"Stop it! Please, stop it!" Myung-Hwa''s voice cracked, her desperation trembling in the air. She backed against the wall, clutching her apron with trembling hands. Her eyes brimmed with fear and frustration. "I told you, I don''t have any money left! Why do you keep doing this? Don''t you have a conscience?"


    Before she could step away, a sharp slap exploded across her face. Her head snapped to the side, and her world spun as her cheek burned with the sting. She staggered, pressing her palm against her face as tears spilled uncontrollably. The suffocating presence of her husband, Cheon Kwang-Seok, loomed over her, thick with violence and malice.


    Though he worked as a driver for the Han family, every cent he earned—and even the money Myung-Hwa made as a housekeeper—vanished into the dark, greedy clutches of the casino. He only came home after he had gambled away every last coin, always looking for more. The house, their supposed refuge, had become a wasteland of missing appliances and torn belongings—his chaos, their misery.


    "Hand over the money!" Kwang-Seok''s voice dripped venom as he towered over her, his hand still raised, ready to strike again. Myung-Hwa, crumpled on the floor, hugged herself, her body shaking as sobs wracked through her.


    "I don''t have anything left!" she cried, her voice thin, breaking under the weight of fear. Her cheek throbbed painfully, but the ache in her heart was worse. She glanced up at him, her tear-streaked face a portrait of broken defiance.


    "Where''s Youn?" he demanded, his words laced with greed. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing like a predator circling his prey. "Didn''t he get money from the Chairman last month? Where is it?"


    "Even our son''s money... you''d steal that too?" The thought tore at her, igniting a surge of anger in her chest. "You can''t! Not Youn''s money!" she gasped, her voice raw with emotion. But her defiance only fueled Kwang-Seok''s rage.


    "I don''t care! Give me the money, or you''ll regret it!" he bellowed, grabbing her roughly by the arm and yanking her to her feet. His fingers dug into her skin, and she winced in pain, tears cascading freely now. His grip was a suffocating reminder that there was no escape.


    She tried to resist, to plead for some mercy. "This isn''t right! You can''t keep doing this to us!" Her words tumbled out, desperate and hollow, her voice shaking as she met his gaze. She saw no remorse, only cold, ruthless greed staring back at her.


    Kwang-Seok sneered, his face twisting with ugly satisfaction. "I can do whatever I want," he growled, shoving her back down as if she were nothing. The walls of the house seemed to close in around them, echoing his threats and curses. The air was thick with despair.


    At that moment, twelve-year-old Youn-Jae stood frozen in the doorway, his small frame trembling. He had just returned from school, only to find his mother collapsed on the floor, her face swollen from the blow. The sight of her—broken, crying, helpless—was a knife to his chest.


    His hands balled into tight fists, and anger surged within him like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, he rushed to her side, his heart pounding. Kneeling down, he pulled his school bag off his back and dug through it, his fingers shaking. Finally, he pulled out a small bundle of cash—the scholarship money he had received from the Han Group''s charity, Hope of Tomorrow.


    Youn-Jae threw the money at his father''s feet, his voice cracking with fury. "Take it! Take the money and leave us alone!" His words rang through the small room, his voice trembling but filled with fierce determination.


    Kwang-Seok''s eyes narrowed at his son''s audacity. "Who taught you to speak to your father that way?" he roared, raising his hand to strike Youn-Jae just as he had done to his mother.


    Youn-Jae flinched but stood his ground, glaring up at the man who should have protected them but had become their tormentor. "Isn''t this what you wanted?" he spat, his voice shaking with the force of his anger. "You have the money now. Get out!" His chest heaved with each word, but his gaze never wavered.


    Kwang-Seok hesitated, taken aback by his son''s defiance, but the greed in his heart quickly overpowered his surprise. He snatched the money from the floor, stuffing it greedily into his pocket. "If you had given this to me earlier, none of this would''ve happened," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. He shot a cold, disdainful look at Myung-Hwa, who was still weeping on the floor. "You bring this on yourselves."


    The door slammed behind him as he stormed out of the house, leaving a suffocating silence in his wake.


    Myung-Hwa watched him go, her heart heavy with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. She wiped her tears with trembling hands, glancing up at her son, who stood over her like a tiny protector, his eyes blazing with anger far too mature for his young age. "Youn, you shouldn''t have done that," she whispered, her voice barely audible as the weight of their situation bore down on her. "Why did you give him your money? That was for your school."


