The tension from the Lee dinner table was a world away from the sleek, air-conditioned penthouse overlooking the city. Here, the air smelled of expensive perfume and ambition.
Yuna was sprawled on a cream-colored Italian leather sofa, one hand scrolling absently through her phone, the other gesturing along to a pop song only she could hear through her wireless earbuds. The setting sun cast long, golden beams across the polished marble floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Her mother, Mrs. Choi, watched her from an armchair, her lips pressed into a thin, dissatisfied line. She saw not a woman relaxing, but an asset languishing. With a swift, impatient movement, she plucked the phone from Yuna's hand.
Yuna yelped, pulling out an earbud. "Eomma! What are you doing?"
"I am talking to you, and you are ignoring me. This is important." Mrs. Choi's voice was sharp, her eyes narrowed. "Why has Taekyun stopped visiting? It's been over a week. Don't tell me he's started developing feelings for that… that husband of his."
Yuna threw her head back and let out a derisive chuckle, the sound echoing in the spacious room. She sat up straight, smoothing her silk lounge set, her confidence a visible armor.
"Eomma, please. Taekyun is not that stupid. To leave all… this," she gestured to herself with a manicured hand, "for Rinwoo? That man he never liked? Rinwoo is literally a guy with no education, probably no manners beyond 'please' and 'thank you.' He's a ghost. A placeholder." A smug smirk played on her lips. "Taekyun finds him tedious."
But Mrs. Choi wasn't convinced. Her jaw clenched, the worry lines around her mouth deepening. "Then what is the reason? A man doesn't just stop visiting a woman like you without a reason. And don't forget," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss, "even if Taekyun doesn't love him, Rinwoo is still his legal husband. He's the one living in that mansion, spending the Lee family money. He's the one with the title. What do you have?"
She leaned forward, her eyes boring into her daughter's. "A very nice apartment. When are you going to stop playing the girlfriend and start securing your future? When are you going to convince Taekyun to give you a child?"
Yuna rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in their sockets. She flopped back against the cushions with a dramatic sigh. "A baby? With Taekyun? Eomma, he's a cold machine. He doesn't know anything about romance. It's all business deals and silent brooding. Can you imagine him cooing over a cradle? It's laughable."
The reaction was instantaneous. Mrs. Choi moved with surprising speed, leaning over and pinching Yuna's earlobe hard enough to make her yelp in genuine pain.
"Ya! That hurts!"
"That cold machine is the one paying for this food!" her mother snapped, her grip tightening for a second before releasing. "He is paying these bills! He bought this couch you're lazing on! Do you think this lifestyle falls from the sky?"
She sat back, her chest heaving with frustration. "Use your head, Yuna-ah. The middle son just married a man because of their family's weird curse. That means old man Lee has no heirs from his sons' marriages. His bloodline is at a dead end. He will be desperate."
A new, calculating light entered Mrs. Choi's eyes. "If you… if you were to get pregnant with Taekyun's child… you wouldn't just be a mistress in a penthouse. You would be the mother of the next Lee heir. The only heir. You wouldn't live like a princess." She leaned in again, her voice a whisper full of promise and venom. "You would live like a queen."
The smirk had vanished from Yuna's face. She rubbed her sore ear, her mother's words sinking in, bypassing her pride and speaking directly to her deepest craving: unassailable security and power.
She looked around the penthouse. It was beautiful, but it was a gilded cage, its lease entirely dependent on Taekyun's fleeting attention. Her mother was right. Without something to tie him to her permanently, she was just an expense.
A slow, thoughtful look replaced her irritation. She stared out at the glittering city skyline, no longer seeing lights, but seeing a kingdom.
"A queen…" she murmured to herself, the idea taking root.
AT LEE ESTATE
The door to Daon's bedroom clicked shut, sealing them in a world of thick, hostile silence. The moment they were alone, the rigid posture Daon had maintained throughout dinner crumbled. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped his lips as he leaned against the wall, his face pale and clammy.
"You see?" Eunjae's voice was tight, a wire about to snap. He crossed his arms, his foot tapping an anxious rhythm on the floor. "You're a mess. You need to lie down, not take a shower. You'll get the wounds wet."
"I need to clean up," Daon gritted out, pushing himself off the wall and taking a pained step toward the ensuite bathroom. His movements were stiff, each one a visible effort. "I can manage."
"Manage? You can barely stand!" Eunjae exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "You're the most stubborn, infuriating man on the planet! Just listen to me for once!"
