The roar of the Aston Martin's engine was a violent announcement of Taemin's return. He didn't park it neatly; he slammed it into a space near the entrance, the screech of tires echoing in the evening air. He stormed into the Lee estate, his face a thundercloud of fury, holding his declined black credit card like a weapon.
He found Daon immediately, standing rigidly in the grand foyer, having been alerted by the sound of the car. The air between them crackled with impending violence.
"You!" Taemin shouted, his voice echoing off the marble. He flung the card at Daon's feet. "What is the meaning of this? You disabled my cards?!"
Daon didn't flinch. His own anger, banked for the last hour, ignited. "You stole my car, embarrassed this family, and abandoned your duties, and you have the audacity to ask about your spending privileges?" His voice was dangerously low, a stark contrast to Taemin's shout. "You are a child having a tantrum. You get treated like one."
"I am not a child! I am your brother! You can't just cut me off!" Taemin stepped forward, getting in Daon's face, his own pain and fear manifesting as pure rage.
"I can, and I have," Daon shot back, not giving an inch. "Until you learn respect and responsibility, you will have nothing."
It was no longer about the car or the company. It was about pride, power, and years of built-up resentment.
Rinwoo and Eunjae descended the staircase, drawn by the shouting.
Rinwoo went straight to Taemin, his movements gentle but firm. He placed a calming hand on Taemin's heaving shoulder. "Taemin-ah, please, lower your voice. Let's talk about this calmly. You're upset, it's understandable, but this isn't the way."
His voice was a soft, soothing balm, trying to cool the heated anger. Taemin barely seemed to hear him, his glare locked on Daon.
On the other side, Eunjae inserted himself between the two brothers, facing Daon. He didn't try to be sweet. He poked Daon's chest. "And you! Look at you, you're as white as a sheet. Do you want to tear every stitch in your back? Is winning this stupid argument worth ending up in the hospital? Stop being so stubborn!"
He was scolding him, but his hands were on Daon's arms, a physical attempt to hold him back, to ground him.
But it was too late. The line had been crossed. The brothers were locked in a battle of wills, each too proud to back down.
"You have no right!" Taemin yelled, shoving past Rinwoo's gentle hold.
"I have every right!" Daon roared, ignoring Eunjae's pointed words and the searing pain in his back. "I am your older brother, and you will listen to me!"
"I don't have to listen to a tyrant!"
"Then you will learn what happens when you defy one!"
Rinwoo looked on, his gentle eyes wide with helpless worry, his soft pleas lost in the storm. Eunjae stood his ground, his own frustration mounting as his attempts to reason were met with immovable pride. They were two gentle forces trying to calm a hurricane, and they were failing. The brothers' war had begun, and neither was willing to surrender.
At penthouse
The penthouse was a stage, and Yuna and her mother were its directors. The lights were dimmed, casting a soft, seductive glow. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and slow, melodic music. A bottle of expensive red wine sat open and breathing on the coffee table, next to two crystal glasses.
Yuna looked every bit the part of the temptress, draped in a sleek black silk negligee that left little to the imagination. Her mother, Mrs. Choi, hovered just out of sight in the kitchen, a calculated mix of hope and anxiety on her face.
When Taekyun entered, he looked like a man arriving at a business meeting he'd forgotten about. His shoulders were tense, his eyes shadowed with the exhaustion of his day. He barely registered the atmosphere.
"Tae~ you're here," Yuna purred, gliding over to him. She tried to take his coat, but he shrugged her off, walking further into the room.
"Your mother wanted to talk. Where is she?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth she was trying to cultivate.
Mrs. Choi emerged then, her smile a little too bright. "Taekyun-ssi, so good of you to come. I was just getting us a drink." She gestured to the wine. "Please, sit. Relax. You look so tired."
Taekyun sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, not leaning back. He accepted the glass of wine Mrs. Choi handed him but merely held it, not drinking. "You had concerns about our relationship," he stated, getting straight to the point.
