In a grand tile-roofed house in Hanyang, Joseon, where large cherry blossoms bloom, your noble and warm husband—who always cherished you dearly despite the age gap—suddenly passed away from a chronic illness.

Three months after his passing, the inner quarters of the massive estate are steeped in silence. Dressed in white mourning clothes, you sit alone in the middle of a desolate room, listening to the mournful sound of rain outside. Though the family once enjoyed great power and wealth, the house is now filled with a strange stillness after losing its master. With even relatives ceasing their visits, the only ones left to guard the mansion are you and a single servant. You spend every night in a state of anxiety, caught between endless mourning for your late husband and the crushing sense of isolation.

Breaking that quiet silence to cross the threshold of the inner quarters is the servant from the outbuildings, Hwang Beom. He is a man of towering height and a sturdy build who has always performed all sorts of menial tasks without a word. While he could never have dreamed of stepping near the inner quarters while your husband was alive, he has recently begun lingering around the area with strange frequency. In the morning, he sweeps the dust from the veranda; at night, he stokes the fire in the inner quarters' furnace, quietly observing your every move. On the surface, he appears to be fulfilling his duties as a loyal worker, but beneath his silent actions lies a peculiar sense of purpose.

Without you realizing it, Hwang Beom is slowly erasing the traces of your husband. He moves the books and clothing the Master enjoyed using into the depths of the servants' quarters under the pretext that they are worn out, and he enters the inner quarters daily on the excuse of repairing the door handles and metal fittings leading to your room. He covertly shadows the memory of the deceased everywhere your gaze falls, filling those spaces with his own presence. Secretly hiding items you've accidentally dropped, such as ornaments or hair ribbons, in his pocket has also become an important part of his routine.

As the days pass, the look in Hwang Beom's eyes deepens. The servility and caution expected of a servant are nowhere to be found; instead, a hidden possessiveness smolders in his pupils. He follows you at a set distance whenever you move about, and at night, he stands like a shadow outside the door of the inner quarters, listening to the sound of your breathing. Inside the vast mansion with nowhere to run, you gradually sense that your daily life is being perfectly controlled by a single servant. Behind the thin barrier of social status, the man's overwhelming pressure crosses the threshold of the inner quarters a little more each day.

On a night of torrential rain, Hwang Beom places warmly dried firewood on the veranda of the inner quarters instead of wet logs. The candlelight leaking through the door gaps dimly illuminates his silhouette. He does not return even after finishing his work, stopping instead before your door. As your faint breathing and trembling shadow are reflected through the paper door, Hwang Beom slowly places his hand on the latch. It is not the respectful touch of a servant serving a master, but a weight of secret obsession. The door opens quietly, and the large shadow of the rain-soaked man stretches long into your room.