Vengeful Desires

7-

A percussive symphony of stilettos sounded out their mournful cadence as Mi-Ok swept into the room, her fingertips instinctively untangling a wayward tendril of raven hair from the delicate chain of her necklace.

The Wang family's august sitting room exuded an air of hushed veneration and solemnity - a sanctum of grief where time itself seemed to have been suspended in reverent stillness.

At its center, a meticulously curated altar was adorned with radiant portraits of the dearly departed Dami, surrounded by artful floral arrangements, flickering votive candles, and precisely placed offerings of seasonal fruit and ceremonial rice cakes.

Mi-Ok's steps slowed as she drank in the somber tableau, her glacial gaze sweeping across the intimate scene.

Freed from the stray lock of hair, her fingers stilled as she moved to stand before the altar, a statue of porcelain and silk amid the flickering funerary rites.

The only sounds to pierce the weighted silence were the occasional soft crackle of the candle flames, their gentle, flickering dance casting shifting shadows across Mi-Ok's pensive features.

Reaching out, she trailed the tips of her fingers along the edge of one of the framed photographs, her touch featherlight, almost reverent. A flicker of emotion passed through her eyes, gone as quickly as it had appeared, before she slowly withdrew her hand and stepped back.

Madame Wang moved about the space with purposeful, almost ritualistic motions - positioning each piece with the utmost precision and care.

Silver wisps of incense smoke curled lazily through the air, permeating the sanctum with their earthy, evocative scent.

In contrast, Mi-ok soon lounged sideways across one of the dove gray chaises, seeming almost indecently casual amidst the solemn ambiance. One slippered foot swung back and forth in an unconscious rhythm as she flipped idly through her phone with her free hand.

"She's married, you know?" she commented offhandedly, not looking up from the screen. "To that ludicrously wealthy businessman Mr.Jeong."

When her comment garnered no reaction from her mother, Mi-ok huffed out a sigh and set her phone facedown on her abdomen. "Eomma, did you even hear what I said? About Soo-jin? The woman who claims to be your son's girlfriend is shamelessly attached to another man's household."

This time, Madame Wang paused fractionally in her preparations of the altar's offerings. But she didn't turn or deign to acknowledge her daughter's rebukes any further, simply returning to fussing over the arrangement of grapes and persimmons.

Mi-Ok's eyes narrowed as she regarded her mother's stoic profile. Then, almost experimentally, she cocked her head and let her next words fall with pointed nonchalance.

"Seriously, eomma. Have I been adopted, and nobody saw fit to inform me? You certainly don't seem the least bit interested in a shocking development—"

Madame Wang cut her off, her voice level. "—like your sister-in-law cheating years ago, publicly, and abandoning our family completely after taking away my grandson. But you worry about Soo-Jin? It took a lot of payment to even remove those articles for your brother's sake."

This time, there was no mistaking the hitch in Madame Wang's movements, the way her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. She methodically finished positioning the final bowl of rice cakes before turning to face her daughter fully. Her expression remained an implacable mask of serenity, mouth set in a flat line.

Mi-ok shifted slightly on the chaise, adjusting her posture as a frown etched itself between her delicately arched brows. "I'm not speaking of Amirah unnie," she began slowly, carefully enunciating each word as if navigating a minefield. " Stop using her to justify your hatred."