---
"Who are you?"
Min-soo looked at her with that same chilling calm, the corners of his lips curling into a smile too soft to be kind.
"Shhh… go to bed now," he whispered, brushing a hand through her hair like she was a child. "It's been a very long day."
Ji-hyun stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling. Her voice had vanished, swallowed by the memory of blood on his hands. She watched as he turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark like a shadow that didn't belong to the room.
The door clicked shut.
She didn't sleep.
---
Morning came like an intrusion.
Light poured across Ji-hyun's face, stark and unforgiving. Her lashes fluttered open, dry and sore. She lay still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her heartbeat to steady.
Was it a nightmare?
No.
Her bones remembered too well.
She sat up slowly, her breath catching as pain tightened across her chest. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her forehead. The memories came in waves—the man's scream, the sickening crack, the red pooling beneath him. And Min-soo, standing in silence, wiping his hands like it was nothing more than spilled wine.
Ji-hyun looked around the bedroom—large, lavish, foreign. The scent of roses lingered, artificial and sharp. Velvet curtains hung like shrouds. Gold-framed mirrors stared back at her, showing a girl she barely recognized.
Where is he?
Min-soo was gone. But his presence lingered like a ghost.
Then came the knock.
The door opened with a soft groan, and a procession of maids entered the room as if choreographed—graceful, robotic, eyes lowered in perfect submission. Their uniforms were pristine. Their silence was louder than words.
Ji-hyun tensed.
They bowed.
"Good morning, ma'am," said the head maid with a practiced smile. "It's time to prepare you. Mr. Min-soo prefers his mornings a certain way."
The maids moved quickly—spreading silks across the bed, arranging gold and jade jewelry on velvet trays, pouring water into a marble basin. The smell of jasmine and honey thickened the air, sweet and suffocating.
Ji-hyun stood up on unsteady legs.
"I… I can dress myself," she said. Her voice was barely audible over the rustle of fabric. "Really, I'd rather—"
The maid's smile didn't falter, but her eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe.
"I'm sorry, miss. But Mr. Min-soo… he makes the rules."
She lowered her voice. "And he punishes disobedience."
Something in Ji-hyun froze.
The word punish echoed too loudly.
Her mind recoiled, unbidden, to the man on the floor.
The blood.
The silence.
The way Min-soo had looked at her afterward—like she was next.
Ji-hyun said nothing.
Her limbs moved on their own as the maids approached. She let them undress her, touch her, scrub her skin with perfumed water. The sensation felt distant, like she wasn't in her own body anymore.
Just a doll in someone else's playhouse.
Somewhere far away, she thought she heard Min-soo laughing.
The bathwater shimmered faintly in the morning light, strewn with crimson rose petals that bobbed like bits of bruised silk. Steam clung to the air, thick and fragrant, turning the marble chamber into something between a sanctuary and a tomb. Ji-hyun sat still for a long moment, the floral perfume curling around her throat like a leash.
When the maids finally approached, it was with practiced grace. Two of them extended their arms, lifting her out of the water like she was some sacred object—fragile, precious, but not quite human.
She didn't resist.
A towel was wrapped around her—soft, warm, blindingly white. It smelled faintly of honey and something darker beneath it, like old wood and candle smoke. Her skin prickled from the sudden change in temperature. The maids worked in silence, their fingers efficient and impersonal as they dried her, dabbed scented oils behind her ears, at her wrists, along her collarbone.
No one spoke.
It felt like preparing a doll.
Ji-hyun's gaze drifted to the mirror ahead of her. What she saw made her stomach twist.
Her reflection wasn't her. Not anymore.
The woman staring back had flawless skin, dewy and smooth, not a trace of the exhaustion or fear that sat heavy in Ji-hyun's bones. Her dark hair, once limp and tangled, now fell in soft waves down her back, glistening like ink. Her lips—painted a deep, velvety red—looked too sensual, too deliberate. The color bled into the corners of her mouth like a secret.
And the dress…
A vivid red, silk clinging to every curve of her body like it had been poured on. The neckline dipped scandalously low, the hem barely brushing her knees. Golden embroidery curled along the fabric like vines—intricate, delicate, almost regal. But Ji-hyun didn't feel regal.
She felt exposed.
Displayed.
From behind, the head maid stepped forward, her voice soft as lace.
"You know, Miss Ji-hyun," she said, adjusting a jade hairpin, "Mr. Min-soo loves you very much."
Ji-hyun didn't answer. Her eyes stayed locked on the mirror.
"In all my years here," the maid continued, smiling faintly, "I've never seen him act this way. He's not the sort to get attached, let alone enamored. But with you… he ordered your portraits hung on every wall before you even arrived."
She gave a gentle laugh, brushing a lock of hair from Ji-hyun's shoulder.
"Imagine that. Falling in love without ever meeting."
Ji-hyun's throat tightened.
She spoke slowly, her voice hoarse, like it had to fight its way past the silence.
"D-Don't you… find that horrifying?"
The maid blinked, surprised.
Ji-hyun's eyes narrowed at her reflection. The painted woman in the mirror didn't tremble, but Ji-hyun could feel her heart hammering beneath her ribs.
"It's not love," she said. "It's an obsession."
She turned slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper—cold, bitter.
"Or rather… possession."
For a moment, the air went still. Even the maids seemed to falter in their movements. One of them accidentally knocked over a bottle of perfume; it clinked against the marble, rolling, unbroken but loud in the silence.
The head maid's expression didn't change, not fully—but something passed through her eyes. A flicker. A warning.
She leaned in close, smoothing Ji-hyun's sleeve with gentle hands.
"I would advise you," she said softly, "not to speak such things aloud. Especially not here."
Ji-hyun didn't reply.
She stared at the mirror again, at the stranger wearing her face.
She felt like a body wrapped in silk and silence.
Like a gift.
Like a trophy.
Somewhere, beneath the polished calm of the house, she could still hear the echo of a scream.
And Min-soo's voice, soft and chilling in her ear—
Shhh. Go to bed now.
Ji-hyun shivered.
But there was no one left to hear it.