The grand front door of the Lee estate closed with a soft, final click. The sound echoed in the deathly silence of the foyer, louder than any slam could have been. Master Hwang and Rinwoo were gone.
The space they left behind felt cavernous and empty, heavy with the ghosts of Rinwoo's quiet presence and the echoes of Taemin's shattered sobs.
Mr. Lee stood rigid for a moment, the events of the night settling like a bitter poison in his veins. His sharp eyes, cold with fury and humiliation, found Taekyun one last time. The glare was a promise of a reckoning to come, a silent vow that the shame brought upon the Lee name would be addressed with brutal efficiency. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out the main door, presumably to offer a few last, hollow words of parting to Master Hwang, a performance of civility to the very end.
The moment the door closed behind his father, the spell in the foyer broke.
Taemin, who had been kneeling on the cold marble floor as if petrified, moved. He pushed himself up, his movements stiff and robotic. He didn't look at anyone. He didn't make a sound. His tear-streaked face was blank, all the earlier emotion wiped clean, replaced by a numb, frightening emptiness.
He walked straight past Daon and Eunjae, his gaze fixed on some distant point only he could see. He didn't hesitate, didn't break his stride. He reached the staircase and ascended, each step heavy with a despair that seemed to age him years in seconds.
They heard his bedroom door open, then the definitive, sharp sound of the lock turning.
Click.
The sound was a period at the end of a devastating sentence. Behind that locked door, Taemin had withdrawn from the world, shutting everyone out, leaving his brothers alone in the grand, silent hall to grapple with the ruins of their family. The fight was over, and they had all lost.
The moment the lock on Taemin's door clicked into place, the dam holding back Eunjae's fury shattered. He spun around to face Taekyun, his body trembling with a rage so potent it seemed to crackle in the air.
"You," Eunjae seethed, his voice low and venomous, all pretense of respect gone. "You selfish, cold-hearted monster. Look what you've done! Look at this family! Because of your lies, your pathetic little affair!"
He took a step closer, jabbing a finger in Taekyun's direction. Taekyun stood motionless, his own emotional turmoil rendering him a statue, unable to defend himself against the verbal onslaught.
"You had everything! You had someone who would have given you the world if you'd just looked at him! And you threw him away for what? For a manipulative witch who just wanted your money?!" Eunjae's voice rose, echoing in the vast, empty space. "You don't deserve happiness. You hear me? You may never find it! I hope every time you close your eyes, you see his face when he realized what you were! I hope it haunts you forever!"
The curse was raw, vicious, and spoken with absolute conviction.
Daon, who had been watching the exchange with a pained expression, knew he had to intervene. Eunjae's words, while true, were only pouring gasoline on a fire that had already burned everything down.
"Eunjae, that's enough," Daon said, his voice firm but weary. He moved forward, wrapping his arms around Eunjae's waist from behind, pulling him back from Taekyun.
"Let me go! He needs to hear it!" Eunjae struggled against him, his anger still white-hot.
"He's heard it," Daon murmured into his ear, his hold tightening. "He knows. Everyone knows. Now, come on. Come with me." He began to gently but insistently steer a thrashing, cursing Eunjae away from the foyer and toward the hallway that led to their wing.
"He's a bastard! A lying, cheating bastard!" Eunjae yelled over his shoulder, his voice beginning to crack with spent emotion as Daon pulled him further away.
"I know," Daon soothed, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I know. But screaming at him won't change it. It won't bring Rinwoo back. Just… come on. Let's go."
He successfully maneuvered them into their bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the devastating aftermath. The grand foyer was left empty, save for Taekyun, standing alone amidst the opulent ruins of his own making, Eunjae's devastating curse hanging in the air around him like a shroud. The words "You may never find happiness" echoed in the silence, a sentence he knew, in the deepest part of his soul, he truly deserved.
Mr. Lee re-entered the estate, the door closing behind him with a sound of finality that echoed the slam of Taekyun's cell. The cold fury on his face had not abated; it had crystallized into a need for immediate, brutal retribution. The scandal, the humiliation, the near-collapse of order—it all demanded a price, and Taekyun, the author of this disaster, would pay it publicly.
