UL Chapter 2

1. The Woman Named Choi Yeonha

“If you use the word ‘includes,’ it means that components B and C are also part of it. But if you translate it as ‘is composed of,’ it implies that B and C are excluded. In this case, ‘is composed of’ would be more appropriate.”

—”Wouldn’t ‘consists of’ work?”

“If we’re using ‘is composed of,’ then ‘consists of’ can also be used as a substitute.”

Yeonha alternated her gaze between the 32-inch pivot monitor and her laptop, waiting for the response from the person on the other end of the call. A deep sigh escaped from the speakerphone, filling the study.

—”Will it be done by this week?”

“It’s about 80% complete. I’ll send it to you by tomorrow.”

Another relieved sigh followed, unmistakably expressing a sense of survival. Yeonha smiled silently.

—”This is why I ditch all the other agencies and give my work to you, Yeonha. Thanks.”

“If anything, I’m the one who’s grateful, Section Chief Seo. I owe it to you that I can freelance at all.”

—”You talk as nicely as you look. What are you doing Friday evening? I want to see that pretty face of yours. My office is either full of grumpy people or middle-aged men. Let me cleanse my eyes with you for once.”

Friday. Yeonha glanced at the desk calendar in the corner of her table. “Family gathering.” Just four words, yet they felt like they stretched endlessly, making her heart slow down. Why am I like this? Is this another symptom?

She took off the glasses she only wore for work and opened her mouth.

“I have a family dinner this week.”

—”Oh, really? Well, I guess you wouldn’t understand my situation. You get to cleanse your eyes with your husband every day.”

“I’m free next Friday.”

Instead of responding to Section Chief Seo’s half-serious joke, Yeonha quickly set up another meeting and ended the call. The silence that returned to the study was a welcome one. She lightly rubbed her temples and lowered her gaze to the bottom of the monitor. It was already morning.

Sitting at her desk since 4 a.m. wasn’t because she was a workaholic or had pressing deadlines. It was simply because, whether she wanted to or not, she woke up at that hour.

Estimating her total sleep for the night, Yeonha picked up her empty coffee cup and left the study.

The hallway led directly into a spacious living room. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the garden was already bathed in the fresh energy of the morning. Paying little attention to the picturesque view, she walked straight into the kitchen.

“You’re up.”

The island counter was piled high with grocery bags, as if someone had been out shopping early. It was the part-time housekeeper she had recently hired, bowing politely in greeting.

“Do you need anything?”

“You don’t have to mind me. Just continue what you were doing.”

Responding casually, Yeonha picked up a water bottle and poured herself a glass. As she swallowed, her gaze lingered on the housekeeper, who was busy organizing the refrigerator.

Her eyes naturally trailed to the woman’s curves—the snug fit of her pants accentuating her shapely hips. When she stretched upward to reach the top shelf, the hem of her shirt lifted slightly, revealing a slim waistline.

The kind of figure that any man would be tempted to flirt with.

Was it thirty or thirty-one? He was only a couple of years older than her, so he was definitely young.

From the interview itself, Yeonha had casually mentioned that there was no specific dress code and to wear whatever was comfortable.

At first, the housekeeper still dressed in casual yet modest clothing. But at some point, she became bolder—wearing plunging T-shirts that seemed like they would reveal everything if she bent forward or, like now, shorts so tiny they barely covered her lower body.

Yeonha knew exactly when the change had happened—after she had encountered the man of the house.

It was the first time Yeonha ignored her mother’s disapproval. Her mother had subtly, elegantly hinted that hiring someone so young was bound to cause trouble—perhaps even make Baek stray—but she didn’t listen.

Of course not. That was the whole point.

She drained her glass of water and massaged her stiff neck when she heard the soft shuffle of slippers against the floor. The sound was so faint that one wouldn’t notice it without paying close attention, yet it still irritated her. She lowered her gaze before looking up again.

Before long, the source of the footsteps entered the kitchen.

The housekeeper reacted faster than Yeonha.

“You’re up,” she said, but her voice was different from when she spoke to Yeonha. More than that, her tone was subtly suggestive.

Having never skipped a morning workout, Baek Ijae had likely just finished his shower. With only a towel wrapped around his lower body, he stepped into the kitchen, and the housekeeper’s ears turned red.

