Chapter Eighty-One: The Sentry of Sarcasm
The victory glow from the conference lasted exactly two days.
It evaporated the moment Taehyun walked into the library, his face stripped of all warmth, replaced by that cold, distant look he wore when something was wrong. The look that made men in boardrooms lose sleep.
I lowered the research volume I'd been pretending to read. "What happened?"
"There's a rival group. The Lee Consortium." He didn't sit. He stood by the window, a dark shape against the afternoon light. "They see our marriage as a weakness. Something they can exploit."
I set the book down slowly. "Exploit how?"
"They think you're leverage. A way to get to me." His jaw tightened. "You won't leave this property without protection. Not anymore."
I stood up, my heart starting to pound. "What kind of protection? More of your silent men who follow me like ghosts?"
"No." Something flickered in his eyes. "Someone better. Someone I trust completely. He'll be with you everywhere."
"A shadow." The word tasted bitter. "I just stood on that stage and won something for myself. I'm not going back to being watched every second—"
"He starts tomorrow." His voice was final. He wasn't asking.
---
The next morning, I stood in the foyer with my arms crossed, glaring at the front door. Sara sat on the stairs, eating an apple, watching me with barely hidden amusement.
"He'll probably be some huge, silent guy," I muttered. "No personality. Just muscle and frowns."
The door opened.
The man who walked in was not what I expected.
He was tall, lean, dressed in a simple black suit that looked expensive but made for movement. His hair was dark grey, cut short and neat. His face was all sharp angles, his eyes a pale, cold grey that seemed to see everything without caring about any of it. He moved like someone who had never wasted a single movement in his life.
He was, honestly, terrifying.
Then he looked at Taehyun, who was coming down the stairs, and spoke.
"Kim. You look like you haven't slept. Did your wife finally use that award as a weapon?"
Taehyun actually rolled his eyes. "Victor. You're late."
"Traffic. Your brother Jinwoo was doing something illegal in that pink car of his. I thought about running him off the road."
From the kitchen, Jinwoo's voice rang out. "You wish you had my style, you human calculator!"
Victor didn't even glance toward him. "Style is inefficient. So is your credit score, apparently."
My jaw dropped. I looked at Taehyun, who was smirking now, then at this ice-cold man who had just insulted both brothers without changing expression.
Sara leaned over the railing. "Oh my god. He's perfect."
Victor's grey eyes found me. He gave a short nod, like he was acknowledging a piece of furniture. "Mrs. Kim. I'm Victor. I'll be protecting you. Try to run, and I'll catch you. Try to do something stupid, and I'll tell your husband. My job is to keep you alive. Your comfort is not my priority."
I sputtered. "My comfort isn't your priority?"
"Usually not," he said flatly. "Emotions complicate security. I don't do emotions."
I turned to Taehyun. "You hired a robot! A rude robot!"
Taehyun shrugged, and for a second, he almost looked happy. "He's the best. And he doesn't care if you glare at him. I've seen him ignore a man with a gun."
Victor nodded slightly. "The gun was cheap. The man was nervous. Not a real threat."
I threw my hands up. "I can't deal with this. He's going to follow me everywhere!"
"If the bathroom has a window bigger than my hand, yes," Victor said. "Standard security."
Junho walked in from the garden and immediately groaned. "Oh great. The ice machine is here. Did you bring your own cold air?"
Victor turned to him. "Junho. Your security passwords are all terrible. I fixed them. You're welcome."
Junho's face went red. "You hacked me?"
"It wasn't hacking. It was walking through a door you left wide open."
Minho appeared with his coffee, murmuring, "He's not wrong."
I stood in the middle of my own foyer, my planned rebellion dying before it could start. How do you fight someone who makes Taehyun look soft?
---
The first few days were exhausting.
I went to the university library. Victor was two steps behind me, silent as a ghost. When a student tripped and spilled his drink near me, Victor just moved, putting himself between the liquid and me. The drink hit his sleeve instead.
He looked at the frozen student. "Your coordination is terrible. Drink less coffee."
At lunch with Sara, he stood by the wall, not eating, not talking. Sara tried to talk to him.
"So… Victor. Do you ever relax? Have fun? Laugh?"
He looked at her with those cold grey eyes. "My fun is keeping people alive. Your phone has three tracking apps from bad dating sites. I removed them."
Sara stared at him, then at her phone, then back at him. "That's… actually kind of hot."
"I'm not hot. I'm thorough."
I tried to lose him in the greenhouse later. Weaved through plants, ducked behind trees. When I finally stopped, thinking I'd succeeded, I turned a corner and he was there, examining a flower.
"That door you thought was locked?" he said without looking at me. "It opens with your husband's fingerprint. And mine."
I slumped onto a bench. "Don't you ever just… stop?"