He didn't even look at his eldest son. He simply gestured to the head of his security detail, who stood at stiff attention nearby.
"Fifty buckets," Mr. Lee commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Ice-cold water. Outside the main gates. Now."
The order was understood immediately. This was not just a punishment; it was a ritual of disgrace, a public stripping of authority and dignity.
The guards moved with efficient, impersonal speed. Taekyun, who had been standing like a man awaiting execution, didn't flinch. He didn't protest. He simply bowed his head deeply to his father, a silent acceptance of the judgment.
"I apologize for my failure, Father," he said, his voice flat, the words empty of any plea for mercy.
He turned and walked out of the main doors himself, not waiting to be dragged. He stopped in the center of the driveway, just beyond the grand gates, and stood straight, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the night.
The guards formed a line. Buckets filled with water and chunks of ice were brought from the estate's industrial kitchens.
The first bucket hit him like a physical blow. The icy water soaked through his expensive suit jacket and shirt in an instant, stealing the air from his lungs. He gasped involuntarily but locked his knees, refusing to stumble.
The second followed. Then the third.
Each deluge was a shock of breathtaking cold, a brutal assault on his senses. His body began to shake violently, his teeth chattering. Water plastered his hair to his scalp and streamed down his face, mixing with—though no one could tell—the hot tears of shame and pain that he would never allow to fall.
He didn't cry out. He didn't try to shield himself. He took it. Each freezing bucket was an absolution he knew he didn't deserve, a physical manifestation of the internal ice that had caused this ruin. The cold seeped through his skin, into his muscles, deep into his bones, a penance for the warmth he had destroyed in another.
Inside the house, behind lit windows, the remaining members of the household were silent witnesses to the spectacle. There was no satisfaction in it, only a grim, chilling acknowledgment of the price of failure in the Lee family. Taekyun, the mighty heir, was being broken down, not with words, but with ice, until nothing was left but the cold, shivering shell of the man who had once held everything and foolishly let it all slip through his fingers.
The morning light streaming into the dining room felt harsh and unwelcome. Daon sat at the vast table, the silence a heavy weight. He'd somehow managed to coax a sullen, red-eyed Eunjae to join him, though his husband was just pushing food around his plate. The empty chairs—Rinwoo's, Taemin's, Taekyun's—were glaring reminders of the previous night's devastation.
"Eat something," Daon murmured, his voice rough with his own lack of sleep. Eunjae just shook his head, staring blankly at his eggs.
Taemin's continued absence was a particular worry. He hadn't emerged from his room since locking himself in. And Taekyun… Daon had no idea what state his elder brother was in after their father's brutal punishment.
"Prepare two trays," Daon instructed a nearby servant, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "One for Young Master Taemin and one for Young Master Taekyun. Take them to their rooms."
The first servant returned quickly from Taemin's room. "Young Master Taemin is still asleep, Sir," he reported with a bow.
The second servant, however, did not return.
Growing concerned, Daon stood and walked down the hall toward Taekyun's wing. As he approached the door, he saw the servant standing outside, coughing into his elbow, the breakfast tray held shakily in his other hand.
"What is it?" Daon asked, his frown deepening.
The servant coughed again, his eyes watering. "The… the smoke, Sir. It's… it's everywhere."
Daon pushed the door open himself and was immediately hit by a thick, acrid cloud of cigarette smoke. It stung his eyes and clawed at the back of his throat. The room was dim, the heavy curtains still drawn, but the grey haze was visible in the slivers of morning light cutting through the gaps.
In the center of the gloom, seated in a high-backed chair, was Taekyun.
He was still wearing the same clothes from last night, now dried into stiff, wrinkled creases. His posture was rigid, but his hand, holding a burning cigarette, trembled slightly. His other hand was massaging his temple, his eyes squeezed shut as if against a monstrous headache. The ashtray on the side table was overflowing with a small mountain of cigarette butts, a testament to a long, tortured, and sleepless night.
He didn't look up as Daon entered. He just took another long, drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim, toxic room. The heir to the Lee fortune was drowning, not in ice water anymore, but in a self-made fog of nicotine and regret, trapped in the prison of his own choices.