He was definitely a sight to behold.

A broad, firm chest. Perfectly squared shoulders. Abs carved so deeply they seemed sculpted with a chisel. Even Yeonha’s mother had grudgingly admitted that he had the face and body of a flawless masterpiece.

His skin was flawless, smooth yet firm. He was the kind of man whose body you might want to press against just once, just to feel it.

A droplet of water slipped from the damp ends of his hair, tracing down his collarbone and over his nipple before disappearing. The housekeeper’s embarrassed yet captivated gaze lingered on him.

As Yeonha quietly observed the charged atmosphere between them, she thought—this moment would be perfect.

The moment Baek Ijae looked away from her and realized that, in his own words, there were countless women out there who could turn him on.

For a fleeting instant—too short to measure in seconds—Baek Ijae’s emotionless gaze brushed over the housekeeper’s face, as if he were looking at an inanimate object.

It reminded Yeonha of something.

Was it when they were twenty-one? Out of nowhere, Baek Ijae had once bought a bicycle and insisted on teaching her how to ride. It had been such a strange offer.

Especially because, at the time, their relationship had been at its worst. They were both young and brimming with raw, unfiltered emotions—pride, stubbornness, defiance. Naturally, Yeonha refused, and just as quickly, Baek Ijae lost interest.

That bicycle was still there, abandoned in the backyard, rusting from years of rain and snow.

The way he had looked at it back then—the way he was looking now—was exactly the same. A gaze meant for something meaningless, something worthless.

And that, somehow, was disappointing.

“What… what are you doing?!”

A large hand suddenly grabbed her breast roughly. Baek Ijae pressed up against her from behind, his arms wrapping around her as he kneaded her chest, his lips burying into the nape of her neck.

The housekeeper was still in the kitchen. She had her back turned toward them, facing the fridge, but there was no way she was unaware of what was happening right behind her. Her hands, busy organizing the vegetable drawer, moved awkwardly.

Ignoring the way her body trembled with shock, Ijae sucked on Yeonha’s earlobe. One hand, which had been kneading her breasts, slid down her flat stomach, moving lower to stroke between her legs. The familiar sensation surged through her body, making her thighs press together involuntarily.

“Baek Ijae!”

As if deaf or insane, his hand started hiking up the hem of her cotton dress. His erection, already hard and straining, rubbed insistently against her lower back. Holding onto the fabric that had been pushed up to her hips, Yeonha struggled in his grasp, but it was futile.

Noticing how her eyes kept darting toward the fridge, he must have found it irritating. His voice, rough with impatience, echoed through the space.

“For fuck’s sake, does she have no damn awareness? Or do you enjoy being watched while you get fucked?”

The crude words, sharp as a whip, made the housekeeper jolt in shock. Stammering an apology, she hurried out of the kitchen without even daring to glance their way.

“Choi Yeonha, if you’re going to hire someone, at least pick someone with some sense. Isn’t it basic manners to leave the room when people are about to have sex?”

His condescending tone, punctuated with a click of his tongue, was so absurd that Yeonha let out a quiet scoff. As if the real issue wasn’t him shamelessly lifting her skirt in broad daylight, regardless of who was around.

But his lack of common sense was nothing new. Rather than waste her breath on sarcasm, Yeonha turned her head slightly, glancing at the rigid length pressing against her backside.

Fully erect as if ready for penetration, his cock had pushed up the towel wrapped around his waist. Predictably, it was massive—so much so that the towel, rather than slipping off, seemed almost designed to be draped over it.

Then, as if that flimsy coverage was too much, Ijae casually yanked the towel off and tossed it into a corner of the kitchen. His length, now completely exposed, gave a threatening twitch.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You must have really turned me the fuck on this morning.” He exhaled sharply.

Running his hand down the thick, glistening shaft, Ijae let out a low groan. His other hand, aggressive and impatient, gripped the waistband of her panties, tugging at the fabric as if he meant to rip them off entirely.

Yeonha clenched her hands over his, trying to stop him with all her strength.

This wasn’t the agreed-upon day. She always had the right to refuse—that had been their unspoken rule for the past eight years, ever since their first time.

Noticing her resistance, Ijae hesitated for a split second before scoffing. Then, leaning in close, he whispered against her ear.

“But you had no problem fucking me whenever you wanted.”