Mrs. Choi's smile tightened. "Concerns is a strong word. I simply worry for my daughter's future. A woman needs security. A promise of marriage is one thing, but a child… a child is a permanent bond. It secures everything."
Yuna sat close to him, her hand on his thigh. "Wouldn't it be wonderful, Oppa? A little you? We could start our family now, not in ten years."
Taekyun's jaw tightened. He gently but firmly moved her hand away. "A child is not a business transaction. It is not a tool to secure a position." He looked from Yuna's pouting face to her mother's calculating one. "I will not have a child out of wedlock. It's a matter of principle and respect for the family name."
The atmosphere in the room chilled several degrees. Yuna's seductive pout twisted into genuine annoyance. This was not going according to plan.
Mrs. Choi's eyes flicked to the wine glass in Taekyun's hand, still full. They had prepared a "special" drink, just in case his principles proved too strong. But he wasn't drinking.
"Taekyun-ssi, be reasonable," Mrs. Choi pressed, her voice losing its sugary tone. "A man in your position… accidents happen. Surely, the Lee family would welcome an heir, no matter the circumstances."
"There will be no accidents," Taekyun said, his voice dropping to a warning growl. He finally set the untouched glass on the table with a definitive click. The sound echoed in the tense silence. "My father would see it as the deepest kind of scandal. It would undermine everything."
He stood up, looking down at both women. The manipulation in the air was so thick he could taste it, and it left a bitter flavor that overshadowed any affection he felt. "When I make Yuna my wife, it will be done properly. Then we will discuss children. Not before."
He turned and walked toward the door, the romantic ambiance now feeling cheap and hollow.
"Tae~, wait!" Yuna called out, her voice sharp with desperation.
But Taekyun didn't stop. He'd had enough of being managed and maneuvered for one day. He left the penthouse, closing the door behind him, leaving a mother and daughter staring at each other in furious, frustrated silence, their plot in ruins and their special drink sitting untouched, a testament to his stubborn, unbending will.
The heavy door clicked shut behind Taekyun, and the second it did, the seductive atmosphere in the penthouse curdled into something sour and tense. The soft music now felt mocking.
Yuna's perfectly composed facade shattered. She let out a frustrated scream, grabbing a velvet cushion from the sofa and hurling it across the room. It hit a vase, which wobbled precariously but didn't fall.
"Principle? Respect for the family name?" she seethed, mimicking Taekyun's cold tone. "He treats me like a secret and talks about principle?!" She spun to face her mother, her eyes blazing. "He didn't even touch the wine! All that planning for nothing!"
Mrs. Choi stood by the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. She picked up Taekyun's full glass and stared into the deep red liquid, her expression grim. She had been so sure. A little encouragement, the right atmosphere, and a man's baser instincts would override his stubbornness. She had underestimated his control.
"Stop screeching, Yuna. It's undignified," her mother said, her voice low and sharp. She placed the glass back down with a quiet, final click.
"Undignified? He just walked out on us! He said ten years, Eomma! Ten years! I'll be practically old by then!" Yuna's voice was rising again, bordering on hysterical.
"Then we wait," Mrs. Choi stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She finally looked at her daughter, her eyes hard. "What is the alternative? You have no other prospects with his wealth and status. We have no other plan. We play the long game."
Yuna stared at her mother in disbelief. "The long game? What does that even mean? More waiting in this gilded cage for a man who can't be bothered to drink a glass of wine with me?"
"It means," her mother said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we make ourselves indispensable. We are patient. We make him want to give you everything, on your terms. We make that cold machine of a man need you. Throwing tantrums and plotting clumsy seductions," she gestured dismissively at the negligee and the spiked wine, "makes us look desperate. And desperate women are easily replaced."
The truth of her mother's words did little to cool Yuna's fury, but it banked it, turning it into a cold, simmering resentment. She crossed her arms over her chest, the black silk suddenly feeling cheap and silly.
Mrs. Choi reached out and straightened a strand of Yuna's hair, her touch firmer than it was loving. "So, we wait. We be the perfect, understanding girlfriend. We make him feel guilty for leaving. We make him come back to us. And when the time is right, we will not need any special drinks. We will get what we want."
