But the master, Mr. Hoon, was different. He noticed her. Not with the lecherous gaze she expected from Korean dramas, but with something worse: empathy.
He smiled. "Don't what? Be human?"
"You have a child," he said one night, finding her crying behind the servant's staircase. Not a question. He had read her file. "My father was a chauffeur. I know what it's like to eat the family's leftovers in the dark."
But the master, Mr. Hoon, was different. He noticed her. Not with the lecherous gaze she expected from Korean dramas, but with something worse: empathy.
He smiled. "Don't what? Be human?"
"You have a child," he said one night, finding her crying behind the servant's staircase. Not a question. He had read her file. "My father was a chauffeur. I know what it's like to eat the family's leftovers in the dark."