He finally looked at me. His eyes were still cold, but there was something else there. Not warmth, but something like patience. "Stopping is for people who aren't guarding something valuable. You are valuable. I don't stop."
---
The real trouble came on a Thursday night.
I was in the kitchen, late, eating ice cream straight from the container because I was stressed and hormonal and didn't care about appearances. Victor was in the doorway, a shadow in the dark.
"Ice cream is not a balanced meal," he observed.
"It's not a meal. It's therapy."
He was quiet for a moment. "The chocolate fudge has less sugar than the cookie dough. Statistically better for you."
I stared at him. "Did you just… research my ice cream?"
"I research everything that enters this house. Including your emotional state."
I put the spoon down. "My emotional state?"
"You're angry at your husband. About the diary." His voice was flat, clinical. "You think he loves words more than he loves you."
The spoon clattered. "That's none of your business."
"It is my business when your distraction makes you less aware of your surroundings." He moved closer, just a step. "But for what it's worth… he doesn't love that diary. He loves who wrote it. And he's terrified of losing her again."
I looked up at him, my heart suddenly loud in my ears. "How do you know that?"
He didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something I couldn't hear. His whole body went still, tense.
Then the back door shattered.
---
Everything happened too fast.
Glass exploded inward. Hands grabbed me from behind—not Victor's hands, too rough, too eager. I screamed, struggled, but arms locked around my waist, yanking me backward toward the broken door.
Victor moved.
I didn't see him draw it, but suddenly there was a gun in his hand, steady as stone. "Let her go."
The man holding me laughed, a wet, ugly sound. "The boss wants a chat with the wife. Tell Kim she's—"
The gunshot was deafening in the small kitchen.
The man's grip went slack. He crumpled, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. I stumbled forward, gasping, and Victor caught me with one arm, his body already turning, scanning for more threats.
"Window," I choked out. "There's another one at the—"
The second man came through the side door, a knife glinting in his hand. Victor fired again, and the man fell, not dead but clutching his leg, screaming.
Then the room was full of people. Taehyun's men, pouring in from every entrance, guns raised. Jinwoo was there, pulling me away from the chaos. Junho grabbed Victor's shoulder, checking him for wounds.
And then Taehyun was there.
He pushed through his own men like they were nothing, his face white, his eyes wild. He grabbed my arms, searching my face, my neck, my arms, looking for blood that wasn't there.
"You're okay," he breathed. "You're okay."
"I'm fine. Victor—"
"I know." His hands were shaking. Kim Taehyun, who never shook at anything, was trembling. "I heard the glass. I was in the study and I heard—"
"Taehyun." I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me. "I'm okay. I'm right here."
He pulled me against him, so hard I couldn't breathe. His face buried in my hair, his arms locked around me like he was trying to fuse us together. Around us, men were cleaning up the mess, voices rising and falling, but I couldn't hear any of it. Just his heart, slamming against my ear.
"I can't lose you," he whispered. "I can't. Not again."
---
Later, when the house was quiet and the broken glass was gone and Taehyun had finally stopped shaking, I found Victor in the hallway.
He was leaning against the wall, his suit jacket gone, his sleeves rolled up. There was a bandage on his forearm—glass cut, nothing serious—and he looked, for the first time, tired.
"You saved my life," I said.
His eyebrow rose a fraction. "Because it's my job."
"That's not why."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, "Because you make him human. Kim Taehyun has been a machine for years. Efficient. Controlled. Cold. But with you, he feels. He laughs. He cares. And I…" He paused, something flickering in those cool grey eyes. "I owe him my life. Three times over. If protecting you means protecting that part of him, then I will do it. For as long as I'm able."
I didn't know what to say. So I did something I never thought I'd do.
I hugged him.
He went rigid, his arms hanging at his sides, his entire body tensing like I'd just triggered a security alarm. "Mrs. Kim. Physical contact is not necessary for—"
"Shut up," I said into his shoulder. "Just let me say thank you."
He was still for a long moment. Then, slowly, carefully, his hand came up to pat my shoulder, exactly once, like I was a slightly confusing piece of equipment that had performed unexpectedly well.
"You're welcome," he said stiffly. "Now please release me. This is statistically the most uncomfortable situation I have encountered in six months."
I laughed, pulling back. "You're impossible."
"Your husband says the same thing. Often." He straightened his suit jacket, regaining his composure. "If you're finished with the emotional display, I have perimeter sweeps to conduct. The Lee Consortium will try again. They're predictable that way."
He walked to the door, then paused. "Mrs. Kim."
"Yes?"
He didn't turn. "The diary. The woman who wrote it. She was brave. But she was also alone. You are not. Don't waste energy being jealous of a ghost. Your husband already belongs to the living."
He left before I could respond, disappearing into the darkened hallway.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the door he'd vanished through. Then I picked up the diary, holding it gently, and placed it back on the shelf where it belonged.