Chapter 19
When Sorim woke up the next morning, the penthouse was as quiet as a temple.
The low, familiar baritone voice was gone.
So was the rich aroma of coffee that usually drifted from the kitchen.
“…So he really left.”
She stared blankly at the ceiling.
The moment she fully registered his absence, an unsettling emptiness washed over her—like being left alone as a doll inside a vast castle.
Moving sluggishly, she got out of bed and went downstairs.
On the dining table lay a single memo, beside it a black card.
[Use it if you need anything.]
The handwriting was concise and powerful.
The no-nonsense phrasing felt so unmistakably like Song Tae-ha that Sorim let out a quiet laugh without realizing it.
“Seriously… not even a single ‘make sure you eat’.”
Grumbling to herself, she picked up the black card—one whose limit she couldn’t even begin to guess—and slipped it deep into her wallet.
She had no intention of using it.
And yet, the card Tae-ha left behind felt like a heavy guarantee—proof that no one in the world could touch her recklessly anymore.
Breakfast alone tasted especially bland.
“….”
Sorim reheated the leftover porridge halfheartedly, then hurried to get ready for work.
* * *
The moment she arrived at the restaurant, Sorim threw herself into work like a madwoman.
Nothing cleared stray thoughts better than hard labor.
She peeled an entire sack of potatoes, chopped onions into towering piles. Her eyes burned and filled with tears, but that almost felt preferable.
Still, the gazes in the kitchen were sharp.
Yesterday’s chaos—Minseo’s rampage, Tae-ha’s appearance.
The staff who had witnessed that dramatic scene fell silent whenever Sorim passed by, watching her carefully.
Sorim did her best to ignore it.
This was something she would have to endure anyway.
From the moment she decided to become Song Tae-ha’s wife, she had expected this much.
By the time break came and the staff gathered in small groups to eat, Head Chef Nam Tae-young suddenly approached her.
“Hey. Come talk to me for a second.”
Tense, Sorim followed him to the break room.
Is he going to scold me about yesterday?
But Nam Tae-young crossed his arms, studied her for a moment, then let out a deep sigh.
“That Vice President Song Tae-ha… he didn’t look like someone with an easy temperament.”
“…No. He’s not.”
“I called you because I figured it must be rough for you. Getting slapped around and all.”
The words sounded casual, but they carried Nam Tae-young’s characteristically rough concern.
Sorim nearly broke down.
Even her aunt’s family—her own blood—had never asked how she was doing.
“I’m fine. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t get used to things like that.”
Nam Tae-young pulled an old, worn notebook from his back pocket and held it out to her.
“And this—your mother used to write in it. I found it while cleaning out the storage room.”
…Mom?
Sorim thought she’d misheard.
With trembling hands, she accepted the notebook.
Yellowed pages. Her mother’s neat handwriting. Countless traces of culinary experimentation filled the pages.
“Stop letting your mind wander and focus on building your skills. Whether it’s Song Tae-ha or anyone else—if you establish your name in this industry, no one will dare mess with you. You know that, right?”
“…Yes. Thank you, Chef.”
Sorim clutched the notebook to her chest.
If what Tae-ha had given her was a sharp blade, then what the chef gave her felt like a solid shield.
Once again, she reminded herself where she truly belonged—
In front of this burning fire.
* * *
Nantes, France.
Rain drizzled softly over the old, elegant streets as Tae-ha walked alone.
The business meeting had ended successfully. His assistant suggested returning to the hotel, but Tae-ha shook his head.
His mind drifted to the documents sent by the private investigator.
Sorim’s father—Vincent Aubert—had worked at a shop nearby in his younger days.
When he first received the report, he hadn’t thought much of it.
But now that he was in Nantes, curiosity stirred.
Should I check it out?
In truth, he’d looked up the address the moment he arrived—then rationalized it as merely passing by.
Walking down a narrow alley, he spotted an old yet charming sign.
[L’Aube (Dawn)]
Inside, the air was cozy, filled with the scent of butter and aged wood.
Tae-ha sat down and scanned the menu.
“What do you recommend?”
At his question, an elderly man in an apron emerged from the kitchen.
“Today, the coq au vin made with Vincent’s recipe is best. It’s our shop’s eternal signature dish.”
Vincent.
The name made Tae-ha’s eyes sharpen.
“…Did you know Vincent Aubert?”
“You know Vincent? He was my apprentice—we ran this kitchen together twenty years ago.”
The old man smiled, lost in memory.
“Then you must know he has a daughter in Korea.”
The man stiffened, staring at Tae-ha.
“A daughter…? Vincent’s daughter is alive?”
“Yes. She grew up well. She’s working as a chef.”
The old man crossed himself in disbelief.
Then he told Tae-ha to wait and disappeared into the storage room.
Moments later, he returned carrying a dust-covered old box.
“Before Vincent followed his wife to Korea, he entrusted these to me. I’ve kept them for over twenty years.”
He opened the box.
Inside were several well-worn professional cookbooks marked with Vincent’s hand, a secret recipe notebook stuffed with countless notes—
And at the very bottom, a gleaming medal.
The one Vincent had received when he won a French culinary competition.
Tae-ha slowly scanned the contents.
Vincent Aubert.
He hadn’t been just a cook.
He was a talent recognized across France—a romantic who had abandoned his entire career for the woman he loved and chosen to leave for Korea.
“Will you deliver these to that child? To the one who must have Vincent’s eyes.”
“I will.”
Tae-ha picked up Vincent’s notebook.
At that moment, a faded photograph slipped out from between the pages.
Vincent was smiling brightly, arm around a Korean woman.
In her arms was a newborn baby.
Even in the blurry photograph, the baby’s eyes shone—unnervingly clear and pure.
Tae-ha stared at the photo for a long time.
Strangely, something deep in his chest stirred.
This wasn’t simple sympathy. Nor idle curiosity.
Why?
Why was such an irrational emotion surging up now?
Lost in thought, he finished his meal.
Wait for me, Yoon Sorim.
He slipped the notebook into his inner pocket.
A dead father’s legacy.
This would be the greatest gift he could give her—
And also the perfect shackle to bind her completely to his world.
When he stepped outside, the drizzle had stopped.
Between the clouds, a blue sky shone down—icy and beautiful, just like Sorim’s eyes.
Tae-ha took out his phone and called Manager Cha.
“Move up my return schedule. Immediately.”
His voice carried an unfamiliar edge of excitement.
Tae-ha’s steps turned toward the airport.
Who would have thought there’d come a day when returning to Korea felt eagerly anticipated?
He suddenly wondered—
What expression would she make when he placed this in her hands?
