Underpainting Chapter 11.11 - Side Story: Found Object (1)

Graham Place in Greenwich Village was a rather special building, even among the many luxury apartments lining New York City.

Located on a corner of a complex and irregular alley, like a spiderweb, the building was originally used as a hotel. Over time, it underwent several renovations and served as a combination of commercial spaces and residences.

However, the main structure and exterior maintained the elegant style from its late 19th-century construction. The ivy climbing the red brick walls, characteristic of Greenwich Village, and the stone steps leading to the arched entrance boasted an old-fashioned and tranquil atmosphere.

Thus, a few years ago, when Graham Place underwent a major interior renovation and was sold as ultra-luxury apartments, it mainly attracted eccentric and inflexible oddballs. Discerning individuals who believed in values like beauty, tradition, and unwavering beliefs as much as they valued convenience and efficiency.

“Good morning, Mr. Wightman. You weren’t drinking again last night, were you?”

Haley Wood, a woman with a refreshing appearance, brown hair, and green eyes, was the heiress of “Lumiere,” an art gallery boasting history and tradition. Few people valued beauty more than her.

Nevertheless, Haley couldn’t understand why these eccentrics, who could afford penthouses in Midtown Manhattan, chose to live in this century-old building. Therefore, catering to the scowling old man in front of her felt extremely tedious.

“It’s none of your business what I do.”

As expected, despite Haley’s cheerful greeting, Hugo Wightman, sitting at a table in the residents’ lounge, didn’t unfurrow his brow. At first glance, he was nothing more than a bad-tempered old man in simple clothes, reeking of rum from the night before.

However, he was one of the most famous residents in this apartment building, home to many prominent figures. A globally successful photorealistic painter and a professor at NYU. His paintings were the most expensive pieces traded in Haley’s gallery.

“None of my business? My mother would be upset if she heard you say that. And I’d be upset too.”

In the contemporary art world dominated by abstract and conceptual art, Professor Wightman, with his gruff personality, had many enemies from the beginning of his debut. Haley’s mother, a renowned art critic and gallery owner, played a significant role in his rise to fame.

She had long praised and supported Professor Wightman’s work, and even in the recent years when he stopped painting, she continued to champion him. She’d even instructed her daughter, who recently took over the gallery’s management, to somehow revive his spirit.

“You need to think about your health at your age.”

“Right. Miss Wood. I’m old now, my eyes and hands aren’t what they used to be. So there’s no use trying here. I’m just wasting time.”

Anger welled up inside her at his twisting her words of concern. His sensitive and demanding nature and insatiable perfectionism made Professor Wightman a top-tier artist, but at some point, it also dragged him down.

He hadn’t painted since he turned 60. Though it wasn’t uncommon for artists to reach their peak in their later years, he was a photorealistic painter. His style, which vividly reproduced every strand of hair, every small vein and thorn of a leaf on canvas, was inevitably constrained by physical limitations.

The moment Professor Wightman realized he could no longer create such detailed paintings with his aging eyes and hands, he put down his brush. Changing his style or reducing the density of his paintings was simply unacceptable to him.

“Oh, wasting time? I’m just visiting you out of concern, as a friend and a fan.”

Although she wanted to grab him by the collar and yell, “Stop whining, you grumpy old man!”, Haley gritted her teeth and endured it, remembering her mother’s request. Reviving Professor Wightman’s career was the path to her recognition as his successor.

“The weather’s lovely today, Mr. Wightman. Why don’t you go for a walk? The flowers are in full bloom at the High Line Park. Or if the High Line is too far, there’s Washington Square Park. If you go to the park…”

“If I go to Washington Square Park, I’ll just see those idiotic undergraduates smoking marijuana. Do I really need to see that?”

Oops. Mentioning anything related to NYU in front of him was a mistake. After ceasing his artistic activities, Professor Wightman tried to dedicate himself to teaching, which he had previously done halfheartedly, but he gave that up two years ago and went on a long sabbatical. Because of trouble with his students.

It was only natural that Professor Wightman wasn’t popular among the students. He had high aesthetic standards, routinely spouted harsh criticism, and demanded extremely accurate drawing skills from undergraduates.

Exhausted by the horrendous amount of drawing practice and assignments, students grumbled, “He wants to turn us all into photorealistic painters,” or “I don’t understand how simply copying objects can convey any idea to people.” Professor Wightman overheard their gossip.

Questioning the photorealistic style was something Professor Wightman had faced countless times since his days as an art student. Until now, he’d always been confident that he was far more skilled than anyone who challenged him, but now it was different. The attack, received in his current state of self-doubt, stung even more.

Moreover, he despaired at the fact that he couldn’t find a true disciple to carry on his will “among those stupid undergraduates.” He seemed to believe that his solitary style and will were gone forever.

“Mr. Wightman, please…”

Haley’s perfectly arched eyebrows drooped. She certainly felt compassion and pity for the old man in front of her. She loved his paintings as much as her mother did.

