Tae-moo sighed, almost petulantly. "Would it really hurt you to speak to me?"
Yes, it very much would, Ha-ri thinks, without bothering to hide her grimace from her expression. Obstinate silence and an ugly face are the only two acts of rebellion that are left to her.
It matters little that she is covered in pricey garments from head to toe, because even with clothes on, she feels pitifully bare beneath his unrelenting stare. He does not need to verbally point out how well he can read her various mannerisms, she already knows it from the many, many times he pointed out that he did not need her to talk to know what she is thinking. He is perfect in every sense, after all, and mind-reading is not far from his exceptional abilities.
Unfortunately, their relationship is far from a mutual understanding. There was a time she was able to interpret his body language without trouble. Those days have long passed, to the point she sometimes questions if they ever occurred at all.
Chairman Kang's death changed more than she could ever fathom.
Tae-moo sighs again, a quiet and exhausted sound. "I brought you some gifts."
He pauses for a response that never comes. Ha-ri cannot bring herself to look at him, much less willingly engage in friendly conversation with him. Too much has happened, and she cannot treat him as someone deserving of anything other than pure scorn. Not after all he has done.
He busies himself by setting various trinkets upon her wooden vanity, some brand name perfume, jewellery and crystal figurines. Excessive displays of status and wealth, as she certainly has no perspective to have a chance to hear them. As she ponders their use, however, it comes to her mind that everything in this space has been tainted by her husband in some regard. No detail too small is spared from her cynical judgment.
Take the bergère chairs, for instance. An initial viewing would lead one to the conclusion that it is innocent, merely a comfortable seat for her to dress herself as she dries her feet. That is, until she looks closer, and think in the same paranoid manner that he does. The legs of the chair have been firmly screwed to the wooden floor.
This riddle plagued her mind during her first days of her confinement to this house, but later became a morbid game of sorts. It is slightly amusing to ponder what sort of motivation he has behind every insanity he displays. For the chair, her current theory is that he was concerned she would try to break the window by throwing the chair at it, though she has no way of validating this notion.
There must be a story and reasoning behind each piece of furniture and decoration in this grandiose room. They are set with too much intent to be anything other than deliberate consideration.
"I've heard this book is popular these days, even if I don't see the appeal." He places said book down alongside the rest he has gotten her. He prefers that she spends her time reading, instead of watching TV or surfing the web. "And this perfume is your favourite, isn't it? I'll put it here."
The handsome man, instead of waiting for a response, contents himself with straightening out her various belongings with care. It makes for an unusual sight, a wealthy and successful business owner worrying over such inane, inconsequential things. Maybe it is a way to dispel the guilt by pampering her, maybe he is stressed and he is resorting to his old habits, maybe it is because he does not allow the housekeeper to climb up to the second floor.
Whatever the case, Ha-ri cannot manage even an ounce of sympathy. Her gaze falls to her lap when he looks her way once more.
"If there's anything else you'd like, let me know, and I'll see it done." He said, rather coldly.
Tae-moo comes to sit by his wife on the loveseat, thigh to thigh. She does not bother fending him off like she used to. His strength lingers in territories of uncanny, and, unless she can find a weapon, which is unlikely, she is bound to lose, even if he is holding back.
Bastard.
An idea she has been entertaining for a while comes to mind and she decide to give it a go. There is little to lose by this point and a lot to gain, and, hopefully, he will not consider her change in demeanour suspicious. She is not expecting to get very far, in any case.
"Tae-moo." The woman calls, her voice as gentle as a spring breeze. It was powerful, as it has the aforementioned male instantly stiffening at her unexpected attention. "There is one thing I want."
Their eyes meet. He is quick to recompose himself, face no longer betraying his emotions. Ha-ri can still tell he is excited at the prospect of her finally speaking to him again. That is just how it has always been, she realizes, even when they were pretending to date. The only thing that has changed is the intent behind his attentions as the years have gone by.
The man clear his throat, disguising his embarrassed hiccup. "And that is?"
When Tae-moo speaks, she can feel his warm breath against her face, and it is just now that she manages to realize how close the two of them are. This is undoubtedly catching him off guard.
To further her ploy, Ha-ri moves her face closer, her lips but a hair's width from his own. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, practically basking in the ethereal glow of her presence. She leans forward, giving him a considerate view of her chest, his eyes flickering down and back up again.
He is but a man. A weak, lonely man.
"It feels like a part of me is missing, and I'd do anything to have it back." Her words are from the bottom of her heart, further assisting her cause, as he furrows his eyebrows at the thought of her plight. She places a hand to the side of his face, lovingly caressing his thin cheek. "Please, Tae-moo, please let me go downstairs. I want to cook again."
His breath hitches and he frowns deeply. It was a longshot, she is keenly aware of that, but he is nothing if not eager to please. He loves being taken advantage of, he loves that twisted feeling of love and superiority when he manages to spin the narrative in a way that places him as an irreplaceable benefactor. In the past, this penchant of his had been used to her advantage, until it was no longer, but that does not mean it cannot be as it was once again.
Taking that into account, Ha-ri intends on whittling him down. He might refuse now, he might shut it down, but she has nothing but time. This will be the first of many such attempts. From how his shoulders slump ever so slightly, it is likely that she is already starting to get to him.
Good. Let him suffer as she has.
"I can't do that." He takes her hand into his, stopping she from her previous ministrations. For whatever reason, he does not let it go, instead holding it tighter, feverishly fearing some unnamed outcome. "You could get seriously hurt with the knives or the fire, you are out practice now. You could be spotted by the housekeeper, or some assailant."
"I've cooked before, Tae-moo. You know that." She points out, not being able of containing some of her deep frustration.
He clicked his tongue. "As I said, you're out of practice. Besides, you… You've been under my protection for far too long, whether you knew it or not."
The implications are not lost on Ha-ri. It was no mere coincidence that, as soon as she began dating Tae-moo, even while he was in the US, her life had been mysteriously taken care of by some unknown force. From bills getting being paid for, to gifts at her doorstep, or never once being harassed by the police. He is trying to tell her that, without him, none of that would have been possible.
A sigh leaves her lips at yet another unsuccessful attempt. She will have to refine her technique for next time.
"I know it hurts and I know you miss how things were, but now you're never at risk of being harmed. You can wake every day and allow me to take care of everything." He smiles placidly, as if telling her how much he loves her.
Tae-moo squeezes her hand before releasing his grip. Without wasting time, Ha-ri slinks back, no longer having a reason to stand being near him.
She gives him a lifeless, bitter smile. "As long as you think that way, I can never return your love."
The man closes his eyes shut. "I accepted that long ago."