Yun-ji heard footsteps approaching her room, each step echoing through the corridor like a signal. Her room was deliberately distant from the rest of the family, isolated by design. She remembered once questioning her mother about this strange arrangement. "Yun-ji, being near the servants' quarters will make it easier for you to call on them when needed," her mother had explained with a dismissive tone.
Yun-ji had accepted it at the time, but now she smiled bitterly. That room wasn't meant to be a convenience—it was meant to keep her separated, tucked away like an afterthought. A pawn moved to the side, while the real players remained at the center of the board. Her mother's gentle deception had once passed unnoticed, but Yun-ji could now see clearly through the fog.
The footsteps grew louder until her door swung open with a hurried force. Choi Bora stood in the doorway, her expression a mix of feigned concern and urgency. Yun-ji remained at her desk, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of a book, not bothering to look up immediately.
"Sister," Bora began, her voice carrying that sweet, practiced tone. "Why didn't you come out if you were awake already? Our parents are worried sick about you. You fainted out of nowhere this afternoon, and Mom... well, she hasn't even taken a sip of water, praying non-stop for your recovery."
Yun-ji's lips curled into a smirk, a flash of disdain crossing her face. "Is that so?" she replied, her voice low and cool. "I didn't realize Mother was home. I assumed she must have rushed out to summon a doctor for me since she wasn't here when I woke up. A logical assumption, don't you think?"
Bora blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The Yun-ji she was used to—the meek, trusting sister who always sought approval—would have panicked, scrambling to apologize or explain herself. But this Yun-ji was different. Her calmness unnerved Bora, as did the sharp, cutting tone beneath her words.
For the briefest moment, Bora's polished mask slipped. She had expected confusion, perhaps fear, but instead, Yun-ji's gaze bore into her, cold and emotionless, as though she could see straight into Bora's carefully constructed lies. The silence between them grew heavier, and Bora's fingers trembled at her sides. Was her sister playing a game, or had the illness dulled her senses?
No. She's too stupid to understand, Bora reassured herself, her inner voice steadying. This change in her demeanor must be the result of the shock from fainting—nothing more.
She quickly composed herself, her voice softening as she stepped forward. "Sister, please don't misunderstand. Mother tried her best to find a doctor, but none were available. That's why she's praying so earnestly now. She's beside herself with worry."
Yun-ji studied her sister's face, taking note of the subtle shifts in her expression—the nervous flicker in her eyes, the too-smooth delivery of her words. In the past, she might have believed Bora's explanation and swallowed the concern like a bitter pill. But now, reborn and awake to the truth, she knew better. She'd seen the falsehoods for what they were.
She leaned back in her chair, her voice a quiet, controlled drawl. "I see. Mother's prayers, I'm sure, will work miracles, won't they? After all, she's always been so devoted to her daughters." Her words were laced with sarcasm, but her tone was casual as if discussing the weather.
Bora's smile faltered ever so slightly, her composure threatening to crack. But overconfident in her acting, Bora quickly composed herself, remembering the real reason for her visit. She forced a bright, sweet smile and reached out to grasp Yun-ji's hand in an intimate gesture. "Sister, I've made plans to go out with my friends for dinner, but you know how Mother is—she won't let me go out alone at night. Could you please come with me?" Her voice dripped with faux innocence, every word carefully chosen.
Yun-ji's heart flickered for a moment, catching her off guard. But she quickly masked it, her expression as calm as ever. "Bora, I'm still not feeling well," she replied casually, her voice deliberately weak. "I need to rest." She knew she wouldn't be able to avoid the outing entirely, but she wanted to buy herself some time—time to think, to plan her next move. Escaping their web of deceit wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to find a way.
As the soft murmur of conversation filled the room, Gong Hae, the lady of the Choi household, swept in. Her presence was imposing, even under the guise of concern. She rushed to Yun-ji and pulled her into a warm, almost smothering embrace. "Yun-ji, my dear. Are you alright? I was so scared when you fainted. Don't ever frighten me like that again," she said, her voice trembling with practiced emotion.
The sudden embrace from the woman Yun-ji had once called "mother" left her momentarily stunned. Memories of her past flooded her mind—memories of a time when she had truly believed in this family, believed in their care. But the sharp pain throbbing in her head brought her back to reality, reminding her of the bitter truth. She was an orphan, and this concern, this warmth, was nothing more than a tool to manipulate her.
Swallowing the surge of anger and pain, Yun-ji forced herself to return the hug, her movements calculated and controlled. She couldn't let them suspect anything. Not yet. She had to play along, and wear the mask they expected her to until she found the answers she sought—her true family and the reasons behind their betrayal.
"I'm fine, Mom. I just feel a little weak, that's all. I'll be alright after some rest," Yun-ji replied softly, offering a small, reassuring smile.
"It's a relief to hear that," Gong Hae responded, her voice laced with motherly concern. "But Yun-ji, you've been lying in bed for two days now. It would do you good to stretch your limbs and get some fresh air. Sometimes, stepping outside and seeing the world can help clear the mind. As it happens, your sister plans to have dinner with her friends tonight. Why don't you go along? I'd feel much better knowing she's in your care."
Yun-ji's expression remained neutral, though her mind was racing. She knew she couldn't avoid the outing with her sister, but this wasn't a mere invitation—it was a veiled order, one she had no choice but to accept. Still, an idea sparked in her mind. If she played her cards right, this could be the perfect opportunity to slip away, unnoticed. She just had to execute her plan flawlessly.
"Alright, Mom," she agreed, her tone steady, concealing the calculation beneath. "I'll take care of her."