His paintings, which reproduced reality with an almost obsessive clarity, presented a straightforward and primal answer amidst the bold contemporary works that questioned, “Why isn’t this art?”

“Be quiet and leave me alone. Jeffrey and the others are coming later. I’m going to win today, so don’t bother me.”

However, at the same time, Hugo Wightman was undeniably a stubborn old man. As he pulled out his “Poker Skills for Winning” book, Haley’s anger flared up again.

“You’re playing poker with those old men again?”

“Old men? Well, yes. Who else would hang out with a dying old fool like me?”

Professor Wightman’s only recent passion was playing poker with his peers at the retirement club. They were retired fund managers, lawyers, and entrepreneurs who might have been socially successful, but in Haley’s eyes, they were unbearable white, old-fashioned, male chauvinists.

However, Professor Wightman seemed to find comfort in the fact that they had nothing to do with the art world, and he kept inviting them over, even though he consistently lost money.

“Don’t those men have anywhere else to go? Why do they keep coming to someone else’s apartment?”

“It’s not that, it’s that I don’t want to leave this building. And Violet wouldn’t like it if they all came crowding into my apartment.”

Violet was Professor Wightman’s shy and lovable cat. Hearing this, Haley almost retorted, “If Violet doesn’t like it, then there’s nothing you can do.”

“Besides, this is a common area. It’s not a place to play poker.”

“I can do whatever I want, wherever I want. There’s no one here anyway.”

The residents’ lounge, the pride of Graham Place, was a perfect resting place. In the beautifully decorated space with several tables, sofas, a curated library, and a game area, residents and guests could order drinks and snacks and request concierge service.

Appropriate events like charity bazaars, book clubs, and potluck parties were often held here, but on weekday afternoons without any events, the lounge was often empty. Taking advantage of this, the retirees were running their gambling den in this elegant space.

“No one here? There’s someone right there!”

Almost speechless, Haley quickly scanned the lounge and whispered, pointing to a corner. An Asian boy was sitting with his back turned in a chair by the large window facing the courtyard.

‘Wait, how long has he been there?’

Perhaps because he was small or had a quiet presence, she hadn’t noticed him at all, but for some reason, Haley felt like she had seen the boy in this lounge before.

The boy’s back had a strangely captivating quality, so much so that she wondered how she hadn’t noticed him earlier. His dark hair fell softly onto his pale ivory nape, and the silhouette of his loose-fitting shirt, which suited his skin tone well, looked neat and delicate.

“So what? He’s just some pampered international student.”

“Shh. Lower your voice, Mr. Wightman. Is he really an international student? He looks young.”

“He must be an international student, since he’s here sketching against the wall in broad daylight. Wasting his parents’ money, making a portfolio or whatever. I’ve seen plenty of his kind.”

Now that she looked, the boy seemed to be scribbling something. A few pencils were neatly lined up on the table next to him.

Haley became intrigued by the boy. Contrary to Professor Wightman’s naive misunderstanding, stemming from a life immersed only in art, this apartment building was far too expensive for a pampered international student to stay in while supposedly building a portfolio with their parents’ money.

Furthermore, it was strange that Mr. Wightman, who practically clocked in at this lounge every day, had noticed the boy’s presence before Haley. Mr. Wightman had a lifelong aversion to people, and an even stronger dislike for strangers.

‘It’s probably just doodles, but maybe he was bothered because the boy was sketching? Mr. Wightman must still have the desire to paint.’

Haley carefully observed the back of the boy’s round head before turning back to continue her argument with Professor Wightman. However, no matter how much she tried to dissuade him, the professor’s determination to hold his poker game here was firm. Finally, Haley had no choice but to say:

“Ugh, fine. Then I’ll join you today.”

“Join me? You mean play poker with us?”

“Yes. I know the rules, you know? Just a moment. I need some coffee. Would you like something, Mr. Wightman? My treat.”

“Oh, I…”

“No alcohol.”

“Then I’m fine.”

At the drunkard’s attempt to order alcohol first thing in the morning, Haley sighed in exasperation. As she turned towards the bar, she happened to notice the boy standing at the bar counter. It seemed he was returning his used glass to the bartender.

The moment their eyes met, Haley instinctively offered a polite nod. The boy returned a nonchalant, prim nod and left the lounge. His slightly awkward gait caught her eye, but that wasn’t important right now.

From his delicate features and refined demeanor to his cool aura, his appearance was flawless. The faint scent of omega, subtle enough for even Haley, a dominant alpha, to barely detect, was another intriguing factor.

“My, what a beautiful boy!”

Haley openly expressed her admiration to the bartender. It was less a serious attraction and more a lighthearted exclamation, like seeing a teen idol in person. The bartender naturally nodded in agreement.

“Right? He’s been quite the talk among the residents lately. Everyone was talking about him at the potluck party the other day.”

“He seemed to be drawing. Is he an art student? If he were an NYU student, Mr. Wightman would probably recognize him. SVA? Or maybe he’s preparing for entrance exams?”

