Semua Bab My Pretty Husband: Bab 81 - Bab 90

She looks… wow. Adorably pretty, with her layered skirt and a dab of makeup. Yup, I knew it — she’s wearing a subtle base, maybe lip tint, a little blush. Definitely better than what I managed.“You look so pretty,” I told her. “How long did all that take?”“Not long,” she said with a grin. “Just struggled a bit with my eyebrows.”Eyebrows? I blink, then burst out laughing. Yeah. That checks out. Eyebrows are evil. Well, not evil — just annoyingly hard to get even. Thank god for YouTube tutorials.“Let’s go!” she chirped, grabbing my hand like a child dragging her babysitter to the arcade.We head toward the bus stop — it’s a short walk, but I’ve never actually gone there before. Not on foot, anyway. We talk as we walk, and the air feels light, easy.“Eonni, you look so young in that outfit,” she said.“Do I?”“Mmhmm.” She nods, serious. “Eonni…”“Yeah?”“How old are you, really?”“Me?” I laugh. “Mid-twenties… maybe...”“Seriously? You look like you’re my age.”“Aish, it’s the makeup.

He watches me quietly between bites, like he wants to say something but keeps changing his mind. Finally, he sets down his chopsticks.“I know I made things weird.”My hand pauses midair. Here we go.“That day, when I said what I said…” he lets out a soft breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Not like that.”I don’t answer. I just stare at the rice on my plate like it holds the secrets of the universe.“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just—” He stops himself. Then says more quietly, “I wanted to be honest.”Something in my chest tightens. I hate how sincere he sounds. I hate that part of me wants to believe him. That part of me that still remembers how gentle he was when Dongju was sick. How he stayed late at the hospital. How he never once asked for anything in return.I look up. He’s already looking at me. And I hate this moment — because it’s the kind that asks for an answer I’m not ready to give.So instead, I pick up a piece of tteok and mutter, “It’s spicy.”He chuckles sof

It’s nearly midnight when I finally get home. I park my Audi RS7 in the garage, kill the engine — and silence crashes in like a wave. I draw in a deep breath, then exhale sharply. My head drops against the headrest. Eyes closed. Just for a moment. Just to feel a little less... like I’m about to fall apart.Today was hell. Not just physically — mentally, I feel like someone wrung me out and left me to dry. Problems at the office keep piling on. A sponsor pulled out. And my father — his pressure is getting more unbearable by the day. Everyone expects me to hold it together. To be perfect. Efficient. Untouchable. They forget I’m still human. Even him.The house is dark when I walk in. She must be asleep. Or maybe... maybe she’s at the hospital with Dongju again. I drag myself upstairs, shoulders heavy. After a quick, half-hearted shower, I stand motionless in front of the sink. The sound of my toothbrush scratching against my teeth is too loud in the silence. I space out mid-brush, fatigu

I wake up to the shrill ring of my alarm. Too early. Too loud. I sit up slowly, palms pressed against my face. Another crisis. Another meeting. Another morning where the space next to me is cold. I don’t even bother looking at her side of the bed anymore. She’s gone. Has been for days. And the worst part? I have no idea when she left, or why. Just that she did. Quietly. Completely.I get dressed in silence. The suit feels heavier than usual. Like it knows I’m walking into battle. Not just with the board. But with my father. The sponsor issue is escalating. One of our biggest backers pulled out of a major contract yesterday — just like that. No reason. And now rumors are spreading like wildfire. That I mishandled the deal. That I’m distracted. That I’ve gone soft.Father’s been calling since dawn. I ignored the first two calls, but I know I can’t keep running from him. Not when the company’s bleeding money and I’m supposed to be the heir. I grab my phone and press call. He answers befor

It’s an invoice. Paid in full. The amount is staggering. I check the account number listed on the payment slip. It’s not from her personal account. It’s from a temporary holding account under a fake corporate name. But I recognize the shell company. It’s one of ours. One I shut down two years ago… or thought I did.I stare at it, stunned. Why would Yongju be using an old HK Group shell account to pay for her brother’s hospital bills? Unless… someone else gave her access. Someone inside. My fingers curl into a fist. Someone in this company — someone close — was helping her. Or using her.I suddenly feel cold. This wasn’t just a disappearance. This was an exit. A plan. She knew something. Or she was running from someone who did. I pick up the phone again. “Mr. Cha. Reopen the shell accounts under the Clearlane alias. I want full tracing — every withdrawal, every transaction. Go back at least six months.”“Yes, Sir. Right away.”“And Mr. Cha... don’t tell my father.”“…Understood.”I han