The next morning, Taehyung leaves the house at the crack of dawn, and I hear him telling one of the housemaids that he is going to office within my earshot. I'm not a fool. No one goes to work this early. He probably just wants to get away from the house- and away from me-as fast as he can.
Well, suits me. I'd like to go to office myself, but Mum and Dad had persuaded me to take a week's leave from work after my wedding so that I had time to 'adjust' to the Kim household. Speaking of which, Taehyung's parents are arriving tomorrow to have a look at me. I had had only a brief glimpse of them at the wedding; I wonder what they are like. As high and mighty as their son, or more?
For a couple hours I wander the house, getting to know the maids and butlers and exploring the rooms and such. Once again, the sheer luxury of the mansion amazes me: Kim Taehyung does more than justify the word rich. I have seen his parking lot; he has more than half a dozen cars; which include a Mercedes and a Ferrari. His wardrobe is chock-full of Gucci suits, which my Dad never bought for me because they are so expensive. It is the paintings in the hallway that interest me the most: Taehyung may be an asshole, but he does have fine taste in art. Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Pablo- he has them all. I wonder where he got all those antique paintings from, they must have cost a fortune.
After all this exploring and a hearty breakfast, I return to my room and sink down onto my bed, heaving a sigh. As much as I hate my parents, I also miss them. I also miss Pheebs. I had so wanted to bring her along, but apparently Taehyung has an allergy to fur and I had to leave her back home. Now, I am convinced this was just another lie; he has a pet dog himself, called Yeontan, and he doesn't seem to mind the presence of the kitchen cat in the least.
I know exactly what he's doing. He wants to make me go away and at the same time treat me so well on the outside that no on can blame him if I end our marriage; but what he does not know is that I am as shrewd and intelligent as he is. No fool can build an entire company from scratch, the way I've done. The person who shall break the marriage is he: on my part, I shall only give him incentive.
I try calling Jimin, but for some reason he isn't picking up. I wonder if he's mad he wasn't invited to the wedding, and frown. Jimin doesn't usually get angry at little things like that.
I pull the silk cover off the pillow and go to sleep.
When I wake up it is evening, and Taehyung is still not back. The butler courteously wakes me up and asks me if I want to go anywhere; I agree, I get claustrophobic if I am inside one place for too long. And I haven't had a proper turn around the city in a while. The man leaves to ask the valet to get a car ready, while I shower and change into another of the ridiculously expensive outfits in the closet. It makes me flinch sometimes to think of using the possessions and gifts of a husband who I hate and who hates me in return, but I bite my lip and suck it up (the thoughts, not the blood. I am not a vampire.) If I have to play the part of a husband I might as well do the thing properly. What is the harm in living the life of the ultra-rich for as long as I am one of them?
I brush my hear neatly back so that my forehead is beautifully exposed, and put on a gorgeous suit that accentuates it. Once I am finishing changing, I step back and look into the mirror, pleased at what I see. There is no doubt about it; I am handsome.
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The bar Mr Wang, the valet, drives me to, is a bustling, elegant one, full of affluent men and women sipping drinks from tall glasses and talking in loud voices over the even louder music. A few of the younger ones have already begun to get high and start dancing, even though it is barely eight in the evening.
I take a seat at the counter and ask the bartender to serve me some champagne and ice. I am halfway through my drink when the seat next to me slides back, and a hot young man slips in next to me.
I look at him for a second and immediately turn away, afraid of being caught staring.
'Don't do that, beautiful,' the man says, in a deep voice, and my eyes flutter briefly at how hot he sounds. 'Look at me.'
I blink and look. I think I've definitely seen him somewhere before-the chiselled features, long, straight nose, ear piercings, mole at the bottom right chin and the bunny smile-they all seem familiar. He's wearing a black suit (Gucci? I'm seeing Gucci everywhere) and drinking cherry red wine. I look at him long and hard; where have I seen him before?
'Oh come on, Seokjin. Don't you remember me?' he drawls, as he points at the bartender to get me another glass; mine is empty.
'No,' I say, a little shakily. 'Who are you? And thank you, but no, I'd rather not have another, I don't want to get d-drunk.'
'Nonsense,' the man says, a little sharply. 'What's the point of coming to a high-end bar like this if you don't want to get drunk? Besides, you're not going to get drunk. I can promise you that. This is light stuff.'
'You s-sure?' I ask, as I take an uncertain sip of the clear red liquid in the glass the bartender just put in front of me.
'Of course. I know my drinks, young man.' It's funny he's calling me that, he's probably younger than me. I laugh.
'That's the spirit! Come on, drink up. It's going to cure your throat, much needed in Seoul's cold winters.'
Encouraged, I gulp down my bitter drink in one go and order another; a few more shots and I am definitely getting the hang of it. Before I know it, I am pouring out my life's sorrows and troubles to the helpful young man, who listens with interest, nodding and squeezing my knee sympathetically now and then.
'He's such a jerk, you know? My husband. I'm pretty sure he's only after my company, him and his parents both. Well, I want to make it clear to him that not a single dollar of the profits earned by my company shall reach his hands. And I will also make it clear to him that I am not going to be pushed around or ignored, like some slave of his. I have my own voice, my own thoughts, my own feelings. I have a company of my own that I need to build and make successful. I am not going to waste all this hard work and talent on a useless marriage with a useless man. He is so damn colourless, he puts even phenolphthalein when dipped in an acid to shame. You have studied science sometime, haven't you? I used to hate science when I studied it in school. Do you know why the music is so loud? I hate loud music. Can you please ask them to lower the volume of the music?'
'Of course,' the young man says, and signals to someone to turn the music down. I beam at him. I have never met someone so understanding, so caring, so sweet. He is such a good listener. And he is handsome as well. I wish I had married him instead of my asshole husband.
'I think you're wonderful,' I tell him, as I drain my fifth glass. 'I think you're wonderful, and hot, and sexy.'
'Do you now?' A smile appears on the man's face as he pulls his seat closer to me, his long hand resting on my knee. 'You find me sexy?'
'A lot. Unlike my husband.'
'Shhh,' he whispers, bringing his mouth close to my ear, and his husky voice makes chills run down my spine. 'We don't talk about husbands here.'
'Of course, we don't!' I nod my head vigorously. I feel somewhat ashamed of upsetting this nice young man. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?'
His hands come up to grip my waist firmly as his eyes move up my body and fixate on my lips. 'Yes,' he says, softly and alluringly, each word of his seems like honey and music to my ears. 'Plenty of ways I can think of.'
'Mmmm,' I hum as his lips come closer to mine, and I catch a whiff of his Justin Seagull cologne.
Just then the door of the bar violently swings open and the sound catches my attention. I turn my head away and the lips land lightly against my jaw. The man pulls back and looks at me surprised. 'Wha-what-'
My eyes are widened and fixed on the person who just appeared at the door. The Gucci suit and the deep brown-black eyes are clear enough, even in my blurry vision.