“Well, he draws here for two or three hours every day, but if he were a student, he should be at school now. I don’t really know much about him…”

The bartender trailed off awkwardly, as if uncomfortable gossiping about a resident’s personal information. Realizing she had been a bit too inquisitive, Haley quickly softened her expression into a social smile.

“I see. Could I get a cappuccino, please? And for that grumpy old man over there, um… what’s good for a hangover?”

“Tomato juice would be good.”

“Perfect. One of those, too, please.”

After placing her order, she turned around to check on Professor Wightman and noticed a piece of paper on the floor. It seemed to be a drawing the boy had dropped. On a whim, she picked it up, and the moment she did, Haley felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Here’s your cappuccino and tomato juice. Uh… Haley? Is that one of Mr. Wightman’s sketches? It’s wonderful.”

Haley, who had been staring at the paper for a while, finally came to her senses at the bartender’s words. Although the bartender was no art expert, it wasn’t surprising that he mistook the boy’s sketch for a masterpiece.

On the relatively small piece of paper was a drawing of the garden view beyond the window the boy had been facing. Just like a photograph, the arrangement of flowers planted in the courtyard was transferred onto the paper.

It wasn’t just the flower arrangement that was accurate. From the perfectly balanced composition and incredibly dense details to the sense of depth achieved with minimal shading, even to Haley’s eyes, accustomed to countless sketches and studies by artists, the piece of paper was extraordinary.

‘He drew this on the spot? There are barely any signs of correction?’

Along with the surging admiration, Haley felt a sense of destiny. She had a feeling that this moment, like when her mother discovered Professor Wightman’s first exhibition, would become a pivotal scene in her life.

“Baby, are you home?”

The moment Dawon entered the house, Taehan’s voice echoed from the empty living room. Startled, Dawon’s eyes widened as he looked around.

“Taehan, where are you?”

“Bathroom. I was trying to finish showering before you got back… Just a moment.”

Now that he listened closely, the voice seemed to resonate slightly. The fact that Taehan could hear him come home even while showering showed how attentively he must have been listening.

Dawon crossed the spacious living room alone and headed to the kitchen. He took out lemonade and ice from the refrigerator and then exclaimed happily upon discovering the lasagna prepared in an oven dish.

“Wow, lasagna!”

“Mrs. Marsha brought it over. Do you want to eat it now?”

“Yes. Should I heat it up?”

“It’s heavy, just leave it, baby. I’ll be right out. How was your day? Were you drawing?”

“Yes. Today I drew… oh, it’s gone.”

Rummaging through his papers while drinking lemonade, Dawon sighed softly.

“I must have dropped it. It was a good one, too.”

“Oh dear. Should I call the lounge?”

“It’s okay. I’ll go back tomorrow or the day after. I have nothing to do since my tutor isn’t coming. Because of a certain someone.”

It had been a little over a month since they arrived in New York. When they first came here, Taehan had arranged for a tutor to teach Dawon English and basic academic subjects.

The first tutor, a man, was a bit too friendly, but he taught Dawon a lot. However, Taehan fired him shortly after. The reason was that he was “making unnecessary advances towards Dawon.”

Dawon, who had just started to enjoy studying, was annoyed by the interruption, but Taehan quickly found a new female tutor, so he patiently continued his studies with her. Unfortunately, she was also fired soon after, and Dawon finally snapped and asked:

“Taehan, what’s wrong this time?”

“She had a strange look in her eyes.”

“What? The tutor already knew that I’m married to you and pregnant.”

“That’s the problem. Knowing all that, why was she looking at someone else’s omega like that?”

Taehan wanted to find the best possible tutor for Dawon, and the tutors who met his standards, whether male or female, were mostly alpha-natured individuals.

Dawon’s pheromones, weakened by pregnancy, were barely noticeable unless someone actively tried to smell them, but Taehan seemed unable to bear the thought of a strange alpha coming to their home and smelling Dawon.

From Dawon’s perspective, it was completely incomprehensible. Who would desire him, a pregnant man? Moreover, while being so concerned about someone looking at him, why did Taehan…

“Baby, sorry to keep you waiting.”

As Taehan emerged from the bathroom and approached the kitchen, Dawon, who had been pouting to himself in annoyance, gasped.

He had apparently rushed to finish his shower, as his hair was slightly damp and he was wearing a bathrobe. The open robe revealed his broad chest, causing Dawon to almost spit out his lemonade.

“Gasp, cough, cough…”

“Oh? Baby, are you okay?”

Taehan rushed over to Dawon, who was now coughing from choking. He took the glass from Dawon’s hand with one hand and gently cupped Dawon’s cheek with the other to check on him, his movements both practiced and affectionate.

But Dawon felt a surge of irritation at Taehan’s attentiveness. He was annoyed by the way Taehan’s robe gaped open further as he fussed around, and how his damp, slicked-back hair made his features appear even sharper.

