Chapter 2 : The Weight of Silence
The iron gates groaned as they swung open, revealing the long driveway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges. Yeri pressed her forehead against the cool window of Yunjun's black sedan, watching the mansion grow larger as they approached. Its windows glittered like cold, unblinking eyes in the late afternoon sun.
She had packed only a single suitcase, though no one had told her how long she'd be staying. Yunjun hadn't spoken since they left the city, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The silence between them was thick enough to choke on.
When the car stopped, he didn't look at her. "Get out," he said, voice stripped of any warmth.
Yeri's fingers fumbled with the seatbelt clasp. The moment her shoes touched the pristine marble pathway, she felt it - the oppressive weight of this place. The air smelled artificially clean, like lemon polish and money. No trace of the earthy, lived-in warmth she was used to.
A man in a crisp black suit appeared at the door. "Welcome home, young master," he said, bowing slightly. His eyes flickered to Yeri with barely concealed curiosity before schooling back into perfect neutrality.
The first week passed in a haze of exhaustion.
Yeri learned quickly that in this house, she existed in some strange limbo - not quite a guest, not quite staff. Yunjun had given no explanation to the household about who she was or why she was there. The servants whispered behind their hands when they thought she couldn't hear.
Her days began before dawn. She'd wake to find a list of tasks slipped under her door - polish the silver, scrub the terrace tiles, organize the library. The work was menial but endless, designed to keep her moving until her muscles ached and her fingers grew raw.
Yunjun watched her with cold detachment, always appearing at the most unexpected moments. She'd turn a corner and find him leaning against a doorframe, observing her with those unreadable dark eyes. Sometimes he'd deliberately knock over a glass just to watch her clean it up, his lips curling when she didn't react.
But his sister Soojin was worse.
"Careful, country mouse," Soojin purred the first time she caught Yeri dusting the family portraits. The older girl trailed a manicured finger along the piano, inspecting for dust. "That vase you just polished? Ming dynasty. Worth more than your entire village."
Yeri kept her head down, her breathing even. She'd learned this lesson young - stillness was safer than reaction.
Soojin's cruelty was more inventive than her brother's. She'd "accidentally" spill tea on freshly laundered sheets, forcing Yeri to wash them again. She'd schedule conflicting tasks, then berate Yeri for incomplete work. Once, she locked Yeri in the wine cellar for hours, claiming she'd forgotten about her.
Through it all, Yeri never protested. Never cried.
But her eyes -
Yunjun found himself staring at them when she thought no one was looking. In the split second before she noticed his presence, her guard would drop. In those unguarded moments, her dark eyes held entire oceans of emotion - not anger, not even resentment, but something far more unsettling. A quiet, enduring sadness that seemed to reach into his chest and squeeze.
Yeri was carrying a heavy breakfast tray up the grand staircase when her foot caught on the uneven edge of a Persian rug. Time seemed to slow as the tray tilted - porcelain teapot sliding, delicate china plates teetering, silverware clattering against marble steps.
The crash echoed through the silent house like gunfire.
For one terrible moment, Yeri simply stood frozen, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Then she was on her knees, gathering shards with trembling fingers. A thin line of blood welled up where a piece sliced into her palm, but she didn't seem to notice.
Soojin appeared at the top of the stairs, her silk robe fluttering. "Useless," she sighed, examining her perfect nails. "That was mother's favorite set. Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
Yeri's shoulders hunched slightly, but she continued cleaning in silence. A drop of blood smeared across the white marble.
Yunjun, who had been watching from the shadowed hallway, felt something primal twist in his gut. He'd wanted to punish her, to make her feel even a fraction of the anger that had been burning in his chest for months. But this - this silent suffering, this quiet dignity in the face of cruelty - it wasn't what he'd expected.
"Enough," he found himself saying, stepping into the light.
Soojin turned, surprised. "She broke-"
"I said enough." His voice was sharper than he intended.
Yeri didn't look up, but he saw the way her breath hitched. Saw the single tear that escaped before she could blink it away, tracking a lonely path down her cheek.
That night, Yunjun lay awake staring at his ceiling. The image wouldn't leave him - Yeri's bloody hands, the way her teeth had sunk into her lower lip to keep it from trembling. The sound the china had made when it shattered.
For the first time since bringing her here, he wondered if he'd crossed a line even he couldn't justify. The thought settled like a stone in his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable.
Down the hall, Yeri sat on the edge of her narrow bed, staring at her bandaged hand. The house was so quiet she could hear the grandfather clock ticking three rooms away. She missed the sound of crickets through an open window, the distant laughter of neighbors, the comforting creaks of a home that had been lived in.
Here, even the silence felt expensive.
She lay back, pressing her palms against her burning eyes. Just a little longer, she told herself. Just until she figured out what game Yunjun was playing. Because this - the cruelty, the mind games - it had to be a game.
Didn't it?
To be continued....
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