Mafia and Duty.

"Aftertaste"

I stumbled out of that office clutching my torn dress against my chest like it was a piece of trash. I was swaying, my legs feeling like they weighed a ton as I climbed the stairs. Everything hurts, but inside... I felt nothing. Empty.

He did it, didn't he? He finally finished the damn job he was supposed to do.

I was so confused. Broken. I felt like such an i***t for believing, even for a second, that he actually desired me at first.. But his words keep hitting me in the head over and over: “You’re making me lose my mind. And I can't allow that to happen.”

What the hell does that even mean? I don’t get how he could treat me so well at the start just to rip everything away like that. Was it a goddamn punishment? If that was it, then congratulations, he nailed it. I feel like absolute trash.

When I walked into my room, the first thing I saw was my reflection in the mirror at the back. I dragged myself over just to see the wreck he left behind. I had his prints burned all over me. My neck, my hips, my wrists, my thighs... No way in hell was I going to turn around to see my back.

I got in the shower and spent hours scrubbing my body like a maniac. I wanted to wash off the goddamn shame and humiliation, but the scalding water did nothing. The scent of his cologne was still there, stuck in my nose, reminding me that he’d crawled into my very pores.

I hate him. I hate him so much it hurts. And the worst part is my head betrays me and I think: 'He also did something he didn't want to do.'

Maybe I really am just a stupid girl. A total brat who doesn't understand a thing.

I was already awake when I heard the soft knocks on my bedroom door, and without hesitation, I said: —Come in.

That’s when I saw the familiar gray-haired figure of Mimi (Mi-kyung). She’s the only reason I haven't gone completely insane in this goddamn mansion. She was carrying a breakfast tray, moving with that elegance you only get after years of working for rich people. She looked at me with the kind of eyes only a mother could have, before setting the tray on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. Very gently, she took my chin and forced me to look up.

She knew exactly what she was seeing. My swollen eyes, the marks... but she couldn't say a word about it. Not if she wanted to keep her head in this house of psychopaths.

—My child… —she whispered, and her voice sounded so sweet it finally broke me.

I snapped. The only thing I could do was throw myself into her arms and sob like the little girl Joon says I am. She was the only one I could afford to be that way with, without having to pretend I’m a strong woman or "Mrs. Jeon." Mimi always treated me like the mother who never loved me that way.

—I hate him. I really hate him, —I sobbed, burying my face in her shoulder.

—I know, my baby, I know, —she murmured against my hair, stroking it patiently. Then she pulled back a bit to wipe my tears with her thumbs. —If it makes you feel any better, I put laxatives in his coffee.

I laughed. I let out a real laugh right in the middle of my crying. —No, you didn't.

She smiled in that typical way of hers—clever and a bit mischievous. —No, I didn't. But at least I made you laugh. —She patted my head and stood up with a sigh. —Now, eat your breakfast. Mr. Jeon asked me to tell you to go to 'the little art gallery' in Itaewon at noon. He said you’d know which one. Although I suppose I know too, don't I? —She grinned widely.

My expression changed completely. I froze, my eyes went wide, and then I let out a small squeal of excitement, covering my mouth with my hands. Itaewon? The little art gallery? The same one I found while looking for inspiration for a university painting and fell in love with instantly. It was for sale, but when I asked Joon for it, the total i***t refused. He said it was something too "cheap" for someone of my status—that he could buy me a museum if he wanted, and even then, he wouldn't do it because I’m too immature to manage anything.

I didn't understand a damn thing. So now it’s a 'yes'? Mimi just shook her head, enjoying my confusion with that calm only she possesses.

—Now eat and go get ready. —She walked toward the door, but before leaving, she stopped and looked at me with a mix of affection and seriousness. —Listen to me, child. Sometimes people don’t need words to show how they feel. Some men have souls so tangled up that they only know how to speak through what they give, because saying 'I'm sorry' would burn their tongues. —She kept his eyes locked on mine for another second, as if to ensure the weight of his words had truly sunk in.

Mimi left the room, leaving her words floating in the air. Honestly, she’s the only person I don’t need to hear things from twice to understand; she’s the only one who makes sense to me in this place.

But just because I understand her doesn’t mean I agree with her.

Mimi wants to see regret where there’s only... well, Joon. I don’t think he’s that kind of person. Regretful? No way in hell. What happened last night was what was bound to happen; at the end of the day, "I’m his wife, and this is my duty"

I’m certain this gallery gesture has nothing to do with me, and even less to do with making amends. Joon doesn't work that way.

But goddammit... despite everything, I can’t stop my hands from shaking with excitement. I hate myself for being so transparent. No matter how much I try to convince myself it’s no big deal, I craved that place, but the moment he refused, I forced myself to move on.

I guess I’ll find out when I get there.

I arrived at the place with my heart thumping against my ribs. I got out of the car and told the driver to stay inside and wait for me, but of course, the guy didn't even acknowledge me. He’s one of Joon’s men, so he only follows his orders, no matter how much I’m "Mrs. Jeon."

I rolled my eyes before looking at the building in front of me. It was perfect. All white, with those massive windows that let you see the artwork inside. To the left, there was a cafe that smelled like heaven, and to the right, a small park. It was exactly how I remembered it. It’s perfect.

Or so I thought, until I saw the movement inside. There were guys working, but they weren't hanging paintings—they were installing security cameras in every single goddamn corner possible. Seriously?

Well, it was worth dreaming for a bit, right?

I was already annoyed enough when my heels sank into the gravel at the entrance. The sound of Joon’s gorilla’s footsteps behind me was drilling into my nerves. Exasperated, I whipped around, and the guy stopped dead with that poker face they all have.

—Can you tell Jeon that I want to go in goddamn alone?— I snapped. The man didn't even blink; he just pulled out his phone to text him. —And tell him exactly what I said. Don’t skip a single damn word.

I’m not usually like this. I hate treating people like trash, but I’m way too pissed off and empty to care right now. Besides, it doesn’t matter, it's not like this man wouldn’t kill me if Joon ordered him to.

I watched as he finished typing, and within seconds, he put his phone away and nodded. Well, goddamn, thanks. But before I could turn around to walk into the gallery, he blurted out in that robotic voice:

—He also sent a message for you: 'Watch your words. Child.

I swear I almost laughed out of pure rage. I was a hair’s breadth away from saying, "Well, tell him to go to f*****g hell," but I’m not dumb enough to push my luck today. It’s enough that I actually have real expectations being here.