Taehan’s skin, moist from the shower, looked both firm and soft. His focused gaze sparkled with warmth, and the muscles in his arms twitched as if suppressing raw strength.

Blood rushed to Dawon’s head, and his face flushed crimson. He wished Taehan would let go, but Taehan continued to fuss, his hand still cupping Dawon’s flushed cheek.

“Your face is hot. Do you have a fever? Was the lounge too cold? Baby, should you lie down? Or would you like a warm drink instead of lemonade…?”

Dawon felt like he was going to lose it, overwhelmed by Taehan’s touch and the scent of him so close. Taehan had been this oblivious and clueless for quite a while now.

A week after arriving in New York, while they were still staying at a hotel as a temporary residence, the doctor who would be Dawon’s obstetrician came for a visit. He read the charts Dr. Park had given them and checked on Dawon and the baby’s condition.

“Both the baby and the mother are healthy. The baby is a little small for its gestational age, but it’s within the normal range for a male omega pregnancy. Do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

“Can we know that? Before the baby is born?”

Dawon looked down in surprise at his barely-there bump, then back at the doctor.

“Of course. It seems possible to confirm it now. But some parents prefer not to know until the birth. If you plan to have a gender reveal party, we can also arrange to share the information only with your close friends and family.”

This was all new to Dawon, who knew next to nothing about pregnancy and childbirth. Glancing at Taehan, he saw him looking equally surprised.

“Baby, what do you think?”

Even with Taehan’s question, Dawon couldn’t readily answer. He couldn’t decide whether it would be better to know in advance or if knowing would spoil the surprise.

“Could we have some time to think about it?”

“Certainly. Any other questions?”

“You said the baby is small, should I eat more?”

Dawon asked worriedly, even though he was already eating as much as he possibly could. The doctor smiled brightly and replied.

“It’s within the normal range, so you don’t need to worry. Just make sure you have a balanced diet. The most important thing is for the mother to be comfortable. Live as you normally would, and, oh, you can resume sexual relations now. As long as it’s not too strenuous.”

Despite his limited vocabulary, Dawon understood what “sexual relations” meant. His face flushed crimson at the sudden and blunt statement.

How could he say such a thing so casually? Dawon was so flustered that he even forgot about the issue of the baby’s sex. He stammered through the rest of the appointment, speechless, but his mind was abuzz with thoughts.

‘So, it wasn’t good to do it until now. That makes sense. Because there’s a baby in my belly. That’s why Taehan hasn’t done anything.’

Taehan had been taking care of Dawon with utmost devotion. He offered his hand whenever Dawon moved from the bedroom to the bathroom, from the living room to the kitchen. He tried to get anything Dawon might want or need, and took him anywhere that might interest him.

However, his behavior was more like that of a caregiver tending to a patient than a lover. Although he sometimes looked at Dawon with an undeniably intense gaze, his touch remained chaste, as if he were suppressing his emotions.

Physical intimacy was limited to gentle strokes like praising a child, comforting hugs accompanied by soothing pheromones, and drying Dawon’s hair after a shower.

Sometimes, Taehan would nuzzle his lips against Dawon’s forehead or cheek as if overwhelmed by affection, but then he would often cough awkwardly and excuse himself. At those times, Dawon would think:

‘Did he avoid me on purpose? Am I being too sensitive?’

Dawon had been too preoccupied to think about such things when he had just returned to Taehan and was preparing to leave Korea. He was busy adjusting to his pregnancy and recovering his strength.

Once he regained some energy, he had deliberately acted coy. He partly wanted to be sulky because of his lingering resentment, and partly because he found it amusing to see Taehan flustered, so he hadn’t fully expressed his feelings.

However, from the moment they left Korea, they were fully a couple. Legally, they were even married. When they arrived at the hotel in New York after smoothly clearing the immigration process, Taehan, seemingly overwhelmed with relief, had embraced Dawon tightly.

Dawon’s heart pounded as he felt the beat of Taehan’s heart against his skin. He had braced himself for something significant to happen as they held each other close, but for some reason, Taehan had simply tucked him into bed.

He had assumed it was because they were both exhausted from the long journey, but even afterward, there wasn’t anything remotely resembling intimacy. While feeling vaguely disappointed and frustrated, Dawon reasoned that Taehan was too busy and preoccupied.

Successfully entering the country wasn’t the end of their challenges. There were many things to take care of and prepare for the notoriously demanding application process for luxury apartments in New York.

‘But now we’re all settled in. And most importantly, the doctor said it was okay.’

That evening, after the doctor’s visit, Dawon sat on the bed after his shower, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. He felt like a newlywed bride waiting for her groom to undo her wedding ribbons on their first night.

“Taehan.”

His voice was filled with tenderness as he called out to Taehan, whose eyes, looking down at him, were filled with a burning intensity. The atmosphere was undeniably charged, as if something significant was bound to happen.

“You’ve worked hard today, baby. Sweet dreams.”

