Chapter 10: The Ultimate Gift
The velvet box sat between them on the kitchen island, a tiny, profound island in a sea of cold marble. The silence after his father’s explosive joy still rang in Da-rae’s ears, mixed with the faint, sharp smell of spilled champagne.
Jin-woo hadn’t let go of her. His arms were a vise around her, his face buried in her hair. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart against her chest, a wild counter-rhythm to her own. He was trembling.
“Hey,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re squeezing the air out of me.”
He loosened his grip instantly, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, wide with a shock that hadn’t yet subsided. He cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the arches of her cheeks as if memorizing her all over again.
“Say it again,” he said, his voice rough.
“I’m pregnant.”
He let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “I’m… I don’t know what I am.” He glanced at the box, then back at her. “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick? Did you see a doctor? When did you find out? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The questions tumbled out, a landslide of concern. Da-rae caught his hands, holding them still. “I’m fine. Just tired. I saw the doctor yesterday. I wanted to be sure. I wanted to tell you properly.” She nodded toward the remnants of the celebration—the shattered crystal, the spreading stain on the rug. His father had clapped Jin-woo on the back, bellowing about legacy and strength, before his mother had gently led him away, her own eyes shining. They were alone now in the sudden quiet.
“Properly,” Jin-woo repeated, a slow smile finally breaking through the shock. It transformed his face, making him look younger, unguarded in a way she rarely saw. “With my father breaking good glassware. That’s one way.”
She smiled back, her own anxiety beginning to melt under the warmth of his reaction. “He’s happy.”
“He’s ecstatic. He’ll be insufferable.” Jin-woo’s gaze dropped to her stomach, still flat beneath her simple dress. His hand followed, resting there with a tenderness that made her throat tighten. “A baby.”
“Our baby,” she affirmed.
The word ‘our’ hung between them, heavy and real. It made everything more permanent. It also made the old, familiar fear coil in her gut. The secret, the one she thought was buried with Soo-ah’s exile, stirred. This child would be a Choi. Its bloodline would be scrutinized. The lie of her identity felt suddenly larger, more dangerous.
As if reading the shadow that passed over her face, Jin-woo’s expression sobered. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “It’s just… a lot.”
He studied her, his intelligent eyes missing nothing. “It is a lot. And you’re handling it. You’re incredible.” He leaned in, kissing her forehead, then her lips, softly. “You should lie down. Rest. I’ll clean this up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He helped her off the stool, his hand a steadying presence at her lower back. “Go. I’ll bring you some tea.”
She let him guide her to their bedroom, the sprawling room with its view of the endless city lights. She changed into soft pajamas and slid under the duvet. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a deep, bone-aching fatigue. She placed a hand on her stomach, trying to connect with the new, invisible life there. A mixture of wonder and dread bloomed inside her.
Jin-woo came in a while later with a cup of chamomile tea and a plate of plain crackers. He’d changed into sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, his hair slightly mussed. He looked more like the man she fell in love with at night, not the corporate heir.
“Your dad?” she asked, taking the tea.
“On the phone with his brothers already. The Choi dynasty is secure, blah blah.” He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sip. “My mother is already planning a shopping trip for you. I told her to wait.”
Da-rae managed a small smile. “Thank you.”
Silence settled, comfortable but charged. The news was a prism, refracting their world into new colors. Jin-woo reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re scared,” he stated quietly.
She couldn’t lie to that tone. She nodded, looking down into her tea. “Everything changes now. It’s… real.”
“It was always real,” he said. His hand found hers, lacing their fingers together. “This just makes it better.”
She wanted to believe him. She desperately wanted to lean into the certainty of his touch. But the ghost of her sister, the memory of ropes and cold shears, whispered of consequences.
Two days later, the nausea arrived with a vengeance. It wasn’t just morning sickness; it was an all-day sea-sickness that left her pale and sweating. Jin-woo canceled his meetings, working from his home office instead, appearing every hour with a cold cloth, a different beverage, or simply to sit silently with her in the darkened bathroom.
On the third day, when she couldn’t keep water down, his calm facade cracked. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“It’s normal, they said—”
“I don’t care. We’re going.”
The family clinic was sleek and private, all soft lighting and hushed voices. The doctor, an elegant woman in her fifties, was reassuring. “Severe hyperemesis gravidarum,” she diagnosed. “We’ll get you on IV fluids and some medication. It should ease in a few weeks.”
As a nurse set up the IV, Jin-woo hovered, a tense shadow. Da-rae, lying in the clinical bed, felt small and vulnerable. The electronic hum of the monitor beeping her vitals was the only sound.
His father arrived just as the medication began to drip into her veins.
Chairman Choi strode into the room, his presence immediately amplifying the space. He ignored Jin-woo for a moment, going straight to Da-rae’s bedside. His usual stern expression was softened with concern.
“Daughter,” he said, the title still sometimes feeling foreign. “They are taking good care of you?”
“Yes, Abeonim,” she whispered, trying to sit up.
“Lie still.” He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, gently pressing her back. He looked at the IV, the monitor, his jaw tight. “This child is already proving its strength. Giving its mother a hard time.” There was a hint of gruff pride in his voice.
Then he turned to Jin-woo. “A word. Outside.”
Jin-woo shot Da-rae a glance. She gave a slight nod. He followed his father out into the pristine hallway.
She couldn’t hear the words, but the tone carried. The Chairman’s voice was a low, relentless rumble. Jin-woo’s replies were shorter, clipped. Da-rae strained, catching only fragments.
“…cannot be distracted… the merger…”
“…my wife is my priority…”
“…is not just your wife! She is the mother of…”
The debate lasted only a few minutes. When Jin-woo returned, his expression was carefully neutral, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. He sat back in the chair beside her bed, taking her hand again.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing. Business.”
“Jin-woo.”
He sighed, running his free hand over his face. “He thinks I’m being overprotective. That I should delegate more. That my focus should be on the upcoming merger with the Park group.” His thumb stroked her knuckles. “He doesn’t understand.”
“Maybe he’s a little right,” she ventured softly. “You can’t put your entire world on hold for my upset stomach.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Yes, I can.” He looked at her, his eyes intense. “After the factory… after what happened, Da-rae, you think I’m going to let anything else touch you? You’re carrying our child. This isn’t an upset stomach. This is my future in this room. Everything else is background noise.”
The ferocity in his voice stole her breath. It was love, but it was also something territorial, something forged in the darkness of that abandoned place. It was a vow he was renewing daily.
The medication began to work, a slow wave of relief calming the rebellion in her stomach. Drowsiness pulled at her. As her eyes fluttered closed, she heard Jin-woo on his phone, his voice low and decisive.
“Min-jun. I need you to find the best nutritionist, a specialist in prenatal care. And a security detail for my wife, starting today. Discrete, but constant. Yes, even at home.”
The last thing she felt before sleep took her was the warm, steady weight of his hand in hers, anchoring her to the present, to this room, to this life he was building around her. And the first thing she saw when she woke hours later was him, still in that chair, staring out the window at the gathering dusk, a silhouette of unwavering vigilance, watching over the two lives he now deemed his entire world. On the bedside table, her phone screen lit up with a notification—a calendar reminder for her next prenatal appointment. A simple, mundane thing. It felt like a heartbeat, steady and insistent, counting down to a future that was hurtling toward them, ready or not.