DD 5.1 City of Wind

From his bedroom window facing North Michigan Avenue, the John Hancock Center, famous as a prime spot for enjoying the Chicago skyline along with the Willis Tower, was right at hand.

The spacious living room, with windows facing north and east, offered a more open and refreshing view. Beyond the John Hancock Center, past the buildings of another world-renowned chain hotel, the horizon of Lake Michigan, which looked like a sea, was faintly visible. To the east, the Art Institute of Chicago was just a stone’s throw away.

In my room, another bedroom within the same suite, the windows facing south and east provided a direct view of the magnificent panorama of the Magnificent Mile, famous as a shopping street.

Yooni Noona had briefly shown a surprised expression about him and I staying in the same suite, but she soon nodded in agreement, seemingly concluding that there was no need for an extra room when there were two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Perhaps she easily forgot her minor suspicions, excited by the first-class tickets and five-star hotel room he had prepared like a surprise event.

Shushu, Noona, him, me, and the driver—there were five of us accompanying this business trip. Thanks to his consideration, all five of us were able to travel comfortably in first class. Noona’s explanation that round-trip first-class tickets to Chicago typically cost around 12 million won made me feel uneasy even in my heart.

In any case, unlike me, who was nervously watching Noona’s reactions, he seemed completely unconcerned about the situation, signing the check-in documents on the sofa in his suite’s living room, not at the lobby counter.

The driver, I could understand… but with Shushu and Noona still in the same living room, he asked about the afternoon schedule in a voice filled with a special tenderness while touching my hair, causing me to dart my eyes around and even stammer.

Perhaps he truly didn’t mind becoming known to the public in this way. Come to think of it, the fact that he deliberately announced we were dating felt rather peculiar.

Juhan Hyung’s advice came to mind: “He’s not a good person to date; if it’s an immature unrequited love, give up quickly.” I wondered what his reaction would be if he found out that I was indeed dating the very person he had advised. And what about Noona and Manager Han…

Feeling awkward about even these light worries related to dating, I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled, “Hoo,” before picking up my pencil again. I was sketching the Chicago downtown scene as the sun began to set. From his bedroom window, while waiting for him to finish his shower.

“So, you spent the entire afternoon just at the Art Institute of Chicago?”

He emerged from the bathroom connected to the walk-in closet inside the bedroom, wearing a robe, and asked, looking at me with a smiling face. Even in that ordinary gesture of lightly brushing his wet hair back with a towel, my heart inexplicably fluttered.

Feeling a bit sheepish because the plan I had told him in advance was so ambitious, I nodded and smiled faintly as well.

He leaned against the wall at the entrance of the long, corridor-like dressing room, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his robe.

“It’s different in scale from a regular gallery.”

It was as he said.

While the title of being one of the top three art museums in America didn’t hold much appeal for me, I chose it as my first destination, thinking there must be a reason why people in Chicago, where numerous galleries with diverse characteristics operated vibrantly, considered it a must-visit. The museum, divided into a main building and a new wing, housed approximately 300,000 works.

“Even though I tried to see as much as I could… I didn’t even get to see the second floor of the main building, the basement, or the annex.”

We arrived at O’Hare Airport around 10 AM, and it was around noon when we checked into the hotel room. Shushu, the main figure of this trip, along with him and Yooni Noona, had a meeting with the gallery hosting the exhibition immediately, without a moment to spare.

While they were back at the hotel preparing for the VIP opening party that evening, I had planned to visit the Art Institute of Chicago and two more galleries in the vicinity.

But it was an unreasonable schedule. I couldn’t even properly explore the Art Institute of Chicago alone.

Perhaps finding my rare display of disappointment amusing, he tilted his head for a moment, then playfully beckoned with his index finger before disappearing into the dressing room. I stopped contemplating how to express the city lights, which grew more dazzling as natural light faded, solely through sketches, and followed him into the dressing room.

He was choosing his party attire in front of the innermost closet. I awkwardly perched on the velvet bench placed between the dresser and the full-length mirror, right opposite the bathroom entrance.

“How was it? If it were Seo Yi-hyun, I think he would have liked the second floor of the main building the most.”

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck at his accurate prediction. On the second floor of the main building, as he mentioned, were European paintings from the 15th century onwards. Many of the works were familiar from my parents’ art books. Back then, like a child picking out illustrations from a book, I hadn’t checked the artist names or titles, but this time was different.

Lingering before works that piqued my interest, I captured the pieces and their captions on my phone (photography was allowed at the Art Institute of Chicago) and committed the names of artists who left a strong impression to memory.

Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt… Even an ignorant person like me had heard their names, and though I hadn’t known they were their works, I recognized the pieces themselves. My steps lingered before their paintings.

Even in a single line, I could feel the mastery honed through countless hours of practice, having willingly mortgaged his life to his art for so long. The colors and brushstrokes were beyond the reach of superficial technique or clumsy imitation. Standing before the depth granted only to those who had genuinely dedicated their time, I even felt a sense of reverence. These were certainly not artists whose reputations were only recognized posthumously due to luck.

“Actually, I tend to prioritize content over form, so I found modern art, with its often unconventional styles, difficult to understand. I also unconsciously distanced myself from it. But as I toured the galleries today… I realized that not all modern artists try to convey their message through unconventional forms. In a way, it’s natural for there to be diverse artists… I think I had held a prejudice with my narrow perspective.”

I confessed this while my gaze followed his back as he shed his robe and put on black boxer briefs that hugged the upper part of his firm thighs. Dressed in underwear, he began styling his hair in front of the dresser mirror, which only reflected his upper body. I looked up at him, resting my temple against the corner of the dresser.

I told him about Edward Hopper’s painting, Nighthawks, among the modern artists whose works I had found impressive.

Though it was entirely my personal interpretation, the composition, with its bold, long lines cutting across the canvas, struck me not just as a format for visual impact, but as a form born from the artist’s careful consideration to effectively convey content. For me, who unconsciously neglected or overlooked form in my pursuit of content, it was a work that offered a fresh sensation, like discovering a small breakthrough.

Even if it was a generalized fact known to everyone else, each such realization was precious to me, who had been confined to my own world regarding art until now.

It felt like the excitement of that childhood time, around when Manager Han and I used to draw, was newly dividing within me—the joy of seeing and expressing the world through art, and encountering new worlds through that process.

Having finished styling his hair and putting on a shirt with pleats on the chest, he leaned against the closet opposite me, listening to my story, and tilted his head.

“I thought it was surprising that you’d be interested in Edward Hopper, such a quintessentially American artist… but now that I think about it, maybe it’s not.”

“……”

“His belief was that great art is the excellent expression of the artist’s inner world.”

He smiled and shared other interesting stories related to Hopper. He spoke of films like All About Eve and Carol, which used his works as motifs or homages, and a collection of short stories titled Light and Shadow, written by seventeen authors inspired by his paintings.

“Hopper’s painting, Room in Brooklyn, is exhibited at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. If you’re interested, you could take some time during this trip to go see it.”

He said this while buttoning the front of his shirt.

After our 3-night, 4-day business trip to Chicago, he and I were scheduled to head to Boston instead of returning to Seoul with the rest of the group. It was a short 2-night, 3-day trip to visit a couple, like a mentor and his wife, who had taken him in for about two years during his childhood.

Chicago and Boston are about 2 hours and 20 minutes apart by plane, but it’s not a particularly long distance within the US. He had said he really wanted to pay his respects since he hadn’t visited them in a long time and asked if I could accompany him. I had no reason to refuse an opportunity to meet people important to him and to understand him more deeply. And, I couldn’t deny a subtle anticipation for a trip just the two of us.

He finished fastening his shirt cuffs and put on the pants of a tuxedo suit he had chosen from several suits, then walked across in front of me to adjust his appearance in the full-length mirror. It was a trendy and sharp-looking suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, slender waist, and the elasticity of his long legs, rather than being classic. His preparations for going out were almost complete. Looking out the window opposite, across the bed, the Chicago night view, now completely dark, sparkled golden.

He passed in front of me again, opened the top drawer of the dresser, and placed his hands on his hips. He scanned the various ties and scarves neatly organized by his dedicated staff and said,

“After Hopper died, his wife Josephine donated all his works in her possession to the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. The Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art also house major works by Hopper. Well, New York… it’s the optimal city not only for Edward Hopper but also for experiencing works by artists from various countries and eras.”

Though his final remark sounded somewhat like a promotional slogan for New York, it didn’t seem to carry any particular hidden meaning.

He chose two ties with different personalities: a wide, dressy silk black tie and a small, simple, and intellectual-looking black bow tie. He held each one up to his shirt, alternating between them, and looked in the mirror.

Then, he turned up his collar, tied the bow tie, looked down at me, and smiled faintly.

“It’s only been a few hours since we were apart, but so much has changed for Seo Yi-hyun. What other thoughts do you have that I don’t know about?”

I chuckled at his tone, pressing my thumb into my right palm as if massaging it. It was an action born of shyness. I was very clumsy at articulating my thoughts or decisions, but his help had been immense in getting me this far. He deserved to hear them. No, I actually wanted to share them with him.

“I feel like the time I haven’t been painting has been such a waste…”

His hands, which had been adjusting his shirt collar, slowed. He turned towards me and smiled gently.

“That’s the best kind of stimulation.”

I smiled faintly back at him, who had understood the meaning of my words perfectly.

“I’m not particularly good at being clever… For me, painting is like a language; I know I need to use it consistently every day, as often as possible, so it becomes ingrained in my body, not just my mind.”

He stopped preparing and leaned against the edge of the dresser, adopting a posture of readiness to listen intently.

“I’ve come to feel that I need to dedicate at least the amount of time an average office worker spends at their job each day to painting…”

“……”

“Because now, I’m a full-time artist.”

He smiled, perhaps trying to lighten the weight of my words, which felt a bit too serious. But his eyes were complex, thoughtful. He straightened up from his lean against the dresser and stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the antique bathroom door that opened on both sides, opposite where I sat on the bench.

“It’s a project I’ve been thinking about for a long time…”

He licked his lips, then paused, rubbing his left upper arm with his right hand, which was clasped.

“I’m thinking of opening a US branch for Phantom.”

“……”

His tone was calm, as if he were trying to speak of it as nothing extraordinary, but he couldn’t entirely hide the gravity or caution. My eyes widened, and my shoulders tensed at the sudden announcement.

“New York is one of the most influential cities in the global art market… so it would naturally be there.”

He gnawed on his lower lip, as if hesitating.

