The first thing Daon registered was warmth. A deep, comforting warmth pressed along his side. Then, the feel of soft skin beneath his arm. His eyes flew open.
Morning light streamed into the room, illuminating a scene that made his heart stop. Eunjae was asleep beside him, his dark hair fanned out on the pillow, his breathing even. And they were both very, very naked under the rumpled sheets. Daon's own arm was draped possessively over Eunjae's waist.
Panic, cold and immediate, seized him. He jerked his arm back and scrambled upright, the movement violent and sudden.
The jostle woke Eunjae with a start. "Wha—? Yah!" he cursed, blinking sleepily and glaring at Daon. "What's wrong with you? You pass out like a log last night and now you're waking up like it's the last day of earth?"
Daon didn't answer. He was staring, his head throbbing with a vicious hangover. He looked from Eunjae's sleep-soft face to their state of undress, the blanket pooled around their hips. Fragments of the night began to assault him the glittering lights of the banquet, the crushing anxiety of Eunjae ignoring him, the endless glasses of wine he'd downed to steady his nerves. The memory was a blur after a certain point. He remembered pulling Eunjae close in this very room. He remembered kissing him, a desperate, hungry kiss. But after that… nothing.
Eunjae watched the dawning horror on Daon's face, and his own sleepy irritation began to morph into understanding. His eyes widened.
"Don't tell me," Eunjae said slowly, sitting up, the sheet pulling tight across his chest. "Don't tell me you were drunk last night."
The pieces clicked into place for Daon with a sickening finality. The uncharacteristic nervousness, the inability to form words, the reckless drinking it all made sense now. He hadn't been charmingly vulnerable; he'd been intoxicated.
A cold, hard mask slid over Daon's features, the warmth from moments before completely vanishing. He looked at Eunjae, his voice dropping to an icy, accusing tone. "I can't believe you would take advantage of a drunk man."
The accusation hung in the air, sharp and cruel.
Eunjae's face went from confused to utterly stunned, then deeply hurt. "What?" he breathed, his voice laced with disbelief. "How was I supposed to know you were drunk? You're always so… controlled! You never let loose! You just seemed… different. More open."
But even as he defended himself, the memories of the night began to replay in Eunjae's mind with a new, horrifying clarity. The way Daon's movements had been slower, more deliberate. The way his touches, while passionate, had lacked his usual sharp precision. The way his whispered words had been slightly slurred. Eunjae had mistaken it for a new, tender side of Daon finally emerging. He had thought his icy husband was finally melting for him.
He had thought it was real.
The realization was a physical blow. Eunjae's hands came up to cover his face, his shoulders slumping in utter defeat and humiliation. He had poured his heart into that night, believing every touch, every kiss, was a breakthrough. He had felt so powerful, so desired.
But it was all a lie. A lie told by alcohol.
"Oh, god," he mumbled into his hands, his voice thick with regret and shame. He had been making love to a version of Daon that didn't truly exist. The passionate, submissive man from last night was just a drunk illusion. The cold, accusing man in front of him now was the reality. The beautiful memory curdled into something pathetic and embarrassing. He had been fooled.
The silence in the room was shattered by Daon's cold, disgusted voice. "Disgusting," he muttered, the word dripping with contempt as he threw the covers off and got out of bed. He didn't even look at Eunjae, his focus entirely on the time, his mind already shifting to the day's schedule. He needed to wash the entire night away.
As he strode toward the bathroom, his naked back to Eunjae, a pillow hit him square between the shoulder blades with a soft thump.
"Yah! You're the one who's disgusting!" Eunjae shouted from the bed, his voice raw with a mix of anger and hurt. "And inexperienced! A few glasses of wine and you lose your mind! You're pathetic!"
Daon didn't turn around. He simply disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Eunjae alone in the wreckage of their night.
The moment the door closed, Eunjae's bravado vanished. He collapsed back onto the mattress, a sharp, aching pain flaring in his lower back a vivid reminder of the passion he'd mistaken for real. He gripped his own hair, a groan of pure embarrassment and frustration tearing from his throat.
