Chapter 2: The Breaking Point
The next morning brought no relief from the storm, both outside and within Tae-Hyeon's heart. He stood before the cracked mirror in his tiny bathroom, practicing the speech he would give to Mr. Park. His reflection looked haggard—dark circles under his eyes, stubble he couldn't afford to shave properly, and the hollow look of a man who had been beaten down too many times.
"Mr. Park, sir," he rehearsed, his voice barely steady. "I have a business proposal that could benefit both our families."
Even to his own ears, it sounded pathetic. What did he have to offer a man who controlled half of Gangnam's real estate market?
His phone—or what remained of it—lay silent on the floor. He had managed to retrieve a few messages before it died completely. One was from his supervisor at the convenience store, asking him to cover an extra shift. Another was from a debt collector regarding his student loans. The third was a automated message from his bank, informing him that his account was overdrawn.
Tae-Hyeon dressed in his only clean shirt and made his way to the Park mansion, each step heavier than the last. The contrast between his neighborhood—cramped apartments, narrow streets, the smell of street food mixing with exhaust fumes—and the Parks' exclusive district never failed to remind him of the vast gulf between his world and theirs.
The mansion loomed before him like a fortress, its pristine white walls and manicured gardens a testament to generations of wealth and power. He had walked through that front gate as a hopeful bridegroom three years ago. Now, he felt like an intruder in his own marriage.
Mrs. Park answered the door herself, which was unusual. The household staff typically handled such mundane tasks, but her presence here felt deliberate, calculated.
"Tae-Hyeon," she said, not bothering to hide her displeasure. "You look terrible. Are you ill?"
"No, ma'am. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Park about—"
"About money, no doubt." Her smile was razor-sharp. "How predictable. Well, you're in luck. My husband is in his study, and he's in quite a good mood today. The merger with Lee Industries is proceeding beautifully."
She led him through halls lined with priceless artwork and photographs documenting the Park family's rise to prominence. Tae-Hyeon had walked these halls hundreds of times, but today they felt like a museum dedicated to everything he would never be.
Mr. Park's study was a shrine to success—leather-bound books, awards, photographs with politicians and business leaders. The man himself sat behind a mahogany desk that probably cost more than Tae-Hyeon's annual rent, reviewing documents with the practiced eye of someone accustomed to making million-dollar decisions.
"Ah, the son-in-law arrives," Mr. Park said without looking up. "Mi-Jung mentioned you wanted to discuss something. Make it quick—I have a conference call with Tokyo in ten minutes."
Tae-Hyeon's carefully rehearsed speech evaporated under the weight of Mr. Park's indifference. Instead, he found himself stammering like a schoolboy.
"Sir, I've been developing a business plan. A delivery service that could—"
"Stop." Mr. Park finally looked up, his eyes cold and appraising. "Let me save us both some time. You want money. You want me to invest in some half-baked scheme because you can't afford to pay your rent. Am I correct?"
The directness of it was like a physical blow. "I... yes, sir. But it's not half-baked. I've done the research, identified the market gaps—"
"Have you?" Mr. Park leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Tell me, Tae-Hyeon, what do you know about market analysis? About supply chain management? About the regulatory requirements for starting a logistics company?"
Each question hit its mark. Tae-Hyeon had enthusiasm and basic research, but nothing that could compete with the sophisticated business acumen of men like Mr. Park.
"I'm willing to learn," Tae-Hyeon said desperately. "If you could just give me a chance—"
"A chance?" Mr. Park's laugh was harsh. "I've given you three years of chances. Three years of supporting you, housing you, feeding you. And what have you accomplished? What value have you added to this family?"
"I love your daughter," Tae-Hyeon said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "That has to count for something."
"Love." Mr. Park spat the word like it tasted bitter. "Love doesn't pay for private schools or maintain social standing or build business empires. Do you know what Min-Jun brought to our dinner table last night? A contract worth twenty billion won. Twenty billion, Tae-Hyeon. That's what a real man contributes to a family."
The mention of Min-Jun sent ice through Tae-Hyeon's veins. "Last night?"
"Oh yes, we had a lovely family dinner. Just the four of us—myself, Mi-Jung, So-Young, and Min-Jun. He's such a charming young man. Cultured, educated, successful. Everything a father could want for his daughter."
"Where was I?" Tae-Hyeon asked, though he already knew the answer would destroy him.
"We didn't think to invite you," Mr. Park said with casual cruelty. "What could you possibly contribute to a conversation about international business deals? You would have been uncomfortable, out of your depth."
The dismissal was complete and devastating. They had erased him from his own family, treating him like a stranger in his wife's life.
"Now," Mr. Park continued, returning to his documents, "about this loan you're requesting. The answer is no. Not just no—absolutely not. I will not throw good money after bad, and I will not enable your delusions of adequacy any longer."
Tae-Hyeon felt the ground shifting beneath his feet. "Sir, please—"
"Please?" Mr. Park looked up sharply. "Please what? Please continue to embarrass my family? Please continue to drag my daughter's reputation through the mud? Please continue to remind everyone who looks at you exactly how far the Park name has fallen?"
