The rain had quieted outside, leaving only the soft hiss of wind against the windows.
The house was steeped in silence—heavy, suffocating.
Mr. Han rose slowly from the floor after bowing, his knees trembling.
He stood for a moment, staring at Oska, who sat motionless on the couch, eyes fixed on the empty teacup before him.
"Oska," he said quietly. "There's one more thing I need to ask. And I want you to answer truthfully… from the deepest part of your heart."
Oska didn't move. His breathing was shallow.
Mr. Han hesitated, then spoke.
"How did you truly feel… about Stevanie?"
For a moment, Oska just stared at him—expressionless, hollow.
Then, to Mr. Han's surprise, a bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"You really want to know that?"
His voice was sharp, low, almost mocking.
"I hated her," he said flatly. "I hated her more than anything."
He leaned forward, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"I hated the way she looked at me like I was dirt. If only you knew, we spent our first night together with me being her slave. She whipped me! And she enjoyed it. I cleaned the whole house by myself until my hands bled, without rest, like an animal. Even an animal would have died in my condition at that time. I hated how she smiled when I begged her to stop."
His tone rose with every word, anger spilling through every syllable.
"I drank myself half to death after that night. Every time I saw her face, I wanted to smash something. Then the next morning, she fined me thousands of dollars just because I was late for work. Even though she had allowed me to be late before, I still got fined."
He let out a dry laugh that cracked in the middle.
"I thought I'd go insane. So I left. I went to America to forget her, to rebuild myself. I built my own company. Just let you know, Mr. Han, the only reason I came back here was to get revenge."
He looked up, his eyes burning.
"To destroy her. To make her taste the same hell she gave me. I even broke into her safe at the office and stole valuable documents."
Mr. Han didn't interrupt. He just listened, his face unreadable.
Oska continued, his tone trembling between fury and exhaustion.
"I wanted to watch her empire fall apart. I wanted her to see everything crumble, piece by piece, until she had nothing left. That's what I told myself. That's what kept me alive."
He paused. Something in his expression changed.
The fury began to fade, replaced by something uncertain—something softer.
"But then…" he murmured.
"Every time I saw her, something didn't make sense. Even when I hated her most, I couldn't stop looking at her. The way she spoke, the way she smiled—even her cruelty—it felt…" He exhaled shakily. "It felt too human. Did you know that she always uses a different shampoo every two days? I still remember the first time I came to her office, her hair smelled like strawberries. And just now, even though her hair was messy and tangled like before, I could smell vanilla. And her lips, make me want to smile all the time. She often frowns, but when she smiles, my heart feels warm."
He rubbed his temples. "Sometimes, when she smiled, I forgot everything. My anger, my revenge—gone in an instant. Like my brain just… stopped working."
Mr. Han said nothing. The ticking of the clock filled the silence between them.
Oska gave a faint, humorless smile.
"At first, I thought it was just a weakness. Maybe pity. Maybe obsession. But now…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Now I don't know. That can't be love, right? After everything she did to me, there's no way I could feel that way. Maybe it was something stupid—like a lonely man who has never seen a girl as beautiful as her. Maybe this is the result of being alone for too long."
His voice trembled.
"But one thing I do know," he whispered, "that I was… happy when she smiled. That smile. I'll never see it again."
A tear slipped down his cheek before he could hide it.
He wiped it away quickly and turned his face aside.
Mr. Han watched him quietly.
He understood.
Though Oska's words were tangled in hatred and regret, the truth inside them was clear enough.
He didn't need to ask further.
After a long silence, Oska stood.
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, his movements slow but certain.
"Where are you going?" Mr. Han asked.
"To the hospital," Oska replied without turning around.
"I need to see her one last time… before she's gone for good. I need to know what I truly feel when I look at her—without anger, without hate. Just once."
Mr. Han nodded slowly.
"You shouldn't be driving in your current condition," he said. "Let me drive you."