Daon hesitated in the doorway, the thick smoke making his eyes water. With a determined stride, he crossed the room and forcefully pulled back the heavy curtains, flooding the space with harsh morning light. He then unlocked the balcony door and shoved it open, the fresh air rushing in like a tide, pushing against the stagnant, toxic cloud.
Taekyun flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of light. A low, pained groan escaped him.
Daon sighed, the sound heavy with a frustration he couldn't fully express. He turned to the servant still hovering nervously outside, coughing. "Just place the tray there and go," he instructed, pointing to a small table near the door.
Once the servant had fled, Daon's attention returned to his brother. He watched the way Taekyun's fingers pressed into his temple, the motion frantic and pained.
"Does your head hurt?" Daon asked, his voice quieter now.
Taekyun didn't open his eyes. Just a low, husky "Hmm," of acknowledgment that was more vibration than word.
Thinking to help, Daon walked to the bathroom medicine cabinet. He pulled it open. The bottle of strong prescription painkillers was inside, but it was empty. Completely. He shook it, but no sound came out. A cold dread trickled down Daon's spine. Taekyun had already taken them. All of them. The empty bottle, combined with the pack of cigarettes he'd clearly chain-smoked, painted a terrifying picture of a man trying to obliterate himself from the inside out.
Daon abandoned the bathroom and walked back to the chair. Without a word, he reached down and plucked the burning cigarette from between Taekyun's fingers, stubbing it out violently in the overflowing ashtray.
"Your assistant called," Daon stated, his tone businesslike, an attempt to drag Taekyun back to reality through duty. "He's been trying to reach you. There's a full schedule today. He said there's a critical merger meeting this afternoon that requires your presence."
For a second, there was no reaction. Then Taekyun's eyes slit open, red-rimmed and glassy. "Cancel them," he rasped, his voice raw from smoke and disuse. "All of them. My head… it's throbbing." He winced, as if even forming the words caused him pain.
Daon watched him. He could push. He could order him to get up, to shower, to face the consequences of his actions like the Vice President he was supposed to be. But looking at the empty pill bottle, the ashtray, the utter devastation on his brother's face, he knew it was useless. The mighty Taekyun Lee was broken, and no amount of forcing would put him back together today.
With a final, resigned sigh, Daon nodded. "Fine. I'll cancel them."
He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Taekyun alone once more. The heir was left in his smoky, sunlit prison, the world of business and mergers continuing without him, while he battled the much larger, more painful merger of his own guilt and regret raging inside his skull.
The moment Daon left, closing the door on the world, Taekyun slumped back in his chair. He pressed the heels of his palms hard against his closed eyelids, trying to push back the throbbing, relentless agony in his skull. But the darkness behind his lids offered no escape.
Instead, it became a screen for a relentless, torturous playback.
Rinwoo's face materialized behind his eyes. Not the pale, broken man from last night, but from a thousand other moments.
He saw Rinwoo's wide, shocked eyes, glistening with unshed tears, the night Taekyun had first locked him in the basement for some forgotten, trivial mistake. The look hadn't been of anger, but of a deep, bewildered hurt. Why are you doing this?
The memory shifted. He saw Rinwoo's eyes again, this time filled with a gentle, unwavering concern. Taekyun saw himself, younger, slumped over his desk with a migraine. Rinwoo had entered silently, placed a cool cloth on his forehead, his touch feather-light, his expression one of pure, selfless worry. Taekyun had brushed him off with a snarl, and those kind eyes had dimmed, but held no resentment.
Then, the most recent memory: Rinwoo's eyes last night. Pleading. Desperate. Holding onto a fragile, impossible hope that Taekyun would deny the accusations. You're not dating Yuna, right?
Every single look—the hurt, the care, the hope—was now a shard of glass being driven into Taekyun's brain. Each memory was a punishment he had doled out now being returned to him a thousandfold.
He had thought his headache was from the cigarettes, the pills, the stress. But it was worse. It was a psychic pain, a direct assault from his own conscience. Every time he had coldly dismissed Rinwoo, every time he had chosen secrecy and lies over the devotion right in front of him, was now calcifying into a permanent, searing ache behind his eyes.