"I don't need your instructions!" Daon shot back, his voice rising to a volume he rarely used. The pain was stripping away his controlled exterior, leaving raw irritation exposed. He hated this hated being weak, hated being fussed over, hated that Eunjae was witnessing his vulnerability. "Just leave me alone!"
That was the final straw. The worry, the guilt from dinner, the sheer frustration at Daon's impossible stoicism it all boiled over into a single, reckless impulse.
Eunjae surged forward. Before Daon could take another step, a hand tangled roughly in his hair, not to hurt, but to stop him dead in his tracks. With a firm yank, Eunjae pulled him backward and shoved him down to sit on the edge of the bed.
Daon landed with a jolt that sent a fresh wave of fire across his back. He froze, his breath catching not from the pain, but from sheer, unadulterated shock. His wide, disbelieving eyes locked on Eunjae. No one ...no one had ever dared to manhandle him like that.
He opened his mouth to deliver a scathing rebuke, but the words died in his throat.
Eunjae wasn't looking at him with anger anymore. His chest was heaving, his eyes blazing with a ferocity that was entirely possessive. Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched into the bathroom. Daon heard the water run, a quick, angry splash.
He returned moments later, carrying a large ceramic basin filled with warm water. He dropped it at Daon's feet with a definitive thud, then knelt. His hands, which had just been so rough, were surprisingly gentle as he took Daon's feet, removed his socks, and guided them into the warm water.
Daon could only stare, his mind reeling, completely disarmed.
Then Eunjae's hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Daon's own hands came up automatically to stop him, fingers closing around Eunjae's wrists.
"Eunjae, don't.." he started, his voice hoarse.
Eunjae glared up at him, and the intensity in that look made Daon's protest die again. It wasn't a request. It was a declaration. Wordlessly, Eunjae pulled his wrists free and went back to work, undoing the buttons with efficient, determined movements. He peeled the sweat-damp shirt from Daon's shoulders and down his arms, careful to avoid his back, and tossed it aside.
Daon sat in stunned silence, his upper body bare, his feet in the warm water, completely at the mercy of this bratty, dramatic, and suddenly fiercely capable young man. Eunjae's fingers went to his belt next, then the fastening of his trousers. Daon, too shocked to resist again, lifted his hips slightly, allowing Eunjae to pull them off, leaving him in just his boxers.
Eunjae grabbed a soft towel from the basin, wrung it out, and without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment, he began to wipe Daon down. The warm cloth moved over his chest, his arms, his neck, washing away the sweat and strain of the day. His touch was firm yet meticulous, cleansing, caring.
The anger was gone from his face, replaced by a look of profound concentration. He was tending to what was his.
Daon's heart hammered against his ribs, the rhythm loud and chaotic in the quiet room. The shock began to melt away, replaced by a strange, warm, and utterly foreign sensation. It was the feeling of being taken care of. Not out of duty, not by a servant, but by someone who was furious at him for being hurt, who was defiant in their care.
He watched the top of Eunjae's head, the dark hair, the determined set of his jaw, and felt the last of his defenses crumble into dust. He had nothing left to fight with. He could only sit there, vulnerable and bare, and accept it.
The air in the room, thick with tension and something else entirely, seemed to crackle.
Eunjae's ministrations had slowed. The towel, warm and damp, had stilled on Daon's shoulder. His gaze, once full of fierce determination, had drifted. It snagged on the defined lines of Daon's abdomen, the taut muscle that spoke of a discipline Eunjae himself lacked. It was a landscape of controlled strength, even in vulnerability.
Lost in the thought, his fingers, holding the towel, unconsciously curled. His knuckles brushed lightly, then pressed more firmly, against Daon's stomach, tracing the firm ridge of a muscle.
The touch was electric.
Daon's head snapped down, his eyes, which had been fixed on the far wall in a desperate attempt to maintain some shred of dignity, flew to Eunjae. The shock and vulnerability were instantly burned away by a hot flash of something else indignation, embarrassment, a spark of raw, startled energy. His hand shot out, fingers closing like a vice around Eunjae's wrist, stopping the exploration.
"What do you think you're doing?" Daon's voice was a low, dangerous growl, a stark contrast to his half-undressed state. His glare was intense enough to pin Eunjae to the spot.
