The next week dawned grey and damp. Mrs. Jeon’s suitcase scraped across the porch tiles—a sharp, grating sound. Tae watched from her window, hidden behind sheer curtains. Mrs. Jeon climbed stiffly into a waiting taxi. Mr. Jeon stood on the porch, waving stiffly. The taxi pulled away.

Tae saw him turn, his gaze locking instantly onto her window. His slow smirk carved across his face sent a thrilling jolt through her belly. She let the curtain fall back, a predatory smile spreading on her own lips. Her week.