“It’s not a simple matter, so I can’t execute it immediately, but I plan to push forward as quickly as possible. If that happens… I’ll leave Seoul to Manager Han… and I’ll probably be overseeing the branch.”

His voice trailed off, and his gaze, which had been tilted towards the floor of the dressing room, turned towards me.

“Actually, I wanted Seo Yi-hyun’s debut itself to be in the US, and for your activities to start here. While this exhibition isn’t official, the gallerists, curators, and collectors attending today’s VIP party and tomorrow’s opening event are all highly influential figures, so it’s practically a debut exhibition.”

I knew he had discussed it with the host gallery and arranged for about ten of my paintings and works by other Phantom artists to be exhibited in a separate, smaller hall, distinct from Shushu’s exhibition.

He had told me in Seoul not to feel pressured, as Shushu’s exhibition was the main event, and the ten additional works were just a supplementary event.

But to have a debut exhibition in front of art industry professionals with global influence… My mouth felt dry. I could understand why Shushu, who felt uncomfortable with media exposure and being photographed, felt that way.

Sensing my tension, he approached and gently brushed my cheek.

“It’s just an exhibition as a test run, since a good opportunity has arisen, so don’t be too nervous. It won’t hurt to get noticed by people who are good to know.”

I nodded in his hand, but my heart was pounding.

“I want to ensure you can work in the best environment and conditions, and receive the recognition you deserve. That’s the most concrete support I can offer you as a gallerist, as a dealer.”

As he spoke, stroking my lower lip with his thumb, his eyes and expression held the firmness of someone who had already made a decision and braced themselves.

“It’s not a simple matter, so it won’t take concrete shape until next year at the earliest. But if I move to New York… will you come with me?”

“……”

It was a delicate moment to respond. It was sudden, but if my feeling was not mistaken, if my self-consciousness wasn’t overblown, it seemed like he was pushing himself too hard for my sake. While opening an overseas branch might have been his long-held dream, I felt he was rushing it, at least partly because of me.

He narrowed his eyes, looking down at me, unable to answer easily. His hand, which had been slowly tracing his lips with a bitter, unhidden smile, moved away.

“You don’t have to answer right away. Opening a branch overseas isn’t something that gets resolved in a month or two. You have plenty of time to think.”

Even as he said this, his expression showed disappointment at my hesitation. However, it wasn’t that the decision was difficult, as he thought.

With Morae and Hyung gone, I had no lingering attachment to Korea or Seoul. The confession that I didn’t want to be separated from him wasn’t a rash statement driven by emotion. I was ready to believe and support his decision if it was one he had made after careful consideration.

But the impatience I sensed from him, wanting to rush the opening of the overseas branch, created a vague anxiety deep within me. As far as I knew, he wasn’t the type of person to be anxious before an important event.

Perhaps that image, too, was a fantasy about him created from my own insufficient information. It’s natural to be nervous when making an important decision, but am I feeling unnecessary anxiety?

Seeing me, with my wandering thoughts clearly visible, he forced a smile. Then, to finish getting ready to go out, he returned to the dresser and sprayed perfume on his shirt a few times. The heavy black bottle, designed with solid straight lines, was one of the two or three perfumes he often used. The deep, heavy, and intense scent matched his presence.

“I’ve kept the last day free, so we can go sightseeing together then, and visit the gallery we couldn’t go to today. Visiting the Chicago Gallery again would be nice too. This is my third time in Chicago, but I’ve always come for work. There are many places I haven’t seen, so I’m looking forward to it.”

While choosing a watch from the second drawer and fastening it to his wrist, he brightened the tone of his voice.

“I’m sorry for making you come all this way and then leaving you alone after asking you to come with me.”

Towards his back as he took a jacket from the closet and put it on, I shook my head firmly.

“I’m fine, so please focus on the exhibition.”

He, who had finished getting ready to go out, turned back to look at me with a smile. Then he slowly turned around and walked towards me. His perfect appearance made me involuntarily lower my breath.

He cupped my cheeks and gently lifted my face to look at him.

“You’re so understanding, so thoughtful, more than I could ask for… why do I keep wanting to see a sulking Seo Yi-hyun?”

“……”

“Saying you wish I’d skip parties and stay with you instead. Wishing this wasn’t a business trip but our trip. That Seo Yi-hyun who whines like that and doesn’t want to leave my side.”

His wishes were always so specific, and his face when he joked was so seriously earnest that it made me laugh. He chuckled along with me.

“Well, at the point where I’d be throwing a tantrum like that, I wouldn’t be Seo Yi-hyun anymore, would I?”

Holding his hands that were cupping my face, I rubbed my cheek against his palm, which smelled of perfume, and said.

“If I actually did that, you’d change your mind.”

He looked at me for a moment with an unreadable smile and murmured as if to himself.

“……Would I, really?”

Looking up at him, who looked bitter as if he were the only one tormented by irrational emotional outbursts and childish desires, I buried my forehead in his firm lower abdomen. With a hint of resentment.

“If I start thinking like that, I won’t want to be apart anymore… that’s why I’m holding back.”

His hand stroking the back of my head made my lower abdomen tingle. How much I was looking forward to our journey to Boston alone after all the schedules were finished. I almost confessed my childish feelings but bit my lower lip once, then lifted my head.

“Just remember this. I’m always welcoming of a Seo Yi-hyun who doesn’t hold back.”

He bent down and pressed his lips to mine. A fleeting kiss, just brushing our lips together, elicited a sweet sigh. He smiled, ruffled my hair, checked his watch, and finally gathered a few belongings like his phone and cigarettes before leaving the dressing room.

“I’ll head straight to the gallery from here, but Yooni will stop by the hotel because of Shushu. You can go with Yooni.”

“Doesn’t Shushu the artist… not attend the after-party?”

As I followed him towards the entrance, pulled by his hand, he paused and looked back at my question.

“Um… the official events end with the party at the gallery. It’s more of a private gathering where I’ve invited only a few people, so Shushu isn’t obligated to attend.”

Conversely, I was excused from attending the gallery party, but I was scheduled to attend the smaller after-party. He had given me an opportunity to exhibit my paintings overseas and said there were people he wanted to introduce me to, so I couldn’t refuse that.

Passing through a short hallway, he stopped in front of the entrance hall, released my hand, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“If you come to the party, Seo Yi-hyun will probably be too nervous to eat much again, so make sure to eat dinner via room service before coming out. If you skip a meal, I’ll have to prepare everything for you again, just like before.”

The memory of Hong Kong, where he had me prepare both local and Western dishes, surfaced as I fiddled with the chest of his jacket and smiled silently.

“Choi In-woo also said it’s important not to skip meals. You’ll probably have to drink a little at the party too. Oh, and don’t forget your medicine.”

The result of In-woo Hyung’s examination was, as expected, mild gastritis. He said it was likely psychosomatic, and while it wasn’t serious now, I needed to be careful not to let it become chronic. My hyung had also recommended some supplements, which I was taking along with my medication.

He always personally prepared my daily medications and supplements in a plastic case with separate compartments for a week’s worth of pills, telling me to take them diligently for his sake.

“You know I don’t cause you trouble with things like that. Shushu the artist must be waiting.”

I pushed his chest playfully, urging him to go, and he shrugged with a mock disappointed expression.

“You used to hold onto me so tightly, telling me not to go to Shushu.”

Hiding my blushing face, embarrassed by the memory, I pushed his back out the door. Before he completely disappeared through the entrance connected to the private elevator, he, dressed impeccably, said with a serious face through the gap in the opening door.

“See you later. Don’t dress up too prettily.”

Shaking my head, I thought, You should look in the mirror before saying that, CEO.

■ ■ ■

The luxury sedan he had requested from the hotel began to drive north towards the affluent neighborhood of Chicago’s Old Town.

Due to Lake Michigan, a hazy fog enveloped the skyscrapers, making it impossible to discern what lay at the end of the straight, extended roads. The car, gliding smoothly over the road without sound or vibration, felt like it was willingly plunging into an adventure-filled story with an unknown destination.

I quietly rubbed my arm and turned my gaze away from the window, recalling the desolate landscape that reminded me of a future city devoid of humanity, or Gotham City, the setting for .

Yooni Noona, who had changed into more glamorous and casual attire for the after-party, was hastily touching up her makeup in the back seat of the sedan.

“The CEO was really full of energy today, wasn’t he? He even agreed to an interview tomorrow. He always said he avoided the spotlight, that the artists were the main focus.”

Noona said, applying a darker shade of eyeshadow. It looked like she was applying it roughly, but that style suited her.

“Well, it’ll definitely boost publicity if the CEO’s interview and photos are released. We don’t know when we’ll have another exhibition in Chicago, but it’s not bad to get our name out there, right?”

Closing the eyeshadow case, I smiled back at Noona, who turned to look at me.

Unlike Noona’s casual speculation, my smile was awkward as I thought he might have accepted the interview with the opening of the New York branch in mind. Had he not hinted at it to Noona yet?

“Anyway, the opening party today was insane. Honestly, this gallery isn’t that powerful, you know? But the attendee list was so stacked. Wow… I was so out of it, I was handing out business cards left and right.”

Noona, who had turned completely to face me, still had the excitement of the party evident in her expression and voice. I remembered Noona in Hong Kong, diligently greeting people and exchanging business cards, hoping to find someone who recognized her talent and potential and would scout her. Whether it was for further studies or a new job, it was clear Noona wanted international experience.

“What’s wrong, Seo Yi-hyun? Still nervous? You’ve gone so quiet.”

Noona poked my cheek as she drank the coffee she had hung on the cup holder on the armrest between us, noticing my stiff expression.

“I’m still awkward at parties like this… And, I’m worried about my English too…”

After the decision to go to Chicago was made, I had taken lessons twice a week from the English teacher who taught Noona and Hyung. I studied on my own, and he helped me a little in the evenings. Studying with him… it often turned into an extension of our dates, learning vulgar words and phrases, eventually leading to physical intimacy.

Regardless, it was only for three weeks of additional study. It wasn’t enough time to build the skills to compensate for my lack of confidence in English and my unsociable personality.

“You’re doing well, so don’t pretend. The Teacher praised you, you know? He said you’d overtake Kwon Juhan within a few months, so he’s been studying really hard because of you lately.”

Noona added, laughing happily and patting the armrest, that Kwon Juhan had cried because when she boasted about flying first class and staying in a five-star hotel, he thought it wasn’t a business trip but a luxurious vacation, and regretted not following her no matter what.