    Youn-Jae knelt beside her, forcing a small, fragile smile. "It''s okay, Mother," he said softly, trying to mask the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "I''ll get more next month."


    Tears welled up again in Myung-Hwa''s eyes, and she pulled him into her arms, cradling his head against her shoulder. "Oh, my sweet boy," she murmured, stroking his hair gently. "I''m so sorry... I''m so sorry you have to live like this."


    Youn-Jae pulled back, a spark of hope lighting his eyes despite the dark reality they faced. "Why don''t we just run away, Mother? We don''t have to stay here."


    Myung-Hwa looked at her son, her heart breaking at his innocence. She bit her lip, her gaze falling to the broken remnants of their home. "Where would we go?" she whispered, her voice thick with resignation. "We don''t have enough money to start over. We''d be on the streets."


    Youn-Jae hesitated, his young mind racing for a solution. "Should I ask the Chairman to help us? He likes me... he''d understand."


    A soft, sad smile tugged at Myung-Hwa''s lips as she shook her head. "No, my boy," she said, cupping his cheeks gently. "We can''t drag him into this. This is our burden to bear."


    She sighed, wiping away the last of her tears. "Let''s clean up this mess, and we''ll figure it out. Somehow."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Youn-Jae nodded, his jaw tight as he helped his mother to her feet. Together, they began to tidy the remnants of their shattered home, the weight of their struggles pressing down on them. Myung-Hwa watched her son, pride and sorrow mingling in her heart. He was too young to bear such burdens, but he did—because he had no choice.


    ***


    The pale morning sun barely warmed the small house, casting a soft, melancholy light through the thin curtains. Despite the chaos that had erupted the day before, the house had been meticulously cleaned, but the silence between its walls was thick with tension. It felt like they were all holding their breath, waiting for the next inevitable storm—Cheon Kwang-Seok''s return.


    Myung-Hwa stood by the door, her hand absently adjusting the strap of her worn bag, her shoulders hunched slightly as if carrying an invisible weight. Her face was calm, but her eyes were distant, lost in thoughts she didn''t dare voice. She inhaled deeply before calling out in a soft, almost weary voice.


    "Youn, are you ready to leave? Let''s go together."


    From the small adjoining room, Youn-Jae appeared, still fumbling with the buttons of his too-big school uniform, his hair a bit disheveled. He stopped midway through the room when he saw her. His gaze lingered on her black dress, a sharp contrast to the quiet morning.


    "Mother," he asked, his brow knitting in concern, "why are you wearing black? Did someone die?"


    Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile, her hand trembling as she smoothed the fabric of her dress. "Yes, Youn. A friend of mine..." She paused, her throat tightening as if the weight of the truth was too heavy. "She passed away from cancer. She fought for a long time."


    Her voice was steady, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears that she quickly blinked away. Her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "When you get back from school today, don''t wait for me. Eat dinner and go to bed, alright?"


    Youn-Jae nodded, but his eyes didn''t leave her face. "Are you staying late?" he asked cautiously.


    "Probably, yes," she replied, her voice softer now, as if admitting it aloud made it more real. "She was my closest friend when we were children... I need to be with her... for the last time."


    Her words hung between them, fragile and laced with sadness. Youn-Jae felt his heart tighten as he watched his mother. "I understand, Mother," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to say more, to offer comfort, but he felt a lump in his throat that made it hard to speak.


    Just then, Myung-Hwa''s expression shifted, her calm exterior faltering for a moment. She knelt down, bringing herself to his eye level, and placed her hands gently but firmly on his small shoulders. Her grip was tender, but there was urgency in the way her fingers dug into his uniform.


    "Youn," she began quietly, her voice low, almost a whisper, "if your father comes back while I''m gone... don''t stay here." Her eyes searched his face, making sure he understood the weight of her words. "Run to the orphanage. Tell the sisters I asked you to stay there. They''ll know what to do."


    Youn-Jae blinked, his chest tightening with a mix of fear and confusion. "But, Mother—" he began, his voice cracking.