Eunjae gasped, his own eyes widening. The fierce caretaker was gone, replaced by a young man caught red-handed. His mouth opened to form some retort, a defensive quip, but nothing came out. The heat of Daon's grip on his wrist seemed to travel straight up his arm.
They were frozen there, a charged tableau Daon half-naked and glowering, Eunjae kneeling, caught in an act of unexpected intimacy, the warm water at their feet still steaming faintly.
Knock. Knock.
The sound was like a gunshot in the silent room.
They jerked apart as if scalded. Eunjae scrambled backward, dropping the towel into the basin with a splash. Daon's hand flew back to his side, his face flushing a deep, mortified red as he instinctively tried to straighten his posture, only to wince at the pain the movement caused.
The door creaked open.
A young maid stood in the doorway, her eyes carefully averted from the scene, fixed on a point on the far wall. Her own cheeks were stained a bright pink. She had clearly seen enough the half-dressed young master, his spouse kneeling before him, the charged atmosphere to paint a very vivid picture.
"Y-Young Master Daon," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "The… the Master requests your presence in his study. Immediately."
Daon cleared his throat, the sound rough. He fought to get his breathing under control, to force his voice back into its usual cold neutrality. "Now?"
"Y-Yes, sir. He said it was urgent."
Daon gave a sharp, stiff nod. "Tell him I'm coming."
The maid bowed hastily, not daring to look at either of them again, and fled, pulling the door shut with a soft but definitive click.
The silence she left behind was even heavier than before, now layered with a thick, awkward embarrassment. The spell was broken, replaced by the cold reality of his father's summons. Daon avoided looking at Eunjae, his jaw tight. The warmth of the water at his feet suddenly felt foolish, the care he had just received feeling like a distant, bizarre dream.
Urgent. His father's study. Nothing good ever followed those words.
MINUTES LATER
The heavy oak door of Mr. Lee's study closed behind Daon with a soft, definitive click, sealing him and his brother in with the imposing presence of their father. The air here was different from the tense intimacy of his bedroom it was cold, sterile, and smelled of old leather and ambition.
Daon bowed deeply, ignoring the fiery protest from his back. "Father. You called for me."
Mr. Lee didn't look up from the documents spread before him. He merely gestured with a flick of his wrist to the empty chair beside Taekyun. "Sit."
Taekyun gave his brother a brief, unreadable glance before returning his gaze to the wall ahead, his expression its usual mask of stoic indifference. Daon took his seat, sitting stiffly upright, every muscle in his back screaming in rebellion.
After a long moment of silence filled only by the scratch of Mr. Lee's pen, the patriarch set it down and steepled his fingers. "There's a problem with the international holdings. Significant. I need to go abroad to handle it myself."
He let the statement hang, his sharp eyes moving between his two eldest sons. "The question is, who will manage the seats here in my absence?"
He looked at Taekyun. "I will make you acting Chairman. You will sit at the head of the table."
Taekyun gave a single, curt nod. "Understood."
"Which leaves your current position vacant," Mr. Lee continued, his voice a low rumble. "We cannot have a power vacuum. Not even for a week."
Taekyun, ever the strategist, spoke before his father could propose a solution. "It's time to pull Taemin into the business. He's had enough of his... fun." The word was laced with subtle disdain. "Let's put him in Daon's seat. And Daon can move to mine. That way, the structure remains solid. We manage everything without any gaps."
Mr. Lee's gaze shifted to Daon, assessing him, weighing the proposal against his middle son's current state. Daon met his look steadily, refusing to let even a flicker of pain show on his face.
After a tense moment, Mr. Lee gave a grunt of approval. "Adequate. Daon, you will ensure Taemin is ready. Take him to the company starting tomorrow. Drill him. He is to be prepared, not coddled. Is that clear?"
Daon bowed his head slightly. "Perfectly clear, Father. I will see to it."
"Good." Mr. Lee leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "But before that..." He paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Before we place him in a position of such visibility, we must look into his fate. The fact that he hasn't been through any accidents doesn't mean he's safe. It only means the curse is biding its time."
Taekyun nodded in grim agreement. "The shrine. We never asked."
"This time," Mr. Lee declared, his voice leaving no room for argument, "I will go myself. Before I leave the country, I will pay a visit to Master Hwang. I will ask him to look for Taemin's fated match myself. We will not be caught off guard."
The unspoken words hung heavily in the room: Like we were with you, Taekyun. The eldest son's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Now," Mr. Lee said, pulling the documents back toward him, the personal matter settled and the business one beginning. "The specifics of the Singapore merger. Taekyun, your report was lacking in detail on the regulatory hurdles..."