Taehan tucked Dawon into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and offered a surprisingly cheerful goodnight. Dawon was dumbfounded as Taehan left the room, saying he needed to shower.

‘He’s not going to do anything…? Really?’

The absurdly wholesome and peaceful nights continued. At first, Dawon tried to understand, thinking Taehan was tired from settling in or being considerate of him adjusting to a new environment. But now he was starting to get annoyed.

Now that their feelings were mutual, he wished Taehan would take the next step. Though their previous sexual encounters had been painful and scary, they had also been pleasurable, and he was sure Taehan would be gentle with him now.

Although he longed for it, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything directly, so Dawon simply stewed in his frustration. The sudden flushes of heat were due to hormonal changes during pregnancy, but unaware of this, he felt embarrassed, as if he had suddenly become a pervert.

“I-It’s just hot. Let go of me, for now.”

Flustered, Dawon abruptly shook off Taehan’s hand. As Taehan stared back, looking even more surprised and concerned, Dawon had no choice but to flee to the bathroom, muttering that he needed to shower.

“Sigh…”

Under the stream of lukewarm water, Dawon tried to figure out what the problem was. Around the time Dawon first presented, Taehan hadn’t seemed particularly affectionate, but he had certainly fulfilled his desires. Now, he was overflowing with care and love, yet he refrained from touching Dawon. It was perplexing.

Lost in thought about Taehan’s changed behavior, Dawon inhaled the body wash-scented air of the bathroom and suddenly realized the difference between then and now. Only one thing had changed: Dawon’s pheromones, which had faded after he got pregnant.

‘Is it because I don’t have any scent anymore, so he’s lost interest?’

The moment this reasonable question popped into his head, Dawon’s eyes widened in alarm.

Summer in New York was undeniably vibrant and beautiful, but for the countless galleries in Chelsea, summer was a lull between the spring and fall art fairs. Lumiere Gallery was also holding a group exhibition featuring only works by its represented artists in July, without bringing in external artists.

Even though the listed works felt like a family affair, Haley, overseeing the curation process alone for the first time, meticulously arranged the pieces, paying close attention to rhythm and thematic consistency.

On the opening day of the exhibition, Haley’s mother, while pleased with the result, clicked her tongue with a hint of lingering dissatisfaction.

“Your skills have improved a lot, Haley. You’ve arranged the given pieces well. But I can’t help but wish there was a larger piece by Mr. Wightman here, preferably a new one. A large painting, maybe 120-ho, would be perfect in this spot.”

Honestly, her mother was right. Professor Wightman’s painting, anchoring the center of the exhibition, was a piece from ten years ago. While Professor Wightman’s style wasn’t particularly trendy, there was a subtle difference in feel compared to his more recent works.

But there was nothing she could do. Haley had already done her best. She was truly doing everything she could for Lumiere Gallery.

“Ugh… Those old geezers, the more I think about it, the angrier I get.”

Haley Wood, back at the gallery after two days, was fuming all morning. Last night, she had played poker in the Graham Place lounge with Professor Wightman and his posse of men, average age 65.

Enduring the constant stream of sexually harassing remarks and the suffocating smell of old age was agonizing enough, but she had even lost money to these old men who seemed to have nothing better to do than play poker all day.

“How much did you lose? A grand? Two?”

Mia, a gallery employee, asked Haley with a curious look. When Haley just sighed, unable to answer, the gossipy Mia put on a sympathetic yet thoroughly amused expression.

“Oh dear… Don’t be too upset, Haley. What’s a little poker money compared to Professor Wightman’s comeback?”

“I have to make it happen. I have a plan.”

“Really? Oh, it’s lunchtime. I’ll buy you lunch today, Haley. There’s a new sandwich place down the street that’s supposed to be good.”

Annoyingly, Mia still wore a pitying smile, as if she didn’t believe a word Haley said. As they were leaving the gallery, Haley noticed a familiar profile across the street.

“Wait, that person…!”

The boy she had seen in the lounge yesterday was walking with another man. The man accompanying him was just as striking. He was dressed smartly in a neat t-shirt, chinos, and glasses, but his sharp physique and intense expression made him seem less than gentle.

‘What the… He looks like a mafia member.’

Just then, as they turned into a small alley, the taller man glanced back, scanning Lumiere Gallery. Haley felt a shiver down her spine as she thought she made eye contact with him.

Besides his intimidating appearance, his sly, calculating gaze bothered her. As Haley stared suspiciously at the spot where the man had disappeared, Mia, having also seen them, exclaimed:

“You’ve noticed that couple too, Haley?”

“Huh? Mia, do you know who they are?”

“Of course! They’re the talk of the town. Everyone’s wondering which gallery they’ll grace with their presence next.”

According to Mia, as they walked to a Vietnamese restaurant, the boy and the mafia-like man had been frequenting the Chelsea gallery district almost daily, visiting two or three exhibitions a day.