Noona, who was determined to take photos at the after-party and tease him, seemed to want to share the present moment rather than just tease Hyung. Even though they bickered so much when they were together, they seemed a little lonely when apart. Sometimes, I envied their friendship.

Even through elementary and middle school, I had never had what people called a best friend. Morae and Hyung were, of course, precious friends, and they rarely showed off their relationship in front of me, but their strong bond was as clear as if it were visible, even without holding hands or hugging in public. It was difficult for the three of us to form a perfect triangle as friends. Even between Yooni Noona and Juhan Hyung, who were like twins or doppelgangers, I felt like a different color.

As my thoughts drifted, I realized, surprisingly, that I had him.

The bond connecting him and me wasn’t just about passionate desire or the flutter of romantic feelings. He was the one who drew out the most stories, emotions, and thoughts from me, who was like hardened concrete, and accepted and understood them without any distortion. His meaning to me was more than just a romantic partner.

Suddenly, I missed him. With such clear and concrete emotions, my face flushed in the dark car as if he could sense it.

The car stopped a block away from the ‘Original Playboy Mansion,’ where Hugh Hefner had once lived, in front of a three-story mansion.

As if to indicate a party was underway inside, the entrance of the imposing, heavy brick building was decorated with elaborate lighting.

“The lighting here is going to be amazing. Yi-hyun, take some pictures for me.”

Noona, looking at the lights reminiscent of Christmas season luminaries, took out her phone from her small clutch, but her face darkened.

“Ah, the battery… my portable charger is dead too. Yi-hyun, let’s take pictures with your phone. I’m uploading this Chicago business trip in real-time on social media. I even posted a picture of your artwork being exhibited, look, there are over 100 comments now… oh… it’s turned off.”

We burst out laughing between us, holding the black, dead phone in Noona’s hand.

Fortunately, my phone, which I had charged at the hotel all evening, was working fine. As I unlocked my phone to take a picture of Noona posing under the arched structure at the entrance, Noona broke her pose and showed interest.

“What is it, what is it?”

Her narrowed eyes looked mischievous.

“Since when did ‘Honeybee’ Seo Yi-hyun start setting a passcode on her phone?”

“Ah… that’s not it… I was worried about losing it on the trip… I’m on roaming, and what if someone finds it and makes calls…”

“Why are you making up such elaborate excuses? It’s normal to have secrets at your age. It’s perfectly normal.”

Even as she said that, Noona’s face still held a playful smile. She seemed convinced there was another reason for locking my phone, but she didn’t press further.

After a round of photos, Noona rang the bell, and a kind-faced employee opened the door. The mansion was like a maze. As we passed through several rooms and small drawing rooms along a long corridor, the boisterous noise and music of the party grew closer.

He, who had arrived earlier, was coming to meet us from the end of the corridor. Without his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his neatly slicked-back hair falling onto his forehead, he looked very happy.

He had a high tolerance for alcohol, and I had never seen him drunk before, but even if he wasn’t drunk, alcohol seemed to be a factor in his excited mood. Intrigued by that, I glanced at his face, his arm draped over my shoulder.

As we descended the stairs to a much larger hall than the drawing room we had just passed, he pressed his lips close to my ear and whispered.

“I told you not to dress up too prettily…”

Despite saying that, the outfit I was wearing was chosen and gifted to me by him for this gathering. He had matched a casual-fit suit with a navy and white striped t-shirt, saying I didn’t need to be too formal as I was attending as an artist.

“Hmm… what is this? This will only make people more suspicious, won’t it?”

He pressed his forehead against my temple and playfully tugged at the small bandana scarf around my neck. A few people’s gazes were directed at us, making my neck feel slightly dry.

In fact, there were traces of him all over my neck. Since the night we slept together after In-woo Hyung’s visit, he had developed a habit of leaving marks, mainly on my chest and neck.

He hadn’t left them in a conspicuous place like the center of my neck, but the outfit he chose today was a boatneck t-shirt, so a red mark above my collarbone was visible, making it an unavoidable choice.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s all my fault. I was arrogant.”

Perhaps sensing my resentful gaze, he tightened his arm around my shoulder and apologized. He kept repeating his apologies, yet he looked happy. Noona, who had been walking ahead, looked back, but since he was unusually excited, she seemed to think the close physical contact was part of his drunkenness.

The people enjoying the gathering throughout the hall, which was large enough for a small banquet, were mostly dressed formally, like him, but with their shirt buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, and a relaxed, cheerful demeanor. A woman in a beautiful silk evening gown had taken off her high heels and was enjoying a cocktail barefoot, chatting cheerfully.

Everyone in the hall seemed to know each other well, or at least be aware of each other’s existence. As he had said, it didn’t feel like an extension of a formal business party.

He introduced us to the hosts of the mansion, who had provided the space for the gathering first.

Jane Song, a Korean-American woman from New York, and Connor Drake, from Orland Park, not far from Chicago, were a couple who had studied abroad in London with his parents and were business partners in the fashion industry in Chicago. They were also avid collectors of works by promising emerging artists.

“I asked them to scout a venue for a small party in Chicago, and they generously offered their home instead of finding a place. Oh, Yooni, you already met them at the gallery earlier, right?”

The couple and Noona exchanged brief greetings first, and he introduced me as a new artist at Phantom, whom he was very excited about.

“Connor and I enjoy buying good works by lesser-known artists. Honestly, the works of already famous artists are just outrageously expensive.”

Jane exclaimed as if she were wronged, but it was immediately clear that the couple wasn’t refraining from buying works by famous painters for financial reasons.

“I saw Ms. Yi-hyun’s nude painting at the gallery and immediately expressed my intent to purchase it to Awi, but he refused, saying it wasn’t scheduled for sale yet.”

Jane glared at him, calling it a petty act of dangling something he wouldn’t give, but thankfully, Connor brought Noona and me cocktails from the bar set up in a corner of the hall.

“Awi, by the way, I invited someone I wanted to introduce you to specifically. Is that okay?”

“Of course. If it’s someone Jane introduces, I should make time to meet them.”

He answered readily and cheerfully, but his eyes, as he brought the cocktail glass to his lips, seemed momentarily lost in thought. He didn’t seem like the person who had been laughing and chattering loudly just moments before.

“He’s not someone who usually works in Chicago, but the timing worked out well for both of them this time. I thought it would be good for them to meet. I just got word he’ll be arriving soon. Ah, there he is!”

At Jane’s welcoming wave, I instinctively turned around.

For a brief moment, I mistook him for Juhan Hyung.

His sharply cut hair, which looked like it would feel rough if you touched it, his extremely thin build that gave him a sharp impression, his considerably tall height, and his long limbs. And then, the black attire that covered his entire body.

“Oh my god. What is this? It’s R.R.!”

As if she knew the identity of the person who reminded me of Juhan Hyung, my sister hastily pulled her cocktail glass away from her lips and jabbed me hard in the side. In contrast to my excited sister, he calmly gazed at the man walking towards us with an unperturbed expression.

“Jane, Connor! Thank you for the invitation.”

The man, who approached the couple with a bright smile, exchanged simple and friendly greetings, as if he had met them recently.

Up close, he seemed much less playful than Juhan Hyung. It was strange how calm and mature he appeared, considering I had thought they resembled each other. He also seemed about three or four years older than Juhan Hyung. Above all, he was a foreigner.

“Now, this is Reed Rogers, the leader of the organization I sponsor. And this is Lau Wikun, who runs a gallery in Seoul.”

He nodded first and offered his hand for a handshake. As he shook hands, the man said,

“Actually, I went to the VIP opening today. I enjoyed the exhibition.”

“You did?”

Jane furrowed her brow and lightly placed her hand on R.R., Reed Rogers’ shoulder.

“I wasn’t officially invited, but another gallery staff member I know asked if I was interested because there was one spot left for a plus-one. They knew I was just hanging around in Chicago.”

Even as he spoke, he seemed uninterested in the man. Or rather, his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“An organization that Jane and Connor sponsor, what kind of…?”

Although he asked the question, it seemed like a minimal courtesy, considering the couple’s intention to introduce the man. It was also unexpected that he asked the man, who had attended the VIP opening today, a question other than his thoughts on Shushu’s work.

“It’s a kind of artist community. To be precise, it’s an organization that selects emerging artists facing economic or environmental difficulties who show outstanding potential, and supports their livelihood and artistic activities. I’m in charge of the overall operations.”

“Hmm.”

Despite his lack of particular enthusiasm, the man continued his earnest explanation.

“It’s not like we’re all pursuing a common goal, and it’s a very personal organization… but since people with similar inclinations gather, it feels like a community.”

Strangely, the more I listened to the man’s explanation, the more ambiguous the image of the organization became, but I didn’t ask any further questions. Jane patted his shoulder with a smile.

“Reed himself is originally a painter. He even won a special award at the Venice Biennale at a very young age.”

“Yes, though that award completely ruined my relationship with painting.”

The man showed an expression and tone that seemed to resent the award he had received.

“I don’t paint anymore. I grew sick of the system where galleries artfully create stars through clever management, drain them dry, and then abandon them when the bubble seems about to burst. I, too, was just one of those glittery stars created by that system, rather than having genuine talent.”

The content of his words was quite sharp, but his tone was not. Having gradually learned about how parts of the so-called ‘global art market’ operated, and the impossibility of competing without promotion and management, I could understand his words to some extent.

“That’s why I ended up helping novice artists in the current organization. For now, I’m focusing solely on writing novels and managing the foundation.”

“Your short story collection published earlier this year was impressive.”

All eyes turned to my sister at her flushed voice.

The man, wrinkling his exposed forehead, pointed alternately at my sister and me with a smiling face.

“You’re Yuni, right? We follow each other on social media.”

It wasn’t just my sister who knew the man. He greeted my sister like an old friend and offered his hand for a handshake. The flow of conversation instantly shifted to the two of them.

Someone began playing the grand piano placed under the glass ceiling, in front of the large folding doors leading to the backyard, and people’s attention and interest shifted there as well.

“I saw your real-time posts about today’s exhibition too. Was the exhibition directed by you, Yuni?”

“No. This exhibition was hosted by this gallery, and I was just in charge of our side.”

“The party seemed quite grand.”

“The gallery hosted it, but for some reason, our CEO really put in a lot of effort this time.”

While Jane and Connor, and the adults around him, listened to the jazz piano performance and responded, Reed Rogers and my sister continued their conversation.