The conversation shifted, plunging into the cold, hard language of business. Daon sat rigidly in his chair, the dual burdens of his new duty and his father's impending pilgrimage to the mountain settling on his wounded shoulders like a physical weight. The brief, warm memory of Eunjae's hands on his skin felt like something that had happened to another man in another lifetime.
The door to Rinwoo's room opened with a soft click, a sound he didn't hear over the quiet hum of his own thoughts. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, watching the evening sky bleed from orange to deep violet over the gardens. His mind was a thousand miles away, lost in the memory of a rare moment of peace a head resting against his knee, the quiet sigh of a man finally finding rest.
He didn't realize he was no longer alone until arms wrapped around him from behind.
Rinwoo flinched hard, a small, startled gasp escaping him as he was pulled back from the balcony's view.
A familiar giggle sounded in his ear. "What are you thinking about so deeply, hyung? You looked like a lonely prince in a tower."
Rinwoo's tense shoulders relaxed instantly. He turned his head to find Eunjae's chin resting on his shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. A small, genuine smile touched Rinwoo's lips. "Eunjae-ah. You scared me."
"I noticed," Eunjae said, unwrapping himself and plopping down on the bed beside Rinwoo. He bumped their shoulders together. "So? Spill it. What has you so dreamy-eyed?"
"Nothing, really," Rinwoo murmured, looking down at his hands.
"Liar," Eunjae sang. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Is it... a certain tall, brooding, eldest son? Any progress on the Taekyun front?"
A delicate pink blush immediately spread across Rinwoo's cheeks. He bit his lip, trying to fight a shy smile. "It's... it's nothing big."
"Which means it's something!" Eunjae pressed, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me! Did he finally say those three words to you? Did he look at you for longer than a second without glaring?"
Rinwoo hesitated, the memory making his heart flutter. "Two days ago... at the shrine... he had a terrible headache. He was in so much pain." His voice was soft, almost reverent. "I... I massaged his head. And he... he didn't push me away. He actually leaned into it. He fell asleep like that." He looked up at Eunjae, his eyes wide with innocent wonder. "It felt like, for a moment, he didn't mind my presence at all."
Eunjae listened, his earlier teasing softening into a patient smile. He could see how monumental this small moment was for Rinwoo. "See? That's progress! The ice mountain is beginning to melt!"
The gentleness lasted for all of three seconds before Eunjae's natural impishness returned full force. He waggled his eyebrows. "So he let you touch his head, huh? What's next? A shoulder massage? Holding hands under the dinner table?"
Rinwoo's blush deepened to a brilliant crimson. "Eunjae! Stop it!"
"I'm just asking the important questions!" Eunjae laughed, poking Rinwoo's side. "When are you going to make a move? When are you going to kiss him?"
The word "kiss" seemed to short-circuit Rinwoo's brain. He made a strangled, embarrassed sound and shoved Eunjae away softly. "Yah! Don't say such things!" He buried his burning face in his hands, his ears turning a delightful shade of red. "I would never... he would never... just stop!"
Eunjae fell back onto the bed, cackling with glee at Rinwoo's flustered reaction. He reached out and poked the older man's hidden cheek. "Why not? You're his husband! It's your conjugal right! You should just grab him and.... "
"EUNJAE!" Rinwoo squealed, lifting his head only to immediately cover his ears, his face the picture of pure, unadulterated mortification. "You're impossible! You'll never stop, will you?"
"Never!" Eunjae declared, rolling over and propping his chin on his hands, his laughter finally subsiding into a warm, fond smile. He loved seeing this side of Rinwoo...not the quiet, sad spouse, but a blushing, flustered young man capable of hope and crushes. It was a vast improvement. "I'm just getting started. Tomorrow, we work on strategic eyelash batting."
The next morning, the dining hall felt different without Mr. Lee's oppressive presence at the head of the table. The silence was lighter, almost comfortable. Daon, Eunjae, and Rinwoo were eating in a quiet, companionable rhythm when the door swung open.
Taemin stumbled in, groggy and half-asleep. His hair was a charmingly disheveled mess, and his shirt was haphazardly buttoned, the top three left undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. He collapsed into his usual chair with a soft groan, reaching blindly for a cup of coffee a maid quickly placed before him.