Was it all a lie? The question echoed in his mind, torturous and unanswerable. Every touch, every whispered word, every desperate kiss had felt so real, so different from the cold Daon he knew. It had felt like a crack in the ice, a glimpse of a hidden, passionate man beneath. But now, the morning after, it felt like a cruel joke. He hit the mattress with a frustrated fist before burying his burning face in the pillow, wanting to disappear
Inside the bathroom, the sound of the shower spray hitting the tiles was deafening. Daon stood under the scalding water, his forehead pressed against the cool, slick wall. He tried to empty his mind, to focus on the meeting he had in two hours.
But his traitorous brain replayed the night in vivid, uncompromising detail.
The feel of Eunjae's curves under his hands, the smooth skin of his waist, the dip of his spine. The sound of his pleas, not of anger, but of want. The look in his eyes not defiant, but desperate, full of a need that had mirrored his own. The way his voice had broken when he whispered Daon's name.
A low groan escaped Daon's lips. He crunched down, holding his throbbing head in his hands, the water pounding on his back. He looked so beautiful, the thought broke through his wall of anger, unbidden and undeniable. The memory was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the icy shame of the morning.
And then he felt it. A traitorous, physical response that completely betrayed his mental disgust. Ignoring the throb in his head, another part of him was hardening, reacting viscerally to the memories his mind was trying to condemn. He was hard again, achingly so, his body fervently disagreeing with his brain's assessment of the previous night being a "disgusting" mistake. The war between memory, pride, and raw, unwanted desire was just beginning.
The dining hall was steeped in its usual morning silence, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery. Taekyun sat at the head of the table, scanning a financial report on his tablet. Rinwoo picked at his food, his appetite diminished by a lingering fever and the daunting task Taemin had saddled him with. Across from him, Taemin was a live wire of nervous energy, his eyes wide and pleading, darting between Rinwoo and Taekyun in a silent, desperate command: Talk to him! Now!
Rinwoo took a shaky breath, gathering his courage. "Taekyun, I was wondering if—" he began, his voice barely a whisper.
The words died in his throat as the dining room door opened with more force than necessary. Daon strode in, his presence instantly sucking all the air from the room. His face was a thundercloud of pure, unadulterated frustration, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. He didn't greet anyone, simply pulled out his chair and sat down, the legs scraping harshly against the marble floor.
Rinwoo immediately shrunk back in his seat, the plea for Taemin forgotten. Now was not the time.
It was Taekyun who broke the tense silence, his voice cool and matter-of-fact, as if Daon's stormy entrance was of no consequence. "Father contacted me," he stated, setting his tablet down. "He's returning from abroad today."
Daon gave a curt nod, not looking up from the coffee cup he was glaring into.
"He informed me he has already spoken with Master Hwang," Taekyun continued, his gaze sweeping over the table, lingering for a moment on Taemin. "Regarding your fated match, Taemin."
Taemin froze, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.
"Father has already met them. Once he is back, we will all go to a dinner to formally meet your fated match's family." A rare, almost imperceptible hint of satisfaction touched Taekyun's lips. "Father was… happy to report that it's a girl this time. Not a guy, like the rest of us were saddled with."
The word 'saddled' hung in the air, a casual cruelty that made Rinwoo flinch.
Daon, still engrossed in his own dark mood, merely grunted. "Okay. Once Father is back, we'll discuss it further."
The brothers agreed with a simple, clinical exchange, the matter settled as if arranging a business merger. But Rinwoo wasn't looking at them. His eyes were fixed on Taemin.
The playful, pleading light had vanished from Taemin's eyes, replaced by a hollow shock. His hand had lowered back to the table, the toast forgotten. Under the table, Rinwoo could see Taemin's fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, a tiny tremor running through it.
Only Rinwoo knew. Only Rinwoo knew about Juwon. Only Rinwoo knew the depth of Taemin's love for the son of their rival. And in that moment, watching Taemin's world crumble with a single, cold announcement, Rinwoo felt his own heart break for the youngest Lee. The carefully laid plans for a secret date, the stolen moments, the dream of a future all of it was being systematically dismantled by the ruthless machinery of their family's fate, and Taemin could do nothing but sit there and clench his fist under the table.