My sister apologized for the late introduction and then introduced the man and me to each other. The man seemed to find the pronunciation of ‘Lee Hyun’ difficult but amusing. He said that while Yuni was a convenient and pretty name to use internationally, the resistance felt by his vocal cords when pronouncing Lee Hyun gave him an exotic feeling, earning him a light scolding from my sister.

“My name is the worst. While it’s a name that anyone, regardless of their language, can pronounce without difficulty, it’s also forgettable for that very reason!”

The man made a displeased expression, wrinkling his forehead. It seemed to be a habit, that particular expression that created three or four distinct lines. They weren’t wrinkles that made him look old.

My sister suggested they talk slowly at the bar, and the man readily accepted. The other attendees were engrossed in the piano rendition of a famous Michael Jackson hit song, arranged in a jazz style. Though I didn’t know much about music, the player’s skill didn’t seem amateurish.

Before leaving our spot, I tapped his shoulder with my index finger as he was turned halfway towards me, engaged in conversation.

When I told him I’d be with my sister at the bar, he smiled and touched my cheek. The look in his eyes was full of affection, even to my own eyes. He seemed completely unaware, but just being close to him and conversing intimately with him drew subtle curiosity, or even overt hostility, from others, and unlike him, I wasn’t accustomed to being the center of attention. Pretending not to notice, I awkwardly smiled at a few glances that flickered my way, then gently pulled his hand and slipped away.

In one corner of the hall, against a backdrop of boldly printed wallpaper, two formally dressed bartenders were making cocktails or serving drinks according to customers’ requests at a large S-shaped bar.

After we settled side-by-side in the inward curve of the S, the man proposed a toast and asked me to call him Reed.

Reed leaned his upper body forward over the bar and peered intently at my face, saying he had seen my paintings in the gallery’s first-floor exhibition room that afternoon. His thin eyebrows, deliberately shaved with something like a razor, twitched. Come to think of it, Reed had no piercings.

“To be honest, I didn’t feel the master craftsman’s skill or the deep weight of years in the work… but because of the boldness of leaving space and omitting backgrounds, and the unique colors that effectively expressed the transience and loneliness of a sunset using cool blue tones, I didn’t expect someone so young to have created it.”

Reed, sitting separated from me with my sister between us, leaned his upper body far back for a moment, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head.

“No. In a way, it might have been predictable. The works, how should I put it… In one sense, they evoke a poignant nostalgia, like an elder entering the twilight of their life looking back at the past, yet on the other hand, they also feel like the sensitive pain of a boy going through the throes of adolescence.”

“Ah… um…”

Since he had given such specific and passionate feedback on my paintings, I felt I should offer some response, but I wasn’t sure if agreeing that he was right or thanking him was the appropriate reaction. Fiddling with the slender stem of my cocktail glass, I hesitated, and my sister stepped in.

“This is her first exhibition. She’s shy about hearing feedback on her work.”

After that, the three of us talked comfortably about various topics. It felt like casual chatter among close friends. Contrary to his sharp first impression, Reed was not a difficult person to get along with. Especially my sister and he seemed like they had known each other for a very long time, within about 2-3 minutes of meeting.

As Reed, with his humorous eloquence, recounted an anecdote about a famous museum director with immense confidence in his artistic aesthetic (or perhaps overconfidence) mistaking a trash can displayed as art by a prominent artist for an actual trash can at a Biennale, someone from behind placed hands on both my shoulders and pressed down.

“Hmm, I’m glad you seem to be having a good time.”

Looking up, I saw him smiling.

The piano performance had ended at some point, and music with a faster rhythm than when we first arrived was now playing in the hall. The lighting had become dimmer, like a club, and simultaneously, the music grew louder. People cheered, raising the energy.

“Apologies for interrupting your conversation… but there’s someone I really want to introduce you to. Could you excuse us for a moment?”

After asking Reed for permission, he led my sister and me to a sofa set arranged in the innermost part of the hall. Among the four or five large and small sofa sets filling the hall, this was the smallest but the most luxuriously and comfortably decorated space.

Between the sofas, and perhaps intentionally prepared for today’s party, between the circular standing tables, a group of about five or six people were conversing calmly, unlike others swaying to the music.

“Chloe, these are the friends I told you about. Yuni, the director of Phantom, and the artist… Lee Hyun.”

He alternately squeezed the hands on our shoulders as he introduced us to them, or rather, to the woman in the black suit. It was our turn to be introduced to the woman.

“And this is…”

“I know her.”

Standing with him between us, I had to lean my upper body further forward to see my sister’s face. He, too, looked surprised at my sister’s statement that she already knew who the woman in front of her was.

“Ms. Chloe Kent, Chief Director of H&W Gallery’s New York branch. Before moving to H&W Gallery, she worked as an auction specialist in modern art at Christie’s New York for 15 years.”

My sister looked like a highly paid, competent secretary. She did, despite her deep smoky makeup and distinctive fashion sense that older people might not prefer. The woman sitting on the sofa, with a faint smile on her thin lips, stood up and offered my sister her hand.

“To think I have such an interested young gallerist. It makes me nervous. Have I been living a life of wrongdoing?”

My sister couldn’t laugh easily at her joke. Like a child meeting her idol, she watched her every reaction with a dreamy expression.

“I didn’t realize it was to this extent either. I suspect most people in this hall have their careers within Yuni’s grasp. Her understanding and sense of art are excellent, she’s an incredibly hard worker, and furthermore… she has ambition.”

He emphasized the last word as if ambition were my sister’s most attractive trait. When he, who had been negative about my sister’s studying abroad or transferring to overseas galleries, praised her so generously in front of key figures, my sister, though surprised, secretly gave him a thumbs-up.

Chloe Kent, who seemed to possess a very glamorous career as the Chief Director of the New York branch of a global gallery with seven headquarters and branches worldwide, naturally guided us to an empty standing table next to the sofa. A waiter circulating the hall quickly approached, cleared away an empty glass left by someone, and brought us new drinks according to our order.

“This is Seo Yi-hyun, who is still a rookie before her official debut. She’s showcasing a few pieces in Shushu’s exhibition this time, but it’s strictly an unofficial test-level reveal. We intend to spare no support for a debut that will leave a strong impression on the art world.”

At his cautious yet confident statement, Kent took a sip of her champagne, just enough to moisten her lips, and offered a slight smile. It was a smile that seemed to say she understood.

As she placed her champagne glass on the table, she said,

“For a newcomer, not an established artist who has already gained recognition and success, to have their debut exhibition at H&W New York Gallery would be the most successful debut imaginable.”

“I agree.”

When he concurred, her smile deepened.

My sister, standing beside Kent, and I, standing beside him, exchanged glances diagonally. My sister’s eyes conveyed her confusion about what their conversation actually meant. But a debut exhibition at a famous New York gallery… Like my sister, I had heard nothing of the sort.

“The fact that Mr. Lau is willing to cooperate in exhibiting Petibon’s works at H&W is, in essence, that kind of… proposal, isn’t it?”

My sister’s gaze, which had been darting between him and Kent, turned to me once more. Our eyes met in mid-air and froze.

He was currently negotiating a deal with Kent, with my debut exhibition as the condition. It seemed that way, at least.

“I only own three pieces myself, but my father is a long-time fan of Petibon and owns over 30 major works. H&W also holds a significant number of his representative pieces, of course, but… I am confident that if you check my father’s collection list, you will find it intriguing. It would be recorded as the largest Petibon exhibition in the world.”

Having finished speaking, he offered a charming smile and raised his glass, inviting a toast. His attitude conveyed a confidence and ease that suggested the other party could never refuse this offer. Kent also seemed to positively accept the young gallerist’s confident demeanor.

My sister and I joined the toast, but seeing my sister’s peculiar expression, which was neither a smile nor a frown, I thought she was likely thinking the same thing as I was.

The thought that he, who had brought out his father’s collection as a means to seal the deal, felt unfamiliar.

“From my perspective, it’s certainly an appealing offer… but can an individual who owns over 30 works by Petibon remain unknown in the art industry?”

“Most were purchased anonymously. Until recently, he was involved in the management of a relatively large gallery, so he had easy access to information about works he was interested in, and he mostly participated in auctions through representatives or by phone. Furthermore, he values the collection itself rather than flaunting ownership, so acquisitions were always made quietly.”

“Hmm. If someone owns over 30 works by Petibon, their collection is unlikely to be limited to that… If they are a collector of that magnitude, it’s likely someone I know. May I ask which gallery they used to operate?”

My sister’s gaze turned to him. Her attention seemed focused more on whether he would answer the question than on the content of the answer. While half-doubting, she seemed to solidify her prediction that he wouldn’t answer. Or rather, she seemed to be hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“He was the founder of The Face gallery in Hong Kong, and is now an honorary advisor.”

He answered without hesitation.

Seeing my sister’s eyes and expression, which immediately tensed and trembled slightly… it seemed that the fact that Teacher Suki Kim was her mother was not the only thing he hadn’t told my sister and Hyung.

The story about the father was new to me as well.

The Face Gallery.

If my memory served me right, The Face Gallery was the host of the party held at the mansion I attended in Hong Kong. It was also where he and the Director first met and worked together. I don’t know if his former colleagues, whom I briefly met at the party, knew that he was the founder’s son, but I don’t recall any such stories being exchanged at the time.

Upon hearing the answer, Kent’s brow furrowed. As if she had heard something unbelievable, she tilted her head and asked again.

“Mr. Nick Lau?”

He nodded.

“Christie’s Hong Kong also purchased quite a few pieces from The Face Gallery.”

“I hadn’t heard any rumors about his son entering the same industry.”

“His achievements are meager compared to his parents’ fame.”

Even as he said that, his smile implied that his words were different from what he truly thought. Kent, understanding the joke, also smiled and nodded.

“Well, I understand. If you even picked up a dollar bill on the street, you could say it was thanks to your parents, so you might have wanted to hide it. Suki Kim and Nick Lau are so famous in the art world, like the Eastern Picasso and Kahlo. Oh, was it rude of me to describe your parents like that?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Why would I take it that way when you said it with good intentions?”

“I’m also a huge personal fan of Suki Kim. Although I don’t own a single piece due to bad luck.”

My sister’s lips, which had remained silent throughout, parted slightly towards him as if she wanted to say something, then closed tightly. Clutching the glass filled with emerald green cocktail, she lowered her gaze. The fact that she had met Chloe Kent no longer seemed to excite her.

Due to the dim lighting and my consciousness focused on the conversation, it was difficult to gauge whether he truly hadn’t noticed my sister’s awkward reaction or if he was deliberately ignoring it.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze, and leaned his upper body more towards Kent.

