Namjoo probably hated him now.

Sehun stared up the stairs longingly. This was the signal for him to leave, go back to work. He foolishly went up after Namjoo full well aware she did not want to look at the sight of him. She had hoped for his reconciliation with Jin so she could leave.

It was all about leaving him.

All that he was making impossible for her to.

In all this, he was the bad guy. Carrying on a scenario and forcing Namjoo to play along with him.

Yes, she most likely hated his guts.

The bedroom door was closed. Locked. Sehun didn’t have to test the knob to know. He stood on the other side of the barrier. Desperately yearning to make it right.

Except he didn’t know how to. There were too many things he didn’t know about Namjoo. The basics like what her favorite color was, her favorite foods, if she favored fancy over simplicity, did she like romance or action movies.

How to approach her in a way that would make her heart race, so that she would always think about him around the clock too. Did she wait every day for him to come home? Was she comforted by his presence every night? Were there times when she missed him?

If there were things he could inherently know it would be these. Reading Namjoo’s mind and learning the things she thought about him so he didn’t always have to second guess or wait for that perfect time.

“I’m leaving.” He spoke hoping Namjoo was listening. “Don’t stay in the room all day.” He waited a beat. “I’m going.”

Sehun stepped away, paused, glanced back, and then finally left with his heart hanging heavily. At work his mind fazed. While sitting at the round table meeting, he flipped his phone over and over. Wanting to call home. Verify that Namjoo hadn’t locked herself in. She hadn’t packed up and left him a letter like the first time.

He wanted to hear her voice. Hear her tell him, “I’m not angry at you.”

But he didn’t call.

Late afternoon when he reached home, Sehun hesitated outside the door. A hand hovering over the knob. Afraid.

What if Namjoo had left?

What if he walked inside to an empty home?

Everything might be gone except the pre-wedding portraits.

Sehun didn’t want to be alone.

He didn’t want Namjoo to leave him behind.

Or hate him.

Or dislike him.

Spending his days staring at this perfect person in pictures and replaying every second of every moment.

Opening the door, his heart tremoring, Sehun peeked inside. The couch was empty amplifying his fear. Eyes floated up to the giant poster hanging above the kitchen entrance. Jarring him back in time to hear the photographer instructing him and Namjoo to hold their pose. Of when he smelled the perfume that had gravely enticed him. Namjoo wondering whether he needed a psych checkup.

It almost brought a laugh to his lips. Namjoo suspecting him of the worst, always.

Sehun smelled food cooking. Fully entering the home, he closed the door at his back and slipped out of his shoes. A quick glance up the stairs. Namjoo wasn’t running down to meet him.

Bravely pushing forward Sehun went into the kitchen. Taking it one step at a slow time. Cautious. Nervous. Readying himself for what he might find.

An empty table?

Just the cook?

Namjoo gone.

Relief swelled through his core when he sighted her at the table. Scratching at the surface of the wooden tabletop. Not bothering to look up at him. Ignoring him like her usual self.

But that was enough.

That was all he needed to see.

Sehun tried not to smile too roughly. Afraid he might cause her to skitter off.

“I thought you might still be in the room.” He said.

Namjoo refused to heed him. Just sat then proceeded to gulf down her food once the table was set. She left him the second her plate emptied. He listened to the stern of her footsteps plod farther and farther from him.

The spoonful of food in his hand lowered onto his plate with a clink like the fragility of the situation.

Leave he thought. Namjoo just wanted to up and disappear from his home. From the manor. Back to her night life. Spend a few hours hanging out with random people for some hundred dollars. Share some drinks, go to sleep, and then wake up to do the same thing.

To her life that did not consist of some nosy wealthy guy desperate to avoid marriage with her mother’s best friend’s daughter. Forcing her to drag time so he could wait for an unfaithful girlfriend to come home to him.

What could he do?

What more of an excuse did he need to make Namjoo stay other than, if you leave my father might die?