The tense breakfast concluded with a silence heavier than the one that had begun it. After Taekyun's cold pronouncement about Taemin's fate, the air was thick with unspoken turmoil. Seeking a distraction, a sliver of normalcy, Rinwoo gently broke the quiet.
"Daon," he began softly, "Eunjae… he hasn't come down for breakfast. Is he not feeling well?"
The question acted like a trigger. Daon froze mid-sip of his coffee, his entire body going rigid. The image of Eunjae's hurt, embarrassed face from this morning flashed behind his eyes, followed by the memory of his own cruel word: Disgusting.
He cleared his throat, the sound rough and unnatural in the quiet room. He couldn't meet Rinwoo's concerned gaze. "He… he must be sick," Daon stated abruptly, his voice clipped. It was a flimsy lie, and it tasted like ash. Without another word, he shoved his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor, and stood up. "I'm late for work."
He turned and left the dining room without a backward glance, his retreat swift and unmistakably escape.
A moment later, Taemin shot up from his seat, his own frustration and despair over the news about his fated match needing an outlet. He didn't say a word, just stormed out, his footsteps pounding angrily up the staircase.
Taekyun, ever the impassive observer, finished his meal with methodical precision. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, stood, and without a glance at Rinwoo, left for work as well, leaving the grand dining hall empty.
Rinwoo was left alone at the massive table, the silence now complete. He sighed, his heart aching for everyone. For Taemin, for the tension between Daon and Eunjae, and for his own lonely place in it all.
His concern for Eunjae overrode everything else. Daon's reaction had been too sharp, too guilty. Something was wrong.
With a resolve fueled by kindness, Rinwoo got up. He gathered a clean tray and began to carefully assemble a breakfast light soups, soft fruits, and a pot of soothing tea. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his own troubles momentarily set aside.
Once the tray was prepared, he picked it up and carried it out of the dining room, heading upstairs toward Daon and Eunjae's wing.
Rinwoo approached Daon and Eunjae's room with gentle concern, the tray balanced carefully in his hands. He knocked softly on the door. "Eunjae? It's Rinwoo. I brought you some breakfast."
Hearing no protest, he slowly pushed the door open and froze on the threshold.
The room was in disarray. Clothes were strewn across the floor, a trail leading from the door to the bed. The air held a distinct, musky scent that was unfamiliar to Rinwoo's innocent senses, something intimate and heavy. The bed itself was a tangled wreck of sheets.
Eunjae jolted upright at the sound of the door, a sharp wince contorting his features as the movement pulled at the sore muscles in his back and elsewhere. "Rinwoo!"
Rinwoo's eyes widened in alarm. He hurriedly set the tray down on the nightstand and rushed to the bedside, his focus entirely on Eunjae's pained expression.
"Eunjae-ah! What happened?" he asked, his voice full of worry. His eyes then dropped to Eunjae's chest, where a constellation of faint, reddish-purple marks stood out against his skin. Rinwoo's breath hitched. A terrible thought occurred to him. "Did… did Daon hit you?" he whispered, horrified.
Eunjae looked down at himself, following Rinwoo's gaze to the love bites scattered across his chest and neck. A deep blush instantly flooded his cheeks. "Wha—? No! No, he didn't hit me!" he stammered, his voice pitching higher. He fumbled for the rumpled blanket, trying to pull it up to his chin. "It's… it must be bugs! Yes, the bugs here are very… aggressive."
Rinwoo stared at him, utterly bewildered. "Bugs?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. He reached out, gently stopping Eunjae's hand from hiding the evidence. The marks were clearly not from any insect.
Seeing the pure, uncomprehending concern on Rinwoo's face, Eunjae felt a wave of overwhelming embarrassment. He couldn't explain. How could he explain this to someone as pure-hearted as Rinwoo? He deflected, his sheepish grin returning. "I'm fine, really! Just a little under the weather."