“Actually, I plan to open the New York branch of my gallery, starting with the exhibition of artist Seo Yi-hyun. Of course, I want a cooperative relationship with H&W, which has immense influence in the New York art scene.”

“Director.”

My sister called out to him in Korean, looking surprised by her own action. Kent turned to my sister and asked if she was alright. My sister quickly composed herself and managed an awkward smile. It was the moment my suspicion was confirmed that he hadn’t hinted about the New York branch to my sister, just as he hadn’t to me.

“Ah… I apologize. I think I need to make a call to another staff member remaining in Seoul. If you’ll excuse me… may I step away for a moment?”

As my sister hurried past, asking for permission, he grabbed her shoulder and asked what was wrong. My sister glanced at Kent and then said she must have drunk too much at the previous party, asking her to cover for her.

Pushing through the crowd of people talking boisterously or dancing, my sister crossed the hall. While I debated whether I should follow, and if I did, what I could say to my sister from my perspective, and whether it would be best to let him resolve it, my sister left the hall, turned into the corridor, and disappeared from sight.

“This is certainly more interesting than a one-off exhibition. Many people will show interest.”

Saying that, Kent immediately introduced him to three or four people. The area around two standing tables quickly became crowded with people showing personal and business interest in the founder of The Face Gallery and Suki Kim’s son opening a gallery in New York.

Some of the people gathered at the table shared brief impressions of my work, having seen it at the gallery earlier that day. Others were curious about his other represented artists, while still others tried to build rapport by indirectly expressing their interest in his parents and their admiration for him.

The atmosphere wasn’t stiff, but it wasn’t one where I felt comfortable either. He led the mood of the gathering with a cheerful attitude, not being too overbearing yet skillfully, but I couldn’t be sure if he was truly enjoying himself.

I disliked the jealousy that attributed everything to parental influence, but I disliked flattery just as much. I had no intention of becoming a victim to people who loved to judge others’ lives, whispering that it was a prince’s shallow show who wanted the title of self-made.

His stories about wanting to be himself, regardless of his origin and background… The cautious empathy and connection made that night. And the way he is acting here now… My sister wasn’t the only one who was confused.

There must be a reason. I am not judging him now.

I don’t think it’s immoral to benefit from one’s parents and family. It couldn’t be a reason for me to dislike him. Perhaps this was a compromise, a second-best option chosen out of necessity for flexibility, for a higher purpose, for the next leap.

I just wanted to know the reason if his thoughts had changed from before. I wanted to understand him.

Suppressing the urge to leave and find my sister even now, I handed my empty glass to a waiter and smiled gratefully at the woman next to me who offered me a new cocktail. She, the editor-in-chief of an art magazine published in Chicago, said she planned to feature an article on Shushu’s exhibition in the next issue.

Just then, someone grabbed her shoulder, pulled her outwards, and greeted her loudly. Although they exchanged brief greetings as if they knew each other, she didn’t seem particularly pleased.

The man who squeezed through the gap created by her body turning halfway around was dressed colorfully and fashionably in primary colors, unlike most people in the hall.

Sipping his cocktail, which seemed about to overflow due to his careless movements, the man looked up at him diagonally, with him and me between them.

“I heard some good investment talk is leaking from here. I could smell the money.”

The man, whose fine hair, almost platinum blonde, was neatly swept back, looked somewhat aggressive, perhaps due to his attire or his slightly swaying posture from intoxication.

“Everyone was talking about Mr. Lau here, the host of today’s party, planning to open a branch in New York.”

Most of the people gathered seemed to know the blonde man to some extent.

“I’m very interested in that kind of talk too…”

“But I suspect investment might be unnecessary. He doesn’t seem to need financial assistance.”

At someone’s explanation, the man scratched his cheek and cast a searching gaze at him.

“Hmm. That’s a shame. It seemed like there would be many interesting things happening at your gallery…”

The chief curator of the Chicago Art Museum, whom I had visited that afternoon (impressive with his well-groomed beard and scholarly glasses), stepped forward and introduced the blonde man to him.

The man, who came from Miami to attend the VIP opening at the invitation of this gallery, which organized Shushu’s exhibition, was the son of a collector famous for buying a work by a renowned artist for $20,000 during their unknown period and selling it ten years later for a profit of $10 million. Currently, the man himself was also a famous collector in the southern United States.

“Collector? You mean a speculator.”

He whispered into my ear in Korean. With his smiling face, no one could have guessed the content of his words. If it were Yooni Noona or Juhan Hyung, they would have skillfully played along and laughed together, but my heart inexplicably fluttered, and I glanced at the man opposite us.

Our eyes met, and the man raised his glass, filled with a cocktail as vibrant as his hair color, and gave me a slight smile. I couldn’t even manage an awkward smile and quickly looked away.

Since the blonde man arrived, the atmosphere of the gathering began to be dominated by him. While most were enjoying their drinks just enough to get into the mood, the man was somewhat excessively drunk. And it seemed difficult for ten sober people to handle one drunk person, regardless of culture.

“Betas might not want to admit it, but it’s true that Alphas and Omegas achieve much more in the art world, isn’t it? Especially in the art world, even Alphas can’t match the delicacy and creativity of Omegas.”

The man boasted that his investment strategy always involved checking the artist’s gender and appearance beforehand.

“Among Omegas, there are sometimes those with an unusually mysterious aura, and I collect the works of such artists without fail. What can I say… such Omegas are destined to reach the top someday.”

Laughing with narrowed eyes, shaking his shoulders as if something was incredibly funny to him, the man added.

“Whether it’s through their painting skills, or by charming influential old men in the art world as an Omega.”

“Omega, Omega, with every word… it’s a bit unpleasant to hear.”

Unable to listen any longer, he interrupted the man and stepped forward. Although his tone was polite, the pauses between his words, which ended heavily, conveyed his displeasure sufficiently.

The man, who had been leaning on the table, almost propped up, suddenly sat up straight, his eyes gleaming. It was as if he had been waiting for him to react.

“Oh, were you uncomfortable? Please don’t misunderstand. I have no intention of demeaning anyone.”

People were now watching the man with the same feeling as an audience enduring the villain’s continuous evil deeds on screen to witness their final downfall. The man himself was like an unpleasant show.

“Rather… I’m a bit old-fashioned in this regard; I believe Alphas should be with Omegas. The pleasure of the bedroom is also… incomparable to Betas. Since we’re among ourselves, a night with an Omega in heat, intoxicated by pheromones… Ah… at that moment, it’s so incredible that you could give your life if asked, it’s to die for. It’s pathetic for men born as Betas?”

Everyone’s face at the table stiffened with discomfort, but the man didn’t seem to care at all. He was so rude and vulgar that it seemed like he was deliberately trying his best to make the atmosphere icy.

Morae, the Director, In-woo Hyung, and Awi. How sensible were the Alphas I had met so far.

The fact that this repulsive man before me was a facet of a world I had lived without knowing, whether I acknowledged it or not, sent a chill down my spine like feeling the scales of a snake crawling on my bare skin.

The man was specifically provoking him within the group, and he showed no intention of passively resolving the situation by turning his back on this challenge. He tilted his glass and cast a cold gaze at the man.

As the man received a refilled glass from a waiter, he spilled about half of the drink onto the floor and the front of his flamboyant jacket. Then, he laughed aloud to himself and licked the alcohol from his fingers with his tongue.

“I thought there might be something we could connect on, Mr. Lau, since you’re openly revealing Shushu is a Golden Omega and using his beautiful appearance for promotion… Ah, indeed, it’s an excellent strategy. Works by such a beautiful Golden Omega, I bought five pieces today without further thought.”

His eyebrows and lips twitched at the news that the man had reserved Shushu’s works for today.

“But… Shushu wasn’t the end…?”

Leaning his elbows on the table, the man drawled and cast a brief glance towards me.

This time, I felt his entire body stiffen. His eyes, looking down at the man, no longer maintained the cold distance of watching a villain on screen, unrelated to reality. Yet, the man continued, as if he were someone urging another to kill him because he couldn’t kill himself.

“I’m not concerned with current fame. For works by an Omega like this… I could reserve all the pieces he’ll paint for the next two to three years? He’s so charming… what if he just drew a single line on a blank canvas?”

“……!”

A large palm grabbed the man’s face, which was subtly leaning towards me.

Following the sound of a sharp smack that hit his face, the shattering sound of the glass in the man’s hand hitting the floor ensued.

Everyone around was startled and instinctively took a step back. My shoulders stiffened from the sudden event happening right in front of me. He fixed his gaze on the man and gently pushed my lower abdomen back as if to tell me to step away.

It was instantaneous.

He struck the man’s right shoulder and flank. Although the attack seemed to deliberately avoid vital points, it was enough to make the man collapse onto the floor. His range of motion wasn’t wide. His movements were so concise that it seemed like the man was exaggerating his pain.

Screams, groans, and murmurs followed, and the man, without shedding a drop of blood, writhed on the floor, clutching his abdomen. He couldn’t scream and let out strange moans, continuing to curl up.

Jane and Connor immediately rushed over to manage the situation.

Even after knocking the opponent down, he was not in a normal state, his shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily. His tightly clenched fists seemed like a restraint to prevent further attacks.

He, unable to control himself like this, felt unfamiliar. I couldn’t even approach him rashly. The him I had known until now was someone at the pinnacle of reason and skill, who would have handled such a situation much more skillfully.

Two burly employees, summoned by Connor, immediately arrived, helped the man up as if escorting him, and took him out of the hall. Connor followed them. Some of the people who had been present approached Jane to discuss the situation. Jane nodded and apologized to them on his behalf.

“No. Honestly, everyone was just tolerating it because he’s a big-spending client, but no one here will blame Mr. Lau. He treated his represented artists like prostitutes who could be bought with money… how could anyone just listen to that?”

After hearing their explanations, Jane, still breathing heavily, looked at him and then at me, standing behind him.

Suggesting they go to a private room to rest for a while, Jane gently persuaded him. At that moment, he, who had seemed entirely focused on restraining himself, slowly turned to look at me.

Then, he wordlessly reached out and took my hand. Not knowing what to say, I simply held his hand tightly.

Jane, asking Connor, who had returned, to manage the situation in the hall, led him and me to a room further down the corridor. It was a small drawing-room furnished with comfortable sofas and a table for tea.

He and Jane sat side-by-side on the three-seater sofa, and I took a seat on the armchair opposite, as Jane suggested. He tried to hold my hand, but Jane persuaded him, saying it would be better this way for now.

