Chapter 61: The Terms of Cohabitation

Far from “fine,” I offered a curt nod in lieu of a proper greeting. We were never the type to exchange warm embraces, nor to greet each other with such enthusiasm. For now, a precise task remained, awaiting completion. Until that task was finished, I wished he would remember that I was free to leave at any moment.

“Let’s sit first,” he suggested.

Fortunately, his quick perception seemed to grasp my unspoken wish, and he guided me toward a sofa nestled in a corner of the study. Seated across from one another, we dispensed with any superfluous pleasantries, diving straight into the heart of the matter.

“Show me the contract first.”

“Of course,” he readily agreed.

With a willing reply, he set a document envelope onto the table as if he had been anticipating this moment. He slid it across to me, then gave a slight nod of his chin, urging me to inspect it.

I carefully retrieved the envelope and unsealed it. From within, I drew out the paper—the contract he had mentioned. The contract’s terms could be summarized thus:

Until the child’s birth, Han Jung-woo would provide Yoo Seo-jin with unwavering support. Following the birth, all decisions, including those concerning the child, would be fully entrusted to Yoo Seo-jin.

However, Yoo Seo-jin was required to spend the period leading up to the birth with Han Jung-woo, precisely as he desired. This arrangement would take the form of cohabitation, which was precisely why I found myself here.

“You simply need to sign next to Yoo Seo-jin’s name.”

He had already affixed his signature, leaving only my decision to be made. Pressing the pen’s tip gently against the paper, I paused for a final moment of contemplation.

Should I sign, I would be bound to cohabit with him for half a year, precisely according to his whims. Yet, refusing to sign meant facing a protracted legal battle over custody, just as he had threatened, even before the child’s arrival.

With no easy path before me, making a choice proved arduous. If forced to choose between two undesirable options, there would be no “best,” only the “least worst” to be preferred over the absolute worst.

“What are you doing? Sign it quickly,” he urged.

He nodded his chin, spurring my hesitation. With a profound sigh, I succumbed to my initial inclination and affixed my signature to the contract.

The moment the pen lifted from the page, he snatched the contract, where both our signatures now rested side by side. His eyes, as he gazed upon it, curved into a triumphant smile.

“Now, shall we take a leisurely tour of the house?”

He carefully tucked the signed contract back into its envelope before rising from his seat. Leaving the documents on the desk, he turned to me, still seated, and extended a hand.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I ignored his gesture of goodwill. Observing me rise independently, he withdrew his outstretched hand with an impassive expression, seemingly accustomed to such rebuffs by now.

“This way,” he directed.

I followed him out of the study. As we traversed the corridor leading to the living room, exploring various nooks and crannies, he offered no particular explanations, and I, in turn, surveyed the house in silence.

I had noticed it earlier, but the house was undeniably expansive, almost excessively so, for just two occupants. The first floor alone boasted multiple rooms, and the living room was so vast that, with only a slight exaggeration, one could easily play futsal within its confines.

‘This is truly an extravagant waste of money,’ I mused.

His previous residence had been spacious, yet he’d deemed it too small, prompting the move to this colossal estate. Once again, I was struck by the stark disparity between his standards and my own.

It was precisely for this reason that Yoo Seo-jin had yearned for him. With each passing day, I understood it more profoundly. If the world truly functioned as a class society, then Han Jung-woo undeniably occupied its highest echelon.

Having thoroughly explored the expansive first floor, it was now time to ascend to the second. As he was about to lead the way up the stairs, he suddenly paused, as if a thought had struck him, then turned to face me.

“We’ll see the bedroom later,” he stated.

While I preferred to see everything in one go, his gentle push against my back compelled me to postpone the bedroom tour.

Returning to the living room, I settled onto the sofa, my gaze drawn to the swimming pool shimmering beyond the expansive window. Meanwhile, he arrived with drinks and, quite naturally, took a seat beside me, initiating conversation.

“Do you enjoy swimming?” he inquired.

“…I used to,” I replied softly.

Before this possession, whenever I yearned to clear my tumultuous thoughts, I would seek out a nearby pool and simply float, suspended in the water. After a prolonged period, I would dive deeper, my ears muffling as all external noise vanished. I cherished that profound sensation.

That moment, when everyone else in the world seemed to vanish and only I remained, was an absolute necessity for someone as weary of people as I was.

“You can swim whenever you like,” he offered. “That’s why it’s here.”