Rinwoo finally let go, giving up on that line of questioning. Instead, he looked around the destroyed room, his nurturing instincts kicking in. "How can you two be so messy?" he tutted softly, his eyes then landing on a distinct, dried stain on the bedsheet. His nose wrinkled slightly. "And you spilled juice on the bed? In your condition? You shouldn't be sleeping in that."
Eunjae followed his gaze to the stain and wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He looked away, his face burning. "Just… just leave it, Rinwoo. I'll clean it up later."
But Rinwoo was already shaking his head, moving toward the linen closet. "No, how can you work in your sickness? Let me help. You shouldn't be in a messy room, it's not good for recovery." He began gathering fresh sheets, completely oblivious to the true nature of the "mess" and the "sickness."
Eunjae could only sink back into the pillows, covering his burning face with his hands, utterly mortified. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making, being nursed by the one person whose innocent kindness made the situation a thousand times more awkward. He had no way to explain, and Rinwoo had no framework to understand.
Rinwoo moved with a quiet, efficient purpose, completely unaware of the silent scream of humiliation emanating from Eunjae. He began gathering the discarded clothes from the floor, his nose wrinkling slightly.
"Aigoo, this room has such a strange smell," he murmured to himself, folding a shirt. He then picked up a pair of trousers, noticing a distinct, dried stain. He held it up, his face a picture of innocent confusion. "And you got juice on these too? You must be so clumsy when you're not feeling well."
From across the room, Eunjae, who was leaning heavily against the wall for support as he weakly pulled on a clean shirt, let out a strangled sound. "It's… it's not juice," he mumbled into the fabric, his entire body flushing with heat. He knew exactly what that stain was.
But Rinwoo, ever helpful, was already moving to the main event: the bed. "We need to get these sheets off. You can't rest in a dirty bed," he stated, reaching for the corner of the fitted sheet.
"NO!" Eunjae yelped, lurching away from the wall. His legs, still wobbly and weak from the night's activities, almost gave out. He stumbled toward the bed, grabbing Rinwoo's wrist. "Rinwoo, please! Stop! I'll… I'll do it myself later! I promise!"
Rinwoo looked at him, his concern deepening. The way Eunjae was moving, so unsteady and pained, only reinforced his belief that his friend was terribly ill and in no state to be doing chores. "Don't be silly. You can barely stand. Let me help you."
With a gentle but firm tug, he freed his wrist and pulled the fitted sheet off in one smooth motion.
And there it was. On the bottom sheet, a more concentrated, unmistakable white stain, stark against the light-colored fabric.
Rinwoo stared at it for a moment, his head tilting. Then, a soft, understanding giggle escaped him. He pointed at the stain, looking back at Eunjae with a playful, scolding smile.
"Eunjae-ah! Were you two eating something in bed last night? Is this mayonnaise? You're so messy! No wonder you don't feel well today, eating rich food like that in bed."
The words were delivered with such pure, untainted innocence that it was the final blow.
Eunjae's hands flew up to cover his entire face, a groan of utter, soul-crushing embarrassment tearing from his throat. He slid down the side of the mattress to sit on the floor, his body curling into a ball of shame.
"Just… just leave me here to die," he moaned from behind his hands, his voice muffled and desperate. He was never, ever going to recover from this. Rinwoo's innocent misinterpretation was a special kind of torture, and Eunjae was its willing victim.
The chairman's office was a tomb of cold, polished power, but the air within was boiling. Taekyun sat behind the massive ebony desk, his posture rigid, his knuckles white as he gripped his phone. He had called Yuna seven times. Seven. Each unanswered call had stoked the cold fury inside him into a blazing inferno.
On the other end, amidst the cheerful, mindless chatter of a luxury boutique, Yuna finally fished her phone from her purse. She saw the missed calls and a slow, smug smile spread across her face. He must have gotten caught, she thought, imagining a dramatic scene between Taekyun and Rinwoo. Perfect. She answered with her most saccharine, innocent tone.
"Oppa? Is everything—"
Her act was instantly shredded by the voice on the other end. It wasn't angry shouting. It was worse. It was a low, controlled, dangerously deep vibration that promised absolute ruin.
