I could feel the stares from everyone in the room, their attention caught by the sudden commotion—Lee Min-Ho's shout, my body now a barrier between him and his daughter. I held his wrist, the momentum of his swing dead in my grip.
"W-Who are you? What are you doing?!" he screamed, his breath sour with cheap alcohol and rage.
I tightened my hold for a second, just enough to make him wince, before shoving his arm back at him with a sharp, dismissive release.
He stumbled, flustered into silence, before his confusion curdled back into anger. "Who do you think you are, Lady?! This is a family problem! It doesn't concern you!"
I didn't even look at him. I slowly turned my head toward Yoon-ah.
She was staring back at me, her face a canvas of pure shock, painted over with a deep, burning shame. My heart ached for her.
"I-I… Miss Law, what are you…" she began, her voice defaulting to that painfully polite, professional tone she used as a shield, but the words fractured and died.
I offered her a small smile, one that felt sad even on my own face. "Don't," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper yet clear in the stunned quiet. "No need to explain."
"Hey! Are you ignoring me?!" Lee Min-ho's voice was a grating scrape against the silence.
This time, I turned to face him fully. My gaze was slow, deliberate.
He puffed up, indignant. "Hmph, wanna play it like that, huh? Whatever. Don't interrupt us. I'm her father. I can educate my daughter how I see fit. I took care of her, so don't you dare—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his bluster faltering under the weight of my stare. "Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?"
I didn't know what expression was on my face, but I could feel it—a pure, undiluted disgust that had settled deep in my bones. I didn't try to hide it. I couldn't.
"'A family problem?'" I repeated, my voice flat, dripping with scorn. "'Her father,' you say?" I let out a derisive snort. "Don't kid yourself. A father," I stressed the word until it cracked, "doesn't raise his hand to his child. He doesn't only visit when he's a leech in need of money."
His face darkened, a storm of ugly resentment. "What do you know about us, huh?! I raised her! I spent my damn money on her! Can't I get something in return now that she's in a good place? If you care so much, why don't you pay for her instead?"
His eyes, greedy and assessing, raked over my designer clothes. "Yeah, you look rich enough. And you seem to care so much about what happens to her, right? So pay me back! Everything I spent! You can't, right? It's not so easy just to talk—"
THUD!
The sound of my palm slamming down on the table silenced him, the cutlery rattling. The entire café jumped.
"Money…" I let out a low, humorless laugh. "Heh. I guess that's all you bastards ever care about," I muttered, the words meant more for the universe that wrote characters like him than for the man himself.
"W-What did you say?" he sputtered.
I ignored him. Reaching past him to the booth where I'd been sitting, I grabbed my bag, unzipped it with a swift motion, and pulled out a thick envelope of cash I kept for emergencies—a simple 'pocket change' of the rich heiress I now was.
I held the stack up, the banded bills a blunt, undeniable object.
"This?" My voice was ice. "This is what you want, right?"
His eyes locked onto the money, widening. "What…?"
"Austra, what are you doing?" Yoon-ah's voice was a pained whisper beside me.
"Hah! Are you serious?" Lee Min-ho breathed, a predatory gleam replacing his anger.
I didn't answer. I slammed the cash onto the table between us with a final, decisive smack.
"Here. Take it." My words were measured, each one a stone dropped into still water. "In return, you will never come near her again. Ever."
I leaned forward, just an inch, letting the full, cold promise in my eyes reach him. "Because the next time you try, it won't be cash you get back."
"No, don't—!" Yoon-ah started, reaching out as if to stop the transaction, to stop the humiliation.
But he was faster. His hand darted out and snatched the envelope, clutching it to his chest like a holy relic.
A ragged, triumphant laugh burst from him. "HAHAHA! You're the real deal, aren't you?! I like your style!" He grinned, shoving the money deep into his coat pocket.
"As you wish, Miss! Well, Yoon-ah…" He turned his grotesque smile on his daughter. "Looks like you've got some fancy friends now. See you when I see you!" He gave a mock-salute.
"Don't," I said, the single word slicing through his glee. "Ever. Come back."
His grin only widened, emboldened by the weight in his pocket. With a final, leering look, he turned and swaggered out of the café door, the bell jingling merrily behind him.
The silence he left in his wake was profound and heavy.
It was just me and Yoon-ah now, standing amid the wreckage of her dignity, surrounded by the silent, staring patrons.
The air was thick with everything that had just happened—the threat, the shame, the violence barely averted, and the crude, transactional end I had forced upon it.
I had solved nothing. I had only paid off a monster. And the cost was written all over Yoon-ah's devastated face.
* * *
Somewhere else…
The neon sign buzzed, casting a sullen pink glow on the wet pavement below.
[ Love Bird Suite ]
Up in one of the rooms, the sound of a shower running cut off abruptly.
