Second Overtime | JENSOO & CHAELISA

Chapter LVI

The sedan wound through the darkness for what felt like hours but was probably no more than forty minutes. 

Jennie sat in the backseat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her bare feet cold against the floor mat, her heart beating so hard she could feel it in her temples. The man beside her didn't speak. He just stared out the window at the rain-slicked trees, his jaw tight, his eyes hollow.

The driver was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of blank, professional expression that suggested he'd done this before and didn't intend to answer any questions. Jennie didn't ask any. She had learned, in the years of living with her mother, that silence was sometimes the only weapon she had.

The city fell away behind them. Streetlights gave way to darkness, buildings to trees, the familiar grid of Seoul to a winding road that curved around a reservoir and disappeared into a dense stand of cedar. Rain drummed against the roof of the sedan, a steady, percussive rhythm that matched the pounding of Jennie's heart. The headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating flashes of wet bark and dripping leaves and the silver, moonlit surface of the water.

The house appeared suddenly, a dark shape among the trees, its windows glowing with warm light. It was built from timber and gray stone, low and sprawling, its roof pitched against the rain. There was no gate. No mailbox. No sign that anyone lived here at all. It was the kind of house that had been designed to disappear.

The sedan pulled to a stop on the gravel driveway. Seo opened his door and stepped out into the rain. "Bring her inside."

The driver got out and opened Jennie's door. The cold air hit her like a slap, sharp with the smell of wet earth and cedar and the mineral-rich water of the reservoir. She was still in her pajamas and the rain immediately soaked through the thin fabric, plastering it to her skin. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, and followed Seo toward the house.

The front door opened before they reached it.

Chaerin stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of the interior. She was wearing a simple beige sweater and dark trousers, her hair pulled back in a neat knot, her pearl earrings catching the light. She looked calm. Composed. Utterly in control. As if this were an ordinary evening, as if her daughter hadn't just been abducted at gunpoint from her own home.

"Jennie." Chaerin's voice was soft, almost tender. "Come inside. You're soaking wet."

Jennie didn't move. Her feet were frozen to the gravel, her body trembling with cold and fear and a rage so immense she didn't know what to do with it. "You sent a man with a gun to take me from my home."

"I sent someone to bring you somewhere safe. The gun was a precaution. I knew you wouldn't come willingly."

"Because I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere near you."

Chaerin's expression flickered, a brief, almost imperceptible tightening around her eyes, but she didn't raise her voice. "We'll discuss this inside. Come. You'll catch a cold standing in the rain."

Seo put a hand on Jennie's back and pushed her forward. She stumbled through the doorway, her bare feet leaving wet prints on the dark wood floor. The interior of the house was warm and dimly lit, smelling of cedar and something cooking, kimchi jjigae, she realized, the familiar, pungent scent of fermented cabbage and pork filling the air. The dining table was set for two. Candles flickered in glass holders. A bottle of wine stood open beside a carafe of water. Avocado sandwiches, her favorite, the ones her mother used to make when she was small, were arranged on a plate beside a small dish of myeongran jeot, the salted pollock roe glistening in the candlelight.

It looked like a scene from a nightmare. A perfect, domestic tableau, staged by a woman who had orchestrated an abduction and called it love.

Seo cleared his throat. "You said you needed transport and security. The girl is here. My part in this is done."