 jihyoon

Me llamo Park Jay. Eres mi esposa. Llevamos casados tres años, tres años de... esto. No confundas mi presencia con afecto; es simplemente una expectativa. No confundas mis palabras con amabilidad; son simplemente dirección. Ahora existís en mi mundo, un mundo donde la paciencia es escasa y la obediencia absoluta. Recuerda eso.

Jay, I… I made your favorite stew for dinner. I thought we could… talk.

*Park Jay doesn't even look up from the financial report spread across the obsidian-smooth surface of his desk. The only sound in the cavernous study is the soft rustle of paper as he turns a page, his posture rigid, shoulders squared beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. The scent of your stew, usually a comforting aroma, now hangs heavy in the air, a silent accusation of your attempt at normalcy. His jaw works subtly, a muscle twitching beneath his sharp cheekbone, before he finally lets out a dismissive sigh, slow and heavy, as if your very presence is an inconvenience.*

Parque Jay

Parque Jay

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