Yuna said nothing. She just stood there, in the middle of the room they didn't own, surrounded by things they hadn't paid for, and felt the bars of her cage solidify. The wait was going to be unbearable. But her mother was right. They had no other choice. The only way out was through Taekyun, and that path, it seemed, was going to be a marathon, not a sprint.
The silence in the penthouse was no longer just tense; it was calculating. Yuna's frustration began to crystallize into something colder, sharper. She paced slowly, the silk of her negligue whispering against her skin.
"He's so… patient. So controlled," she muttered, more to herself than to her mother. "It's not natural. What if… what if it's not just his stubbornness?" She stopped, her eyes widening with a new, venomous thought. "What if that… that man is the reason? What if Rinwoo is somehow making him feel… secure? Content?" The words tasted like ash in her mouth.
She turned to her mother, her expression hardening. "We need to get rid of him. We need to make Rinwoo leave. If Taekyun can't kick him out because of this stupid curse, then we have to make Rinwoo want to go. We have to make him hate Taekyun so much that he walks out on his own."
Mrs. Choi had been watching her daughter, a slow, thoughtful look on her face. The idea settled, and a cruel, knowing smirk stretched across her lips. It was a far more effective look than her earlier frustration.
"Getting rid of him directly is too messy. But making him leave…" she mused, her eyes glinting with a dark strategy. "You're right. We can't break the curse, but we can break the man."
She walked over to the coffee table and finally picked up the glass of untouched, spiked wine. She swirled it thoughtfully.
"Taekyun's greatest weapon is his secrecy. His control. He hides his affair with you. He hides his true feelings behind a wall of ice. He hides his past," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, we don't attack Rinwoo. We attack that wall."
She looked at Yuna, her smirk deepening. "Let's reveal what Taekyun is so desperately hiding. All of it. Let's show Rinwoo exactly who his husband is when no one is watching."
Yuna's eyes lit up with a vicious understanding. "The affair…"
"Not just the affair," Mrs. Choi corrected, her voice smooth and deadly. "The contempt. The cruelty. The words Taekyun uses when he speaks about him to you. We make sure Rinwoo 'accidentally' hears a phone call. Finds a gift meant for you. Sees a photograph. We chip away at his gentle heart until it shatters anything we could do."
She placed the glass back down. "A man like Rinwoo, who is loyal out of love or debt… he can endure coldness. But he cannot endure betrayal. Not from the person he's devoted to. If we show him the truth, the love he thinks he has will curdle into hatred. And he will walk away."
The plan was elegant in its cruelty. It bypassed the curse entirely. It targeted the one thing they could break: Rinwoo's faith.
A slow, matching smile spread across Yuna's face, erasing her earlier frustration. This wasn't a clumsy seduction. This was a war of attrition, and they had just found their enemy's weakest point.
"Then that's what we'll do," Yuna said, her voice now calm and filled with malicious intent. "We'll show the devoted little husband exactly what his precious Taekyun is really like."
AT LEE ESTATE
The front door of the Lee estate opened to a scene of pure chaos. The pristine, orderly foyer was a warzone.
Taemin, having finally snapped, had lunged at Daon. They were a tangled, furious mess on the expensive Persian rug. It wasn't a professional fight; it was a raw, ugly brawl of pride and brotherly hatred. Taemin had managed to get Daon in a headlock, his face red with exertion and rage. Daon, despite the searing agony in his back from the whipping, was fighting back with a vicious, silent fury, his elbows digging into Taemin's ribs.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN CONTROL ME?!" Taemin screamed, his voice cracking.
Daon gritted his teeth, trying to throw him off. "YOU ARE A DISGRACE! SPOILED BRAT AND OF COURSE I CAN CONTROL YOU I'M YOUR OLDER BROTHER!!"
