RB - 33

33. The Stud Who Said He Didn’t Want to Breed

Madame Bovary was a middle-aged woman who had just crossed the threshold of fifty. Of course, “Bovary” wasn’t her real name—it was a nickname she had given herself, symbolizing her role as a matchmaker for love among the wealthy elite. She was petite with a plump figure, yet her overall aura exuded an enchanting allure. 

With a voice as light and playful as gliding silk, Madame Bovary began the conversation. 

“My goodness, it seems a fairy has graced our villa. Should I call you an elf?” 

Startled, Seo-Yeon’s eyes widened as she gulped down the champagne she’d been sipping. 

What followed was an impolite interrogation. Through Madame Bovary’s crimson lips came mundane questions about Seo-Yeon’s “job” and “place of residence.” Though Seo-Yeon did her best to respond politely, irritation began to bubble up inside her as the questions grew increasingly intrusive. 

At that moment, Jung-Hyuk, who had abandoned her in this den of tigers, became the object of her resentment. 

The one saving grace was that Madame Bovary’s overly familiar demeanor somewhat softened the rudeness of her inquiries. 

“Work quickly and accurately”—Seo-Yeon reminded herself of her personal motto, steadying her discomfort and answering as earnestly as possible. 

When Madame Bovary learned that Seo-Yeon lived far from the affluent neighborhoods and was merely an ordinary office worker rather than a professional, she tilted her head slightly. 

Finally, the question Seo-Yeon dreaded most pierced her eardrums. 

“What do your parents do?” 

Seo-Yeon’s expression hardened instantly. Madame Bovary covered her mouth with the back of her hand and chuckled lightly as she continued. 

“Please forgive me if my questions seem rude. But for someone attending without an invitation, these procedures are necessary. This party carries quite a bit of credibility as a matchmaking event, so it can’t be helped.” 

Credibility at a private party? It was a contradictory statement, like a poorly constructed wordplay. Seo-Yeon felt her nerves tighten like a sail caught in a sudden night breeze. 

Should she honestly say she was an orphan? Or should she gloss over it with a white lie? What response would be most advantageous for Shin Jung-Hyuk? 

Fortunately, Jung-Hyuk’s timely reappearance saved her from the awkward situation. His entrance was a welcome interruption. Madame Bovary sharply observed the fleeting smile of relief that crossed Seo-Yeon’s lips. 

Jung-Hyuk tenderly wrapped his arm around Seo-Yeon’s shoulders and shot a sharp remark at Madame Bovary. 

“Madame, doing this while I’m not around is unfair. I attend out of respect for Chairman Shin—perhaps you should avoid coming near me?” 

Madame Bovary raised a white flag with an elegant smile. She had no intention of dealing with Jung-Hyuk’s notorious temper, especially since he referred to his own father as “Chairman Shin.” 

“Miss Seo-Yeon, please forgive my rudeness. Enjoy the party.” 

Pretending not to notice Jung-Hyuk’s icy glare, Madame Bovary swiftly excused herself, leaving behind the lingering scent of sweet dessert. 

One, two, three. Seo-Yeon slowly exhaled, counting each beat. In the wake of the storm, an overwhelming emptiness filled her chest. She unleashed her frustration. 

“Where were you? I felt like a mannequin in a department store—or maybe more like a monkey in a zoo.” 

“You couldn’t bear even that short time without missing me, could you? Just like always?” 

Seo-Yeon glared at him as she drained the remaining champagne in one gulp. Jung-Hyuk gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and spoke. 

“Let’s go to my place today. You can rest well and go to work tomorrow.” 

The stud who said he didn’t want to breed… 

“...Why should I?” 

“That mistress visited your place yesterday, didn’t she? That wretched Kim Team Leader or whatever her name is.” 

Seo-Yeon’s gaze sharpened instantly. A dry voice cracked through her clenched teeth. 

“You… you marked me, didn’t you? You planted someone around me?” 

“People like me tend to do things like that. But I did it because I was worried, so don’t criticize me too much. For the next three months, you’re completely my girlfriend.” 

He winked at her, adding, “I’m quite the romantic, aren’t I?” But Seo-Yeon firmly rejected him. 

“Get rid of them. Planting people around your girlfriend isn’t normal—it’s criminal. I’ll overlook it only because of your social standing.” 

Her tone was resolute, and Jung-Hyuk responded without a trace of humor. 

“The real crime is you being slapped unjustly after being mistaken for a mistress. The people I’ve assigned to you are from a legitimate security firm.” 

At the mention of a security firm, Seo-Yeon’s furrowed brows relaxed slightly. Under the moonlight, Jung-Hyuk pressed his lips against her smooth shoulder. Tiny kisses scattered across her skin, witnessed by many onlookers. 