Namjoo was in bed on her side eyes closed when he reached the room. Everything about her intent on pretending he did not exist. She abhorred him for what he’d done earlier.

She didn’t even love him, see him in any sort of romantic light. This was what it had been from the beginning for her: an act.

Namjoo hardly moved from where he’d last seen her after his shower. Even when the lights went out and he climbed into bed laying right next to her wide awake. Staring at the dark ceiling. Watching the dim moonlight protrude into the room through his curtain.

Sehun replayed Namjoo’s call that had come out of the blue. He had been so happy to hear from her. Namjoo never called. This had to be something good he’d assumed. Eat with him? He would hop right onto a plane just to go to her if he was abroad. Anything to see her, because for the first time, Namjoo had called and not asked him to rescue her, but asked to have a meal.

On the way home he’d imagined a table filled with her food. His heart had melted thinking about it. His wife cooking solely for him. How wonderfully touching.

He glanced over at Namjoo still hurt from the setup. She hadn’t thought about him at all.

That deeply panged him.

Rolling over he shifted closer to Namjoo. Sliding down a bit so he could bury his face into her back. Wrapping an arm around her waist he listened to his heart shake.

“Don’t be too angry with me,” he said. “I just like you so much. Namjoo.”

The next morning Namjoo neither looked nor talked to him. Again, she first left after eating. She didn’t stay to finish or fight for the last of the food. Before he even finished, she’d already gone all the way upstairs and came back down. Sehun only heard the door clicking shut.

By the time he walked out to his car Namjoo’s was already missing.

ꞜꞜꞜꞜꞜ

Moon Club was closed for the day. The sleek black building at the corner of the street popped out almost like a sore eye. The cleaning crew gone home after sweeping and mopping, picking up garbage, and scrubbing away vomit in random corners.

Her mom sleeping at home. Would be up in a few hours to tally the profit made from overnight, contact VIP registers, talk to vendors about foods and alcoholic beverages. There was a big drop list the woman went through daily.

Take it easy Namjoo always chanted, but she never did. Owning a business compromised sleep and required sacrifice. While Namjoo sat at the table yawning a million times wondering why the woman was so hard on herself now made her regretful. Almost sad.

But Namjoo couldn’t see her mother. Yet. Miscellaneous work she’d told Moonbi to tell her. If her mom asked, Namjoo realized now she wouldn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make her ashamed.

She was such a horrible person.

Her mother lived such an honest life. Toiling everyday for the aspect of a better future. Raising Namjoo on pennies and dollars to make it this far. So far that Namjoo had only done miniscule things. Like lying and cheating.

Guilt hung over her like a gray cloud as she glanced down at her expensive dress. “You look so lovely in it,” she could hear Madam Oh complimenting her.

Sehun’s parents had showered her with too much. A glorious wedding. A dreamlike wedding dress. Expensive wedding portraits. Food and so much sincere love. Always doting on her, putting her health and security over their own son’s. Which was not necessary at all.

She did not deserve his lovely parents’ adoration.

How to straight up reveal “I’m not pregnant” without expecting to send them to the ER?

Namjoo was not worthy of a place in Sehun’s home. In his family.

Anywhere near them.

She was a daughter of a nightclub owner. At legal age she had become an taking money from vulnerable men out on night sprees. Daytime she slept. Nighttime she was up and about. She didn’t own a car. Lived at a triplex shared with lousy neighbors she never interacted with. Never gone to college.

That was as stable of a life as she had.

She would give his father a heart attack if he knew.

Kim Namjoo was poles apart from the Oh family.

Though Elder and Madam Oh proved not to be the snobs she thought they’d be, she was laughable in their world. Their wealthy friends and relatives would frown at her.

Yes, her background was not upstanding. Society was like that. Only similar ones were allowed to be seen together in public.

If a common was seen with a wealthy, he was a leech.

If a wealthy was seen with a common, there had to be something wrong with him.