It was unusual for anyone to be so diligent, especially during the summer, outside of art fair season. Moreover, both of them had striking appearances and a mysterious aura that made people curious about their identities and relationship. As a result, the people of Chelsea, in their off-season, couldn’t help but be captivated by their movements.

“They don’t seem to be locals, but they skip the big-name galleries and focus on smaller ones, especially those with emerging artists or trendy and innovative exhibitions. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? It’s been almost 20 days now.”

“But they haven’t come to our gallery yet?”

“Well, doesn’t that just mean we’ve been certified as a large, established gallery? At first, everyone was wary, thinking they might be new art dealers, but apparently, the smaller boy has the better eye, rather than the tall one. He’s too young to be in the industry.”

Mia, who loved a good gossip, chattered excitedly, as if Haley’s poker losses were completely forgotten in light of this new development.

“They seem totally in love, right? Maybe it’s because the smaller one has trouble walking, but the man practically holds him up. So romantic.”

“Love? The tall one looks much older.”

“Oh, he just has a sexy style, he doesn’t look that old. Maybe around 30?”

A sexy style? Haley didn’t know Mia had a thing for bad boys.

“Or maybe he’s a bodyguard. Mr. Thornton said there’s a rumor that one of them is the secret son of some famous company. Oh, I heard the company name, but I forgot. Anyway, they definitely look rich.”

If the rumor was true, the boy was definitely the one from a wealthy family. Not only his clothes but also his demeanor and expression exuded refinement.

Apparently, many people in Chelsea had tried to talk to them in less than a month, as Mia seemed to know quite a bit about them. She was romanticizing their relationship, as if the tall man were a knight protecting the boy, but to Haley, the tall man seemed suspicious.

‘First of all, he has a scary face. His eyes are shifty, the age gap seems big. What if that guy is taking advantage of some naive kid?’

Haley had a vivid imagination, but the reason she was so quick to jump to conclusions was that she was already invested in the boy.

While ordering her sandwich, Haley thought about the boy’s sketch she had picked up and kept from the residents’ lounge, and Professor Wightman’s reaction when she had shown it to him, asking, “Look, I think this little guy drew this. Isn’t it amazing?”

“Who cares if someone else drew it for him or if he picked it up somewhere as a trick.”

Professor Wightman had grumbled after a moment of hesitation. However, even while muttering his suspicions, he couldn’t find fault with the drawing itself. Professor Wightman, despite his grumpiness, was an honest man, so Haley could clearly read the emotions that flickered across his face when he saw the drawing: admiration, regret, and a flicker of yearning.

‘I have to get close to that boy somehow.’

Haley trusted her instincts. The boy wasn’t just someone with the potential to be a great artist; he was undoubtedly the one who could rekindle the artistic spirit that seemed to have burned to ashes within Professor Wightman.

Her only concern was the intimidating man who was always with the boy. Haley had a feeling that the man was up to something. The premonition that he would be an obstacle to her plan made him even more displeasing.

“Mia, I’ll be going out again around three or four this afternoon.”

Returning to the gallery with their sandwiches, Haley announced her plans with determination. Mia tilted her head in confusion.

“Are you going to see Professor Wightman? Doesn’t he usually drink heavily after his poker nights? He doesn’t usually become active until the evening.”

“That’s true. I’m not meeting Professor Wightman today. I’m meeting someone else.”

Haley’s eyes gleamed like a hawk eyeing its prey.

A few hours later, at Graham Place. As Mia had guessed, Professor Wightman was still holed up at home. Haley, who often visited as the professor’s guest, entered the resident lounge alone, finding it empty of him.

The moment she saw the same back from yesterday sitting by the window, she cheered inwardly. Today’s target was that small young man. Trying to calm her pounding heart, Haley approached him.

“Excuse me. Did you drop this drawing yesterday?”

She held out the drawing she’d kept safe for a day. The young man looked surprised, then accepted the paper with a pleased expression.

“Oh, I thought I’d lost it… Thank you.”

With a shy nod, he immediately turned his attention back to the drawing he was working on. Glancing at the paper, Haley saw that it was only a rough sketch, yet it was undeniably beautiful.

He was a talented artist, but seemingly not used to small talk. That didn’t matter to Haley. As an art dealer, she was well-versed in dealing with the eccentrics of the art world.

“Did you draw this? It’s really good.”

“…”

“Are you an art student, by any chance? Or preparing a portfolio? If you don’t mind, could I see your other drawings?”

Despite her confidence, Haley realized she’d bombarded the young man, who was now looking at her with a sullen expression, with too many questions, too quickly. Her eagerness to get close to him had clearly been over the top.

Seeing a clear look of wariness appear on the young man’s previously expressionless face, Haley hurriedly pulled out her business card and handed it to him.

“Oh dear, I asked too many questions at once, didn’t I? I’m sorry. My name is Haley Wood. I run the Lumière Gallery in Chelsea.”