Daon's eyes, cold and assessing, flicked over his younger brother. He set his chopsticks down with a precise click. "Button your shirt. You're not at a resort."
Taemin rolled his eyes dramatically but, sensing the lack of his father's buffer, reluctantly fumbled with the buttons. "Happy?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"No," Daon said flatly. "Be ready in thirty minutes. You're coming to the company with me today."
The words acted like a bucket of ice water. Taemin jolted fully awake, his eyes widening in pure horror. "What? No. Hyung, no. I'm not ready for that. I have... things."
"You have nothing," Daon stated, picking up his chopsticks again and continuing his meal as if he'd just commented on the weather. "And if you refuse, I will personally call the bank and disable every credit card you have. Your club memberships will be revoked. Permanently."
Taemin's jaw dropped. He looked at Daon as if he'd just declared war. "You can't do that! That's... that's tyranny! Father would never....."
"Father isn't here," Daon interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Father put me in charge. The decision is made."
The tantrum began instantly. Taemin wasn't subtle. He shoved his chair back, letting out a frustrated groan that was more befitting a toddler than a man in his mid-twenties. "I don't want to! It's boring! It's all suits and numbers and old men talking about things that don't matter! I'm not going!"
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, slumping down and jutting his lower lip out in a magnificent pout.
From across the table, a soft, almost inaudible chuckle escaped Rinwoo. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at his bowl to hide his amusement.
Eunjae, however, made no attempt to hide his. He leaned back in his chair, a wide, wicked smirk spreading across his face as he watched the spectacle. He propped his chin on his hand, utterly entertained by the youngest Lee's meltdown.
Daon, for his part, completely ignored the theatrics. He took a sip of his tea, and continued his breakfast with an air of utter impassivity, as if the whining and complaining were nothing more than faint background music. His message was clear the tantrum would change nothing. The decision was final.
The only sounds left were the clink of Daon's utensils and Taemin's dramatic, huffy breaths.
AT A CAFE
The VIP café was an oasis of quiet luxury, all soft lighting, plush velvet banquettes, and the gentle clink of fine china. Yet, at one table, a storm was brewing.
Taekyun sat across from Yuna, his attention divided. One hand held a delicate espresso cup, the other was busy on his phone, his thumb scrolling through a relentless stream of emails and merger documents. The glow of the screen illuminated the tired lines around his eyes.
Yuna pushed her avocado toast around her plate, her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed in a deep frown. Each silent minute felt like a personal insult. With a dramatic sigh that was meant to be heard, she dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against the plate.
Taekyun didn't look up.
"Sometimes," she began, her voice pitched to a wounded, theatrical tone, "I feel so incredibly lonely. It's like no one in this world truly loves me."
Taekyun's thumb paused over his screen. He let out a soft, inaudible sigh, recognizing the preamble to one of her performances. He finally set his phone face down on the table. "Yuna. What's wrong now?"
The question was all the invitation she needed. Her lower lip began to tremble artistically, and she dabbed at the corner of her eye with a napkin, though no tears had actually fallen. "It's my mother," she whispered, her voice cracking with feigned emotion. "She... she wants us to break up. She says she sees no future with you. She wants me to marry someone else... someone who can give me a real family, a happy life."
The words struck a chord, precisely as she knew they would. A flicker of genuine guilt and panic passed over Taekyun's usually impassive face. He reached across the table, his cold fingers covering her hand. "Yuna-ah, don't cry. You know that's not true."
"But it is!" she insisted, turning her hand to clutch his. "She says I'm wasting my youth. That I'm just your... your secret." A real tear of frustration finally welled up, making the performance more convincing. "What are we even doing, Taekyun?"
His heart, so often closed off, clenched for her. He loved her, deeply and blindly, seeing only the charming, demanding woman he chose, not the manipulator beneath. "You know my situation," he said, his voice low, trying to soothe her. "I have no real power right now. But once my father gives me the seat of Chairman permanently, everything will change. I'll marry you properly. I'll buy you another mansion, a bigger one. Whatever you want."
Yuna sniffled, looking up at him through her lashes. "And what about Rinwoo?" she asked, her voice a little too sharp.
A shadow crossed Taekyun's face. The mention of his husband was an unwelcome intrusion into this fantasy. "He's nothing," he said, his voice turning cold and dismissive. "A tool. A placeholder to protect me from that ridiculous curse. Once I'm Chairman, I won't need protection. I'll make him forget he ever existed."