"Yuna." Her name was a threat.
Yuna froze mid-step, a pair of silk gloves slipping from her numb fingers. The cheerful noise of the store faded into a distant hum. "W-What happened, Oppa?" she managed, her own voice now a shaky whisper.
"Two things," Taekyun's voice cut through, cold and precise as a scalpel. "A bouquet of red roses was delivered to my home. In my absence. And last night, I discovered a very specific, very carefully placed lipstick stain on my collar."
Yuna's blood ran cold. Her grip on the phone tightened, her hand trembling so violently she had to press it against her ear to steady it.
"You," he continued, the venom in his tone unmistakable, "have always been so meticulously careful. You know the rules. You know the consequences of carelessness. So, I will ask you only once. What are your intentions?"
"O-Oppa, I don't know what you're talking about! The flowers… It was to apologize. The lipstick… i don't know anything about it" she babbled, her carefully constructed lies crumbling under the weight of his icy rage.
"Do not insult my intelligence," he hissed. "I am in the middle of the most critical negotiation of my career to secure my position. For us. Or have you forgotten? Every move I make is to ensure that when I finally have the power, I can make you my wife properly. And you…" his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "…you are jeopardizing everything with these childish, transparent games."
He wasn't just angry about the actions; he was furious at the stupidity, the reckless impatience that threatened the long-term strategy he had painstakingly built.
"What is your goal, Yuna? To force a confrontation now? To have my father disown me before I even have the chairmanship? To ruin us both?"
Yuna stood paralyzed in the middle of the boutique, the luxurious world around her feeling like a cheap set. She had wanted to make Rinwoo suffer, to provoke a reaction. She had never calculated the full, devastating force of Taekyun's wrath being turned on her. The man on the phone wasn't her lover; he was a strategist who saw her as a liability, a loose cannon threatening his entire empire. And for the first time, Yuna felt genuine, bone-deep fear.
The air in the boutique, once filled with the light chatter of luxury, now felt suffocating. Yuna's mind was reeling, scrambling to form a tearful denial, to manipulate her way back into his good graces. She opened her mouth, a practiced sob already forming in her throat.
But Taekyun's voice sliced through the line before a single sound could escape. It was cold, final, and terrifyingly knowing.
"I have already tolerated your nonsense for far too long," he stated, each word a shard of ice. "If you think I am blind to your games, then that is your delusion, not mine."
Yuna's breath hitched. This was different. This wasn't just about the flowers or the lipstick.
"I am going to forgive this… this stupidity," he continued, the word 'forgive' sounding like a death sentence, "one last time. Because I loved you. And I love you still."
For a second, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. But it was extinguished instantly.
"But that does not mean I am a fool," his voice dropped, becoming lethally quiet. "It does not mean I can't see how you've been 'messing around' as you so crudely put it to me about others with that same guy. Jake. Was it?"
The name, Jake, spoken with such casual, devastating accuracy, turned her blood to ice. Her knees felt weak. He knew. He had known all along. He had been watching, silently gathering information, while she thought she was playing him.
"And I can no longer ignore how you are playing with me," he finished, the emphasis on 'you' making her feel small and utterly exposed. "This is your one. And. Last. Chance. That's it."
The line went dead.
Click.
The sound was deafening in the sudden silence. Yuna stood frozen in the middle of the store, the phone still pressed to her ear, the dial tone a mocking hum. The colorful racks of clothes, the sparkling jewelry, it all blurred into a meaningless haze. The fear was no longer just about losing a wealthy boyfriend; it was the terror of realizing the man she was manipulating was ten steps ahead of her, and his patience, along with his love, had just reached its absolute limit. The game was over, and she had just been checkmated.
The phone slipped from Yuna's trembling hand, clattering onto the polished boutique floor. The sound echoed her shattering delusions. The initial shock of being caught, of Taekyun's icy wrath, curdled into something darker, more potent: a furious, scorching pride.