She hadn’t fully taken over the gallery yet, but a little exaggeration was necessary in situations like this. The young man calmly examined Haley’s business card. Since he enjoyed visiting galleries, she figured the card wouldn’t be meaningless to him.

“…I’m Dawon. Kim Dawon.”

He hesitantly offered his name. The surname ‘Kim’ confirmed Mia’s suspicion that he was of Korean descent. Not wanting to ruin her first impression any further, Haley desperately tried to repeat his name.

“Da-ha…won?”

“Close enough. Dawon.”

“Dawon.”

“Good.”

As he said this with a small smile, Haley felt her already burgeoning interest in him swell even more. Suppressing the urge to grab his hand, she continued her earnest appeal.

“I saw this sketch yesterday and thought you were very talented. I thought I might be able to help you. Are you aiming for NYU? Do you remember the older gentleman I was talking to in this lounge yesterday? Actually, he’s…”

“Um, I’m sorry. My English isn’t very good yet. Could you speak slowly?”

Haley was taken aback by the unexpected words. His speech was relaxed, but his pronunciation was so clear and smooth that she naturally assumed English was his native language.

“Oh, oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You speak so fluently.”

“Thank you. I’m learning. You were talking about university, right? I can’t go to university yet.”

“Oh, then you’re not old enough…?”

“I’m an adult, but I don’t have a high school diploma.”

Haley was again left speechless. Not only had her attempts to impress him been a series of misfires, but the realization that everything she’d said had been steeped in prejudice made her cheeks burn.

“Oh… I’m really, really sorry. I was so…”

Dawon, however, responded casually, despite having every right to be offended.

“It’s okay. You meant it as a compliment.”

“Right! It’s a really wonderful drawing. I see art every day and interact with people in the industry, so I have a good eye. That older gentleman sitting over there yesterday, he’s a painter. You might know him, Hugo Wightman.”

Undeterred, Haley seized the opportunity to bring up Professor Wightman. Expecting an indifferent response along the lines of ‘So what about some old man?’, Haley was surprised to see Dawon’s eyes light up.

“Hugo Wightman! I’ve seen him. Just once, in Korea. What do you call it? A place where they sell paintings. People call out prices.”

“An auction house?”

“Yes. At an auction house. It was a painting of a large spider…”

“Ah, ‘Tarantula Study’! Mr. Wightman isn’t exactly known for his witty titles. So that painting went to Korea.”

“Yes. It was… like this, the spider’s eyes were facing this way.”

Dawon took out a blank sheet of paper and swiftly sketched a perfect reproduction of the spider painting he’d seen. He seemed much less guarded now that they were talking about something that interested him.

“I’ve seen him here often. I knew his name was Hugo Wightman. I overheard it. But I didn’t realize it was the Hugo Wightman… Here, he’s usually drinking or playing poker.”

“Ha, right. Who would think he’s a university professor and a famous painter?”

At Haley’s exasperated remark, Dawon smiled again, his eyes crinkling. Her interest in him piqued even further, Haley gestured at his folder on the table.

“I’d really like to see the other drawings in there too… Would that be okay?”

Dawon readily pulled out the stack of papers from the folder and spread them out. As Haley looked through the various sketches, her expression grew increasingly serious.

Dawon’s draftsmanship was so accomplished, it could have belonged to a seasoned professional artist. She hadn’t seen any of his paintings yet, but she was certain his sense of color would be exceptional as well.

“Excuse me, but how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Haley found the situation increasingly baffling. This young man possessed the skills to hold an exhibition at any Chelsea gallery, yet he didn’t even have a high school diploma, let alone a university degree, and was simply drawing at home.

He didn’t seem to be in financial difficulty, so she was curious about his story. Was he the hidden illegitimate child of a powerful figure, as Mia suggested, or…?

‘There’s something suspicious about that man. He had the look of a criminal.’

Perhaps due to the instinctive aversion dominant alphas felt towards each other, Haley couldn’t shake off the image of the man who had been walking with Dawon.

“Your skills are remarkable. Where did you learn to draw?”

She’d tried not to interrogate him, but her overflowing curiosity couldn’t be contained. At her question, Dawon’s youthful face took on a contemplative expression, as if looking back over a long period.

“Um… I took lessons, but mostly I just drew a lot.”

“So you’ve been drawing every day, like you do now. Amazing!”

Haley marveled, recalling the bartender’s comment about Dawon drawing there daily. Dawon, however, seemed to think nothing of it.

“I don’t draw that much these days. Maybe three or four hours a day?”

He casually dismissed three or four hours a day as not much, but as he continued, his expression gradually darkened.

“I have a lot of other studying to do. Like I said, I haven’t been able to attend school properly. I want to learn quickly and at least get my high school diploma…”

Desperate to establish a connection with Dawon, Haley jumped in like a fish taking the bait.

“Why? Is studying difficult?”

“On my own, it is. I used to have a tutor who came to the house, but twice… I’m sorry. How do I say it? I don’t know the word.”

“Did they quit?”

“They were made to quit.”