“That despicable mistress is apparently camping out in front of your house right now—I just got the report. So tonight… let’s stay at my place. I won’t do anything, so you can relax.” 

Jung-Hyuk whispered into her ear, his voice tender enough to feel genuine, tickling her heart like a feather. 

“I’m doing this because I’m worried you might get hurt. Let’s go to my place.” 

Seo-Yeon paused, lost in thought. She had absolutely no desire to listen to the dirty grievances of Mistress Kim. Jung-Hyuk pressed another kiss to her shoulder. 

Sometimes, Jung-Hyuk thought of Seo-Yeon as a small bird—a fragile bird whose wings had been soaked in a violent storm, trembling uncontrollably. Yet despite her fragility, she bristled with claws and beak, ready to fight back. 

“Let’s go, Seo-Yeon.” 

Jung-Hyuk sent a heated gaze toward her flushed cheek, and Seo-Yeon instinctively flinched, pulling her neck back slightly. 

After all, the stud had said he didn’t want to breed.

The grand finale of the party that night was undoubtedly Seo-Yeon’s dramatic exit. Unfortunately, she stumbled and twisted the heel of her stiletto on one of the garden’s pebbles. Instead of helping her stand, Jung-Hyuk swept her up into his arms.

It was both the birth of the true star of the party and a Cinderella-like departure.

“Wow… Is this really the Shin Jung-Hyuk we know?”

“Shin Jung-Hyuk being like that? Unbelievable.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. With her face burning red, Seo-Yeon buried her head into Jung-Hyuk’s chest and muttered,

“You punk, put me down right now! Are you showing off for attention?”

From afar, Madame Bovary watched the pair with a subtle smile playing on her lips. Though it was only natural to be pleased by how well the two suited each other like a painting, she had other thoughts swirling in her mind. A smooth voice slipped from between her lips.

“What to do? I’ve just found something worth reporting to Chairman Shin… Hehe.”

---

Later that night, at Jung-Hyuk’s house.

Left alone in the guest room, Seo-Yeon patted her damp hair dry with a towel. She still felt awkward about her everyday interactions with Jung-Hyuk. Though it seemed like she’d known him for a long time, when she thought about it, that wasn’t exactly true.

“...Succulents? Shin Jung-Hyuk grows succulents?”

After spotting a small, seemingly out-of-place potted plant in his care, Seo-Yeon realized anew how little she actually knew about Jung-Hyuk’s habits and preferences.

She slowly recalled details: his nails were always neatly trimmed, he preferred a lower pillow, favored musk-scented cologne but used citrus car fresheners. Running her fingers through her mostly dried hair, she murmured,

“Shin Jung-Hyuk, what do I really know about you?”

In truth, she knew a bit more. During high school, Jung-Hyuk had been a prodigy fluent in English and French as if they were his native languages. He was a picky eater who avoided ginseng in samgyetang during school lunches. When Seo-Yeon teasingly scolded him—”It’s good for you, just eat it”—he would reluctantly chew and swallow it with a sweet compliance. A bitter smile flickered across her lips at the memory.

Her gaze shifted to the closed door. Beyond it lay Shin Jung-Hyuk.

“I feel like I know you somewhat, yet also like I don’t know you at all.”

With a sigh, she flopped onto the plush goose-down comforter and slowly closed her eyes. Through the fading darkness, the contours of Jung-Hyuk’s face lingered in her mind. Her heart ached with longing, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly she yearned for so intensely.

Muttering groggily, “You’re like junk food… a stud who claims he doesn’t want to breed,” Seo-Yeon drifted off into sleep. But unwelcome nightmares refused to let her rest peacefully.

---

“Don’t leave me, I’m sorry! Please, Mom!”

Seo-Yeon clung desperately to the hem of an unseen woman’s skirt, begging and pleading. Her pitiful cries always ended the same way—with rejection. Like removing a filthy tumor, her mother mercilessly shoved her away.

“Hah... Haa...”

Gasping for breath, Seo-Yeon jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Her damp pajamas clung uncomfortably to her skin. In dreams where her mother appeared, Seo-Yeon was always miserably abandoned.

“The same nightmare again… This damn nightmare.”

Feeling her body temperature drop, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She feared falling back asleep, only to be dragged into another nightmare. Forcing herself up, she stepped out of the room. Still caught in the haze of the dream, her breathing remained uneven. These wretched, recurring nightmares—like an annual event—tormented her endlessly. She struggled to steady her breath.

“Haa… I’m going crazy.”

By now, the sweat had cooled, sending chills prickling across her skin. Wrapping her arms even tighter around herself, she took a deep breath. Her throat felt parched, and an instinctive thirst drew her toward the kitchen.

The sound of cold water flowed as she filled a glass from the purifier. Grabbing the cup almost desperately, she gulped the water down like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. It was then that she felt an icy chill creep up the back of her neck.