A low, guttural moan escaped him. He couldn't escape it. The pain was him. The guilt was him. Rinwoo's eyes, in all their iterations, were burned onto the back of his eyelids, a permanent, damning portrait of everything he had destroyed. The cold, empty room was filled with the ghost of the warmth he had spurned, and it was the most excruciating pain he had ever known.
The mountain air was a balm, but it couldn't reach the new weight settled deep within Rinwoo's chest. Master Hwang's spell had granted him a night of merciful, dreamless sleep, a temporary shelter from the hurricane of his memories. But upon waking, the silence in his mind was filled not with peace, but with a profound, leaden heaviness. It was the weight of truth, of betrayal fully processed and now sitting like a stone where his heart used to be.
He moved through his morning routine mechanically. When he stepped out of his room, the sight of Beom Seok pacing nervously in the hallway was both a comfort and a reminder. Beom Seok, who represented a simpler, kinder world.
"Good morning, Beom Seok-ssi," Rinwoo said. The smile he offered was a fragile thing, a carefully constructed mask that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a habit born from a lifetime of not wanting to be a burden, of assuring others he was fine even when he was breaking.
The smile made Beom Seok's heart clench. After everything he'd been told—the affair, the manipulation, the public breakdown—how could Rinwoo possibly smile? The gesture seemed wrong, a ghost of his old self haunting a broken man. Beom Seok felt a surge of concern so strong it stole his words. He wanted to demand if Rinwoo was alright, to shake him until the real emotions came out, but he held back, fearing what might shatter if he did.
"Rinwoo-ssi," he managed, his voice gentle. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
The question hung in the air. Rinwoo's smile remained, a brittle facade. "I'm alright," he lied smoothly. The heavy stone in his chest pulsed. "Is master hwang around?"
Beom Seok nodded, his worry deepening at the evasion. "He's outside. Watering the plants in the meditation garden."
"Thank you," Rinwoo said softly, giving another small, polite bow before turning to walk away. His movements were calm, too calm, as if he were moving through deep water. The serene acceptance was more unsettling than any display of grief would have been. It was the quiet of a battlefield after the war has been lost, leaving behind only emptiness and the crushing weight of what was gone. Beom Seok watched him go, his protective instincts screaming, knowing the smile was a shield and fearing what would happen when it inevitably cracked.
Rinwoo approached the meditation garden, the morning sun dappling through the ancient trees. Master Hwang was there, his movements slow and deliberate as he poured water at the base of a gnarled bonsai, his focus absolute. Rinwoo bowed deeply.
"Good morning, Harabeoji," he said, his voice quiet but clear.
Master Hwang started slightly, pulled from his thoughts. He turned, his wise eyes softening as they landed on his grandson. "Rinwoo-ya. You should be resting."
Without a word, Rinwoo gently took the watering can from his grandfather's hands. He continued the task, his own movements just as careful and precise. The simple, rhythmic action was grounding.
Master Hwang watched him, his concern growing. "Rinwoo, you don't have to do this. You've been through a terrible shock. You need to—"
"I'm all right," Rinwoo interrupted, his voice still soft, but there was a new, firm undercurrent to it. He offered that same fragile smile, but his eyes held a deep, searching intensity. He finished watering the bonsai and set the can down. He turned fully to face Master Hwang.
The smile faded, replaced by a quiet solemnity. "Harabeoji," he began. "Why did you never tell me? How… how are you my grandfather?"
The question hung in the air. Master Hwang sighed, the weight of years seeming to settle on his shoulders all at once. He gestured for Rinwoo to sit with him on a nearby stone bench.
"There is no excuse," Master Hwang started, his voice heavy with regret. "Only a story of a stubborn old man's mistakes." He looked out at the garden, not at Rinwoo, as if seeing into the past.
"Years ago, a traveler came to the shrine. He was handsome, charming. He asked for shelter for a few days. During those days… your mother, my precious daughter, fell in love with him." A pain crossed his face. "I told her many times he was not to be trusted. That his words were smooth but his intentions were not. But she never listened. She always thought I was just a traditional old man, trying to cage her, to keep her from the world."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Time passed. She insisted on marrying him. I refused to give my blessing. I could not." His voice grew thick. "And so, one night, she ran away with him. I never saw her again."
