Joohyun is a good liar.

You have to be, when you’re involved with this kind of stuff. There is no choice but to lie. 

When the police come to the door? You lie. When you’re in the interrogation room, too aware of the countless eyes on you? You lie. It’s in her blood; that’s what her husband says, anyway.

“No, Officer, he was with me the whole night,” she says, creating the false image before their eyes. “He came home from work a little before… 8, I think.”

False. He never came home. At 8, he was standing in the office of some politician dumb enough to cross him. 

“You said he usually comes home around that time, correct?” the officer recalls. “What does your husband do for a living?”

“He’s a businessman,” Joohyun says– this time, she’s not lying. “You know those types, always working themselves to death.”

“Sure do,” the officer pauses for a moment, noting something down on the small notepad in front of him. “And you said he was at home for the rest of the night?”

“Yes,” Joohyun beams, like she is the kind of housewife who is proud to have cultivated the rare kind of home that a husband would enjoy being in. “I made him his favorite dinner, medium rare steak and roasted Brussel sprouts,” the words come out like they are nothing; at this point, she’s lying about the most pointless of things. “And then he went to the billiards room for about an hour. After that, he came up to our bedroom and we fell asleep.”

“At what time?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What time did he fall asleep?”`

“Oh… maybe around 9 or 9:15?”

“So nothing happened before he slept?” he asks, pales cheeks turning a faint pink. “No…?”

“No?” Joohyun parrots, raising an eyebrow. She knows what he’s asking. As if that even matters to the case. 

The officer coughs, pink skin turning a stark red. It’s funny, really, how quick these young men jump to questions about her bedroom. 

(Yiseok hasn’t touched her in months, if that’s what they want to know.)

“No , Officer,” Joohyun stifles a giggle at how the officer turns an even brighter shade. He looks like a child to her; maybe 22, at the most. Fresh out of the police academy. He has a lot to learn. Still young, still naive. “Is that all?” Her eyes flicker to her watch momentarily. It’s already noon, and she’s bored. It’s a Saturday, and night will fall soon enough.

Yiseok’s bags are probably already packed, in the back of some limousine taking him to the airport, where he can hop on a private jet to Switzerland or France or wherever he isn’t jotted down on a list of suspects. 

It should be suspicious. A murder suspect disappearing from the country when investigations start heating up? But if there’s one thing Joohyun’s learned from this relationship, it’s the power of money.

It really is a hell of a drug.

//

“Where’s he off to this time?” Seungwan asks, pouring the rest of the champagne bottle into her glass.

“Hell if I know,” Joohyun scoffs, brushing strands of jet-black hair behind her ear. “Switzerland is his hideout of choice lately. He has a girlfriend there, you know.”

Seungwan laughs dryly, downing her flute of champagne and setting it on the balcony table. “He and Chanwoo are probably ing the same woman, if that makes you feel any better.”

“As if I feel any way about it,” Joohyun remarks snidely, sipping her flute of champagne. It had hurt a little when she found out, that much was true, but the shock had worn off quick enough. It was almost odd, the feeling of being betrayed by Yiseok; but, she supposed, it was an opportunity to grow.

Discover the betrayal, analyze why it hurts, vow to never let it hurt you again. A simple process. Easy as pie.

Seungwan giggles and raises her empty glass up, as if in a mock salute– and Joohyun doesn’t mean to stare, not really, but Seungwan’s blouse rides up with her movement and her heart sinks.

“Seungwan…” Joohyun trails off and Seungwan seems to realize her mistake, tugging down her shirt– but it’s too late. Joohyun’s already seen the bruises. 

“It’s nothing,” Seungwan’s playful tipsy demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, voice suddenly taking on a defensive edge. “Can we move on?”

Joohyun can’t lie– she can’t help but desire to drop the subject, desire to forget the black and blue bruises blossoming across Seungwan’s midsection. After all, she’s never been too good at tackling the emotional side of things. 

(“I want a machine, Joohyun,” she remembers her husband telling her, back when he was just a boyfriend that her mother warned her about. “Can you be my machine?”)

“We can move on,” she says. She hates herself for it. 

(“Always.”)

//

The mansion is not Joohyun’s favorite place to be.

It smells like money and death– “this is where the magic happens,” Yiseok had said the first time he brought her here. There are rooms where bills paint the walls, left undisturbed until some poor sap gets tempted by the power that unlimited wealth brings; and then there are the other rooms. The ones for those poor selfish men.

They are the kind of rooms you enter and never come out of. 

Joohyun has never been afraid of those rooms. She’s a machine, after all. Machines don’t die.

(As long as she is never replaced, she will be fine. There’s no downside to becoming the stone cold creature her husband has expected her to be. She’s taken care of; she’s guaranteed protections that the other women could never dream of. She will never be forced into one of those rooms, and that’s enough for her.)

But Seungwan inhales so sharply when they walk by those doors; it’s a scary reminder that the woman who has somehow become her closest friend is so terribly vulnerable.

“There you are,” Chanwoo’s booming voice surprises them both, and Joohyun watches Seungwan’s shoulders tense as the man approaches, caressing her arm in greeting. “Where have you been, darling?”

Seungwan takes a moment too long to reply– it might be Joohyun’s imagination, but Chanwoo’s grip on Seungwan seems to tighten and, before she knows it, she’s opened . “I invited Seungwan over for some drinks,” Joohyun clears , folding her hands in front of her, the way that the men here like to see. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you, sir. My apologies.”

Chanwoo chuckles slowly, pulling Seungwan closer to him. Joohyun wonders if he hears her squeak. 

She doesn’t think he cares.

“It’s quite alright, Joohyun. Is Yiseok around?”

“He’s out of town,” she sighs, trying her hardest to act like she cares about his whereabouts. “He disposed of that troublesome alderman last night, sir.”

“I see,” Chanwoo nods. Joohyun’s sure he’s glad to hear the news. Not that the alderman posed any threat to begin with– what chance does one puny politician have against the most powerful mob in the city? “Well, we should be on our way. I know Seungwan’s missed me.”

“Very much, sir.” The lie, like all the others before, is too easy.

“Goodbye, Joohyun,” Seungwan finally speaks, nodding softly to Joohyun in acknowledgment. 

“Goodbye.”

//

Joohyun sees Seungwan in the mansion the next day.

Her arm is broken.

//

How