“Perhaps, if the mood strikes,” I replied vaguely.

With my ambiguous reply, I accepted the mug he presented. I had initially assumed it was coffee from the aroma, but it proved to be orange juice. A quick glance confirmed his own mug contained coffee.

“For the next half-year, this is Yoo Seo-jin’s home, so feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

How could I possibly be comfortable with such an irritating presence directly before me? I took a long, deliberate sip of orange juice, attempting to conceal the slight twitch at the corner of my lips.

He attempted to engage me in conversation a few more times, but my replies remained terse. The dialogue quickly sputtered to an end, and thereafter, we sat in silence until both our mugs were empty.

“Director,” his secretary interrupted.

As the silent interlude persisted, his secretary entered the room at that opportune moment and approached him. He gestured, prompting the secretary to bow deeply and whisper into his ear. Though their voice was too low for me to discern the words, it seemed an urgent matter had arisen. His expression grew notably grim.

“Something has come up,” he announced, rising from his seat. “I will handle it swiftly and return.”

He spoke, rising from his seat. Despite his assurance, the fleeting whisper I’d caught from his secretary suggested his swift return was improbable.

I offered a light wave to his departing figure, wishing him well, then set down my empty mug and stretched out on the sofa. Though fatigue had accumulated from a restless night, sleep remained elusive.

‘Mother… she’ll be alright, won’t she?’ I wondered.

Though our final farewell had been amicable, I knew, given her nature, that she couldn’t be truly alright inside. By now, she was undoubtedly lying in bed, either languishing in sorrow or weeping.

To assuage her worries, however slightly, my only recourse was to visit her. Yet, for me, that remained an exceedingly arduous and formidable task.

‘I’m starting to feel quite tired,’ I thought.

Perhaps it was the weight of my complex thoughts, but a sudden wave of drowsiness began to wash over me. Despite the allure of simply dozing on the sofa, the stairs leading to the bedroom seemed unexpectedly numerous.

Nevertheless, I resolved to prioritize the child’s well-being over my own comfort. Falling asleep on the sofa and catching a cold would be detrimental to both the child and myself.

‘I should go to a room and lie down,’ I decided.

Struggling to my feet, I carefully placed the two mugs on the sofa table, side by side. One was mine, the other belonged to Han Jung-woo, who had briefly departed.

‘Time to go up,’ I urged myself.

With my body quickly succumbing to weariness, I laboriously ascended the stairs, finally reaching the second floor.

Only two doors presented themselves on this floor, and I had no way of knowing which led to my designated bedroom.

‘Could it be this one?’ I wondered.

After a brief deliberation, I opened the door to the closest room. Stepping through the partially opened entryway, my gaze immediately fell upon a spacious bed.

As if spellbound, I drifted toward the bed, which appeared sumptuously soft. I pulled back the perfectly folded duvet and settled myself properly beneath it.

‘It smells like Han Jung-woo,’ I realized.

Although only three days had passed since I moved in, his pheromones permeated every corner of the house, likely due to his previous occupancy. Here, the scent was particularly vivid, suggesting he had likely spent time in this very bed.

I pulled the duvet up to my chin, burying my nose into it. Then, I closed my eyes tightly and inhaled deeply.

‘This is comforting,’ I thought.

Though I loathed to admit it, his lingering presence here seemed to be the catalyst. My body, which had been rigid with tension, was now slowly, comfortably unwinding.

If, as the doctor had advised, Han Jung-woo’s pheromones were truly essential for the child’s stability, I resolved to utilize his presence to the fullest extent during my time here.

‘Surely, light contact will suffice,’ I mused.

While intimacy was the most potent method for receiving pheromones, I had no desire to repeat the mistake of that fateful day. Given the child’s nascent stage of development, merely sharing the same space was, for now, sufficient.

‘It will be fine,’ I reassured myself.

I gently placed both hands upon my still-flat abdomen. Despite having confirmed the child’s existence through an ultrasound, I still struggled to grasp the reality of it all. They say that later, when the belly swells and fetal movements are felt, it will become real. Would I truly believe it then? No, even then, I doubted it would feel entirely real.

‘Half a year… it won’t feel long,’ I mused.

Half a year until I meet the child, and half a year until I part ways with him. Thinking that the day of both meeting and separation was only half a year away, it didn’t seem so long after all.

It was the first time I had ever thought that.