The twilight outside had dimmed to a bruised purple as Shan and Davey followed closely behind Ron, the crisp air sharp against their skin after the suffocating hours spent in hiding. Jain — or Sang, as Shan called him — clung tightly to his mother, his small face buried in the crook of Shan's neck. His tiny arms, sticky with the remnants of tears and fear, refused to loosen even slightly, as if sensing that what lay ahead was as uncertain as what they had fled from.
The vehicle that awaited them was unlike anything Shan had ever ridden in — a sleek, black luxury car, so pristine it seemed untouched by dust or time. The doors opened with a smooth hiss, and they were ushered inside without a word. The interior smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne, cool and unfamiliar. Davey sat stiffly across from Shan, his eyes flicking toward Ron occasionally, but his lips were sealed, pressed into a firm, angry line. There was no relief in this escape — just silence, unease, and a new kind of fear.
As the car wound its way through the city's outskirts and into the private, heavily-guarded estate of the Kang family, the sky finally yielded to night. The mansion loomed ahead, cloaked in shadows but illuminated in certain places by carefully placed golden lights. It was not a house — it was a fortress of power, of wealth, of old legacies that never asked permission to exist.
The gates opened without hesitation. The vehicle rolled smoothly onto the driveway lined with trimmed hedges and polished stone statues. Everything was immaculate, silent, and deeply intimidating.
Shan's breath hitched the moment they stepped out of the car.
The mansion was everything its name suggested — vast, imposing, and utterly alien. Each detail screamed of extravagance: high marble columns that stretched toward the heavens, crystal chandeliers that caught the light like a thousand frozen stars, and walls adorned with art that looked as though it belonged in a royal gallery. The sheer scale of the space, the overwhelming grandeur, and the unspoken air of authority wrapped around them like a heavy cloak. Shan's steps faltered slightly, and even Davey, whose tongue was usually sharp and confidence unshakable, seemed quieter.
Sang, wide-eyed, peeked out from behind his mother's shoulder. The boy who only hours ago had laughed in the mud and chased frogs with wild joy, now seemed dwarfed by the magnificence of his new surroundings. He shrank closer to Shan, lips parted in wonder and something else — fear, perhaps.
Ron, walking slightly ahead, slowed down, and as they crossed the great hall with its polished black floor reflecting their uncertain reflections, he turned to them.
"Don't feel uncomfortable," he said, directing his words particularly at Davey, though his gaze swept across all three of them. His voice, oddly enough, had lost its usual edge — it was surprisingly gentle, tinged with something almost like guilt. "Think of this as your home. Master Kang asked me to bring you here. If you have any problems, let me know. I live in this house too."
Shan didn't meet his eyes. His gaze dropped to the marble floor, fixated on the way his own reflection shimmered and distorted as he walked. It was too much — too fast. The fear still clung to his bones, and now the opulence pressed down on him from above. He didn't know how to feel. Safe? Threatened? Trapped? He gave a quiet nod — not out of agreement, but because he had no energy left to resist.
Davey remained silent as well, but his eyes were alive — darting, calculating, suspicious. He took everything in — the long corridors, the quiet staff that ghosted by, and Ron's polished shoes that clicked too perfectly on the floor. His jaw tightened as they ascended the grand staircase, the railings gold-leafed and cold beneath their fingertips.
"This is your and Sang's room," Ron announced once they reached the second floor. He pushed open a wide door that revealed a lavishly furnished suite. Cream-colored curtains framed tall windows, and the bed was large enough to fit all three of them. Soft lights cast a golden glow over plush carpets and clean linens, but to Shan, it didn't feel warm. It felt curated, like a space meant to impress rather than comfort.
Ron pointed to the adjacent door. "And the one next to it is Master Kang's room."
Shan stiffened visibly. The idea of being this close to Kang Jin-ho again — of sleeping with a wall between them — sent a wave of anxiety through his chest. His arms instinctively tightened around Sang.
Noticing the worry in Shan's eyes, Ron added, "You both rest now. I'll show Davey his room." His voice carried a note of reassurance, as if he understood the fear but could do nothing more than soften the edges of it.
Shan hesitated, glancing briefly at Davey, but nodded again. He knew arguing now would accomplish nothing. They were in the lion's den, and survival meant staying quiet. He turned and entered the room, cradling Sang against him as the door shut quietly behind him.
Davey, however, did not budge. His expression was like stone as he followed Ron, down a quieter corridor that veered off toward the western wing of the house.
Once out of earshot from Shan and Sang, Davey's voice broke the silence.
"Why did you call me yourself?" he asked. His tone was sharp — not curious, but accusatory. He didn't like being played with, especially not by someone like Ron, whose loyalties were complicated.
Ron stopped in front of another set of doors. With a smooth gesture, he pointed to one. "This is my room," he said simply, then gestured to the next door. "The one next to it is yours."
Davey's eyes narrowed. His frustration simmered to the surface. "Why is my room next to your room?" he snapped, folding his arms. "I'll stay in the same room with Shan. We have been together for so many years. We won't have any problems."
He turned sharply, intending to march back upstairs, back to the only family he had left — the only person who still made sense.
But before he could take another step, Ron reached out and caught his arm. It wasn't a violent gesture, but the grip was firm — firm enough to demand stillness.
"Master and Mr. Shan, leave them alone and let them fix their relationship," Ron said, his voice controlled and even. There was no smile on his face now, no sly remark. Just seriousness, and something deeper beneath it. "As much as you think Master Kang is bad, he's not that bad. And I have a room next to you because if you have any problems, you can call me."
The words weren't a threat, not quite — but there was a weight to them, a veiled warning that reminded Davey of the world they now belonged to. A world ruled by alphas and walls too high to scale.
Davey yanked his arm free, glaring. "I hope I won't need you anymore," he spat, his voice low but burning with bitterness.
He turned and shoved open the door to his assigned room, slamming it behind him with a sharp echo that rang through the empty hallway. The silence afterward felt heavier than before.
Ron remained in place for a moment, staring at the closed door. His expression didn't change, but inside, something ached. A strange, distant sympathy — not just for Davey, but for Shan, for Sang, and even — impossibly — for Kang Jin-ho.
Perhaps it was because he had once believed in control too. That with enough power, enough structure, everything broken could be mended. But now, looking down this corridor full of closed doors and silent rooms, Ron wasn't so sure.
He sighed — a quiet, private exhale — then turned and entered his own room.
Behind him, Davey stood with his back against the door, fists clenched at his sides. The room was beautiful — ornate, spacious, quiet. But to him, it felt like a gilded cage. A different kind of prison, no less suffocating than the muddy fields they had escaped.
And somewhere, just down the hall, behind layers of walls and silence, Shan lay with his child — caught between fear and hope, past and future, haunted by a love that hadn't faded.
The mansion, for all its beauty, was a battlefield waiting to awaken.