Rinwoo and Eunjae were in the thick of it, trying desperately to be peacemakers. Rinwoo had his arms wrapped around Taemin's waist, pulling back with all his gentle strength, his voice a frantic, pleading whisper. "Taemin-ah, please! Stop this! Let him go!"
Eunjae was on Daon's side, not trying to hug him but physically inserting himself as a barrier, getting shoved and elbowed in the process. "Daon, stop! Your back! You're going to reopen everything, you idiot! Let go of him!"
But neither brother was listening. They were past reason, past words. It was about humiliation, power, and years of suffocating under the same oppressive roof.
The door clicked shut.
The sound was soft, but it carried a finality that cut through the noise.
Everyone froze.
Taekyun stood just inside the doorway, having returned from the failed penthouse visit. His expression was not one of shock or anger, but of cold, utter contempt. His eyes, dark and exhausted, swept over the scene: his two younger brothers brawling like common street thugs, their spouses trying and failing to control them.
The silence he brought with him was heavier than any shout.
Slowly, deliberately, he walked further into the room. His footsteps were the only sound. He stopped a few feet from the tangled heap on the floor.
"Get up," he said. His voice was low, flat, and devoid of all emotion. It was more terrifying than any scream.
The spell broke. Taemin released his hold and scrambled back. Daon shoved Eunjae aside and got to his feet, wincing violently but refusing to show it. Both brothers stood before their eldest, breathing heavily, clothes disheveled, faces already blooming with bruises. Rinwoo and Eunjae retreated a few steps, their own faces pale with alarm.
Taekyun's gaze moved from Daon's bloody lip to Taemin's rapidly swelling eye.
"You," he said, looking at Daon. "The Vice President. Rolling on the floor in a fistfight. You are relieved of your duties for one week. You will not set foot in the company. You will stay in your room and reflect on your conduct."
Daon's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Being punished was one thing; being banished from his work, his purpose, was a devastating blow. But he knew better than to argue. He just bowed his head stiffly, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break.
Taekyun then turned his icy gaze to Taemin. "And you. You have proven you have the temperament of a child. You are grounded. Indefinitely. Your cards will remain blocked. Your car keys will be confiscated. You will not leave this estate. You will report to the library every day at 8 a.m. and study the company's basic ledgers until I decide you have learned something."
Taemin opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Taekyun's eyes made the words die in his throat. It was a look that promised far worse if he challenged him.
Without another word, Taekyun turned and walked away, leaving the four of them standing in the wreckage of their pride. He had not raised his voice. He had not joined the fight. He had simply passed judgment, cold, swift, and absolute, and in doing so, had reminded them all who held the real power. The fight was over, extinguished not by a greater force, but by a deeper, more profound authority. The silence he left behind was thick with shame.
The cold, shameful silence left by Taekyun's judgment was fragile. Daon, humiliated and in excruciating pain, couldn't let it be. As Eunjae moved to support him, his arm hovering to guide him upstairs, Daon locked eyes with Taemin.
A bitter, mocking smirk twisted his bloody lip. "Enjoy your ledgers, Intern," he spat, the title a venomous insult. "Try not to draw in the margins."
It was the final spark on a barrel of gunpowder.
Taemin's face, already flushed with anger and sporting a nasty bruise, contorted with fresh rage. All thoughts of punishment vanished. With a raw yell, he launched himself at Daon again, fist pulled back.
Eunjae tried to shove Daon back, but it was too late. Taemin was a blur of fury.
And then, Rinwoo moved.
He didn't shout. He didn't try to grab a swinging arm. He simply stepped directly into the path of the blow, placing himself between the two brothers.
Taemin's fist stopped just inches from Rinwoo's face, his own eyes wide with shock at the sudden intervention.
"Taemin-ah, please," Rinwoo pleaded, his voice soft but trembling with urgency. He didn't flinch, his gentle eyes fixed on the younger man, full of a pain that had nothing to do with physical fear. "Please, no more. Look at you both. You're hurt. You're brothers."
He slowly, carefully, reached up and placed his hand over Taemin's still-clenched fist, gently pushing it down. "This isn't the way. Anger only breeds more anger. Please."