In Namjoo’s life she never looked far. Watch her mom tirelessly break her back working at a young age and Namjoo learned not to expect too much. People like them were meant to spend the whole of their lives working around the clock to put food on the table.

Maybe she’d dream of a rich man sweeping her off her feet, but those were innocent dreams meant to stay as dreams. Meant to be dreams. Forever dreams.

This, Moon Club, was her life with her mom.

Namjoo would come back here when she cleaned up at Sehun’s house.

That was why it was impossible to reciprocate his feelings.

So as Sehun confessed last night she kept pretending to be asleep.

ꞜꞜꞜꞜꞜ

His phone stayed silent the entire day. Sehun debated every hour whether to initiate a call. Curiosity was driving him crazy. Where was Namjoo? Where did she have to go early morning? What was she doing? Who was she with?

Was she thinking about him?

Was she still upset?

Would she be at home when he returned?

She had to be

She had to!

Shoving aside unimportant documents Sehun grabbed his jacket and keys. Slipping out of the door he rushed down the corridor and punched the button for the elevator. He was going to go home. He couldn’t stand this any longer.

If Namjoo was back they were going to talk. If not, he’d wait for her.

As the doors gasped open, he came face to face with Suh Jin. Dressed in a compliant blouse and dress pants. Around her neck hung a visitor lanyard. Grasping a black leather portfolio containing her resume his ex-girlfriend offered a curt smile.

“I thought I should come say hi.” She said. Noticing him staring at the portfolio, she explained, “I just had an interview.”

His lips compressed. Part of him calculating, why at his workplace?

Jin stepped out of the elevator to stand evenly at his side. “Is your mind clearer today?”

“Why here?” he asked.

Her shoulders did a tiny shrug as if teasing. “Just…because…”

Sehun punched the button again to keep the elevator doors open. He about walked inside, stopping when she spoke.

“I heard you waited the two years for me.” Jin started. Glancing at him, “Did you really have to rush your wedding?”

He returned the look with a terse glare.

“She told me you’re not really married,” Jin said. “Is it just until the baby arrives?”

“My wife,” he enunciated the word, “lied to you.”

Jin flinched. Then breathing a calm smile, she tried, “Sehun, do you think maybe you’re just confused? Maybe you wavered, too, but went a little too far.”

“I!” his voice rose a notch, “Am not confused!”

Slamming the button, he waited for the doors to open. Stepping inside the elevator, he warned, “Stay away from her.”

On the drive home he repeated it to himself like a mantra.

He hadn’t done it out of confusion.

He was not confused about Namjoo.

Racing home he went from room to room seeking her out.

She wasn’t anywhere.

ꞜꞜꞜꞜꞜ

“Boo!” A voice popped into her ear; an arm went around her neck.

Namjoo yelped. Gripping the arm, she searched for her perpetrator and found Hwayi devilishly snickering. Releasing her he widely grinned.

“May I ask what my sister-in-law is doing here?” he loudly questioned.

Alert, Namjoo hurriedly browsed the streets, nervous Moonbi or maybe even her mother was around. Right now was not the time to be caught red-handed.

Damn Hwayi!

“N…nothing.” Namjoo lied. “Just taking a walk.”

“Standing here is a weird definition of walking.” Hwayi poked.

Awkwardly laughing Namjoo shifted to stroll down the sidewalk. “I’m walking.”

Playfully chuckling he went after her. God, what did he want?

“Mind if I come with?”

“Sure.” She chirped pretentiously sounding joyful.

“Walk on this side.” Gently touching her arm, he urged her away from the street and took up the side by the curb. With a kind of wink, “Wouldn’t want my brother’s wife to get hurt by an oncoming vehicle.”

Namjoo tried a smile but not really. “Why do you call him that?”

“It makes us sound close.” Hwayi said then teased, “Should I call you sister?”

“No thanks.”

“Good, because you’ve never been one.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. “So, why don’t you tell me how marriage is treating you over lunch?”