Seung-Bae ran the pad of his thumb over his cell phone’s glass face. The picture he’d taken of Haenyeo was illuminated beneath it. Her smile was astonishing. It lit up her face, making her even more beautiful, more breathtaking, if such a thing were possible.

“Who is that?” his father asked.

Seung-Bae flipped the device over and pressed it against his thigh. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”  

Her image, even the thought of her, seemed such a private thing; a heated dream that he didn’t want doused by his father’s lecturing and threats. He pressed the cool metal of his ring where it hung from a chain beneath his shirt and wondered what Haenyeo was doing, if she was anxious and missing him too. Being away from her left an aching void in his chest. He turned towards the car’s darkened window. Beyond, the sun settled into twilight and streetlights flickered to life.  Their vehicle crawled through traffic, slowly making its way toward President Choi’s neighborhood.

“Get rid of her.”

Seung-Bae turned and stared mutely at his father, afraid to ask for clarification.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t know? You weren’t exactly discreet parading her through the building’s lobby, Seung-Bae. I got calls from both security and the building manager. Is she European? Russian? Never mind, I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter as long as you were careful. You were careful, weren’t you?”

Seung-Bae’s eyes widened with shock. His father believed Haenyeo was a tryst, a bit of curious experimentation obtainable for cold cash – he assumed that his son engaged in appetites similar to his own.

A familiar fury began to rise. The muscles along Seung-Bae’s jaw tightened and his teeth clenched, but his father didn’t seem to notice. Seung-Bae wasn’t sure if he was studying the road ahead or the back of their driver’s starched white collar, but his father stared forward, stiff and dreadful.

“It isn’t like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” his father waved dismissively. “But get rid of her. Choi Bo-Ra is your focus now. Resolve it cleanly and prepare yourself.”

“Abeoji,” Seung-Bae’s anger rose into his throat, and he fought to speak clearly, “don’t you think you’re being presumptuous? Why would she want this? Why would she want an engagement to me? President Choi is chaebol, why would he want his daughter to marry someone like me?”

“President Choi is a jealous man, Seung-Bae. His wealth is his favorite mistress. Bo-Ra is his only child, and even though he dotes on her he will not entrust his business to a daughter. His only sibling is a sister and he despises her husband. Their only child is also a daughter, so he has no nephew. Despite all his attempts to produce a son, even an illegitimate one, he’s failed. He needs a son-in-law, one who is competent and intelligent, but he wants one that can be controlled. One that will be loyal only to him.”

“And this is what you want for me?”

“Is it such a difficult life son? To be the future father of an heir to such a dynasty?”

“You make it sound like I’m being sold as breeding stock!”

“You’ll never want for anything, Seung-Bae. At President Choi’s side you’ll have wealth and power ... and family.”

“And what will you have?”

His father chuckled, the sound erupting deep from his belly, and then turned to study his son for the first time since Seung-Bae had climbed into the back of the company town car.

“What have you done to your hair? I thought I told you to get a haircut? You’ve made yourself look like a pop idol or some kind of Japanese rock star. Is this the sort of impression you want to make?”

Seung-Bae looked away and focused his frustration into his grip on his cell phone. His face settled into an expressionless mask. He had to be here, had to pretend for the sake of appearances and for his father’s ego and reputation. It was his filial duty and, honestly, he wasn’t ready to confront his father with the truth.

He needed a plan; a way to survive when the world he’d been born into came crumbling down around him under his father’s inevitable wrath.