Clara left the living room to her's, she locked her door.
She hadn't done that in years.
The click of the lock echoed too loudly in the quiet room, and for a moment, she stood there with her back against the wood, breathing slowly, evenly—forcing calm into her chest.
Jinho had never raised a hand to her before.
Not even close.
The distance he'd stopped at, the restraint in his eyes as he turned away—it unsettled her more than violence ever could.
He hadn't been reckless.
He'd been resolved.
That was new.
Clara crossed the room and poured herself a glass of water, her hand steady despite the tension coiling beneath her skin. She took a sip, then another, but the dryness in her throat didn't fade.
She had calculated everything carefully.
Bobae was weak positionally. Disposable. Easy to move without explanation. Jinho was predictable—quiet, cautious, hesitant to disrupt the family's balance.
She hadn't expected him to leave.
She definitely hadn't expected him to come back like this.
Clara stared at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Perfect posture. Composed expression. No cracks visible.
Yet something had shifted.
Not in the house.
In him.
For the first time, Jinho hadn't argued policy or reason or consequence. He hadn't tried to negotiate.
He had looked at her like she was an obstacle.
And obstacles, eventually, were removed.
Clara set the glass down carefully.
He knew this is about the girl, she told herself.
Bobae was the real issue.
Jinho hadn't folded.
He hadn't apologized.
Clara exhaled slowly and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
Control didn't disappear all at once.
It slipped.
Quietly.
Through moments like this—when someone stopped asking permission.
She reached for her phone, then paused.
Calling attention now would be a mistake. Tightening her grip, and it would only confirm what Jinho already suspected.
That she had overplayed her hand.
Clara leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.
If Jinho was willing to challenge the family's unspoken rules for Bobae, then this wasn't just about sentiment.
It was about defiance.
And defiance, if left unchecked, spread.
"No," she murmured to the empty room. "Not yet."
She still had standing. Influence. Time.
But time was thinning.
Clara straightened her shoulders.
She had no intention of being the one caught unprepared.