The thick white envelope landed on the pale creamy counter with a flick of her wrist. 4x6 photos spilled out, sprawling across the surface. A thin corner of each picture piling on top of the last. Clear high definition shots of a man, a woman.

The rest was history.

Swiping the liter bottle of vodka Kim Namjoo madam of the rich cedar home spanning 13 acres, tipped the dark green bottle to her rouge lips. The liquid burned down in a fast flush pouring straight into her empty stomach.

“Ma’am.” The quaky, uncertain voice of the short man behind her timidly called in case she forgot in her fit of rage that he was there. A thick black band hung from his neck. The camera that captured the photos of Suh Jineol in front of the hotel. Two white lion statues, the famous landmark of the golden building, where they took the photo the day she got his promise ring.

The memory now marred by the trench coated man whose arm wound tightly around his mistress.

Under the glow of the dim fluorescent light, Namjoo clenched her eyes shut. The bitter vodka moistening her lips. In her head she heard , high-pitched whimpers, low throaty grunts. Bodies rocking a canopy bed. The silk red covers of the bed slipping off the edge as bodies meshed on the cliché white blanket beneath.

Her fist tightened in a death grip around the neck of the bottle.

“Ma…am?” the photographer’s voice thinned.

Swirling around with a shriek, Namjoo slammed the bottle against the two-door silver fridge. The shatter of heavy glass was a short ending echo to her heavy gasps.

“GET OUT!” she screamed.

Inhaling a terrified breath, the short man’s back instantly straightened and he plowed his way out of the 32-room manor.

Her breathing quivered when she shut her eyes again. Pressing a cold hand to her forehead she screamed, “Miss Han!” Hearing no answer, Namjoo screamed at the top of her lungs, burning air as she did, “MISS HAN!!!!”

Footsteps scurried from around the corner of the kitchen. “Yes, Madam.”

The pear-shaped housemaid was bent over ninety-degrees when Namjoo swiveled. Eyes widening at the sight of her employee, “How come none of you ever work around here?! I had to call you twice!”

Never lifting her salt and peppered head up, Miss Han kept her tightly clasped hands glued to her front. “I’m sorry, Madam, but because the gardener quit there have been problems with beetles on the lawn.”

“Shut up,” Namjoo snapped. “I have a headache.” With a wave of a hand, she coldly ordered, “Clean the mess up. I can’t stand the sight of it.”

“Yes, Madam.” Her head bowed, never looking up.

Stepping by, Namjoo added, “And burn the photos.”

Crossing the hardwood flooring, Namjoo swept down the hallway. Passing the lounge room furnished with five high end furniture with wooden arm rests. The walls were high in the manor, the windows tall to compliment. She liked sunlight, so the paneled curtains were always thin white to allow sunlight to cast in. It was more a method to prevent the feeling of suffocation and the aesthetic effect of pure lighting made life more breathable.

Around the corner a dark pine door remained shut. Twisting the crystal knob Namjoo stepped into the master bedroom. A huge walk-in closet behind bamboo sliding accordion doors had been left open that morning. Leaving it as is Namjoo dropped onto the platform bed, sinking into the sheets.

A soft breeze invaded the room from the open window at the right of the pale blue bedroom. The curtains flowing into the air like a ghostly dress before settling. The master bedroom looked out into the Irish green backyard. Beneath the window her very dear garden of diverse flowers had recently bloomed.

Laying on her side she faced the doll white vanity. Her skincare neatly organized on one side. On the other her very favorite Vera Wang Princess perfume. In the drawers she had hidden her expensive jewelry; heavy diamonds to thin silver chains and an assortment of gem décor rings.

The alcohol burned her empty stomach. What was worse was the nail pounding into the back of her head. Groaning, Namjoo pushed herself up and stretched an arm out to pull open the nearest drawer of her vanity.

Any hand that dared touch her vanity was immediately fired. Jineol was less interested in her female tastes of makeup or collections of skincare. All he believed she stored here.

This was her secret.

Touching the familiar tunnel shape bottle, Namjoo unscrewed the cap. Tiny white pills dropped into the palm of her hand. Returning the bottle into the depth of the drawer, Namjoo dumped the round pills into . Swallowing them dry.

She was a pro at it now. Like she had acquisitioned to the taste of fine wine for the sake of the family. Discovering a strange salvation through liquor, vodka, and winery. Through the many family gatherings, Namjoo found nothing made her feel as good as the burning of vodka in her stomach.

Sinking back down onto the plump pillow, Namjoo sighed. Relief washing over her as the crawling pain in her stomach vanished; the pounding in her head quietening. Complete peace swelled through her and she finally closed her eyes.

Rousing awake when she heard the rumbling noise of an engine. Drowsily coming to she twisted around to see a star littered night sky. Rubbing her face, she sat up. Her shoulder length hair dripped across her shoulders. Brushing it away she slid off the bed and slipped into her pink slippers.

