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Chapter 18
“How could she be so thoughtless as to set her sights on a married man? And she calls herself a teacher—how loose can you be….”
“How can a teacher do something like that? That woman isn’t a teacher, she’s a gold digger! I can’t leave my child with a woman like that!”
When Jinhee’s drunk grandfather stormed into the front yard of the villa, what took hold of Chaeyoon was an old, buried memory.
The horrific memory of being driven out of the school where she had worked as a temporary teacher, falsely accused of being a “gold digger.”
The vice principal who had molested her—and then framed her with that accusation—turned a blind eye as other teachers and parents hurled criticism at Chaeyoon.
Powerless, she was ultimately forced to leave the school without even completing her temporary contract.
It had already been a year and three months since then. She had thought the wound had mostly healed—but apparently not. Judging by how completely frozen she’d become today in front of Jinhee’s grandfather and parents.
Hoo.
Chaeyoon crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees as she let out a long breath.
The echo of Jinhee’s grandfather’s shouting still rang in her ears, and the trembling wouldn’t subside.
Even Jinhee’s parents’ apologies felt like accusations to her, proof that the hurt she’d suffered at school hadn’t healed at all.
It’s okay. I didn’t do anything wrong.
She repeated the words like a spell, exhaling her shaky breaths again and again.
This isn’t school. This is my hometown. The people who blamed and humiliated me aren’t here—
“How long are you planning to stay like that?”
At the sudden, cold voice, Chaeyoon flinched and turned her head.
“With that little nerve, it’s amazing you managed to run a study room at all.”
She looked up at Muhyun, who was spitting out cruel words with a face as cold as his voice, her eyes full of resentment.
Since losing his memory, he’d said nothing but nasty things whenever they crossed paths—but even among those, today’s words ranked near the top.
She hadn’t been expecting comfort. After losing his memory, Muhyun seemed to have completely lost any soft emotions like sympathy or compassion.
Still, did he really have to come out here just to sneer at her? How could a person—
“…be so inconsiderate.”
“Are you talking to me right now?”
Her mind was in such chaos that the thought slipped straight out of her mouth. Muhyun asked back, dumbfounded.
“Do I have any reason to be considerate toward you, Ms. Song Chaeyoon?”
“It looked like you saw everything from inside. I just meant there was no need to come out at this exact moment and pick a fight.”
Chaeyoon replied flatly as she stood up.
She must have been crouching for too long—her vision spun as she rose. Still, she forced herself to stand straight, knowing that staggering wouldn’t earn her any kind words from Muhyun.
“A fight?”
She asked him, as he let out a hollow laugh in disbelief.
“Isn’t it?”
“How could you see someone that way—”
“If not, then forget it.”
Replying weakly, Chaeyoon turned away. No matter what Muhyun said, all she wanted now was to go inside and rest.
But it seemed Muhyun had no intention of letting her go just like that. As she turned, he suddenly grabbed her wrist.
‘Teacher Song, you have such graceful lines. Even your wrist is so slender—it’s hard not to notice every time I see it.’
Was it because the shock from Jinhee’s grandfather hadn’t fully faded?
The moment her wrist was seized, the vice principal’s voice—the one who’d branded her a gold digger—came rushing back, making the back of her neck prickle.
Without thinking, Chaeyoon shook his hand off.
Clutching the wrist he’d grabbed with her other hand, she stepped back. Muhyun stared at her as if he couldn’t believe it.
His brows had knit together as if he were about to vent his displeasure, but when he saw her face, he closed his mouth—as though he’d sensed the shock she was still reeling from.
A long, silent moment passed as they faced each other.
As Muhyun’s unreadable gaze bore into her, making her increasingly uncomfortable, she awkwardly turned her head away.
“…I’ll prepare dinner around 6:30. If you need anything else, let me know then.”
After delivering her words like a notice, she turned away. Muhyun didn’t stop her—he didn’t even make a sound until she entered the annex.
Yet the moment she closed the door, Chaeyoon found herself gasping for breath as if she’d just sprinted a hundred meters.
Did he think it was strange?
Only after getting inside did her delayed worry surface.
All he’d done was grab her wrist—what if he thought she was a strange woman for reacting so hysterically?
He probably already saw her as a gold digger; the thought of adding “hysterical” to that image was terrifying.
She’d wanted to look fine—like someone living a normal, stable life.
Chaeyoon let out a long breath, as though expelling the weight in her chest.
But the sharp gaze Muhyun had used to scrutinize her still lingered before her eyes, and her tension refused to fade.
Monday afternoon.
Sitting in the conference room, Muhyun half-listened to the presenter’s voice, lost in thought.
Pale to the point of looking sickly, a wrist trembling visibly, eyes brimming with wariness.
What he’d seen in Song Chaeyoon when she shook his hand off wasn’t irritation—it was fear.
At first, her reaction had simply baffled him. What had he done? He’d only stopped her before the conversation was over—yet she’d recoiled as if terrified.
But the moment he realized her fear was genuine, his bafflement turned into suspicion.
After being unjustly berated by a student’s grandfather, and even struck while defending the student, it was natural that Song Chaeyoon would be shaken.
Still, the student’s parents had rushed over immediately, bowing repeatedly in apology, and the commotion had settled.
Yet her fear and wariness never disappeared. The way she looked at him was like someone whose trauma had been wrongly triggered—her gaze endlessly unsteady.
So it probably wasn’t just because of that grandfather.
As Muhyun tapped the desk lightly with his fingers, lost in thought, Junha’s low voice reached his ears.
“Director, the presentation is over.”
“Mm.”
Setting aside the thoughts crowding his head, he addressed the presenter.
“Good work. Let’s end today’s meeting here.”
At his unusually gentle dismissal—without tormenting the presenter as usual—the people in the room exchanged startled glances.
Then, as if afraid he might change his mind, they hurriedly stood and left.
Watching them file out with an indifferent gaze, Muhyun turned to Junha.
“Schedule another meeting for next Monday afternoon. And make sure they understand this clearly—if they just patch together old materials again like today, it won’t be amusing.”
“…Yes.”
Junha answered with a flinch, as though he himself had just been warned.
He must have thought Muhyun hadn’t been paying attention, seeing how lost in thought he’d been—just like everyone else in the room.
But Muhyun had already reviewed the report; he simply hadn’t reacted.
The only reason he listened to the presentation to the end was in case there might be some hidden surprise idea. Turns out, there was nothing of the sort.
Tsk.
Clicking his tongue lightly, Muhyun stood up. Without even looking back at Junha, who followed close behind, he spoke.
“Which school did you say Song Chaeyoon worked at as a temporary teacher?”
“Myeongun Middle School in Gangdong District.”
“Find out in more detail why she quit. The trigger—and everyone involved in that incident. All of it.”
“Yes.”
If Song Chaeyoon—who had never once shown weakness in front of him—was shaken to that extent, then it was almost certainly related to her school.
As far as he knew, the biggest event in her 26 years of life was being fired from that school before even completing her temporary teaching term.
Even if he couldn’t hear it directly from her, there were more than enough ways to find out. And Muhyun wasn’t the type to hesitate when it came to satisfying his curiosity.
If he dug around, something would turn up.
Thinking this casually, he left the conference room.
