Chapter 30
Sorim’s fingertips trembled. She tightly closed her eyes.
She wanted to run away, yet her heart raced wildly because of the strange tension this cold man created.
Instead of kissing her lips, Taehwa buried his face into her neck and took a deep breath.
“Smells nice. Is it your skin?”
His lips brushed lightly against her soft skin, then pulled away.
Next, Taehwa gently held and released the strap of her slip.
“These hands should only hold pretty things now, only touch valuable things.”
“…”
“Hands that get splashed with oil and use knives don’t suit my wife.”
His words sounded gentle, but to Sorim, they felt like a death sentence.
Taehwa knew exactly what he was doing—and didn’t care.
He was treating the thing she loved most like trash and slowly erasing her world.
After pressing his lips to her neck for a long moment, steadying his breath, Taehwa suddenly pushed her away and stood her up.
“Go sleep. I’ll head out in an hour or two.”
“…Where are you going?”
Taehwa picked up his whiskey glass and answered casually.
The ice clinked sharply inside the glass.
“The office. I still have work.”
“Ah…”
His tone clearly said: your role as a business partner ends here—don’t cross the line.
Taehwa turned his attention back to the stack of documents on the table, treating Sorim like she wasn’t there.
As if the heat from moments ago had never existed, the living room filled with cold air again.
Sorim felt as if the marks of his hands still burned on her waist. She clenched her clothes tightly and hurried toward the bedroom, almost running away.
She lay on the large bed and pulled the blanket over her head, but Taehwa’s low voice echoed in her ears like a curse.
“That means you belong to me.”
Staring blankly into the darkness, Sorim looked at her own palm.
Her hands, once rough from kitchen work, had become smooth in just a few weeks.
She hated that fact so much that she buried her face in the pillow and swallowed a silent scream.
* * *
At the same time, Taehwa, now alone, set down his whiskey glass.
He stared at documents filled with numbers, but not a single word registered.
The warmth of Sorim trembling on his lap, the thin curve of her waist through the fabric, and most of all—the frightened yet mesmerized look in her eyes—kept breaking his focus.
Taehwa rubbed his face roughly and exhaled. The scent of alcohol lingered in his breath.
Keeping Sorim by his side was supposed to be nothing more than shallow amusement.
Yet every time he smelled her skin, something inside him tightened.
He downed the now-cold whiskey in one gulp.
Love was an unnecessary luxury to him.
But Yoon Sorim kept disrupting his perfectly calculated world.
“…She’s really annoying.”
His muttered words disappeared into the quiet penthouse.
* * *
The next morning, Sorim opened her eyes.
“….”
Her wrist, which Taehwa had grabbed the night before, still felt hot.
After washing up to clear her thoughts, she stepped out and saw several unfamiliar boxes stacked in front of the dressing room.
A note lay on top.
[Wear this to tonight’s gathering.]
With a sigh, Sorim sat on the sofa and opened one leather box.
Inside was a champagne-black silk dress and a matching diamond necklace.
They were beautiful.
But to Sorim, they looked like glamorous handcuffs meant to trap her.
This wasn’t what she wanted.
What she wanted was an old kitchen filled with traces of her parents, studying recipes while sauce smells soaked into her clothes.
That was the life Sorim truly wanted.
But Taehwa labeled that life “dirty and exhausting” and preserved her inside this museum-like house.
She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them again.
It must be for my sake.
She had to brainwash herself just to endure it.
In the afternoon, a team of stylists arrived.
They seated Sorim and moved busily around her like she was a carefully crafted doll. Her opinions didn’t matter much.
Their only goal was to create “the Yoonsan Group’s daughter-in-law” to fit Taehwa’s taste.
“Madam, your skin is so beautiful that makeup suits you perfectly. There must be a reason Vice President Song adores you so much.”
Despite the praise, Sorim simply stared at the unfamiliar woman in the mirror.
Soft coral lips. Rosy cheeks.
Yoon Sorim was gone—only Song Taehwa’s perfect possession remained.
Feeling suffocated, Sorim forced a weak smile.
* * *
7 p.m. In front of a private members-only lounge in Seongbuk-dong.
A black sedan stopped, and the driver opened the rear door.
Holding her skirt, Sorim stepped out carefully. When she looked up, Taehwa was already there.
Wearing a dark navy suit, he looked as elegant and untouchable as ever.
Taehwa naturally wrapped an arm around Sorim’s waist. His hand felt solid and warm through the thin dress.
“You look good. Just as I imagined.”
He whispered near her ear and smiled faintly.
It was a compliment, but Sorim clearly felt the possessiveness behind it—like an owner checking that his expensive car was running well.
“…Did I really have to come? I’m uncomfortable in places like this.”
Taehwa pulled her closer and met her eyes.
“Even if it’s uncomfortable, you need to get used to it. This is the price of everything you enjoy.”
“…”
“Smile. Tonight, Yoonsan Food investors and Chef Nam Taeyoung are here.”
Nam Taeyoung.
At that name, Sorim’s eyes wavered.
He was her father’s student, the man who trained her harshly at Le Dosage.
To Sorim, he was a frightening mentor—and the only person who truly recognized her talent.
“I’m thinking of bringing him in as the main consultant for Le Ciel.”
“I told you I wouldn’t sign. And Chef Nam wouldn’t want this either.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Taehwa smirked, as if nothing was impossible for him.
Inside the banquet hall, bright lights and clinking wine glasses overwhelmed Sorim.
The moment people spotted Taehwa, they gathered around him.
Each time he introduced Sorim, he held her shoulder firmly, making it clear she belonged to him.
Then, pushing through the crowd, Nam Taeyoung approached.
He looked refined now, unlike his days commanding the hot kitchen, but his sharp gaze—piercing straight through Sorim—was unchanged.
“Yoon Sorim… you…”
“Chef…”
As the two simply stared at each other, Taehwa’s brow tightened slightly.
“Sounds like you two were close at the restaurant.”
“Well, I’m not sure ‘close’ is the word. I scolded her every day, made her peel potatoes, and worked her like crazy.”
Sorim finally relaxed and let out a small laugh.
Taehwa’s eyes quickly scanned Nam Taeyoung’s expression.
Nam Taeyoung’s gaze, however, remained fixed on Sorim.