She had heard correctly. Deeming from the sound of mixed voices there was more than an individual entering the manor. A quarter way from the bedroom and Namjoo halted. Hand against her pulsing forehead. Taking notice, her hubby Suh Jineol glanced her way. His savvy black trench coat moving with his body. Coming from behind him a family friend, Park Yena.

As solo as she was about to be in fifteen minutes.

One side of Namjoo’s lips twitched into a coy smile. “Welcome home.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Jineol worried. Approaching her he replaced her hand with his on her forehead. “You’re a little warm.”

The chance offered Namjoo a look into his wonderful brown eyes where the sun set and rose every day. Those perfectly shaped brows. Straight nose. High cheekbones she never forgot to kiss. And the lips that were always hers.

“I feel fine.” Namjoo certified.

“Sorry, I arrived late. Yena and I had errands to run.” Namjoo’s eyes flew over his shoulder at Yena with shy s hidden behind the v-cut of her billowing red dress. Almost a shade like her rouge lipstick.

Back to her hubby. “Yes, it’s fine.”

“Let me put my bag away and I’ll be out for dinner.” Jineol touched her arm warmly as he brushed past.

Lips plastered together, Namjoo’s eyes sat on Yena. Perfectly put together. Her earlier mussed curls now weak waves around her bony shoulders. Fresh and young, right out of university; why don’t you be an intern at your father’s business? Jineol runs the HR department, he can teach you the basics.

The perfect mix of ingredients for a homewrecker in the making.

“I like your lipstick, Yena.” Namjoo complimented.

The woman lifted her tiny arm to touch her face. Timidly saying, “Thanks.”

“Come,” Namjoo extended an arm to invite her into the dining room where the table was being set. Coming into step with the intern, Namjoo asked, “How is work? Is Jineol being kind to you?”

“Yes, he’s so nice. Work has been really great to me.” Yena excitedly chirped.

“Let me know if he makes anything hard for you,” Namjoo assured. “I’ll have a good talk with him.”

Like she was having a good talk with her.

“Oh no, please don’t be hard on him. He has been great so far.” Yena innocently chatted.

Namjoo eyed her more closely. Noting Yena’s plump lips. The round baby face. The freshly caked face. It was too telling a miracle that her makeup hadn’t worn off from morning to evening. Nearby, Namjoo caught a whiff of her husband’s Armani cologne wafting off her bare shoulder.

At the table, Namjoo did the honor of pulling out a chair for her.

“Oh…” Yena breathed, “thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Namjoo firmly smiled. She turned when a housekeeper arrived on duly time with a low plate of steaming curry. Reaching out for it, she offered, “I’ll do it.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened surprised, but knowing better than to say anything she handed it over like a trophy. Bowing her head, she scurried where she had come from.

“I’m sorry that took me longer than I expected.” Jineol appeared brushing something off his clean white button-up.

Amazing, it was still crisp and white with not a stain. Or maybe he had changed.

“You made it.” Namjoo settled the curry down in front of her, closest to Yena.

Pulling out the chair at the head of the table he sat. “We didn’t have enough time to get dinner, so I hope it’s all right that Yena is joining us.”

“Perfectly fine.” Namjoo coolly said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Turning, she called out, “Get us another plate.”

“I’m so sorry if I’m interrupting tonight.” Yena apologized.

“It’s fine, Yena. I told you, Namjoo would be ok with it.” Jineol leaned forward to assure her.

Namjoo keenly watched his movement. Catching the way he pulled his chair in closer to the table. Her eyes dipped to her feet. From her angle only the legs of Yena’s chair remained obvious, but she was aware what they were doing beneath the table out of her view.

“Yes, I have no problem with it.” Namjoo’s fingers traced the oval plate of curry. Feeling the heat waft off the freshly cooked curry. Steam teasing her finger as it slid nearer toward her. Yena peered up at her with bug eyes. All Namjoo did was smile wider and then she lifted her finger tipping the plate over. Dark steaming broth dripped over the edge of the table onto Yena’s lap.

Skidding backwards, Namjoo plastered her hands to as Yena shot to her feet yelping. Hands hurriedly brushing at her dress, stained in liquid. Broth dripped down in an agonizingly manner.

“Yena!” Jineol cried out.

“Miss Han!” Namjoo screamed with urgency. Seeing that both husband and mistress were occupied brushing the rest of the curry off her dear dress, Namjoo’s face flattened.

“Yes, Madam.” Miss Han came scurrying.

“Get the chauffeur,” Namjoo ordered. “Yena is ready to go home.”

“Yes, Madam.” She repeated like a robot and disappeared.

Heads rose and Namjoo turned to face them. A cool glaze melted over her earlier concerned eyes. Yena’s lower lip hung out in a pout Jineol would go soft for.

“I…” Jineol began.

Namjoo cut him off, “You should go, Yena, and change.”

The poor girl glanced at Jineol sadly.

“The car is ready.” Miss Han reappeared from around the corner.