“…By you, Dawon?”

“No, by my husband.”

Startled by the word “husband,” Haley checked Dawon’s hand and, to her surprise, saw a sparkling ring on his left ring finger.

The husband Dawon spoke of was probably that intimidating man. Had that mafia-looking man shackled this young, uneducated person with marriage?

“Why did your… husband do that?”

“Um, it’s a long story. Honestly, I don’t really know. What he’s thinking.”

A shadow fell over Dawon’s face as he thought about his ‘husband.’ Watching him, Haley’s mind raced with unsettling words like forced marriage, control freak, and gaslighting.

Even before their conversation began, Haley had been eager to help Dawon, but now, filled with sympathy, she was practically frantic to do something.

“You need a tutor, right? What about me? Believe it or not, I’m an Ivy League graduate.”

“You, as a tutor?”

“Is that too sudden? But this is fate, isn’t it? I can teach you, and we can talk about art too.”

Just as Dawon’s expression became a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue, his phone rang. He checked the screen and hurriedly gathered his papers and pencils, a clear sign of urgency.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Why? Is your husband looking for you?”

“Yes.”

Dawon’s ready answer, without any hint of resistance, inwardly confirmed Haley’s suspicion that the thug-like man was gaslighting him.

Having gathered his things, Dawon rushed out of the lounge like someone fleeing creditors. His unsteady gait only amplified Haley’s concern.

“Da- Dawon! Please think about the tutoring! Can I see you here again? Or contact me at my number! You can come visit the gallery too. Okay?”

She called out desperately after Dawon’s receding figure. Pretty, rich, and kind, Haley had been prom queen in high school and the center of her sorority in college.

She’d never lacked for romantic partners, and now she was in a stable relationship with her lifelong partner. She’d never had to chase after anyone.

‘That boy is the first to make me feel like this!’

Left alone at the empty table, Haley crumpled a napkin, thinking of a line that sounded like something out of a Harlequin romance novel.

Meanwhile, Dawon, having fled the lounge and left the competitive Haley behind, ran into Taehan in the mansion lobby.

“Mister”

He called out cheerfully as he approached, but Dawon’s gaze was fixed not on Taehan’s face, but on the paper box he was carrying. He quickly snatched it and checked inside to find cupcakes nestled together, beautifully decorated with cream, chocolate chips, and berry compote.

Delighted, Dawon practically bounced on his toes, already taking a cupcake out of the box in the elevator. Taehan beamed at him, looking immensely pleased.

“You wanted these that badly?”

As Taehan naturally reached out to put his arm around Dawon’s back, he abruptly stopped. Dawon, busy taking a large bite of his cupcake, didn’t notice his sudden alertness.

“Baby. Who was in the lounge?”

“Oh, someone asked to see my drawings, so we talked for a bit. He seemed nice.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just, about drawings… Oh, he said he could be my tutor if I needed one.”

Preoccupied with eating, Dawon skipped the preliminaries and jumped straight to that part. Taehan’s expression turned sour at the innocent reply.

“Baby, Dawon. Why would you tell a stranger something like that? It’s not good to talk to just anyone.”

At the tone, as if scolding a child, Dawon stopped eating his cupcake, his eyes widening as he looked at Taehan. Taehan, his brow furrowed, was exhaling slowly as if smelling something unpleasant. Dawon had a feeling he knew why.

‘Ah, Haley. Was he an alpha?’

He hadn’t been very aware of it during their conversation, but now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall a faint scent of pheromones. Taehan was probably about to repeat the same scenario as with Dawon’s previous two tutors: ensuring absolutely no alpha got close to him.

It wasn’t like this was the first time, but feeling unusually sensitive today, Dawon blurted out, almost angrily,

“Mister. Why do you keep sniffing? What do you smell?”

Taehan looked startled by the question. Dawon wondered if Taehan was only picking up the scent of other alphas on him, if he couldn’t smell Dawon’s own faded omega scent anymore, if that was why he was being left alone like this.

Instead of voicing these embarrassing questions, Dawon, with a challenging glint in his eyes, held out the business card he’d just received from Haley.

“And why are you being so mean? I wasn’t talking to just anyone. He’s trustworthy. Look. Haley said he runs the Lumière Gallery in Chelsea. He also knows Hugo Wightman, who lives here. I’ve seen Mr. Wightman in the lounge often, he’s a resident. And he’s a famous painter, a university professor, you know?”

“Baby, that’s not what I meant…”

“You chased away my teachers, you won’t let me talk to anyone. What’s the difference between this and locking me up at home?!”

Even as he threw his tantrum, Dawon was aware of his own dishonesty. Truth be told, even if Taehan were to lock him up somewhere, preventing him from moving or seeing anyone but him, Dawon knew he would adapt and survive.

The newly discovered world was interesting and fascinating, but ultimately, what mattered most was that Taehan was by his side. Everything else was secondary, like the tiny rainbow sprinkles on top of a cupcake.