Yuna nodded slowly, seeming somewhat appeased. She let out a long, suffering sigh. "But when, Taekyun? When will you be Chairman? I can't wait forever."
Taekyun hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "My father is... healthy. And traditional. It could be... maybe in the next ten years."
Yuna gasped, recoiling as if he'd slapped her. She snatched her hand back and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Ten years? Are you insane? My mother would never agree to that! I'll be old by then!"
Seeing her genuine anger flare, Taekyun backtracked slightly. "Yuna, please. I'll handle it. I'll come by tonight. I'll speak to your mother myself. I will convince her."
Yuna studied him, her mind racing. A visit tonight was better than nothing. It was a step. She could work with that. She let her defensive posture relax slightly, offering him a small, reluctant nod. "Fine. Tonight. You'd better be convincing."
"I will be," he promised. He glanced at his watch and his mask of the attentive lover slipped back into place, replaced by the impatient heir. "I have to go. I'm late for a board meeting."
He stood, dropped a few large bills on the table to cover the bill, and gave her a brief, distracted nod before striding out of the café, already pulling his phone back out.
Yuna watched him go, the fake sadness evaporating from her face, replaced by a cool, calculating look. She picked up her orange juice and took a slow sip. Ten years was unacceptable. But a visit tonight... that was a new opportunity. She just had to make sure her mother played her part perfectly.
The moment Taekyun disappeared through the café's glass doors, the wounded-lover act evaporated from Yuna's face. She watched his retreating back through the window, her expression cool and calculating. The second his car pulled away from the curb, she snatched her phone from her purse, her fingers flying across the screen.
Her mother answered on the first ring, her voice a hushed, eager whisper. "Well?"
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across Yuna's perfectly glossed lips. She leaned back in the plush velvet chair, the picture of satisfied cunning. "It worked. Just like you said it would. I told him the whole 'my mother is forcing me to leave you' story. He's coming to the penthouse tonight to talk to you."
A low, pleased chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Good girl. I knew he would. His guilt is his biggest weakness where you're concerned."
"Of course he did," Yuna said, her voice dripping with smug confidence. She examined her manicure. "He promised me the world. Again. All I have to do is wait a decade." She rolled her eyes at the absurdity.
"Then we won't wait a decade," her mother replied, her tone shifting to one of sharp strategy. "Tonight is not about waiting. It's about creating a new reality. Be ready. Wear the black silk negligee. The one he likes. Make sure the wine is open and breathing before he arrives. Set the mood. We need to make him forget all about timelines and chairsmanship."
Yuna's smirk deepened. She could already picture the scene: the soft lighting, the expensive perfume in the air, herself as the irresistible temptation. "Don't worry, Eomma. I know exactly how to handle him."
"See that you do. This is our chance. Don't waste it."
"I won't," Yuna promised, her eyes glinting with ambition. "Tonight, we start securing our future for real."
She ended the call and dropped the phone onto the table with a decisive click. The performance was over. Now, the real preparation began. She signaled for the check, no longer interested in the unfinished breakfast. She had a much more important appointment to get ready for.
The atmosphere outside the Lee estate was as tense as the inside of the sleek black sedan idling in the driveway. Daon sat in the back seat, his jaw clenched, his perfectly polished shoe tapping an impatient rhythm against the floorboard. He checked his watch for the third time in a minute. They were going to be late.
Inside, the sound of a tantrum echoed from an upstairs window.
Taemin's bedroom was a warzone of discarded clothes and frustrated groans. "I look ridiculous!" he wailed, pulling at the collar of a stiff, brand-new dress shirt. "This itches! And this tie is trying to strangle me!"
He was stomping around like a caged animal, his hair still defiantly messy despite his formal attire.
The door opened softly, and Rinwoo peeked in, his gentle face a contrast to the chaos. "Taemin-ah? Are you almost ready? Your brother is waiting."
"No, I'm not ready! I'll never be ready!" Taemin whined, throwing himself onto the bed and burying his face in a pillow. "I can't do it, Rinwoo hyung. I'll mess everything up. I'm not like them. I'm not smart like Daon hyung or cold like Taekyun hyung."
Rinwoo walked in and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He placed a calming hand on Taemin's back. "It's just your first day. No one expects you to know everything." He spoke softly, trying to soothe the younger man's fears. "You need to do this, Taemin-ah. You need to work hard. If you want… power… you have to start somewhere."