Yena offered a curt nod toward her and Jineol. Then with slumped shoulders she turned to go. Namjoo witnessed Jineol’s lips parting to call out, but she took just one stride toward him. Cupping his shoulder, she leaned close. Her nose passed over the width of his shoulder until her lips touched his nose.

“I don’t smell your cologne, honey.” Namjoo withdrew. Meeting his eyes. She didn’t miss the distinct way his jaws clenched nervously. Gently brushing his shoulder, she quietly said, “I just miss the smell on you. It’s my favorite, you know.”

“Oh…” he breathed and she caught his muscles relaxing in relief. “I just forgot to bring the bottle with me.”

“I’ll buy you another pocket sized one.” Namjoo said. Pressing her lips to his cheek she urged, “Eat. I’m going to take a shower.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m not hungry.” Namjoo said.

“All right then.” Jineol easily gave up pushing her. “If you’re not feeling well, get some rest. I’ll have the cook make some porridge for you.”

“I’d like that.” Namjoo heartily smiled. Wiping it off her face when she turned around to walk off. This time it was she who clenched her teeth.

Closing the door to the bedroom, she huffed. Dropping all her weight as she leaned against the vanity. Suddenly she felt weak. There was that throbbing in her head again. Her stomach cramped from hunger. All she thought about was the last bottle of vodka she’d smashed earlier.

Great. There was nothing she could find to soothe her.

Maybe some fresh air would make her feel better. Staggering against the bed, she felt her way to the window. Hanging her head over the ledge she gasped. The soft breeze had transitioned sharply now that it was night. The air cooler on her tongue.

Namjoo heaved a long, fulfilling sigh. Her eyes popped open when she heard noise. Touching the ledge, she scanned the yard below. A clump of shadow stretched across the grass – her rose bushes. Narrowing her eyes Namjoo finally caught the shape of a human shadow down her right.

“Hey!” Namjoo screamed. A head turned. ing her arm out she bellowed, “Stay right there!”

No one was supposed to be outside. This was private property. The mansion was bordered in the backyard by reserved hunting woods for family only. At the front, black steel gates kept the unwanted out. Once the chauffeur drove off to dispose of Yena at her home, the gates would have automatically been locked with a remote.

Shoving away from the window, Namjoo ran out of the room. Jineol’s voice flowed from down the hallway, but he was the last of her worries now that the mistress had left. Nearly tripping out of her slippers in the foyer, Namjoo caught her balance by the front door. Flinging it open, Namjoo dashed outside.

The wings of a bird beat into the air surprised by her. As her feet landed on concrete, Namjoo searched left. A row of boxy evergreen shrubs huddled along the side of the manor. Strutting onto the grass Namjoo charged toward the shadow. He gasped when she knocked him over.

“Miss Han!” Namjoo screeched. “Call the police! Someone!”

“What?!” the man tried rising. Namjoo pushed him back down. Sitting on him with her weight. “Hey, get off me!”

Twisting the collar of his shirt into her fist, she warned, “Don’t you dare move. I’m going to call the cops on you for trespassing.” Peering over her shoulder, she belted out a scream, “MISS HAN!!!”

He swatted her hand away with force. Namjoo fell sideways giving him an opening to stand. When she got to her feet, he was dusting grass off his jeans and halfway zipped jacket.

“You, come with me.” Namjoo snagged his arm.

He flung her hand away and barely budged a step forward. “Who the hell are you, lady?”

“I am the madam of this house!” Namjoo raised her voice. “And whoever you are, get off my property.” Looking at him dead on, she steely demanded, “Right now.”

He scoffed. “The madam? Then who was the lady earlier?”

Namjoo stiffened. Their attention broke off when Miss Han came running out of the house. Jineol right behind her, asking, “What’s going on?”

“There’s an intruder,” Namjoo turned toward them. To Miss Han, “Did you call the cops.”

Before she answered, Jineol intervened. “Calm down.”

“What are you talking about?” Namjoo blasted. “How am I supposed to calm down when there is a stranger on our property?”

Jineol flashed his superb grin that always got her. Sliding past her he put his arm around the man she had just tackled. His tightly knit brows and dismayed eyes mirrored her own.

“This is my new driver.” Jineol introduced. “And since our gardener quit, he can look after ours.”

“What?” Namjoo spat in disbelief.

“The backhouse is empty, so I thought he could stay there. It's a more convenient way for him to look after our house.” Jineol proudly explained. “And you need a driver. This works out just perfectly. He’ll be around when you need it.”

Namjoo’s gaze went from dismay to utter dissatisfaction.

As if she’d agreed, Jineol completed introductions. “This is my wife, Namjoo. Namjoo, this is Oh Sehun.”

***Big rich Madam Kim Namjoo coming through! Ready for another round of rich lady who takes matters into her own hands? So, here it is. Namjoo's been keeping tabs on her cheating husband and she's also popping pills to dull the pain but there is much more than her husband that is problematic.

***Yes, it's out. This is what quarantine does. Makes me write. So suppose I'm done. I'm going to play Pacify for now (god help me)