“You have Lee Hyun right here in the same room, right in front of you. It’s okay. You’re not in danger. It’s okay.”

She offered him whiskey without ice and a cigarette. I worried if offering alcohol to someone in an agitated state was a good idea, but by the time he finished a glass of whiskey and a cigarette, his eyes had almost returned to normal.

Hoo… He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping, and shook his head before speaking.

“I apologize. Causing such a disturbance at Jane’s house…”

“I heard everything. It’s more unforgivable that such vulgar things were said in my house than causing a disturbance here, so don’t apologize.”

She said firmly, pouring hot water from the electric kettle at the makeshift bar in one corner into a cup.

“Even if I didn’t hear any explanation, I know well that you wouldn’t have done it without a reason.”

Adding that, she patted his back a couple of times and looked back and forth between me and him with a cautious gaze.

“Lee Hyun, he’s an Omega you’re interacting with, right?”

“……”

Though she was careful, she was asking with certainty.

Instead of answering, he looked up and at me. His gaze was difficult to decipher. It felt like a simple stare with no particular meaning, and yet it also felt like a deep plea conveying complex emotions.

“Wasn’t your protective instinct for the Omega you’re interacting with triggered?”

Otherwise, no matter how much he was insulted by a sub-par human, he, with his strong self-control, wouldn’t have tried to resolve the situation by resorting to violence. She seemed convinced of that.

“……No?”

“……”

Doubt mixed into her certainty.

Still, he looked at me intently for a while without answering. His empty gaze, as if he had lost everything and the will to resist, seemed to ask me to answer in his stead. Whether I was an Omega, a Beta, or something else entirely.

In Hong Kong. After the first penetration and knotting, he had apologized repeatedly, scraping out semen from within me like a madman. His eyes then overlapped with his eyes now. A clear sadness, so profound that it made him, the large and sturdy man, feel like a helplessly weak boy for a moment, seemed to transparently illuminate the bottom of his soul.

However, even that bottom, which I peered into, was transparent. It was different from being empty. It was transparent, so there was nothing to see.

As if his long gaze was meaningless, he withdrew his eyes without hesitation. He slumped his shoulders, leaning loosely against the backrest, and looked down at his own hands as if they were foreign objects. Then, he let out a small laugh.

“No. He’s a Beta.”

Surprise flickered across Jane’s face.

“Oh? I’ve made a big mistake… Your reaction just now… it was unmistakably like that. I’m sorry, Lee Hyun. I jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s alright. Please… don’t worry about it.”

Jane didn’t need to apologize, as her guess wasn’t born of malicious intent, unlike the blonde man’s. Just as I unconsciously treated everyone as a Beta, she had judged me as an Omega based on her own experiences. As I repeatedly assured her it was truly fine, she offered a slightly relieved smile.

“He is… someone precious to me. That much is true.”

“……”

Jane’s and my gazes turned to him.

He had always expressed his affection for me generously. But this was the first time he had so clearly defined my significance in front of others.

Pretending not to notice our gazes, he raised his glass and finished the little whiskey left.

“Is that so?”

Jane’s face brightened. She looked excited and pleased, as if she had just met her son’s first girlfriend. However, she didn’t barrage us with the usual questions that seem to come with couples, such as how long they’d been dating, how their relationship started, or who confessed first.

Unsure how to respond to Jane, who sent me a slightly mischievous smile and her eyes sparkled, I awkwardly averted my gaze and let out a silent, long sigh.

“Many people here today have gotten a good impression of you. Whatever decision you make, Connor and I will support you. Don’t dwell on what happened earlier. If you’ve been living like that in the art world, there must have been many more times it went unnoticed.”

She added, as if to reassure me that he wasn’t someone worth worrying about, and that by now he’d probably figured out who I was and was kicking himself, then squeezed his wrist once firmly as if to encourage him.

“If someone has a little power and lives to enjoy wielding it, causing pain to others, it wouldn’t be bad for them to experience being on the receiving end of pain from a different kind of power.”

He said he was only sorry for the trouble he caused to the others gathered, Jane, Connor… and me, and that he didn’t care about the blonde man. Jane nodded with a smile and stood up.

“You two, rest a bit longer before coming out.”

After she left, we remained silent for a while. He looked down at his empty glass, and I held the cup of warm water Jane had given me, feeling its warmth, believing it would help me calm down, each lost in our own thoughts.

No, not thoughts. All my consciousness was focused on the person sitting in front of me. The faint thrum of the party music, continuing despite the small commotion, vibrated faintly through the walls.

He broke the silence. He tapped his side, next to him. But his eyes, looking at me, seemed unsure if I would grant his request.

Glancing once at the door she had exited, I hesitated and then moved to his side. He just watched me intently. With eyes that clearly wanted to touch me. With eyes that wanted to touch me very much, but couldn’t dare to, not knowing how I would feel.

Now, he seemed to be searching for words, aimlessly spinning the empty glass in his hand, which held no more drink.

“Am I scary?”

It was a foolish question. I shook my head without a pause.

“I don’t know if you’ll believe me… but it’s the first time I’ve ever hit someone.”

“……”

“I learned a few martial arts for self-defense from a very young age, but that’s only as a last resort… and you can’t resort to violence every time someone provokes you. I also learned about the dangers of physical force and the value of the mind and reason that control it… Well, you might not believe me after witnessing this scene…”

With a self-deprecating, bitter smile, he dropped his gaze back to the glass in his hand. His insecurity in front of me was strange, yet it pained me.

There was still a gap between us, wide enough for a child to sit. I halved that distance, dragging my hips on the soft Cushion, and moved closer to him. I lightly brushed up and down the skin of his arm, revealed beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and then moved down towards his wrist.

He watched me intently, as if witnessing a most peculiar movement. And in response to my action, he set down his glass and offered his hand. I slowly placed my palm against his large, warm one.

“I believe you.”

A faint sense of relief flickered in his blue eyes. His gaze was earnest, like someone finding a sliver of hope in despair. Was this something that warranted such self-doubt? I felt pity, thinking he was blaming himself with unnecessary weight.

“Please don’t be scared… I won’t do it again…”

He added in a pained voice, begging me not to despise him.

Seeing him afraid that I might distance myself from him, I recalled the early days of our acquaintance. Back then, I was nothing to him. A temporary helper who would leave soon. And he had been wary of me for the sake of his precious Phantom family.

Now, I know. He’s not the type to show unconditional kindness even to people he barely knows. He prioritizes those precious to him and focuses solely on them. He wasn’t someone who revealed and shared everything, even with those close to him. So, to some, he might not seem like a very good person.

For that very reason, I had felt a wall between us and been disheartened at first, but now… it was precisely because he was that kind of person that I was monopolizing his undivided affection.

It’s interesting. The same personality trait in a person, which was initially a source of difficulty, becomes an advantage that you wish would never change. Once I entered the world beyond his walls, which had once disappointed me and ignited a rebellious spirit, I found myself relieved that he wasn’t kind to everyone. I scoffed at my own shallowness.

Shaking my head, I intertwined my fingers with his.

“I’m not scared. The situation was understandable enough, everyone else said so too. It’s natural to be angry. And, thank you for being angry. Honestly, I… was also very angry.”

“……”

“I’m not trying to condone violence, but… we can’t always make rational and balanced judgments in every situation. Because we’re human…”

A more pronounced sense of relief than before appeared in his eyes.

“I didn’t come all this way just to hear that kind of thing… I’m sorry.”

He scowled, recalling the words the blonde man had spoken.

“That’s… not something Awi needs to apologize for, so please don’t say that.”

He couldn’t hide his joy at being called by the name Awi, and he offered a faint smile. Through the appellation Awi, he seemed to have finally been completely reassured that I had no intention of pushing him away because of this incident.

As he met my eyes, he raised our clasped hands and kissed the back of my hand. Then, I bent my fingers and kissed each knuckle of his hand. The kisses were like those given to something so precious that one dares not grasp it too tightly.

“I’m glad you couldn’t smell that foul odor.”

A sense of relief, along with a hint of blue anger, could be felt in his voice.

I, of course, hadn’t noticed, but the blonde man had probably released his Pheromones towards me. If he mistook me for an Omega and tried to disturb and seduce me with Pheromones, sexually… it would make more sense that he couldn’t control himself and expressed his anger to that extent. It’s unlikely anyone could maintain their composure after witnessing their beloved being seduced or insulted in such a vulgar manner right before their eyes.

The man I met at the party at The Face gallery in Hong Kong (thinking about it, he also had striking blonde hair). He had reacted aggressively when that man released his Pheromones towards me. But not to the point of completely losing control as he had now.

Looking at his thick eyelashes as he lowered his eyes and rested his lips on my middle finger, a question suddenly arose. In fact, I had been bothered by Jane’s words, ‘protective instinct for the Omega you’re interacting with,’ since she said them. I hesitated, fearing I might seem bothersome, but my curiosity outweighed it.

“When an Omega becomes your partner, do you… become like a different person, going to any lengths for them?”

“……”

Without lifting his lips from my fingers, he raised his eyes and looked at me. He rolled his eyes, meticulously examining every inch of my face for a moment, then shook his head decisively as if reaching a conclusion.

“It’s not like that. If the other person is you, it has nothing to do with instinct. I can’t stand by and watch a threat to your happiness and safety, not just because of some instinct… not because you’re an Omega… but because you’re you.”

His last words sounded a little suggestive. Depending on the interpretation, it could sound like he was appealing to the sincerity behind his recent actions, stating that it was due to his ‘affection’ for me, rather than an ‘instinct’ triggered by me being an Omega.

If so, it was an unnecessary persuasion for me, a Beta, but it was all a matter of interpretation. Although it was an answer that slightly deviated from the core of my question, I didn’t want to be persistent. It was, after all, a thought born of childish and fleeting jealousy. A unproductive and temporary sentiment, conjuring hypothetical scenarios and nonexistent rivals.

Silence settled between us again. But it was a silence with much less tension than immediately after Jane left the room.

He seemed to have something to say but hesitated, lowering his gaze and lightly biting and releasing his lower lip.

“And. Why do you say things like that?”

Though he seemed to be trying not to show it, his voice was tinged with disappointment and displeasure, like a petulant complaint.

“What….”

“Like, about someone else becoming my partner. Even just hypothetically…”

His sulking over such a trivial matter was endearing, and my own tension finally eased, making me laugh. It felt like being lightly struck at an unexpected moment. A pleasant attack, of course.

