—a large deposit—and most required a minimum of one hundred million won. She had nowhere near that amount in her savings.
At least it wasn’t a studio. The bedroom was small, but looking around she thought,it could be worse.
“Will you take it, then?” the landlord asked hopefully.
What choice did she have? It was either this dump or return to Bora’s apartment, which she couldn’t do.
“Yes,” Dahye said. She reached into her pocket for the money she had withdrawn from the ATM. Ten million won for the deposit, plus three hundred thousand won each month for rent. She tried not to think about her nearly empty bank account.
“Oh, good,” he said. “I’ve been trying to fill this space for a while. Nobody wants it! I can’t understand why.” He shook his head, then added, “The digital lock has been broken for a little while, but now that you’re here, I’ll get someone to fix it.”
She could sense that he was lying. He handed her the keys and shuffled out, leaving Dahye to drag her suitcase inside. She sat on top of it and looked around. There was a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a combined washer and dryer that smelled of mildew.
She opened the drawers one by one. The previous tenant hadn’t cleaned them out. Inside, she found a dull set of utensils, a stack of disposable chopsticks pilfered from a nearby chicken shop, some stained napkins. A cleaver, rust creeping across the blade. Three off-white, uneven candles, each one the size of her palm, their wicks black with soot. She closed the drawers, then dragged the suitcase all the way into the bedroom and stopped, panting. Flopping backward onto the bare floor, she stared at the awful ceiling.
In her head, she tallied all the things she would need to do to make the place habitable. She would have to pick up cleaningsupplies, an inflatable mattress, some blankets. She winced as she remembered the sum left in her bank account and took out Hyukjoon’s wallet, thumbing through his cash. She pocketed it.
There was a loud crash next door, and Dahye jumped, startled. She popped out of the room and pressed her ear flat against the wall. The neighbors, it seemed, were fighting. She heard a man’s voice, guttural and low, and then another crash. She considered calling the police before thinking better of it. As long as they didn’t bother her, it was none of her business. But if they did bother her … She went to the drawer and picked up the cleaver. Maybe she would sleep with it under her pillow—after she got one, anyway.
Dahye took the knife back to the bedroom and lay back down, holding it tightly to her chest.
How different her life was now. She had lost everything, and it had happened so abruptly. So much of her sense of stability, she realized, had been tied to Hyukjoon.
She picked up her phone and searched for his name on Instagram. Hyukjoon didn’t have an Instagram, but several fan accounts popped up. Dahye made a face. She had always found it strange that Hyukjoon had fan accounts, considering he wasn’t in the public eye very often. Nevertheless, she tapped on the first one: JangHyukjoonNewsOnly. Images of Hyukjoon populated the screen, and she felt a painful twinge in her chest.
The most recent posts were about the scandal. The hashtags #WeLoveYou, #WeStandWithYou, #JangHyukjoonLove, and #HimToo were featured prominently in the captions. There was a story up as well, and Dahye tapped on it. It was a screenshot from a tabloid website and contained an image of Hyukjoon in a suit. His arms were around a woman, and Dahye felt the world come screeching to a stop.
It was the woman she had seen at his house. The woman she’d thought—hoped—was his sister. Seoyeon.
SEOULBUZZ EXCLUSIVE: Chaebol Playboy Jang Hyukjoon ENGAGED to Billionairess Lee Seoyeon
This morning, SeoulBuzz confirmed Jang Hyukjoon’s engagement to Lee Seoyeon, eldest daughter of Seoul’s billionaire shipping magnate Lee Jinho. The two have reportedly been dating for the last five years and first met in New York while both were attending Columbia University. A source close to the couple claims Jang proposed with an eye-watering 10-carat oval diamond ring, estimated to be worth two billion won, in front of their family and friends last weekend, and that they are looking to have their lavish wedding next spring at Aston House at the Grand Walkerhill Hotel in Seoul.
Jang, who is the son of YS Media Group CEO Jang Insu, recently made headlines in Seoul after nude videos of him were leaked in a molka scandal. In a recent interview, Jang claimed that the videos were filmed years ago during a break in their relationship and that the bond between the couple is stronger than ever.
The phone slipped from Dahye’s fingers and clattered to the floor. She stared at it dumbly. Hyukjoon had been dating someone else the entire time they had been together. He had known that there was no chance for them—that Dahye’s dream of ending up with him was a childish fantasy. What had he said again in those texts to his friends? That he would pay for breast implants if she was still around in a few months? Dahyeshuddered, closing her eyes. She couldn’t escape Hyukjoon’s words.
She didn’t say anything when I put it in her ass.
All this time, she had tried to come up with excuses for his behavior, only for him to deceive her again and again. He had pretended that he loved her. Her hands were clenched, and when she unfurled them, she saw little half-moons indented in her palms.
Wet footprints appeared on the floor. Eunhye stood in front of her, beads of water dripping from her neck. She crouched, pressing one damp palm against Dahye’s cheek.
“Don’t cry.”
“I can’t stop,” Dahye sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You do.”
Dahye looked at her questioningly, and an image came to her mind. What if it had been Hyukjoon who had followed her into the bathroom last night? What ifhehad been the one to fall and crack his head against the toilet bowl?