Master Hwang finally turned to look at Rinwoo, his eyes glistening. "Years later, I found out she had died. I searched for you, but it was as if you had vanished. Then, years after that, when I was performing the readings for the Lee family… for Taekyun's fated match… the omens, the incense, the ancestral lots… they all pointed to you."
He reached out, placing a trembling hand over Rinwoo's. "When I looked further into your background, when I saw your name and your mother's name… I realized. The boy fate had chosen for the Lee heir… was my own grandson. The son of my precious daughter, who I had lost through my own stubbornness."
He bowed his head. "I thought… I thought keeping the secret, letting you fulfill your fate with the Lee family, was a way to atone. To give you a good life. I was a fool. I only delivered you into a different kind of cage. For that, I am more sorry than you can ever know."
The truth was out. The secret was finally revealed, not in anger, but in a quiet garden, surrounded by the ghosts of past mistakes. Rinwoo sat in silence, processing the immense story, his own life suddenly making a terrible, heartbreaking sense.
The silence stretched between them, filled only with the gentle sounds of the mountain morning. Master Hwang's confession hung in the air, a lifetime of regret and missed chances. He kept his head bowed, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the questions he felt he deserved.
But they didn't come.
Instead, Rinwoo's hand turned under his, gently squeezing his grandfather's weathered fingers. Master Hwang looked up, surprised.
Rinwoo was smiling. It wasn't the brittle, forced smile from earlier. This was softer, genuine, though still touched with a deep, underlying sadness. He shook his head slowly.
"It's not your fault, Harabeoji," Rinwoo said, his voice clear and certain. "It never was. My mother made her choice. You were trying to protect her. You loved her."
He looked out at the peaceful garden, then back at his grandfather, his eyes shining with a new, fragile light. "I'm not sad about the past. How can I be?" A single tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek, but his smile remained. "I'm just… I'm just happy. I finally have a family member. My own family."
The words were so simple, so heartfelt, they shattered the last of Master Hwang's defenses. His own eyes welled up, and a true, relieved smile broke through his sorrow. He had expected recrimination and instead found absolution and love in the heart of the grandson he had failed.
He pulled Rinwoo into a tight, fierce hug, holding onto the family he had just found. "You have me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You will always have me."
After a long moment, they pulled apart. Master Hwang wiped his eyes with his sleeve, a chuckle escaping him. "Come," he said, his voice lighter than it had been in years. "An old man's stomach is rumbling. Let's go have breakfast."
Rinwoo nodded, his own stomach feeling lighter than it had in days. Together, grandfather and grandson walked away from the garden, leaving the weight of the past behind them and stepping into the simple, healing ritual of a shared meal. For the first time, Rinwoo wasn't alone. He had a home, and he had family.
The atmosphere in Juwon's lavish attached bedroom was thick with a different kind of tension than usual. It wasn't the heat of passion, but the clammy, anxious warmth of sickness and despair.
Taemin lay with his head in Juwon's lap, but he was miles away. His skin was flushed and burning with fever, a physical manifestation of the emotional breakdown he'd suffered. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was shallow and uneven.
Juwon ran his fingers through Taemin's damp hair, his touch infinitely gentle, his face etched with deep concern. A tray of untouched food and a small cup of liquid medicine sat on the bedside table, growing cold.
"Taemin-ah, please," Juwon murmured, his voice soft and pleading. "You have to take something. Just a sip of medicine. You're burning up."
Taemin didn't open his eyes. He just shook his head weakly, turning his face away from the proffered spoon Juwon had picked up. The movement was lethargic, devoid of its usual energy.
"Not hungry," he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raspy from disuse and tears.
It had been like this since he'd arrived, collapsing into Juwon's arms after fleeing the Lee estate. He hadn't spoken much, just curled into a ball of misery. The vibrant, rebellious boy was gone, replaced by a hollow, feverish shell.
Juwon's heart ached. He'd seen Taemin upset before, but never like this. This was a complete shutdown. He set the spoon down with a soft sigh, resuming his slow, rhythmic stroking of Taemin's hair.
