T-Minus an hour, ten minutes, and four seconds until Mr. Byun returned home from work. The couple’s midnight black audi pulled into the driveway at 9 every night. Should Mr. Byun skimp on his architectural duties early, he never faltered in relaying the news to his "warmhearted" wife twelve hours in advance.

“I hate surprises.” Solar, otherwise known as both Yongsun Kim and Mrs. Byun, told him the very day the two began to cohabit together. After, and only after, the honeymoon to Greenland and the simple church wedding. Hyejin Ahn, the goddess Hwasa, sang “I’m a Believer” by Smashmouth. Wheein Jung broke out mid-“I believe” with a roaring saxophone solo. Moonbyul Yi caught the bouquet. 

She met Sehun Oh one week later.

Now Solar and Wheein were dragging the body of her dastardly attractive (ex-)boyfriend through the forest brush. Quaffed hair strewn across bloodied features. Clothes shredded by clipped tree branches revealing toned muscle. Solar fiercely inspected every visible pore of his bruised flesh. 

“Nails on a chalkboard.” 

Wheein’s red head whipped upwards, bangs tousled from their taxing task. Marmalade-tinted lips parting, she guffawed. There was no misinterpreting exactly what Solar was referring to.

“Body of a greek god, voice of an immortal Pokémon master.”

Wheein strangled out a laugh, “How cruel,” tugging at the plastic lapels of his sports jacket. Red base. Black and silver trim. Classy with a hint of award-winning sportsman  — Moonbyul's birthday gift the year prior.

“As though we haven’t spent entire, sobering, weekends mimicking the sounds he makes during.” Rolling amber gems — natural selection favored her with beauty — she added, “A game you’re very adept at, at that. Hee. Hee. Hee.” A giggle fit shook Solar’s sylphlike frame. 

Wheein whistled, shrill and scolding. “Behave yourself.”

“A shame such otherworldly genes will rot in an unmarked grave.” Cold-blooded to the core, she cooed a complaint, “How much further, darling?” 

Another heave on the count of three. Another steep slope conquered. Many more in sight, Wheein pondered out loud with a glance at the settling moon, “Getting late?”

“It’s getting to be quite a walk back to Paradise.” 

Solar corrected, cell phone buzzing in the pocket of her powderpuff skirt. “Hour to Shower” alarm. Hot water was a rare and intermittent staple in the Byun household; Mr. Byun always swore he’d fix the pipelines next weekend. 

“Go.” Wheein’s single syllable left Solar stunned. She elaborated with an insensitive simile. “Practically like throwing bait into a fish pond at this point.” 

Solar accepted the heaven-sent blessing, reciting, “A deal with the devil never tasted so good,” before leaning low, sweeping the late Sehun Oh’s ebony locks across his ivory forehead, “goodnight, sweet prince." 

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,” Wheein repeated after her, voice shaking in to mimic the inky-cloaked Hamlet. Under the moonlight peaking through the dancing leaves, Solar thought she saw tears rolling down rosy red cheeks. Sentimentalities are for the soulful. Sacrifices are made by the soulless.

“For Pete’s sake, it up, darling."

A mother’s work is never done. Daron, five and a half years old, had a playdate at the spunky Gabriel’s house. A night of sugary sodas, endless popcorn, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and whatever in God’s name Ninjago was. Almost a year of buying boxes upon boxes of legos and Hwasa remained befuddled by the concept of miniature ninjas with superpowers. The allure was a mystery  — whatever put a toothy smile on Daron’s face. 

Whatever Moonbyul needed to say, “Vent,” she needed to say it now. “Give it all you’ve got, honey.” When the angels of justice sailed too far above the clouds to hear. "Vent like your words can pry open the gates of Hell should you preach loud enough.” When even God couldn’t damn her soulless corpse for committing the deadliest of sins.

A greedy wrath manifested itself through balled fists pounding hard against the leather dash, shaking the five and a half year old investment that was Hwasa’s ivy green minivan.

“Two years of financing a talentless musician prone to chose the road less traveled. Feeding, clothing, practically bathing, and he says he’s leaving me for someone else?"

Lusting after the restoration of pride lost the moment she fell to his poisonous tongue, she shouted to the heavens above.

“I would choke on the forbidden fruit before I let that low-hanging apple plant itself into another’s basket. If that makes me a 'frugal shrew with the appeal of a prepubescent boy,' so be it!"

Struck by envy in the face of Moonbyul’s hunger for the possession of Sehun Oh, Hwasa twirled her golden ring round her finger. It was still two sizes too big. Love: a nasty parasite drawn to the finer specimens in one’s garden. 

Tiger lilies. Chocolate cosmos. Yellow lady slippers. A multifaceted man like Sehun Oh is reminiscent of snapdragons. The thought of funerals made Hwasa’s heart grow fonder. 

Finely manicured hand to heart, she proclaimed, “Poor child fell so far even our Father above couldn’t catch him.”

“Make sure not even the holy Mother can distinguish his face from his .” Moonbyul sent the passenger seat swinging back, anger assuaged and asleep within seconds; a murder conviction out of the realm of possibility.

“Done and,” Hwasa wiped at dry eyes, car speeding down an endlessly paved road, “done."

A woman scorned’s a scary thing, it is. Though the friends willing to sell their souls to keep her secrets are even scarier.

“Moonbyul Yi. 28. Car mechanic. Girlfriend of the assumed deceased, Sehun Oh. 23. Multiple accounts of public indecency on his rap sheet. Cleaned up two years ago when he and Miss Yi began their monogamous relationship.

“Three separate eye witnesses place Miss Yi at Moo Mama’s Bar at the corner of Ahh and Oop on the evening of Mr. Oh’s disappearance. After ‘looking for answers at the bottom of a shot glass’ from the hours of 2000 to midnight, Miss Yi claims she ordered one last ‘gin and tonic’ from the nightshift bartender, Wheein Jung, before closing her tab.

“Said bartender then drove Miss Yi home because, as Miss Yi reports while laughing, ‘even’ she ‘cannot talk’ her 'way out of a ticket while drunk.’ Since seen pulling into Highgate’s mountain campsite at 2100 hours over three days ago, Mr. Oh has yet to be spotted by pedestrians or on local CCTV. We’re still awaiting the results for the blood sample gathered early today.”

“So, what you’re telling me Detective Zhang, is all we’ve got's another case of a disillusioned, attention-seeking teenager,” Kris Wu, Commanding Officer and Captain of Highgate Ridge Precinct, summed up with an apathetic sigh.

“He’s 23, sir. Old enough to be considered an adult in the eyes of the law and young enough to have people care when he goes missing.” Detective Yixing Zhang began, only to never finish. 

Captain Wu waved him off, “The woman’s had her heart broken already. Leave it to the powers that be.”

“We’re not pursuing this, sir?”

“He’ll show up sooner or later.” Captain Wu then added under his breath, “Hopefully the latter — if at all.”

Drop it the rookie Detective did. Publicly, at least. Privately, upon the blood sample collected at the bottom of a 50 feet drop coming back a match for a certain philandering Sehun Oh, he further investigated the mysterious case of a missing body and an influential ex-girlfriend. First things first: debunk the alibi.

A/N: There's a theme in this chapter (hint: bolded words). What does it all mean? That's for you to figure out! This theme may appear again in the future, as well.