He said the words carefully, a subtle hint meant to encourage Taemin about his future with Juwon to become someone whose family couldn't dismiss him. But Taemin, deep in his own drama, missed the meaning entirely.
"What do I need power for? To buy uglier ties?" he mumbled into the pillow.
Downstairs, the car door slammed shut. Daon had had enough. His own back was a symphony of pain, his patience worn thinner than tissue paper. He marched back into the house, his footsteps echoing like gunshots on the marble floor, his expression dark enough to storm clouds.
He was heading straight for the stairs, a scathing reprimand already on his lips, when a figure lazily leaned against the newel post, blocking his path.
"Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the whipping post," Eunjae drawled, a infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He looked Daon up and down, taking in his thunderous expression. "Going to drag him out by his ear? Very authoritative. Very sexy."
Daon stopped dead, his glare shifting from the staircase to the smirking man in front of him. "Move, Eunjae. This doesn't concern you."
"But it's so much fun to watch," Eunjae purred, not moving an inch. "The mighty Daon Lee, brought to his knees by his younger brother who's afraid of spreadsheets. It's adorable."
"I am not adorable," Daon gritted out, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And I am not being brought to my knees." The statement was undercut by a faint wince he couldn't quite suppress.
Eunjae's smirk softened into something more genuine, though no less teasing. He pushed off the post and stepped closer, into Daon's space. "I know. But yelling at him will just make him dig his heels in deeper. He's scared." He reached out and, with a boldness that still surprised Daon, straightened his already-perfect tie. "Be the stern big brother, not the tyrannical CEO. Yet." His fingers lingered for a second too long, a silent message of support wrapped in impertinence.
Daon stared down at him, the anger in his chest momentarily banked by Eunjae's unexpected intervention. The simple touch, the ridiculous advice it shouldn't have worked. But it did. He took a slow, measured breath, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
Just then, Rinwoo appeared at the top of the stairs, gently guiding a pouting but finally presentable Taemin downward. "We're ready," Rinwoo said softly, offering Daon a small, apologetic smile.
Daon looked from Rinwoo to Taemin, then back to Eunjae, who was still smirking up at him. He gave a sharp, single nod.
"Let's go," he said, his voice considerably cooler and more controlled than it would have been minutes before. "We've wasted enough time." He turned and walked back to the car, the storm momentarily calmed, thanks to the most unlikely of peacemakers.
The moment the sleek black sedan disappeared down the long driveway, the formal atmosphere of the Lee estate seemed to evaporate. Eunjae, who had been the picture of casual defiance moments before, instantly spun around and latched onto Rinwoo's arm, clinging to him like an excited koala.
Rinwoo stumbled a step from the sudden weight, a soft, surprised chuckle escaping him. He looked down at the younger man practically vibrating with energy against his side. "Yah, what's so exciting? They just left for a day of… spreadsheets."
Eunjae giggled, a bright, unrestrained sound that echoed in the vast entryway. He buried his face in Rinwoo's shoulder for a second before looking up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I don't know! These days, everything about Daon is just so… exciting!"
Rinwoo's smile turned knowing. He tilted his head, studying Eunjae's flushed, delighted face with a gentle suspicion. "Oh? Is that so?" he mused, his voice soft. "It looks like you don't hate my stern brother-in-law that much anymore."
The direct call-out made Eunjae pause. The giggling subsided. He bit his lip, his gaze shifting away from Rinwoo's perceptive eyes to stare at a point on the wall. A faint blush crept up his neck. He was quiet for a long moment, as if weighing his words carefully.
"Yeah," he finally admitted, the word coming out in a soft, almost shy exhumation. He shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off as nothing. "He's… not that bad at all."
The admission was small, but it was monumental. It was the first time Eunjae had said anything about Daon that wasn't a complaint or an insult.
Rinwoo's face broke into a warm, radiant grin. He didn't tease or push further. He simply squeezed Eunjae's arm affectionately, his heart feeling light at the sight of this budding, unlikely connection. "I'm glad," he said simply, his voice full of genuine warmth.
Eunjae, now slightly embarrassed by his own admission, tugged on Rinwoo's arm. "Come on, let's go upstairs. I'm bored. You can tell me more about your dreamy head massage."
Linking their arms together, the two of them made their way up the grand staircase one blushing and trying to change the subject, the other smiling knowingly, both of them harboring new, fragile hopes for their respective marriages. The quiet estate felt a little less lonely with their shared, secret excitement hanging in the air.