"You have to fight this," Juwon whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his hot forehead. "I can't lose you to this. I need you to come back to me."
But Taemin gave no sign that he'd heard. He just lay there, burning up and refusing comfort, lost in a private hell of loss and betrayal, leaving a terrified Juwon to watch over him, helpless to do anything but wait and hope the boy he loved hadn't broken beyond repair.
Juwon's patience was wearing thin, woven with strands of fear. He gently cupped Taemin's feverish cheek, trying to turn his face toward him. "Taemin-ah, talk to me. Please. What happened? What's wrong? You can't just—"
His words were cut off as Taemin's eyes finally snapped open. But they weren't focused on Juwon's concern. They were wide, glazed with fever and a desperate, primal fear. With a sudden, surprising strength born of delirium, Taemin's hands came up, pushing against Juwon's shoulders.
Juwon, caught off guard, fell back against the pillows with a soft grunt.
Before he could react, Taemin moved. He didn't get up. Instead, he hovered over Juwon, his body trembling, his weight supported on his elbows. He looked down at Juwon, his expression raw and utterly vulnerable.
"You'll never ever leave me, right?" The question tore from Taemin's throat, ragged and urgent, laced with a terror that had nothing to do with his physical fever. It was the fear of abandonment, freshly carved into him by Rinwoo's departure. "Promise me. Swear it. You won't… you won't just disappear. You won't stop loving me. You'll always be here."
He was seeking an anchor, a vow so absolute it could counteract the cataclysmic loss he'd just experienced. He needed to hear it from Juwon, to brand the promise into the very air between them, because the one person he'd believed was a permanent fixture in his life had just been ripped away. In his feverish state, the lines between past and present, between Rinwoo and Juwon, were blurring into one overwhelming fear of being left utterly alone.
Juwon's heart clenched at the raw panic in Taemin's voice. He reached up, his hands framing Taemin's fever-hot face. "Why would I ever leave you?" he said, his voice firm, trying to pour every ounce of his certainty into the words. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
But the promise, which would usually soothe Taemin's dramatic flares, didn't land. Taemin's glazed eyes searched Juwon's, looking for a lie, a crack in the foundation.
"But what if you get bored of me?" Taemin's voice was a thin, anxious whisper. "What if I'm too much? Too loud? Too… me?"
Juwon started to answer, but Taemin wasn't done. The questions kept tumbling out, one after another, illogical and fueled by a deep-seated insecurity that the events at the Lee estate had violently unearthed.
"What if your father finds someone better for you? A better fated match? What if you have to marry them?" "What if I get sick?Like, really sick, and you don't want to take care of me?" "What if I forget your birthday?Would you leave me then?"
Each question was more absurd and heartbreaking than the last, a testament to a mind spiraling in a feverish loop of abandonment anxiety. He was testing Juwon, trying to find the breaking point, convinced that if Rinwoo—the kindest, most constant person he knew—could be taken away, then surely Juwon, who he loved with a terrifying intensity, could be lost too.
Juwon listened, his own fear morphing into a fierce, protective resolve. He didn't laugh off the questions. He answered each one with unwavering patience, pulling Taemin back down against his chest, holding him tightly through the tremors.
"I could never get bored of you." "There is no one better.Fate can try; it won't find anyone." "I'd take care of you if you were sick every day." "I'd remind you about my birthday.I'd never let you forget."
He held his delirious, heartbroken boyfriend, answering every irrational fear with a steady, loving truth, anchoring Taemin in the storm of his own making. The room was no longer a place of passion, but a sanctuary, where Juwon was fighting a battle against invisible demons with the only weapon he had: a love he refused to let Taemin question.
The Lee estate felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum holding the ghosts of a shattered family. Daon sat at his study desk, the blue light of his laptop casting harsh shadows on his face. He was supposed to be at the office, commanding the boardroom, but the thought of leaving the crumbling house felt impossible. The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic clicking of his keyboard as he tried to lose himself in work.
