The glass wall of the master bedroom was a vast, dark canvas reflecting the subtle interior light. Seo-Yun, dressed in black pants and a thick, zip-up hooded jacket, stood motionless, her backpack slung over one shoulder. The time was 9:58 PM. Her heart was a frantic, muffled drum against her ribs.
Downstairs, in the high-tech, soundproof study, Kim Min-Joon was engrossed in his work. He had promised to work until midnight, giving her a guaranteed two-hour window for the entire operation: escape, rendezvous, and departure. He was, as always, utterly predictable in his diligence.
Seo-Yun held the hidden phone in her hand, the screen dark. She didn't need a timepiece; she was tuned to the rhythm of the ocean and the internal ticking of her terror and excitement.
10:00 PM.
The ocean remained a vast, intimidating blackness. The waves crashed relentlessly against the rocks below, the sound deafening yet strangely comforting—it was the noise of nature, indifferent to the massive human deception taking place above it.
She waited one minute. Two minutes. The silence in the room was heavier than the sea air outside. Doubt began to creep in, cold and sharp. Had Joo-Hyuk been caught? Had he miscalculated the tide? Had the police intercepted his coded message?
Just as the doubt threatened to overwhelm her, three distinct, bright flashes of light cut through the blackness of the ocean. One. They were swift, precise, and low to the water, visible only to a watchful eye at the cliff's edge. Two. They originated from a small, dark shape that could easily be mistaken for debris or a large rock. Three.
The tide is high at 22:00. Look for the three flashes.
Relief, sharp and overwhelming, surged through her veins, chasing away the cold fear. He was here. Her freedom was real.
Seo-Yun moved instantly, her years of calculated poise giving way to a sudden, fluid urgency. She unlocked the bedroom door silently and slipped out into the long, deserted hallway. The staff quarters were in the lower level of the villa, far away.
She made her way to the main living area, passing the open entrance to the study. Min-Joon's voice, clear but muffled, drifted out: "...the portfolio shift must happen before market close on Monday..." He was deep in his element, his back to the door, a silhouette against the glow of his screen. He was safe. He was oblivious.
Her path led to the small, discreet service elevator that descended to the private three-car garage and the hidden, winding path to the private cove below. She pressed the button, and the elevator arrived with a nearly inaudible chime.
As she stepped inside, she caught a final glimpse of her reflection in the polished steel—a woman dressed in shadows, carrying only a small bag and a tremendous secret.
She took the elevator down to the garage level. She didn't pause; she was operating on pure adrenaline and muscle memory. The emergency exit door leading to the cliff path was heavy, but designed to open with a silent electronic slide.
She stepped out into the night air. The path was steep and treacherous, paved with jagged volcanic rock. She used the faint, ambient lighting from the villa above and the small torch on her phone for guidance. The sounds of the crashing waves grew louder, a wild, elemental roar that welcomed her descent.
Twice, her foot slipped on the uneven path, but she quickly recovered, driven by the urgency of the moment. She could not afford an injury; she could not afford a delay. She was running towards the end of her life as a trophy wife and towards an uncertain, dangerous freedom.
Finally, she reached the small, sheltered cove. Joo-Hyuk's boat, a small, fast fishing vessel, was anchored just beyond the surf line. Han Joo-Hyuk stood waiting on the wet black sand, a dark figure against the foamy white of the waves.
He wore heavy rain gear and looked less like an artist and more like a smuggler. The sight of him, strong and real, dissolved all her lingering fear.
"You're late," Joo-Hyuk said, his voice curt, his eyes scanning the cliff above them nervously.
"I had to confirm the final detail," Seo-Yun gasped, still catching her breath from the descent. "The transfer is complete. I have the data. He is in the study."
Joo-Hyuk didn't waste time on emotion. He took her backpack. "Let's go. The tide is turning. We have maybe three minutes."
He took her hand, his grip rough and strong, and pulled her toward the surf. The water was shockingly cold.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the study, Min-Joon paused his analysis. He had heard nothing, but a faint, almost subconscious noise had registered—not a distinct sound, but the absence of the usual night stillness.
He looked around the room, mildly irritated. "Jae-Wook," he muttered, addressing his Head of Security, whom he thought he was alone with, though the man was not present. "The ventilation system needs checking. There's a slight draft."
He picked up the desk phone to call the property manager, intending to report the 'draft' and the earlier 'throttling glitch.' He dialed the villa's central service number.
"This is the Chairman. I need the property manager up here immediately. And call Park in Seoul. I want that report on the data saturation now."
He was back in full command, his brief moment of familial relaxation forgotten, replaced by the relentless drive for control. The 'draft' had triggered his suspicion, and his suspicion was always tied to security and systems.
He did not call for Seo-Yun. He did not check the bedroom. He did not look for his wife. He only checked on his systems.
As Min-Joon waited impatiently for the manager, fifty meters below the cliff, Seo-Yun and Joo-Hyuk waded through the final surge of the waves.
Joo-Hyuk expertly tossed her onto the small boat's deck and climbed aboard. He pulled the anchor. The small engine roared to life, a sudden, loud intrusion into the quiet night.
"Hang on!" Joo-Hyuk yelled over the engine's noise and the waves. He steered the boat sharply away from the coast, turning its bow south toward the open sea and away from the reach of Min-Joon's empire.
As the boat sped away, Seo-Yun looked back one last time at the villa—a spectacular, brightly lit fortress standing defiant against the dark sky. The master bedroom window was empty, but a faint light still shone from the study.
She took a deep breath, the cold, salty air filling her lungs. The air of freedom. Min-Joon was still on the phone, still in control of his empty house and his now-empty accounts.
The betrayal was complete.