Han woke up with his throat dry, his body stiff from the tension he held the entire night.
Jiwoo sat on the far end of the bed, her hair messy, her eyes swollen — but her expression blank, controlled… like she was scared to show anything at all.
They had lunch together, but the plates looked untouched. Jiwoo chewed small bites mechanically. Han kept glancing at the window as if expecting something to appear there.
The silence wasn't just silence — it was heavy, like both of them were waiting for a disaster.
After lunch, Jiwoo placed her chopsticks down slowly.
"Han… I have talked with Christine. She said we can leave this coming Saturday."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp with fear.
Han opened his mouth—
A knock.
No — not a knock.
A THUD.
Both of them flinched.
Han's skin crawled instantly. Something was wrong.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribcage.
He approached the door carefully, every step feeling risky. Jiwoo followed close behind him, not breathing, as if breath itself would attract danger.
Han opened the door—
Six or seven men in identical black suits stood there.
No expression.
No warmth.
Just blank obedience.
"Miss Jiwoo. Mr Han," one said. "You both need to come with us. Mr. Joon wants you home immediately."
Han forced a polite expression, though a cold sweat rolled down his back.
"Okay. Let me change—"
"No, sir," the guard interrupted without blinking. "We don't have time."
Han stared at them, eyes narrowing.
The audacity irritated him more than the fear.
"Fine. Let's go," Han said flatly.
Then he closed the door right in their faces.
The guards began SLAMMING the door, fists hammering like they intended to break it down.
Han sighed. "Idiots. They always get on my nerves."
Jiwoo's eyes darted toward the rattling door.
"They can't break it, right?"
"No. If they make noise, building security will show up."
Her shoulders relaxed—barely.
"Okay… give me some clothes."
He tossed her a hoodie and sweatpants. Jiwoo changed quickly. Han did too, hands slightly trembling though he hid it well.
When he opened the door again, the men were still there, standing stiff like mannequins.
"We are already late," one said. "Move."
Han and Jiwoo walked ahead.
Their silence wasn't peaceful — it was shared dread.
In the car, Jiwoo kept looking at Han.
Han kept looking out of the window.
Both too scared to voice their suspicions:
Did father discover the escape plan?
Was this their last free ride?
---
AT THE HOUSE —
The estate looked normal… too normal.
Those kinds of normal that meant something terrible was hiding behind it.
The curtains were perfectly arranged.
The flowers trimmed.
The dining room lit warmly.
But the air felt wrong — thick, stale, almost suffocating.
At the dining table:
Mr. Joon sat straight, calm, drinking tea.
Mr. Choi sat beside him looking bored.
Seungmin sat next to his father — shoulders stiff, hands locked together, gaze empty.
Han forced himself to greet them all politely, hiding the tremor in his voice.
He sat next to Seungmin.
Seungmin didn't look at him.
Didn't blink.
He seemed… lost.
The maids filled the table with dishes.
The smell of food irritated Han's stomach.
Han barely touched anything.
His hands felt cold.
Seungmin lifted his spoon but didn't eat. Even his breathing looked controlled, shallow.
Jiwoo sat silently at the corner of the table, watching everyone like they were bombs that could detonate without warning.
When they finished eating, the table was cleared with eerie efficiency.
Mr. Joon snapped his fingers.
A man approached. He whispered into the man's ear.
Something cold crawled across Han's skin.
The man returned with files.
Thick ones.
He handed them out one by one.
To Mr. Choi.
To Seungmin.
To Jiwoo.
Han felt dread coil in his stomach as he received his.
Mr. Joon sighed dramatically.
"Mr. Choi, I apologize. My son cheated on yours."
Han's heart dropped.
"What—Dad, what are you talking about?"
Mr. Joon pretended not to hear him.
Everyone opened their files.
Everyone except Seungmin.
He held his file like a bomb.
Han opened his — breath shaking.