5. You’re no longer a designer assistant

“Aish, my natural beauty shines since birth," I muttered unintentionally.

"Lee Yongju!" One of them calls out, startling me. Did she hear me?

"What are you saying?" she asked, narrowing his eyes.

My heart races, a chill runs down my spine. Am I caught?

"Uh, nothing. I'm just chatting with my friend," I stammer, holding up my phone as evidence.

"Hey, Yongju, do you know about our President Director's son's wife?" She looks eager to gossip.

"Um... yeah, I know, haha," I said awkwardly.

"Aren't you heartbroken?"

You don't know who Byun Baekhoon's wife is? The beautiful woman you accused of having plastic surgery is standing right in front of you!

“Why would I be heartbroken? Hahaha,” I reply with a forced laugh.

“You’re always so boring, Yongju.”

“I don’t care, sorry.”

“Oh, it’s tragic. The whole country’s heartbroken since Byun Baekhoon got married,” one of them quips.

Is Baekhoon's popularity so immense that his wedding left the whole nation heartbroken? Unrealistic!

-o0o-

The next day. My daily routine remains unchanged. I go to work in the morning, return home in the evening, and spend my time reading comics, novels, or watching dramas. Occasionally, I watch EXO, Super Junior, or Sistar music videos. This cycle repeats itself daily.

"Lee Yongju, come to my office now!" Designer Joe has just arrived at our office and is already summoning me.

I trail behind her, my heart racing wildly. Does my marriage secret teeter on the brink of exposure? As the young mistress of the Byun family, fear perpetually haunts me. I move stealthily, hiding the truth like a thief. This clandestine existence fuels my suffocating frustration.

“Sit down!” She settles into the sofa, her expression solemn, before I follow suit.

“What’s this about, Mrs. Joe?” My mind races, frantic with anticipation, preparing answers to the unknown.

She takes a deep, measured breath, as if steeling herself for an unpleasant revelation. God, please help me.

“Yongju, I’m truly, deeply sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. This isn’t what I expected; a mix of curiosity and trepidation swirls within me.

“This isn’t easy for me, Yongju. You’ve been an invaluable assistant for years, consistently delivering outstanding results with your impeccable discipline. But...” Her voice falters, uncertainty etched on her face.

“Please, Mrs. Joe, tell me. I can handle it.” I muster a reassuring smile, despite my racing heart.

“Lee Yongju, starting today... your role as my assistant comes to an end.” Her words hang in the air.

“W-what? I don’t understand,” I stutter, shock and confusion overwhelming me.

“Today, you’re no longer a designer assistant.” The words strike me like lightning, leaving me breathless and bewildered.

“What?! Am I being let go? Why is this happening? I thought my work was satisfactory,” I asked, my voice rising uncontrollably.

“No, you’re being reassigned to... the janitorial department, effective immediately,” she explains, her expression unreadable.

“WHAT?! This can’t be serious! How could you demote me like this?” I exclaim, incredulous and shocked.

“This isn't my decision. The order comes directly from the division head, possibly our superiors, or perhaps those influential figures higher up the corporate ladder.”

I'm utterly bewildered. How many tiers of leadership does HK Group have? I'm exhausted and despairing.

The janitorial department? I fought tooth and nail to become a design assistant with just a high school diploma.

But why must I face this devastating downfall? My world is crumbling.

Why is my life spiraling out of control? Why must I endure this crushing defeat? WHY MUST I SUFFER SO?!

-o0o-

As I step out of the imposing skyscraper, my weary legs carry me forward with leaden weight. Fatigue gnaws at my body, my back throbbing in protest. My once-delicate palms now threaten to become coarse and calloused, like the rugged hide of a crocodile. My heart bleeds, shattered by the cruel twists of fate.

And then, a sleek black car glides to a stop before the HK Group lobby. A man emerges, resplendent in a tailored dark blue suit that accentuates his commanding presence. An aura of icy confidence and charisma envelops him, leaving me breathless. My eyes widen in stunned recognition.

“Byun Baekhoon?” I whisper, incredulous.

What mysterious purpose brings him to this place? My feet instinctively move toward him, but caution reins me in. Prudence dictates I bide my time, reserving my queries for the sanctuary of home.

.

.

.

After getting home, Baekhoon’s place felt completely lonely as usual. Besides us, this house was empty. Only Auntie Yoo dropped by daily, from morning till afternoon. As she departed for her own haven after a long day's work, her kindness lingered, manifesting in the form of a lovingly prepared dinner, waiting patiently in the fridge for Baekhoon or me to reheat whenever hunger struck.

As I flick on the bedroom light, I hasten to the shower, shedding the day’s exhaustion. Baekhoon and I live parallel lives, our separate rooms a testament to our unconventional bond. Refreshed, I pad downstairs, drawn by the promise of a warm meal. Frugality aside, Auntie Yoo’s lovingly prepared dinner is a comfort I can’t resist.

Moments later, Baekhoon walks in, his arrival a welcome sight. With his own wheels, he should’ve beaten me home, not stuck in transit like me, bus-bound and waiting.

Maybe he made a pit stop somewhere along the way.

"Skipping dinner?" I asked.

“I’ve had my fill,” he responds, shedding his tie and pouring himself a refreshing glass of water.

"Baekhoon," I called.

"Hm?"

"I saw you at the HK Group office, what were you doing there?"

Baekhoon puts down his glass and looks at me. “Can’t I go to my Dad’s office?”

“No, I mean... If you’re just going for money, why not get a job there?”

Baekhoon's smirk cuts deep. "Mind your own business," he snaps, disappearing into his room.

"If murder didn't come with a prison sentence, he'd have been gone ages ago," I seethe under my breath.

Fine, I get it. This marriage is fake, just for Baekhoon’s image. Why bother? He won’t answer my questions anyway.

He’s always silent. Sometimes, his creepy stare is his only answer. Other times, just a blunt “yes” or “no.” Can’t he just talk normally?

His relentless provocations are draining my sanity. His infuriating behavior threatens to consume me; patience is my only refuge.

-o0o-