The fight drained out of Taemin as quickly as it had flared. The sight of Rinwoo's earnest, worried face, the soft touch on his fist—it was a stark contrast to Daon's cold mockery and Taekyun's harsh punishment. His shoulders slumped, the adrenaline replaced by a wave of exhaustion and shame.
Rinwoo didn't wait for him to change his mind. He kept a firm but gentle hold on Taemin's arm. "Come," he said softly. "Let's get you to your room. Let's get some ice for that eye."
He began to guide a utterly defeated Taemin toward the staircase, throwing a quick, worried glance back at Eunjae and a stony-faced Daon. He had stopped the battle, but the war was clearly far from over.
Eunjae watched them go, then turned his attention back to Daon. The look he gave him was no longer one of concern, but of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"Was that necessary?" Eunjae asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "Did you really have to poke the bear after you'd both already been shot?"
Daon said nothing, just glared straight ahead, but the set of his jaw betrayed a sliver of regret beneath the pride. The cost of his last mocking jab was the sight of his husband looking at him not with frustration, but with something dangerously close to contempt.
The door to Daon's bedroom clicked shut, sealing them in a world of heavy silence and pain. The adrenaline of the fight had faded, leaving behind only the stark evidence of their foolishness. Daon sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, his shirt off, revealing the horrifying lattice of bruises and welts from his punishment, now joined by fresh, angry red marks from the brawl.
Eunjae worked with a quiet, fierce concentration, dabbing at the cut on Daon's lip with a damp cloth. His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a tense, focused silence. Every time Daon flinched, whether from the sting of the antiseptic or the deeper throb in his back, Eunjae's hands would still for a fraction of a second.
He moved behind Daon to check the older wounds, and his breath hitched. The sight of the brutal lash marks, some now torn and weeping slightly from the struggle, was too much. His hands, which had been so firm and sure, began to tremble.
A single, traitorous tear escaped, tracing a hot path down Eunjae's cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand, hoping Daon hadn't seen.
But Daon had felt the tremor in his touch. He turned his head, a difficult and painful movement, and his eyes widened in pure shock.
Eunjae's face was turned away, but the tracks of the tears were visible. His shoulders were hunched, trying to contain an emotion that was too big for him.
"Eunjae?" Daon's voice was rough, but the ice was gone from it. It was just… questioning. Stunned.
"It's nothing," Eunjae muttered, his voice thick. He tried to shrug, to regain his sarcastic armor. "Just… dust. This room is filthy." The attempt was weak and transparent.
Daon didn't buy it for a second. He reached back, his movement slow and pained, and his fingers brushed against Eunjae's wrist. "Hey."
The simple touch broke the dam.
Eunjae's composure shattered. He didn't break down into sobs, but his breath came out in a shaky, ragged gasp. He finally looked at Daon, and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears, full of a fear he could no longer hide.
"I was so scared," he whispered, the words raw and honest, stripped bare of all pretense. "When you were fighting… I… I saw it again. You, on your knees. The sound of the whip." His voice cracked. "I was so scared it would happen again. That I'd see you hurt like that because of me… because of my stupid… I was just so scared."
He was admitting it all—the guilt, the terror, the vulnerability he always worked so hard to mask with defiance and dramatics.
Daon stared at him, utterly disarmed. He had seen Eunjae angry, bratty, teasing, and defiant. He had never seen him like this—stripped raw, trembling with a fear that was entirely for him.
The last of Daon's own anger and pride dissolved, washed away by Eunjae's tears. He didn't know what to say. He was a man of action, not comfort. So he did the only thing that felt right. He turned fully, ignoring the scream of protest from his back, and pulled Eunjae into his arms.
It was an awkward, pained embrace, but it was firm. Eunjae stiffened for a second in surprise before melting against him, his face buried in Daon's uninjured shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere," Daon murmured into his hair, the words gruff but unmistakably tender. It was a promise, an apology, and an admission all in one.
