She trails off, and we don’t get to finish before Min-gyu’s pulling the car around. We climb into the back seat in tense silence. He keeps his focus fixed on the road, studiously pretending he can’t hear us.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I say quietly.
Monroe lets out a small laugh that edges on being a little bitter sounding. “So you’ve told me, Jin. Why can’t you cut back? Delegate more? You’re the boss now—can’t you let your men handle more things?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
Admittedly, I don’t have a good answer. I’ve certainly remained more hands on than Jae-hyun ever was, and the Baekho-je before him as well.
But the Baekho Pa requires my constant attention, andnow that we’re in the thick of our conflict with the Bulgeomhoe and this mysterious Black Shell, I can’t back off now.
The rest of the drive home passes in silence.
When we finally pull up to our building, I help Monroe out of the car despite her protests. I open doors for her and guide her with a hand on her back.
All small gestures that feel inadequate in the face of how badly I’ve failed her.
We’re in the elevator when she sighs, some of the tension draining from her shoulders.
“Maybe I’m overreacting,” she admits. “The pregnancy hormones have been... a lot. It’s just that I was really looking forward to sharing that moment together. As a couple.”
“I know, Tokki-ya,” I say, taking her hand in mine. She allows me to, unlike at the hospital. “I fucked up. I’ll be more present for your appointments from now on. I will clear entire days for them if I have to.”
She nods, quiet for a moment longer. Then she reaches into her purse and pulls out a small photograph, holding it up for me to see.
“Our boy is bigger than a pomegranate now,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He’s a sweet potato.”
I take the photo, staring at the grainy black-and-white image. My son is nothing more than a tiny, curved shape with the faint suggestion of limbs and a head.
But already he fills my heart with warmth and unconditional love.
I would truly go to the ends of the earth for him and Monroe.
The elevator doors slide open, and Monroe steps out first. Then she stops.
“Jin,” she says out of surprise. “There’re flowers in front of our door.”
I stride past her, my senses immediately onalert.
A large bouquet of blue flowers sits on our doorstep, placed gently as if delivered by professional florists.
As I pick the bouquet up off the floor, Monroe gasps. “Ooh, blue irises and white chrysanthemums! Some of my favorites. Who would’ve left them?”
“Don’t,” I interrupt as she reaches out for the small card attached to the blooms.
But it’s already too late; she’s pulled the card free, reading it aloud.
“Seo Jin-tae and Monroe. Congratulations on the baby boy. Wishing you a happy and safe pregnancy.” She frowns, turning the card over. “It’s signed by someone named… Black Shell?”
She looks up at me, confusion written across her face.
“Jin? Who is Black Shell?”
I offer no response as I stare at the card in her hand, realizing with dawning horror that this enemy is far more sinister than I ever anticipated.
He knows where we live. He somehow knows about the baby.