In the past, I wouldn’t have thought he would lose his composure over such minor things in a relationship.

I don’t know about him, but it was precisely in moments like these that I truly felt I was in a ‘relationship’ with him.

Perhaps, like all lovers to varying degrees, there were moments of being upset over trivial matters and demanding more delicate affection… moments where even a person who is generally generous, composed, and so-called cool towards others becomes a little unreasonable in front of one specific person, breaking their own solid habits and revealing flaws and imbalances. These moments were becoming the meaning of love for me.

He lowered his large body, burying his lips in my nape, hiding his face.

He whined, nuzzling his lips against my neck as if begging me not to laugh, saying he was being serious, but when I continued to laugh, he eventually bit me playfully, as if I were being annoying.

Suppressing my laughter, I lowered my head and looked down at him. I stroked his cheek. He reached out his free left hand and stroked my right arm.

“Just a little. Is that okay?”

To his pitiably cautious question, I silently wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my lips to his eyelids. He straightened up and met my gaze. He cupped my face with both hands, gently stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. With my eyes open, the inside of his thumbs lightly brushed over my eyelashes. A slight tickle, like a feather brushing past, made me chuckle, and our lips met.

His soft but dry lips changed angles, slowly taking mine, pressing firmly, and exploring with his tongue. His large hand moved from my cheek to my ear, cupping my palm against my ear to block out the world’s sounds.

It was wonderful to feel only his warmth, his lips, and his scent in a world filled only with the sound of air flowing, like being submerged deep underwater.

Instead of the usual bold penetration and painful suction that made me swell, he gently rubbed his lips against mine, mingling our tongues, slowly igniting a heat from deep within my body. Eventually, a sweet sigh escaped me.

Feeling that it would be dangerous to continue the kiss here, I gently pushed his chest and lowered my head. His hard chest, where my palm rested, was also rising and falling rapidly with the excitement that had begun to build. My entire body, intoxicated by his scent, ached as if I had a fever. Not just my exposed skin… but deep inside as well.

In fact, for the past few days before coming to Chicago, I hadn’t been able to have proper penetrative sex. He had been very busy. The night before we left, when neither of us could hold back any longer, we had cut short a sex session that had lasted for hours to just 30 minutes, which was the only sex we’d had in the last five days. Even then, we didn’t have time for knotting.

The new realization from that 30-minute sex session, conducted under the shower in the bathroom, was that I could no longer be satisfied with such abbreviated encounters.

Even though we hadn’t knotted, and he had clearly entered me, rubbed against my prostate, and made me climax, I had to suffer from an unquenchable heat. I hadn’t realized I had become so accustomed to the pleasure sex provided, because he always approached me with hot eyes and satisfied me abundantly before I could even consciously acknowledge my desire.

I had even thought that he was a person with very strong desires, and that my body usually responded and yielded when he approached with a sexy aura.

But that was no longer the case, though it might have been true at some point in the past. Even after climaxing once, the thirst for him remained, and I was shocked to find myself touching myself, twisting my hips, and putting my hand down below, searching for him, even after he left to finish his remaining work.

Because of that, I was honestly in a state of sexual frustration. Surrounded by his scent in a quiet space, just being immersed in a kiss with him made me feel an urge to jump him, rip off his shirt, and press my bare skin against his. Ending with just a kiss, to use a crude analogy… was as difficult as holding back urination mid-stream.

He pulled away from me, but still held my arms, looking at me with eyes that wanted more, letting out a sigh of regret. I felt I shouldn’t push the atmosphere in that direction, so I cleared my throat a couple of times and changed the subject.

“My sister… seemed very shocked.”

“…….”

“Perhaps more than anything else… she was flustered because she learned too many stories all at once. I don’t know if I should be saying this, but you will… talk about it, won’t you?”

As I asked cautiously, glancing at him, he slid his hand from my upper arm and gripped my wrist.

“I will.”

Then he bowed his head deeply and kissed me once more.

“I feel like I’m going to die, right now.”

At his voice, whispering in pain as he pulled away, I felt like I was going to die too. Just hearing that voice, filled with such… desire for me, made my body tremble. Feeling shame for my own overwhelming lust, which went beyond mere unfamiliarity to outright bewilderment, I clutched my chest. It felt like I was a lecherous person indulging in greed, not healthy desire, so I couldn’t be entirely honest about this.

“I’ll go out first, so stay here for five minutes, no, ten minutes longer, then come out.”

“…….”

“Seo Yi-hyun’s face right now…”

I understood what he meant, so I didn’t ask. He gave an awkward smile and stood up first.

I left the room only after slowly finishing a glass of now completely cold water. Despite the commotion, the party was still in full swing. It even seemed to have gained more momentum with the departure of the uninvited guest. He appeared to be surrounded by people, apologizing. Instead of approaching his group, I decided to look for my sister.

My sister was by the poolside, in the swimming pool visible through the terrace window that resembled a glass greenhouse, talking with Reed Rogers. Although they followed each other on social media, they were meeting in person for the first time today, but judging by their expressions, they seemed to be having a casual conversation about world affairs, not something light. It seemed best not to interrupt.

I stopped awkwardly on the terrace between the hall and the pool, and as I turned back, he had already returned to his cheerful and relaxed demeanor from before the commotion, mingling with people.

Even though he wasn’t the type to actively speak up a lot, he always seemed to be the center of the group. A man standing diagonally opposite him was talking animatedly, gesturing with large movements. People chuckled lightly, and when he smiled, everyone’s laughter suddenly became more boisterous. Standing far away, I could see that atmosphere even more clearly.

It reminded me of the first VIP opening party I attended as temporary staff, not long after we met. Back then, I was in charge of the information desk with Juhan Hyung, and I watched him surrounded by people, laughing. Even though he seemed to have acquired everything with ease on the surface, I tried hard to imagine his desperate struggle, gnashing his teeth and kicking furiously beneath the water.

I wanted to get some more fresh air, but I didn’t want to be noticed and interrupt my sister and Reed’s time. I moved to the inner part of the terrace, into the shade where the lighting didn’t reach, behind a lush garden plant, and sat quietly on a metal chair.

His face was more visible from here than from where I had been standing. Watching his face burst into laughter as he responded to someone’s joke, I realized I was laughing along. Once I became aware of it, my laughter stiffened awkwardly.

Much had changed since the first VIP opening, and I had felt him, who seemed like someone from another world, as close as a second self watching me from outside my own body… but at this moment, looking at him through a pane of glass in a foreign land, thirteen hours by plane from Seoul, I felt like a spectator watching the actions of a character on TV, crying and laughing at things that had nothing to do with me.

The heat from the recent kiss already felt like a distant past, so I touched my lips. I pinched myself as hard as he always did, but there was no pleasure in it.

Looking up from the shade of the terrace, the Chicago moon, shrouded in thick fog, was a hazy blur, like a mirror that could reflect nothing.

■ ■ ■

The party continued until 2 AM. Most guests left between 12 and 1 AM, but the last members, including us, were seen off by Jane and Connor and dispersed into the Chicago night in their respective sedans around 2 AM.

After exchanging boisterous goodbyes with people as if they were old friends, he got into the car and immediately ran his fingers through his hair, pulling out a cigarette. As he rolled down the window in the front passenger seat, the cool, humid night air brushed against my face. It was refreshing.

“About the New York branch. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

My sister, sitting next to me in the seat directly behind the driver, couldn’t wait any longer and brought up the topic first.

“You know I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Do you need to be so surprised as if you’re hearing it for the first time?”

He replied, exhaling a long stream of smoke towards the window. His voice was heavy and cracked with fatigue.

“You said you’d open a branch overseas someday. You mentioned it in passing, like a dream you wanted to achieve in the distant future, while drinking, eating lunch, or having coffee. But then suddenly, without my knowing, you tell me that dream has become a reality and you’re going to New York immediately… How can I not be surprised?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory or rapid. My sister seemed to be doing her best to remain as unemotional as possible. Her arms, crossed, were gripping her own arms tightly.

“With the Chicago exhibition and the preparations for the second half’s joint exhibition overlapping, we… the entire gallery was incredibly busy. If I had brought up the New York branch then, it would have only upset you, so I deliberately kept quiet. I intended to tell you after we returned to Seoul. I’m sorry you found out this way… Yuni.”

He turned and met my sister’s eyes.

“Let’s not read too much into the timing of when I brought it up, okay?”

Although I couldn’t see his face directly from my angle, his rough-looking profile was enough to tell me that his day had not been easy.

But perhaps it had been the same for my sister. I didn’t know if she had heard about the commotion between him and the blonde man, but without trying to objectively compare the degree, I felt a pang of regret at the unavoidable coldness of the atmosphere, thinking that tonight hadn’t been entirely pleasant for him, my sister, and me, and everyone else included.

“Does the Director know too?”

My sister asked. He turned his body back towards the front and took a drag from his cigarette.

“He’s opposing it, saying it’s too soon. When we return and discuss the achievements we’ve made this time, his reaction will change. I will persuade him somehow.”

“Why are you suddenly in such a hurry?”

“…….”

I waited for a brief pause, but my sister didn’t get an answer to that question.

“First, you suddenly agree to an interview, and then you throw a party on an unreasonable scale using your personal funds… I thought something was strange. You’ve never used your personal funds for business matters before, have you?”

My sister paused for a moment, let out a long sigh, and ran her hand through her hair. The distance from Old Town to the hotel wasn’t far. The entire city was still shrouded in fog, but I could see the destination approaching at the end of the road stretching out straight before me.

“You paid for the travel and accommodation expenses for the large gallery representatives from New York who were invited, didn’t you?”

He rested his right arm on the window frame, his fingers touching his temple. Even from the back seat, the sound of him inhaling his cigarette was deep.

“It’s not that I consciously tried to keep Phantom funds and personal funds strictly separate, but rather that I didn’t feel the need to invest them.”

“I’ve been with you for years, do you really think I’d believe that?”

“…….”

He leaned back in his seat and stubbed out his cigarette in the car’s ashtray.

“I knew you weren’t from an ordinary family. But… I also know that you haven’t used your background even once since Phantom opened. But… to the extent that you have to reveal your family background, which you’ve kept hidden until now, to do business… why has your desire for a branch suddenly grown so much?”

My sister’s voice sounded confused rather than accusatory. His demeanor today had been puzzling to me as well, so I could only imagine how it was for my sister, who had been with him for years. There was no need for great imagination.

He answered in a dry voice, without rolling up the window even after the smoke had completely cleared.