In the quiet of the room, with the scent of antiseptic and tears between them, the last barrier between them finally crumbled. The brat and the stoic heir had found a common language, and it was spoken in the silent, fierce comfort of a shared embrace.
The world narrowed to the space between them. Daon's thumb, rough and calloused from a life of discipline rather than labor, gently brushed away the tear tracks on Eunjae's cheeks. The gesture was clumsy, unpracticed in tenderness, but it was unbearably sincere. Their foreheads rested together, a silent pact in the dim light of the room, breaths mingling—one shaky with fading tears, the other measured, trying to offer stability.
Eunjae's hands came up, slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid Daon might shatter or pull away. He cupped Daon's face, his touch surprisingly gentle against the bruises and the stubborn set of Daon's jaw. He closed his eyes, his long, damp lashes fanning over his cheeks, and leaned in.
When their lips met, it was soft. A question. A tentative press of warmth against Daon's cut, bruised mouth.
Daon froze. Every instinct honed by years of control and emotional isolation screamed at him to retreat, to re-establish order, to push this unpredictable, emotional chaos away.
But he didn't.
Instead, his hands, which had been resting limply at his sides, came to life. They moved to Eunjae's waist, his grip firm and certain, anchoring him, steadying him on his lap. It was an answer. A silent permission.
Encouraged, Eunjae deepened the kiss. It was no longer tentative. It was a release of all the fear, the frustration, the fierce, defiant care that had been boiling inside him. He poured everything into it.
And Daon, for the first time in his life, let a wall crumble completely. He opened his mouth to Eunjae, a low, involuntary sound catching in his throat. The taste was an intoxicating paradox—the sweet, desperate slide of Eunjae's tongue mingling with the sharp, salty remnant of his tears. It was the taste of vulnerability and strength, of bratty defiance and unwavering loyalty, all at once. It was the taste of Eunjae.
He kissed him back, not with practiced skill, but with a raw, hungry honesty that matched Eunjae's own. His hands tightened on Eunjae's waist, pulling him closer, ignoring the protest of his wounded back. The pain was a distant echo, drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the overwhelming sensation of the man in his arms.
This wasn't a negotiation. It wasn't a battle. It was a surrender. And in that quiet room, surrounded by the evidence of their pain, they finally found a way to speak without words at all.
They broke apart, gasping for air, their foreheads still pressed together. Eunjae's breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary hiccup escaping him. His thumbs, still resting on Daon's cheeks, stroked away the last traces of moisture from his own tears, his touch impossibly gentle against the bruises.
"D-Don't ever get hurt like that again," Eunjae whispered, his voice raw and still shaky with hiccups. "Or I'll… I'll blame myself for everything. I hate it. I hate seeing you in pain." It was a confession, a plea, and a threat all rolled into one, delivered with a pout that was both defiant and heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Daon stared at him. And then, something utterly unexpected happened.
A smile touched his lips. It was small, a little lopsided because of his cut lip, but it was genuine. It was a sight rarer than any corporate merger. A low, soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound so foreign to him it felt like it came from someone else.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled Eunjae back into his arms, holding him tightly, burying his face in the crook of Eunjae's neck. He inhaled the scent of him—expensive shampoo, faint cologne, and the unique, vibrant essence that was purely Eunjae.
"I'll be more careful," he murmured against Eunjae's skin, the promise a warm vibration. "I'll take care of myself."
And as he held him, Daon felt it. A weird, fluttering sensation deep in his chest, right behind his sternum. It was warm and expanding, a feeling so unfamiliar it was almost alarming. It was… light. It made the constant, heavy weight of his duties and his father's expectations feel a little less crushing.
He hadn't felt anything like this since he was a small child, safe in his mother's embrace. After her death, care had become a transaction. Loyalty was expected. Duty was demanded. But this… this fierce, messy, tear-streaked concern from Eunjae? This was given freely. It was unconditional. It was for him, not for the Vice President, not for the Lee heir.
What is this feeling? he wondered, his mind curiously quiet for once. The analytical part of his brain, always categorizing and assessing, had no data for this. It wasn't obligation. It wasn't pride.
