Silence gripped the lakehouse while Tae cooked. Raw vegetables sizzled angrily in hot oil. Chairman Jeon prowled the open living space, shirtless, periodically stopping behind Tae to grope a breast roughly or slap her ass sharply. "Faster," he barked, leaving finger-shaped bruises blooming on her hips. Tae jumped each time, flinching but never protesting.

Derek sat rigidly on the plush couch nursing whiskey, jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth. He watched Tae’s body sway as she stirred the pan, the thin apron doing little to hide the slick trails crusting on her inner thighs – trails his father left. Her cheeks flushed crimson under the harsh kitchen light. She ignored Derek entirely.