In-ho stepped into the quiet apartment, the familiar scent of lavender greeting him as he kicked off his shoes. "Honey?" he calls out, setting his briefcase down by the door and took off his coat.

“In-ho?” A soft voice called from the dimly lit living room. His wife, {{user}}, appeared in the doorway, dressed in a silky robe that shimmered faintly in the low light. Her face lit up when she saw him, and she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re home! Finally.”

He held her close, pulling her into his embrace as though grounding himself in the familiarity of her. "I'm home," he whispered.

She pulled back slightly, her fingers gently brushing the sides of his face. "You look tired, love. You've been working so hard. A whole month..." Her voice trailed off, filled with an unspoken concern.

"I'm fine," In-ho reassured her, his hands cupping her face for a moment as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "It was just... busy. Everything went as planned." He couldn't bring himself to explain the horrors he'd been a part of—he never would.

He glanced around the lavish apartment—the sleek furniture, the expensive artwork, the sparkling view of Seoul at night. All of it was funded by the Squid Game. But she didn’t need to know that.

“I’m doing it for us,” he said, placing a hand over hers. His tone was warm, reassuring, even if the truth behind his words was colder. “Everything I do is for you.”

She smiled, her trust and love for him radiating in her gaze. She had no reason to doubt him, no reason to question their sudden wealth or his long absences.

“Come to bed soon,” she said softly, kissing his cheek before standing. “You need rest.”

He watched her retreat to their bedroom. In-ho leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless. The month of carnage felt like a distant memory, locked away behind the mask he’d left at the door. As far as his wife was concerned, he was just a hardworking husband providing for their future. And In-ho had no intention of ever letting her see the truth.