She clenched her jaw so tight it ached. Tolerated? His nonsense? One last chance? The words replaying in her head were gasoline on the fire of her indignation. All this time, she thought she was the one playing him, living a life of luxury on his dime while keeping her options open. But he'd known. He'd been watching her, judging her, allowing her her indiscretions like a king amused by a jester.
A bitter, humorless smirk twisted her perfectly glossed lips. Fine. If that's how he wanted it. Her mother's advice to be patient, to play the long game, was worthless. Taekyun wasn't a man to be patiently won; he was a fortress to be stormed or burned down.
"If I can't play the perfect, quiet little girlfriend anymore," she muttered to herself, her voice a low, venomous whisper in the empty aisle, "then he doesn't get to play the powerful, untouchable heir."
The plan solidified in her mind, cold and clear. If Taekyun could dig up her secrets, then she would make sure Rinwoo discovered his.
"If he can find out about Jake," she hissed, her eyes glinting with malicious intent, "then why can't Rinwoo find out about Yuna?"
She bent down, picking up her phone with a new, steely resolve. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb mirroring the fractures in her carefully constructed world.
"You want to threaten me? You want to cut me off?" she whispered, her thumb stroking the cracked glass. "Then I'll make sure you have nothing left to protect. I'll make sure your precious Rinwoo leaves you. I'll make sure that curse you're so afraid of comes back tenfold."
She straightened up, her posture radiating a dangerous new energy. The simpering, materialistic girlfriend was gone. In her place stood a woman scorned, with nothing left to lose.
"I've had enough of playing nice," she declared to her reflection in a nearby mirror. "If I can't live the luxury life, then you won't live in peace. Let's see how 'controlled' you are when your entire world falls apart."
With a final, cold smirk, she turned and strode out of the boutique, her shopping trip forgotten. She had a new mission now. It was no longer about securing a future with Taekyun Lee. It was about destroying him.
The grand hall of the Lee estate was a picture of quiet, organized activity. Rinwoo was gently directing a few servants on rearranging some vases, a small, normal task that brought him comfort. Upstairs, Taemin was a buried lump under his duvet, hiding from the world and his impending fate. In the living room, Eunjae was sprawled on a sofa, finally feeling a bit more like himself, idly scrolling on his phone.
The peaceful atmosphere was broken when a young maid hurried in, bowing slightly. "Young Master Rinwoo," she said, her voice a little nervous. "There's… a man at the main gate. He's asking for you."
Rinwoo paused, a porcelain vase in his hand. He frowned. "For me?" He knew no one outside the Lee family. A cold trickle of unease ran down his spine. "Who is it?"
"He didn't give a name, Sir. He just insisted on speaking with you personally."
Hesitantly, Rinwoo set the vase down and walked towards the imposing front entrance. He pushed the heavy door open and peered out.
A man stood just beyond the gate, keeping a deliberate distance, positioned perfectly in a blind spot between the estate's security cameras. He was dressed in plain, dark clothes, and a black face mask obscured the lower half of his face. Everything about his posture screamed discretion, and danger.
Rinwoo's instincts screamed at him to retreat back into the safety of the house. He had never ventured out alone. The world beyond the Lee gates was a foreign, intimidating place. But a morbid curiosity, mixed with a sense of duty, held him fast.
He took a few hesitant steps beyond the threshold, the gravel crunching under his shoes. The masked man watched him approach.
"Are you Rinwoo?" the man asked, his voice muffled by the fabric.
Rinwoo stopped a few feet away, his heart beginning to hammer against his ribs. He nodded, unable to find his voice.
The man gave a curt nod. "Madam Yuna wishes to speak with you. Will you come with me?"
The name was a physical blow. His palms grew clammy. He glanced back over his shoulder at the massive, secure estate his prison and his sanctuary.
"H-How long will it take?" Rinwoo managed to stammer out, his voice barely a whisper.
"Probably thirty minutes. No more," the man replied flatly.
Thirty minutes. A conversation with the woman who held the key to so much of his pain and confusion. It was a terrifying prospect. But the need to know, to understand the shadow that hung over his marriage, was overwhelming. After a long, internal struggle, his desire for answers overpowered his fear.
