|| Philophobia || Baek Kyung

Chapter - 22 New troubles (ft rich mothers)

The waiting room of the restaurant was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Joo-da sat stiffly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes on the floor. Her uniform felt suddenly out of place against the polished wood, the crystal vases on each table, the quiet hum of wealth that seemed to press down on her shoulders.

Across from her, Namjoo's mother looked perfect. Every strand of hair lacquered into place, a pearl necklace gleaming against her skin, lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You're prettier than I expected," she said finally, voice smooth as glass. "No wonder Namjoo is so... infatuated."

Joo-da lowered her gaze, biting the inside of her cheek. A compliment shouldn't feel like a blade.

"But pretty things," the woman continued, reaching into her handbag, "don't last long when they don't belong in the right places." She slid an envelope across the table. Crisp white. Thick. Heavy with implication. "Take this. It will help you. You'll find someone better suited to your... circumstances."

Joo-da stared at it. The envelope looked like it might burn her fingers if she touched it.

"I don't need money," she whispered.

The smile sharpened and her eyes hardened "You'll need it more than you think. Namjoo is not someone you can keep. Do you understand me? You'll ruin him if you try."

Her nails dug into her palms, the only thing keeping her from trembling. Why do they always say it like I'm a disease? Like love is something I stole?

"I understand," Joo-da said quietly, though her throat ached with unshed tears.

"Good girl." The woman stood, gathering her coat with a grace that only years of privilege could teach. "Do the right thing. Let him go."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and a silence that pressed in from all sides.

Joo-da didn't cry until she reached the back alley, where no one could see. She pressed a hand over her mouth, gasping against the ache in her chest. The envelope was still in her bag, an ugly weight she wanted to throw into the gutter, but her fingers shook when they reached for it.

She hated herself for even carrying it.

The world blurred, tears spilling hot and helpless, because no matter how strong she wanted to be, the words clung to her skin: You'll ruin him. You don't belong.

"Joo-da?"

She froze, the voice like a blade cutting through her grief. Trouble and comfort in a single voice, Namjoo.

He came running, worry twisting his face, his usual swagger gone. He stopped in front of her, eyes flicking from her tears to the envelope in her hand. His jaw tightened.

"What's that?"

Joo-da shook her head, trying to hide it behind her back, but he reached for it, pulling it from her trembling fingers. He opened it—and his expression darkened instantly.

"Of course," he muttered, almost to himself. "Of course she'd do this."

"Namjoo, please—"

"She gave you money?" His voice cracked with disbelief, anger simmering beneath it. "She thought she could buy you off?"

Her tears flowed harder. "I didn't take it! I didn't want it!"

"I know you didn't," he said quickly, softer now, but his hand clenched around the envelope until it crumpled. "I just... I can't believe she actually—" He broke off, shaking his head, eyes stormy.