Eunjae watched him from the doorway, his own earlier fury banked into a smoldering concern. He could see the tension coiled in every line of Daon's body—in the tight set of his shoulders, the rigid line of his jaw. He walked in quietly and began to massage Daon's shoulders, his fingers working at the knotted muscles.
"You need to relax," Eunjae murmured. "You're going to give yourself a worse headache than Taekyun's."
Daon's hands stilled on the keyboard. He let out a heavy, weary sigh, leaning back into Eunjae's touch for a moment before the tension returned. "How can I?" he asked, his voice flat. "Taekyun hasn't left his room. It's been two days. He's not answering calls, not responding to texts. It's like he's vanished inside that smoke-filled tomb."
He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "Taemin is God-knows-where, probably at the Park boy's, and he left here burning up with a fever. He wasn't in his right mind." The worry for his younger brother was a sharp, constant ache beneath his professional facade. "And Father…" Daon's voice dropped to a whisper. "Father is still furious. He looks at me like I'm a collaborator in this… this disgrace just for defending Eunjae."
He ran a hand over his face. "Everything is breaking. The company, this family… it's all falling apart, and I'm just sitting here, trying to hold the pieces together with emails and spreadsheets."
Eunjae's hands stilled on his shoulders. The reality of the situation settled over them both. It wasn't just a fight; it was a systemic collapse. The foundation of their world, built on duty, reputation, and cold control, had been exposed as rotten, and the entire structure was teetering. Daon, the steadfast pillar, was feeling the strain of holding up a ceiling that was determined to crash down. There was no relaxing from this. There was only the grim, exhausting wait for what would happen next.
The inside of Taekyun's room was a tomb of his own making. The curtains were still drawn, plunging the space into a perpetual, smoky twilight. The air was stale, thick with the ghosts of a hundred cigarettes and the metallic tang of despair. He was lying on his back on the rumpled bed, still in the same clothes from the day Rinwoo left—the day his world ended. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing.
Sleep was a taunting, impossible concept. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories assaulted him. Rinwoo's hurt expression when he'd locked him in the basement. Rinwoo's gentle hands massaging his temples. Rinwoo's devastating, heartbroken plea: "You're not dating Yuna, right?"
The images were on a relentless loop, each one sending a fresh, sharp pain through his already throbbing skull. He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to force himself to sleep, only to jolt awake—or simply give up—minutes later. It was the 15th attempt that day alone. A raw, animal sound of frustration escaped his lips. He pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eye sockets, wishing he could physically push the memories out. The pain was so intense he almost considered smashing his head against the wall just to replace the psychic agony with a physical one.
Weakly, he pushed himself up, his body aching with exhaustion. He needed… something. Anything to make it stop.
His body moved on its own, guided by a desperate, primal need his conscious mind couldn't articulate. His legs, shaky and weak, carried him out of his room and down the silent hall. He didn't think about where he was going; he just followed the pull.
He stopped in front of Rinwoo's door.
He pushed it open.
The room was exactly as Rinwoo had left it. Neat, simple, untouched. And it still smelled like him. That soft, clean scent of sunlight and mild soap—the scent that had always inexplicably calmed Taekyun's headaches.
The moment the familiar fragrance hit him, the vice-like grip on his skull loosened. Just a fraction. A fraction was enough.
He stumbled forward, his legs giving out, and he fell onto Rinwoo's neatly made bed. He buried his face in the pillow, then frantically grabbed the blanket, pulling it around himself. He clung to it, like a drowning man to a lifeline, and inhaled deeply.
The scent filled his lungs, his head, his senses. It was a direct counter to the phantom smell of smoke and guilt that had been choking him. The pounding in his temples began to recede, replaced by a heavy, dizzying wave of exhaustion. The memories were still there, but they were muted, softened at the edges by the tangible proof of Rinwoo's presence.
Curled on Rinwoo's bed, wrapped in Rinwoo's blanket, surrounded by Rinwoo's scent, Taekyun's body finally surrendered. For the first time in two days, the frantic, tortured racing of his mind stilled. His breathing evened out. In the bed of the husband he had driven away, surrounded by the last remnants of his comfort, Taekyun Lee fell into a deep, desperate, and utterly exhausted sleep.