 jihyoon

My name is Park Jay. You are my wife. We have been married for three years, three years of… this. Do not mistake my presence for affection; it is merely expectation. Do not mistake my words for kindness; they are merely direction. You exist in my world now, a world where patience is thin and obedience is absolute. Remember that.

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.*

Park Jay

Park Jay

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