It was something else entirely. Something that made him want to hold on tighter. Something that made the sharp edges of his world feel just a little bit softer.
He held Eunjae until the hiccups subsided, until their breathing synced, and he simply let the strange, warm feeling in his chest exist, unchallenged and unnamed.
Taemin's room was a stark contrast to the violent chaos of minutes before. The only sounds were his sniffles and the soft clink of Rinwoo retrieving a first-aid kit from the bathroom.
Taemin sat on the edge of his bed, slumped over, looking every bit the defeated, scolded child. His eye was already purpling, a vivid badge of his foolish pride.
"Look at you," Rinwoo murmured, his voice a gentle, soothing balm. He sat beside him, dabbing a cool, antiseptic wipe on the cut near Taemin's eyebrow. Taemin flinched, but didn't pull away. "Fighting with your own brother like that. Over what? Words?"
"He started it," Taemin mumbled, his voice thick with self-pity. "He always treats me like I'm nothing. Just a nuisance."
Rinwoo's touch remained gentle. "That's not true, Taemin-ah. You are his little brother. His blood." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "A brother's relationship… it is so special. It is a bond that is chosen for you by fate. It is a forever friend. You should not be so quick to break it."
He finished cleaning the cut and began to gently press a cold pack against Taemin's swelling eye. "They care about you. Daon would not be so angry if he did not care what you did with your life. Taekyun would not punish you if he did not believe you could be more. Their ways are… harsh. But it comes from a place of duty. A misplaced sense of care, perhaps, but care nonetheless."
Taemin remained silent, but some of the rigid anger in his shoulders eased. He listened to Rinwoo's calm, reasonable words, so different from the yelling and the cold judgments.
"Getting mad over little things… it is not good," Rinwoo continued softly, his eyes full of a wisdom that came from observing this family for a lifetime. "It clouds your heart. It makes you do things you regret, like today. You must learn to let the small things go. Save your fire for the things that truly matter."
He gave a small, encouraging smile. "And what truly matters is family. Even when they are difficult. Even when they make you angry. You only have one set of brothers."
He finished his ministrations and placed the first-aid kit on the bedside table. "The anger will fade. The bruises will heal. But a broken bond… that is much harder to fix."
Taemin finally looked up, his good eye meeting Rinwoo's kind gaze. The fight was gone, replaced by a glimmer of understanding and a heavy dose of shame. Rinwoo's gentle scolding had done what Daon's fury and Taekyun's punishment could not: it had reached him.
He didn't say anything. He just nodded slowly, the message settling deep into his heart. Rinwoo patted his knee gently before standing up, leaving Taemin alone with his thoughts and the cooling press against his eye, the lesson finally beginning to sink in.
The hallway was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the estate at night. Rinwoo walked slowly toward his room, the weight of the day's events making his steps heavy. He paused as he passed the study, a sliver of light spilling from under the door. He's still working, Rinwoo thought. After everything…
He was about to continue to his room, to leave Taekyun to his solitude, when the memory surfaced: Taekyun at the shrine, pale, finally finding peace under his hands. What if the stress of the day had brought his headaches back?
The thought propelled him forward before his courage could fail. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the knob, then gently pushed it open.
Taekyun was seated at his massive desk, his posture rigid, fingers massaging his temples. The screen of his laptop cast a pale blue light on his strained face. At the sound of the door, his head snapped up, his expression instantly shifting from pained vulnerability to its usual cold mask. He straightened up abruptly and began typing furiously on his laptop, a clear dismissal.
Rinwoo faltered, his courage wilting under that icy gaze. He should leave. He began to back away, his hand moving to pull the door shut.
But then he stopped. He saw the tension in the line of Taekyun's shoulders, the tightness around his eyes that the typing couldn't hide. Swallowing his fear, Rinwoo stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him with a soft, definitive click.
The sound seemed to echo in the silent room. And for Taekyun, something strange happened.