Each word was a knife, precisely placed for maximum damage. Tae-Hyeon had endured years of subtle humiliation, but this was different. This was a formal execution.
"I think," Mr. Park said, his voice deadly quiet, "it's time you seriously considered what's best for everyone involved. Including yourself."
The implication hung in the air like poison gas. Divorce. They wanted him gone, permanently and completely.
"I won't abandon my marriage," Tae-Hyeon said, surprised by the strength in his own voice. "I won't abandon So-Young."
"Won't you?" Mr. Park smiled, but it was the smile of a predator. "We'll see about that."
Tae-Hyeon left the mansion in a daze, Mr. Park's words echoing in his head. The rain had stopped, but the gray clouds remained, pressing down on the city like a heavy blanket. He walked aimlessly through the streets, trying to process what had just happened.
They wanted him gone. Not just discouraged or humiliated—actively removed from the family. But why the sudden urgency? What had changed?
The answer came to him as he passed a newsstand displaying the business section of the morning paper. There, on the front page, was a photograph of So-Young and Min-Jun shaking hands outside the Lee Industries building. The headline read: "Park-Lee Merger Creates New Business Dynasty."
Tae-Hyeon bought the paper with the last of his pocket change and read the article with growing horror. The merger wasn't just about business—it was about creating a new power structure in Seoul's elite circles. And marriages, the article hinted, often followed business alliances in such arrangements.
His hands shook as he read quotes from both families, talking about "natural partnerships" and "aligned interests." There was even a quote from So-Young herself: "Sometimes the most important decisions require us to think beyond personal feelings and consider what's best for everyone involved."
The same words her father had used just hours ago.
Tae-Hyeon crumpled the newspaper and threw it in a trash can, but the damage was done. The picture was clear now—he wasn't just an embarrassment to be endured. He was an obstacle to be removed.
His phone—the broken one—had received several messages before it died. Now he wondered if any of them had been from So-Young, explaining or apologizing or at least acknowledging what was happening. But he would never know, because he couldn't afford to fix it.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He was being discarded by people who spent more on a single dinner than he made in a month, and he couldn't even afford to maintain the basic communication tools to fight back.
As evening approached, Tae-Hyeon found himself standing outside the mansion again, but this time he didn't go to the front door. Instead, he walked around to the back, where the kitchen staff entrance allowed him to slip inside unnoticed. He needed to talk to So-Young, to hear from her own lips what was happening to their marriage.
The mansion was unusually quiet as he made his way through the service corridors toward the main house. No staff in sight, no sounds of dinner preparation or family conversation. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath.
He climbed the back stairs to the second floor, where he and So-Young maintained separate bedrooms—another concession to her family's wishes. His heart pounded as he approached her door, rehearsing what he would say, how he would fight for their relationship.
But as he reached for the door handle, he heard something that stopped him cold.
Laughter. So-Young's laughter, but not the polite, controlled sound she made in public. This was genuine, unguarded, happy in a way he hadn't heard in years.
And then a man's voice, low and intimate: "You're beautiful when you smile like that."
Tae-Hyeon's hand froze on the door handle. The voice was familiar—Min-Jun's cultured tones, the same voice that had charmed investors and business partners across three continents.
"Min-Jun, we shouldn't..." So-Young's voice was breathless, but not with protest. With anticipation.
"Shouldn't what?" Min-Jun replied. "Shouldn't admit what we both know is true? That we belong together? That this merger isn't just about business?"
Tae-Hyeon's world began to crumble around him. Through the crack under the door, he could see shadows moving, two figures drawing closer together.
"What about Tae-Hyeon?" So-Young asked, but her tone suggested it was a formality rather than genuine concern.
"What about him?" Min-Jun's voice carried casual dismissal. "He's nobody, So-Young. A convenience store clerk playing dress-up in a world he'll never understand. You deserve a real man, someone who can give you the life you were born to live."
There was a long moment of silence, and then So-Young spoke again, her voice stronger now, more decisive.
"You're right," she said. "I've wasted three years on a fantasy. It's time to face reality."
Tae-Hyeon heard the sound of fabric rustling, quiet conversation he couldn't make out, and then something that destroyed what remained of his heart: the unmistakable sound of two people falling onto a bed, lost in passion that had nothing to do with duty or merger negotiations.
He stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, listening to the death of his marriage through a wooden door. When he finally found the strength to move, his legs were numb and his vision was blurred with unshed tears.
Somehow, he made it back down the stairs and out of the mansion without being seen. The night air felt arctic against his skin, or maybe the cold was coming from inside him, spreading outward from his shattered heart.
As he walked home through empty streets, Tae-Hyeon realized that this was more than just betrayal. This was erasure. They weren't just ending his marriage—they were rewriting history, making it as if he had never existed at all.
But he had existed. He had loved genuinely and fought desperately and hoped foolishly. That had to count for something.
Didn't it?