“It was purely a business decision. Shushu’s exhibition will be a good opportunity, and if we open the branch with a groundbreaking debut exhibition for Seo Yi-hyun, there’s no better promotion. —That’s all. I made the decision, so I changed course and acted boldly accordingly.”

If that were the answer I would receive if I asked him the same question as my sister, I suspected it would be difficult to fully accept.

His skepticism, felt amidst people who connected his every move to his background and his somewhat complicated feelings about his parents, seemed to have become a part of his core beliefs and identity, not just a vague dissatisfaction with life.

His decision not to reveal his background, and not to leverage it for business, were by no means meaningless actions. That was the impression I received from his stories about his family. To borrow the words of my sister and Hyung from Hong Kong, their thoughts were not much different.

Soon, the hotel’s appearance became distinct even through the fog. My sister rubbed her exposed arm and said,

“After returning from Hong Kong, you started coming to the villa in UN Village… and you’ve been pushing for the New York branch there, haven’t you?”

My sister’s voice sounded tired now. She didn’t seem to intend to press him further for an answer. At least, not here.

“It’s just like Kwon Juhan said. I can’t believe you were really plotting something there.”

Recalling a joke Hyung made one summer day when the four of us ate hamburgers on his rooftop, my sister let out a belated, deflated laugh.

The car stopped in front of the hotel’s main entrance. In the dry silence, my sister was the first to get out.

As we walked towards the elevator hall, I glanced at his face; he didn’t seem to be reacting much to my sister’s confusion. He seemed preoccupied with another matter, something bigger, though I didn’t know what.

At 2 AM, it was just the three of us in the elevator.

My sister, who had to get off on the 12th floor before us, stood by the door, fiddling with her clutch, and said,

“I know that as the owner of Phantom, you have no obligation to explain every decision about Phantom to us. Let alone your private life or family relationships. But… finding out this way… it’s hard not to feel disappointed. I’m sorry. No matter how capable I act, I’m still just a child.”

He, standing next to me, leaning against the wall opposite the door, watched my sister’s back and hesitated to speak. He simply ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. The elevator was moving from the 7th floor towards the 8th.

My sister turned halfway and looked at me.

“Did you… know?”

Her gaze was half-certain that I knew. In other words, she was half-uncertain.

“Ah… well…”

“Seo Yi-hyun only heard about the New York branch this afternoon as well.”

While I hesitated about the wisest response, he answered in my stead. Depending on how one heard it, it might have sounded like he was trying to cover for me.

“Then, you’re saying you knew in advance that he is the son of Nick Lau and Suki Kim?”

It was my sister’s sharp question. It wasn’t a malicious question, like a sword thrusting into an exposed gap, as if she had been waiting for it.

“…….”

He didn’t deny it, and my sister sighed. Then she reached out and placed her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m not asking because I want to know why you told it to you but hid it from us. I’m genuinely curious, so don’t make that face.”

The doors opened with a calm announcement indicating the 12th floor. My sister, forcing a smile that was worse than not smiling at all, squeezed my shoulder once and then released it. Her tired gaze turned towards him.

“You worked hard today. See you at the lobby at 10 AM tomorrow.”

Before he could even finish saying goodbye to my sister, the doors closed.

From the 12th to the 16th floor, in less than a minute, the silence felt like it was draining the air, making it suffocating.

“I’m sorry we can’t spend Sunday together…”

Perhaps an attempt to change the mood, he brought up a completely different topic as we got out of the elevator and put his arm around my shoulder. I could feel his deep fatigue as he pulled his neck to kiss my temple.

Towards the end of the party, he had received an invitation to a Sunday lunch gathering with Chloe Kent and a few other key figures. It seemed the conversation with Kent was heading in a positive direction. Because of this, our lunch plans had to be canceled.

Although these weren’t the things I wanted to ask him and hear about right now, it didn’t seem like the right timing.

“Still, we can spend the evening together…”

I mumbled, wrapping my arm awkwardly around his waist as he opened the room door with his card key. Click. As he pushed the right door of the double entrance inwards, he gave a short smile as if grateful for my understanding.

In the small hall at the entrance, where the path split towards his master room, the living room, and my room, he didn’t let me go and instead pulled me by the hand towards his bedroom.

“Um…”

As I hesitated and tried to pull my arm back, he stopped walking and looked back at my resistance.

“Shall we sleep separately tonight?”

“…….”

“It’s very late now… and you have to go out in the morning for the official opening.”

For a moment, his eyes looked like a phone screen that had been dragged across asphalt, scratched noisily.

He released my hand and aimlessly ran his fingertips along the edge of the display cabinet where a vase of flowers, a lamp, and a telephone were placed. As if checking if it had been cleaned properly.

“Are you really worried about me? Or are you indirectly expressing your desire to sleep separately?”

“…….”

Before he could even finish his sentence, I knew he regretted it. He pursed his lips tightly, exhaled heavily through his nose, and ran his hand over his face as if to crush it.

“I’m sorry. What I just said was just a stupid outburst. I’m sorry… I think I’m just being sensitive because so much… happened all day… so it’s better to sleep separately tonight, as you suggested.”

Following my sister, he too forced a smile. Thanking me for enduring the difficult day. Wishing me goodnight. He gave me a tender goodnight kiss, but I couldn’t sleep properly. He probably couldn’t either. If I had known, I would have slept together, tracing each other’s bare skin and body heat to soothe our fatigue and anxiety. I tossed and turned for a long time, regretting it.

■ ■ ■

When I checked beforehand in Seoul, it was said that Chicago in September rained about once every four days. We encountered rain on the morning of the second day.

The landscape, where low-hanging gray clouds and fog mingled amidst Chicago’s magnificent architecture, each with its unique character, was so picturesque that I wanted to walk the streets all day with an umbrella hooked over my shoulder, but it inevitably caused disruptions to the event’s progress.

The photo wall installed at the gallery entrance became useless, and the schedule was changed to include a brief photo session during the Q&A with the artist, which was held indoors instead.

The gallery interior and exterior were in chaos for a while as a considerable number of people were ushered indoors.

Today, the official opening day of the exhibition, the gallery was bustling, as were the surrounding areas, with visitors from various Chicago media outlets, SNS and blog operators covering art, and general visitors.

I took a can of drink provided by the gallery and was swept along by the crowd, pushing my way up to the second floor. I found a spot near a relatively quiet railing, not far from the stairs.

Shushu was standing behind the desk in the center of the temporarily set-up exhibition hall, and the figures of him and his sister, waiting a step behind as if to assist Shushu, could be easily found. Shushu and his sister repeatedly appeared and disappeared, obscured by the crowd, but even in this place where the average height was greater than in Seoul, his face alone stood out more than a hand’s breadth above the heads of the people.

The interest in the beautiful Golden Omega photographer, who hailed from an Eastern city and captured delicate yet intense photographs, was immense even in Chicago. The number of teenage and twenty-something visitors requesting selfies with Shushu or autographs was also considerable.

As this was Shushu’s first solo exhibition in America, it felt like proper etiquette to visit and congratulate her in person at the gallery, arriving right at opening time. However, seeing Shushu surrounded by people, sweating, and offering an awkward smile, I felt that perhaps one less congratulator would actually be more helpful.

He had told me, half-jokingly, as he left for the gallery about an hour before me, “You’ll have to see me with Shushu, are you sure you’ll be okay? If you jump into my arms out of jealousy and shower me with kisses, the gallery will descend into chaos, I worry.” But now, it was as if my desperate pleas not to send him to Shushu just three weeks ago were meaningless, as I felt completely fine. After all, it wasn’t that I didn’t trust him and felt jealous back then….

I had been worried that the atmosphere might be awkward after we parted ways last night, but thankfully, he seemed to have recovered his composure when I met him in the living room this morning.

He had even prepared a bouquet, or rather, a flower basket, saying it was the day my work, albeit unofficially, was being revealed to the world for the first time. It was a lush and beautiful basket, so full that it would obscure my vision if I held it with both arms. It was so ornate and luxurious it could be considered a small garden in itself.

When I came out into the living room, he had already almost finished getting ready to go out. He apologized again, mentioning last night’s events. Then, he said he had made a reservation at a nice place for dinner and would likely be back at the hotel around 5 o’clock, so we agreed to meet in the hotel room then.

“It won’t be a romantic date, though, since Baek Yuni has to come with us.”

I was the one who kissed his cheek first, pretending to be displeased, even though I had no intention of going without my sister from the start. Of course, it did develop into a more passionate kiss.

Standing in the living room, I thought about the morning kiss shared amidst the scent of flowers, and I paused for a moment, feeling as if I had made eye contact with him in reality. I wondered if it was a hallucination, but he playfully scrunched up his face, making a “I’m dying here” expression. His gaze was clearly directed at me.

I let out a small laugh and pointed downwards with my index finger, indicating I would go down to the first floor. He nodded and gave me an okay sign.

The stairs were quite crowded with newly arriving visitors. Still, the line going down was in a better situation compared to the one going up. Amidst the procession heading upstairs, a group that looked like teenagers were chattering excitedly about Shushu’s appearance.

Someone also mentioned the tall man standing next to Shushu, with his rare combination of “black hair and blue diamond-like eyes.” Then another person said he resembled a famous British Hollywood actor. “What? Are you kidding? That guy is way more handsome!”—the girl in chic attire, who had compared his eyes to blue diamonds, denied it firmly, with her arms crossed.

I understood people’s fuss. Today’s star was Shushu, but no matter what, he was someone who couldn’t blend into the background and hide his presence. If I were to be stimulated by every bit of curiosity, favor, or adoration people showed just by looking at his appearance, my nerves wouldn’t hold up.

By the time I had barely made it down the stairs, led by the gallery staff, my phone rang from my pocket. It was In-woo Hyung. I connected the call as I turned into the first-floor hall, having detached myself from the line heading out of the gallery.

“Yes, Hyung.”

[…Hmm. What is it? Did Lee Hyun always greet me like this?]

Hyung’s voice, after a brief pause, carried genuine surprise, and I chuckled sheepishly. It was true that receiving a call from an acquaintance overseas felt more welcome than usual.

[I called to congratulate you on your first exhibition. Are you busy?]

“No. I’m alone right now.”

[How does it feel, having your first exhibition start?]

“I was upstairs, and I just came down to see it myself. Maybe because I haven’t seen what’s hanging, it doesn’t quite feel real yet.”

[Hearing you say that, it seems you haven’t received my flower basket yet.]