"A-Alright," Rinwoo agreed, his voice shaky.
He followed the man to a sleek, black sedan parked discreetly down the street. He climbed into the back seat, the door closing with a soft, definitive thud that sounded like a seal locking. As the car pulled away from the curb, carrying him away from the only world he knew, Rinwoo watched the Lee estate shrink in the rear window, a cold dread settling deep in his stomach. He was walking into the lion's den, completely alone.
A low, anxious hum had replaced the usual quiet efficiency within the Lee estate. The servants moved through their tasks, but their attention was fractured, their voices hushed whispers behind cupped hands.
"Did anyone see him leave?" "No,he was just here, helping with the vases…" "Where could he have gone?He never goes out alone."
The worry was a palpable thing. Rinwoo was a fixed, gentle constant in the house. His unexplained absence was unnerving.
The young maid who had delivered the message wrung her hands nervously. "I… I was the last one to see him," she confessed to a small group gathered near the kitchen. "A man was at the gate. He asked for Young Master Rinwoo specifically. He looked… serious. Not like a delivery man."
A wave of concern passed through them. A mysterious man? Rinwoo never had visitors.
"We should tell someone!" another servant insisted, her eyes wide. "Master Daon? Or… or even Master Taekyun!"
The suggestion sent a ripple of fear through them. Informing the stern masters of the house was a serious step.
An elderly servant, Mrs. Kim, who had served the family for decades, shook her head, her expression wise and cautious. "Wait," she said, her voice a firm but quiet command. "We must wait."
All eyes turned to her. "It could be something personal,"she reasoned, though her own eyes held a shadow of worry. "Perhaps a matter he does not wish the family to know about yet. If we raise an alarm and it is nothing, we will only cause him trouble and embarrassment."
Her words carried weight. They all knew Rinwoo's position was delicate. Causing a scene could make things worse for him.
"Let's give him time," Mrs. Kim concluded, though she glanced uneasily towards the front gates. "If he is not back by nightfall, then we will speak up."
The group reluctantly agreed, dispersing back to their work with restless energy. The estate continued its day, but beneath the surface of polished marble and hushed routines, a thread of tension was pulled taut. They were waiting, watching the clocks, their collective breath held for the gentle young master who had stepped out into a world they knew he wasn't prepared for. The silence in the house felt heavier, waiting for a door to open that might never open again.
Taemin's room was a tomb. The curtains were drawn tight, casting the space in a gloomy twilight that matched his mood perfectly. He was a curled-up lump under his heavy duvet, the fabric damp with tears he hadn't even realized he'd shed.
On the nightstand, his phone lit up again and again, the screen flashing with Juwon's name. Each vibration was a tiny, painful earthquake against the wood, a reminder of a world outside that was crumbling. He ignored it, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.
The cheerful, hopeful boy who had sneaked out just yesterday was gone, replaced by a leaden weight of despair.
It was all so hopeless.
His credit cards were useless plastic. He was a prisoner in his own home, watched and grounded. And the worst of it… the thought that made his stomach clench with a sickening dread… was the dinner. The formal, cold dinner where he would be presented to the family of his so-called "fated match." A girl. A stranger. His future, neatly decided for him without his consent.
The image of it played in his mind like a nightmare: sitting stiffly at a table, making polite conversation with people he didn't know, all while his heart was screaming for Juwon.
What will I say to him? The thought was agony. How could he even begin to explain this to Juwon? 'Sorry, my family has chosen my wife for me, we can't be together'? Juwon, who dreamed of dates and a future together. Juwon, who was probably worried sick right now because he wasn't answering his texts.
Would Juwon understand? Or would he see it as a betrayal? Would he think Taemin was just using his family as an excuse to end things?
The questions swirled in his head, a toxic vortex that left him feeling paralyzed. He had no money to run. No power to fight. No words to explain. For the first time, the rebellious Lee Taemin had truly run out of options. All he could do was hide under the covers, the constant buzzing of his phone a torturous soundtrack to his complete and utter defeat. The world had won, and he had nothing left.