    "No." Her interruption was firm, her hands tightening slightly on his shoulders. She looked him directly in the eyes, her voice now trembling slightly as she spoke. "No arguing, Youn. Do not give him any money. Don''t try to stop him. Don''t fight back. Just go, okay?"


    His throat burned, and he clenched his fists at his sides to stop himself from shaking. "Okay, Mother. I promise," he whispered, his voice barely steady.


    For a moment, Myung-Hwa''s stern expression softened, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her worry. She pulled him into a tight embrace, burying her face into his hair as she held him close, her hand gently stroking the back of his head. "My brave boy," she murmured, her voice trembling now, her tears finally breaking through. "You''re so brave."


    Youn-Jae pressed his face against her shoulder, biting his lip to hold back his own tears. He wished he could tell her everything would be okay—that they didn''t have to live like this anymore. But all he could do was hold onto her, as if by holding on, he could keep her safe just a little longer.


    And for a moment, the small house was quiet again, filled only with the soft sound of their breathing and the fragile hope that this time, the storm might pass them by.


    ***


    The dimly lit casino pulsed with a chaotic energy, a cacophony of clinking coins, spinning roulette wheels, and murmured curses mixing with the sharp, artificial glow of neon lights. The smell of smoke clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as a haze settled over the sea of slot machines and card tables. Amidst the crowd of desperate faces, Cheon Kwang-Seok sat hunched at a poker table, his bloodshot eyes glued to the cards in his trembling hands.


    Sweat rolled down his temple, his hand shaking as it hovered over his dwindling pile of chips. He licked his dry lips, his breath shallow and uneven, as the weight of each gamble bore down on him like an anvil. His heart pounded in his chest, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the table—an unconscious plea for the cards to fall in his favor. The dealer''s expression remained impassive, but Kwang-Seok could feel the disdainful eyes of the other players, their judgment heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of cheap cologne and stale regret.


    His hand tightened around his final few chips. The room seemed to close in on him as he threw them into the pot with a shaky gesture. His eyes darted from the dealer''s hands to the cards as they flipped, revealing his fate. He held his breath, the silence stretching unbearably thin, each second dragging like an eternity.


    When the last card turned against him, Kwang-Seok''s world collapsed inward. A sickening wave of dread washed over him, the finality of his loss like a physical blow. His face twisted in frustration, and in one swift motion, he slammed his fist onto the table. The sound echoed, chips rattling and clattering in all directions. The other players recoiled slightly, throwing him a mix of annoyed and pitying glances, but Kwang-Seok didn''t care.


    His chair scraped loudly as he stood, the harsh sound cutting through the clamor of the casino. His pulse roared in his ears, his thoughts spinning out of control. Money. He needed it, and fast. And he knew where to get it, even if it meant sinking further into the depths of his desperation. His chest heaved as he stormed out of the casino, his steps quick and angry, his mind racing ahead to what he had to do next.


    Outside, the cool night air hit him like a slap, but it did little to quell the fire of anxiety burning inside him. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, his hand still trembling as he lit it. The first drag was long and slow, filling his lungs with smoke, momentarily calming the chaos inside his head. His gaze drifted toward the neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement, but before he could lose himself in the quiet, his phone buzzed in his pocket.


    He glanced at the screen. The name made his stomach twist in both dread and obligation.


    "Hello?" His voice was low, clipped.


    "The Chairman needs you. Come immediately. There are tasks waiting," came the cold voice on the other end, devoid of pleasantries.


    Kwang-Seok''s jaw tightened, his grip on the phone so tight his knuckles turned white. He flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the street, watching as the glowing ember fizzled out in the darkness. His mind was already elsewhere, calculating. Without another word, he ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket, his lips set in a grim line. His night at the casino was over, but the real game was just beginning.


    He walked with purpose, his footsteps echoing down the street as he headed toward the mansion. The flicker of neon behind him was replaced with something colder, sharper—the weight of responsibility, of the dangerous life he led as the Chairman''s man. He wasn''t just a driver. That was only the surface. Beneath it, he was the one trusted for the jobs that required secrecy, violence, and loyalty. For ten years, he''d carried out the tasks that no one else would touch, earning the Chairman''s trust. And though the risks were great, Kwang-Seok never faltered. The stakes were always higher, and the reward—power, influence, survival—always pulled him deeper into the web of the Chairman''s world.


    The story doesn''t end here......