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Chapter 19
Whose words was she supposed to believe?
No—that was the wrong premise.
In the Shinil Group family, where corporate politics ran rampant, there was no one to trust and no one to lean on.
Resolving to steady herself, Heejae swallowed dryly.
“Why has the Vice Chairman changed so much?”
It had been ten years since she’d last seen Seheon, until they met again as adults.
Heejae, who knew nothing of the client’s background, needed to understand the cause of his transformation. Only then could she plan how to approach him.
“Back then, he was reserved and dignified. A man who lived with a grace so restrained it bordered on oppressive… and now he spits out such vulgar words.”
The Seheon she knew could convey every emotion with nothing but an expression or a look, without sullying his mouth.
Yet the things he had said to her clashed entirely with the lofty image she remembered.
“Don’t tell me—you really didn’t know the Vice Chairman was doing things this outrageous all along?”
Heejae glanced at kyobin with suspicious eyes.
But kyobin merely crossed his arms and shrugged.
“How would I know? When we meet, we’re too busy trying to kill each other. You think he’d give me a heads-up about anything?”
That wasn’t entirely wrong.
Seheon had always avoided even speaking with Heejae, and he treated kyobin no differently.
Conversations between the two brothers were so rare they could be counted on one hand.
Especially once kyobin, whom Seheon hadn’t even considered a rival, began to rise. From that point, Seheon cut off communication altogether. The more threatened he felt, the more he hid himself.
And kyobin wasn’t the type to approach relatives who already saw him as a thorn in their side.
“And he hasn’t changed. That’s who he always was. He just held it in—or hid it. Now it’s showing, that’s all.”
kyobin didn’t think Seheon had become a different man. He believed Seheon had always been like that, simmering inside, until he finally started letting it out.
Heejae rested her chin on her hand, eyes drifting into empty space in thought.
But then—her chair was yanked toward him, making her flinch wide-eyed.
kyobin had pulled the armrest of her chair sharply toward himself.
“Stop talking about other men in front of me.”
His smile was gone, voice low. The atmosphere itself shifted, unsettling her until her neck stiffened.
“I’m starting to get jealous.”
“Jealous? Don’t be ridiculous—it’s just business talk.”
“Client or not, he’s still a man.”
kyobin kept crossing the line she had drawn. Because of him, her head ached.
She reminded herself: There’s nothing between us.
At best, they had shared unpleasant memories from school days, and now they only shared bodies. That was all.
And yet, despite not even being lovers, kyobin interfered in every part of her life.
She shut her eyes tightly, unable to find words to answer.
Then she remembered—every year, he celebrated her mother Kyungin’s birthday.
Her mother, whose days had grown lonely and idle, welcomed kyobin’s regular calls and visits.
“Mother’s birthday—you made sure to celebrate before I did.”
But there was no such thing in this world as kindness without strings attached. She had to draw the line, a thick and sharp one.
“Every single year.”
Heejae looked at him with resolute eyes.
Yet kyobin didn’t flinch. For once, he didn’t wear the usual gentle smile; his eyes were steady, unyielding.
“I should be annoyed that you scored points with her behind my back… but thank you. She seemed happy because of you.”
Before drawing the line, Heejae expressed her gratitude. Whatever his motives, the fact that he had cared for her mother when she herself could not was something she was thankful for.
“But I don’t want you to do it anymore.”
Anything she had received from him, she would repay in kind. Even the gifts for her mother—she planned to return their value.
Once she paid back every unintentional debt, their tangled relationship could finally be cut loose.
No matter how long it took, she would pull away from Gyobin thread by thread.
“Even if my feelings for her are separate from mine for you?”
“That’s a lie.”
She knew what he wanted to say—that her mother was more of a mother to him than his own.
But even so, she couldn’t allow her mother to grow closer to him. If she did, she knew she’d never escape his mire.
“Heejae. Even if I say I like you, don’t you think you’re being a little self-absorbed?”
At that, emotion surged hot in her chest.
That cursed phrase. I like you.
Since high school, he’d said it endlessly, like a broken record.
And never in a romantic way—always in moments like this, tossed carelessly into the air.
For years, those words had been nothing but cruel hope-torture.
If he truly liked her, shouldn’t he have confessed his heart properly instead of playing games?
But Shin kyobin never once had.
He only used those words to justify himself, or as an excuse when convenient.
It was always so natural, so thoughtless.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
Her trembling voice gave away the anger behind her words.
kyobin merely raised a brow, baffled.
“What do you mean, things I don’t mean?”
He really didn’t see it. That made it even more infuriating, even more shameless.
“When you say you like me… that.”
Heejae trailed off, pulling her chair back into place and fixing her gaze forward, denying him even a glance.
“You don’t mean it.”
Her voice was quiet, but in the silence of the midnight office, it was painfully clear.
Suddenly, kyobin’s hand gripped her chair arm again, spinning it to face him.
“Why are you so sure it isn’t real?”
His eyes flashed with that telltale blue tint—something that only appeared when his obsession with her surfaced.
But Heejae had resolved not to be swayed by such possessiveness.
“You always say it like a joke…”
“And?”
She bit her lip, unable to continue.
kyobin’s gaze pressed her, demanding the next words.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say them.
You chain me, confine me… but you never truly try to have me.
Perhaps, deep down, she had always wished he would propose to her for real.
But she knew reality: people like them, from such different worlds, could never truly end happily.
She knew why he hadn’t confessed. And she hated herself for knowing it, for never daring to ask anyway.
Ever since childhood, kyobin had always stirred two opposite emotions in her: the desire to stay close for no reason at all, and the desperate urge to push him far away, knowing no good could come of it.
Neither her faint feelings, nor his hollow possessiveness, were enough to break their bond.
“You just want to sleep with me, don’t you.”
Her words fell cold and final, her eyes hollow.
It was both a lament for him—and for herself, who had never managed to cut free of him, trapped like a puppet on his strings all these years.