On the bed, clad in a plush hotel robe, Ri Minhyuk lay on his back.
The blue light of his phone screen illuminated his face, etching deep shadows under his eyes. His thumb moved in a slow, obsessive rhythm—swipe up, swipe down—through the same chat window.
[Yoon-ah 💖]
His own messages formed a neat, lonely column:
Hey, you left in a hurry. Everything okay?
Got time after work? Let's talk.
Yoon-ah?
Call me.
All of them were met with a vast, silent void. No 'Read' receipt. No typing bubbles. Nothing.
"Isn't this the first time… since we started dating?" he muttered to the silent room. She'd gotten busy before, upset before, but she had never ignored him.
This silence was different. It was a door being closed.
The bathroom door clicked open, releasing a cloud of steamy, fruity-scented air.
A slender leg emerged, followed by Jung So-hee, wrapped in an identical robe, her damp hair clinging to her neck.
"Oppa-Minhyuk~ I'm finished. Were you waiting long?" she purred, her voice a practiced blend of innocence and invitation.
Minhyuk jerked, quickly exiting the chat and forcing a smile as he turned. "Of course, So-hee-ssi. How could you keep your oppa waiting?"
He opened his arms, and she slid into them, curling against his side as they settled back against the headboard.
He reached for the TV remote, a familiar script for their illicit afternoons. "Wanna watch something while we… spend some time?"
"Well," Jung So-hee traced a nail down his chest, "So-hee was hoping to help relieve Oppa's stress. But she doesn't mind a little entertainment first."
Minhyuk chuckled, aiming the remote at the screen. He pressed the power button. Nothing happened. The screen remained a dark, blank rectangle.
"Oh, does this thing need Wi-Fi?" he grumbled, jabbing the buttons again.
"Of course, Oppa," So-hee sighed, as if explaining to a child. "Nothing works without it these days. Good thing our phones have data." She nuzzled his shoulder, already losing interest in the TV.
"Yeah… I need to recharge my data too, I guess," he mumbled absently. But his mind wasn't on data plans or the woman beside him.
It was snagged on that column of unread messages, on the cold dread that had been gnawing at him since Yoon-ah fled the restaurant.
'Why? What changed?'
Almost on autopilot, he navigated the TV's menu to the network settings. The screen populated with a list of available Wi-Fi networks.
Seoul_Public_WiFi_Zone... CU_24hr_Store...
And then, at the top, automatically selected:
♥LoveBird_Suite_5G♥
A spinning icon appeared next to it.
Connecting…
Connected.
The two words blinked on the screen, green and innocuous.
And in Minhyuk's mind, a connection of a different kind snapped into place with the force of a thunderclap.
Lee Yoon-ah.
Love hotel.
Her asking to borrow his phone.
Her question: "Oppa, do you have mobile data?"
His answer: "No, finished it yesterday."
The look on her face as she stared at his screen.
A cold, sickening realization washed over him, tightening his chest until he couldn't breathe.
"Don't tell me she…" The whisper was torn from him, raw and horrified.
"Oppa? Oppa, what's wrong?" Jung So-hee pushed herself up, her seductive pout replaced by genuine confusion as she saw his face.
He'd gone pale, his eyes wide and fixed on the TV screen as if it were showing a horror film.
"OPPA!"
But Minhyuk couldn't hear her. He was lost in the devastating, simple truth blinking back at him from the television.
Then, finally Realization hit him.
She knew.
Yoon-ah knew everything.
* * *
At a Connivence Store...
The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store hummed like a cheap soundtrack.
The air smelled of instant coffee, steamed buns, and quiet desperation.
It was the most cliché K-drama setting imaginable, and right now, it felt more real than any gilded rooftop garden.
I stood in front of the humming cooler, the cold air washing over my face.
My hands were still trembling slightly, adrenaline bleeding away to leave a shaky, hollow exhaustion. Without thinking, I reached for the familiar bottle—the same brand of soda from earlier. I bought two.
Lee Yoon-ah was sitting on one of the plastic stools by the window, silhouetted against the dark glass and the city's evening lights.
She sat perfectly straight, her hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing. She looked like a statue of a secretary, carved from shock and shame.
I walked over, the click of my heels too loud on the linoleum. I didn't say anything. I just held out one of the cold, sweating bottles.
She blinked, as if returning from a great distance, and her eyes focused on the offering.
For a moment, I thought she might refuse, might stand up and walk away from this entire surreal, humiliating evening.
But then, with a grace that seemed innate even in utter defeat, she reached out and took it. Her fingers brushed mine, ice-cold.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words so soft they were almost lost under the store's Muzak.
I nodded, unscrewing my own cap with a sharp pssht.
I took a long drink, the sugar and caffeine a blunt instrument against the emotional hangover.
We both stayed silent. Not sure how to break the silence, until I finally gathered the courage to speak.