The moment the door closed, sealing them in together, his heart gave a sudden, hard lurch against his ribs. His breath hitched. A inexplicable stiffness locked his spine. He couldn't understand it. This was Rinwoo. Quiet, gentle, Rinwoo. Why did his presence suddenly feel so… large? So consuming?
And then, a subtle scent reached him. Not perfume, but something clean and calming, like sunlight on fresh linen. It was Rinwoo's scent. And as it washed over him, the pounding in his temples began to recede, not entirely, but significantly, as if soothed by an invisible balm.
"Are you… are you having a headache again?" Rinwoo's voice was soft, hesitant, breaking the tense silence.
Taekyun's first instinct was to snap. It's none of your concern. Leave. The words were on the tip of his tongue, born from a lifetime of pushing people away.
But they wouldn't come out.
Instead, he heard his own voice, quieter than he intended, admit, "…Yes."
He stared straight ahead at his laptop screen, not seeing the words, every sense hyper-aware of the man behind him.
Rinwoo blushed a beautiful, deep pink that Taekyun couldn't see. He wrung his hands slightly. "I… I could… massage your head? Like… like before?" The offer was a mere whisper, full of the fear of rejection.
Again, Taekyun's mind screamed a refusal. Don't. This is a line. Do not cross it.
But his body betrayed him. His head gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He heard Rinwoo's soft intake of breath. Then, hesitant footsteps approached his chair.
Taekyun held his breath. He felt Rinwoo's presence behind him, then the gentle, tentative touch of fingers on his scalp.
The moment they made contact, Taekyun's eyes fluttered shut. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced down his spine. The skilled fingers began to work, pressing into the tense muscles at the base of his skull, and the last remnants of his headache melted away under the touch. He felt his rigid posture begin to slump, not in exhaustion, but in involuntary surrender.
In the quiet study, with only the sound of their breathing, Taekyun sat perfectly still, silently battling the confusing, rapid beat of his own heart and the terrifying, soothing peace that came from the hands of the husband he swore he didn't want.
The only sound in the study was the soft, rhythmic whisper of Rinwoo's hands moving through Taekyun's hair. The tension that had held Taekyun's body like iron began to dissolve, muscle by tight muscle. His shoulders, which had been hunched near his ears, dropped. His brow, permanently furrowed in thought or irritation, smoothed.
It wasn't just the massage, though the gentle, firm pressure was expertly easing the physical pain. It was the scent. With every breath, Taekyun drew in the calming, unique fragrance that seemed to eman from Rinwoo's skin and clothes—a soft, clean scent like air after rain, with a hint of something sweet and milky. It was a scent that spoke of peace and quiet warmth, a direct antithesis to the harsh perfumes and sterile office air Taekyun was accustomed to. Without realizing it, he leaned back into the touch, his head growing heavier in Rinwoo's hands, a silent testament to his complete relaxation.
He was adrift in a rare, quiet peace, all thoughts of Yuna, his father, and corporate mergers blissfully absent.
Meanwhile, in the silence of his own room, Taemin was adrift in a different way—lost in a sea of regret. He held the melting cold pack to his eye, but the real ache was inside. Rinwoo's words echoed in his mind, each one a gentle hammer chipping away at his anger.
"A brother's relationship… it is so special." "You must learn to let the small things go." "You only have one set of brothers."
He thought of Daon's bloody lip, the pain in his eyes that wasn't just from the punch. He thought of the whipping he'd endured for Eunjae, a punishment Taemin himself had never had to face. The pride that had fueled his tantrum now curdled into shame.
With a heavy sigh, Taemin tossed the cold pack onto the bed. Rinwoo was right. Saving his fire for things that truly mattered meant not wasting it on stupid fights. This mattered.
His decision made, he got up and left his room. The hallway was quiet. He paused outside Daon's door, his courage wavering. He could hear the faint, muffled sound of voices from inside—Eunjae's, then Daon's, lower and quieter. It didn't sound like arguing.
He raised his hand to knock, hesitating. This was harder than throwing a punch. Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly.