RB - 71

Chapter 71: The Man’s Way of Easing His Guilt

Park Yeo-wan’s face had lost all color. Even the carefully applied foundation couldn’t hide her ashen complexion, and her bold lipstick failed to mask her trembling lips. She berated herself, trying to face reality. She needed to stay calm, make rational decisions, and find a way to survive. Now was not the time for regret—it was time to search for an escape route.

“It was all Sung Ho-yeon’s doing! That madman forced me into it—I had no choice! You know how powerless I am, don’t you? A woman with nothing to her name, no education, no influence. I was just a victim of his threats.”

Park crawled on her hands and knees, clutching at Chairman Shin’s pant leg. But with a shriek—”Ahh!”—she was flung backward. Shin kicked her away as though brushing off a filthy bug.

“…I’ll tell you Sung Ho-yeon’s weakness. I know his Achilles’ heel—the one spot that makes him scream with just a touch. Please, give me one last chance.”

“Weakness… the kind that makes him scream at the slightest touch…”

Chairman Shin mulled over the words, intrigued. He felt a burning desire to sever Sung Ho-yeon’s Achilles’ heel with one decisive blow.

Park crawled back, resting her head against Shin’s feet. Her movements were as pitiful as those of the lowest creature, but she clung to a faint glimmer of hope, like someone who had found their last lifeline.

“It’s money—money managed under fake names. For Sung Ho-yeon, money is everything. If you take that away, he’ll crumble. I know the account numbers. I know the passwords.”

Park’s hopeful voice faded into silence, leaving the room heavy with tension. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the opulence she had schemed for, the life she had willingly turned herself into trash to achieve, crumbled like an echo into nothingness.

Park didn’t feel ashamed of groveling to survive. She knelt at her husband’s feet, begging like a dog. Tears and snot smeared across her face, and her strained voice cracked with metallic tones, but she didn’t stop pleading for forgiveness.

“Please forgive me! I’ll do anything you ask, dear. If you order me to kill Sung Ho-yeon, I’ll do it gladly. I can lure him out. Ughhh… please, dear.”

If only her husband had unleashed his rage with violence, Park might have felt some relief. But Chairman Shin said nothing more. The icy dagger of his murderous intent pierced her heart. His silence was punishment enough.

Without hesitation, Shin turned and left. With a soft click, the door closed behind him. Park screamed and rushed after him, but the door wouldn’t open. Instead, the cold voice of a bodyguard came through.

“Madam Park Yeo-wan, Chairman Shin has ordered you to remain quiet and reflect. We will ensure your safety, so rest easy.”

Safety? Rest easy? Park sobbed uncontrollably. Would her husband truly forgive her if she obediently accepted this confinement? No matter how hard she tried to spin hopeful scenarios, the answer was already clear. This was a nightmare.

---

That night, Chairman Shin lay awake, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t until dawn broke that he finally drifted off to sleep. But it was no peaceful slumber—he dreamed vividly.

A young boy was crying. Why was he crying so sadly? Where had all the nannies gone? Shin reached out to comfort the child but recoiled in shock. The boy’s body was ice-cold. As if burned by the chill, Shin called out loudly to his son. Unable to see his face, he couldn’t tell if it was Joon-hyuk, Jung-hyuk, or Jin-hyuk, the youngest.

“Son, stop crying and get up. The bloodline of Taesung isn’t this weak. Stop your tears.”

But the boy’s cries didn’t subside. The anguished sound sent electric shocks of pain through Shin’s brain. He shouted in anger, then tried to soothe the child with gentle words, but the boy continued to weep sorrowfully.

“Enough crying! Can’t you stop? Where are all the nannies?”

Shin looked around frantically for a nanny. He was a man who had never once held or consoled a crying child, so he didn’t know what to do.

After a long while, the boy finally lifted his head. Which of his three sons was crying so bitterly? Shin squinted, then gasped, covering his mouth in horror. Joon-hyuk’s face blurred, shifting into Jin-hyuk’s, then Jung-hyuk’s—or maybe none of them. The features twisted together, indistinguishable. Shin slapped himself repeatedly, desperate to wake up from the dream, but it wouldn’t end.

“Father, let me ask you a question.”

The boy posed a riddle, his voice eerie. Behind him loomed a grotesque figure, like the Sphinx of Greek myth—a chimera with a human head and a lion’s body.

“Father, what am I? Who am I?”

Shin panted desperately, searching for an answer. The boy glared at him, unmoving, before rising with a grunt. No longer a child, he now towered over Shin, standing close enough to look him in the eye. His voice deepened into that of an adult man.

“Father, why can’t you answer? What am I? Who am I?”

Still unable to respond, Shin watched as the boy sneered, then raised his hands without hesitation and began choking him. Shin trembled in terror, wanting to beg for forgiveness, to explain that he had been deceived too—but no words escaped his lips. The surrounding darkness swallowed him like a swamp.

“Huhhk, ugh…”

Gasping in pain, Shin woke up, drenched in sweat. He soon realized that the figure in his dream wasn’t his son—it was his guilt incarnate.

He was too afraid to fall back asleep. The encroaching darkness felt like punishment. Did he even deserve to greet tomorrow’s radiant sun, or bask in the faint glow of moonlight? Hallucinations whispered incessantly in his ears.

Unable to endure the darkness any longer, Shin felt a growing fear that he would be cast into the fires of hell if he didn’t act. This feeling, too, stemmed from his guilt.

“I need to do something—anything. It’s not too late. I can fix this, yes… yes, I can.”

Click. Shin turned on the desk lamp and began writing furiously with a pen. After drafting two documents, he checked the clock. It was already past 4 a.m. Though it was too early to make a call, Shin’s domineering personality, forged from a lifetime of privilege, knew no bounds.

After a few rings, a familiar middle-aged voice answered. It was Shin’s attorney.

“Yes, Chairman Shin. I apologize for answering late.”

“Attorney Yoon. I’ve revised my will. I’ll send it through the secretary tomorrow. Make sure it’s notarized.”

“Yes, sir. By when should we complete it?”

“You know my style—faster is better. Start as soon as the sun rises.”

With the call ended, Shin placed the phone down with a soft thud. Amending his will brought him a small measure of relief—a paltry comfort for his overwhelming guilt.

Shin mocked himself for such feeble rationalizations, but what could he do? This was who he had always been, and revising his will was the best apology he could offer his three sons.

Turning his gaze to the window, he saw the faint light of dawn breaking.

---

At the same time, another person lay awake, unable to sleep. Han Seo-yeon, the daughter of a sinful woman, stared at the ceiling. She took several deep breaths, but her symptoms didn’t improve. Was it hyperventilation? Or the onset of a panic attack? She felt uneasy. Lately, her digestion had been poor, and her body ached as if she’d been beaten all night. Her physical discomfort fueled her depression.

“Haah, why does this keep happening? Weakness doesn’t suit me. Pull yourself together.”

Seo-yeon steeled herself and yanked open the curtains. Throwing the window wide open, she finally felt a slight reprieve. Gasping for air, she suddenly burst into laughter—not because anything was funny. Bent over, laughing uncontrollably, she abruptly scolded herself harshly.

“Han Seo-yeon, snap out of it. We’re almost there.”

The laughter was a bitter mockery of her own fragility. Then, with a start, Seo-yeon shuddered. Finally, she understood the source of this wretched feeling.

It was self-loathing. When had it begun? Was it when she learned the truth—that her mother was Park Yeo-wan, a demon burdened with unforgivable sins, who had denied her very existence? Clenching her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, Seo-yeon’s once-black pupils, bright as stars, had dulled into a murky gray.

She retrieved a glass of cold water from the fridge and forced herself to drink it all.

It was a long, sleepless night. Should she have warmed some milk? Or gotten a prescription for sleeping pills? For a moment, she regretted not taking action earlier. After tossing and turning for hours, she finally drifted off to sleep as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains.