Sunlight streamed into Rinwoo's room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Taekyun woke slowly, his body stiff and his mind groggy from the first deep sleep he'd had in days. For a moment, he was disoriented, surrounded by a soft, clean scent that was distinctly not his own. Then he remembered. He was curled on Rinwoo's bed, clutching Rinwoo's blanket like a lifeline.
The shrill ring of his phone shattered the fragile peace. He fumbled for it, his voice a sleep-roughened growl when he answered. "What."
"Sir," his assistant's voice was tense, anxious. "There's... there's a woman here. At the corporate entrance. She's causing a scene. She's demanding to know where someone named 'Jake' is. She's quite... loud."
Taekyun's frown was immediate and deep. He knew, with cold certainty, exactly who it was. Yuna. Her messenger boy was missing, and her carefully constructed world was starting to crack, making her reckless.
"How would I know?" Taekyun's voice was low, a dangerous rumble that promised no patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a fresh headache brewing behind his eyes. "Ignore her. She's seeking attention."
He could hear the distant sound of yelling through the phone. His assistant hesitated. "Sir, she's rather... persistent."
A wave of pure, unadulterated disgust washed over Taekyun. This woman, her games, her lies—they were the source of all this ruin. The shattered locket, Rinwoo's broken form, his own disgrace—it all led back to her.
"Fine," Taekyun bit out, the words icy. "Send security to the penthouse. The one on Elm Street. Have them clear it out. Every single thing of hers. Throw it all away. Change the locks. I want her erased."
The order was delivered with a finality that brooked no argument. He ended the call without another word and dropped the phone onto the bed as if it were contaminated.
He weakly pushed himself up, the blanket falling away. He looked around the room—Rinwoo's room. The neatness, the simplicity, the lingering scent of its owner. A hot wave of shame crashed over him so intensely it stole his breath. What was he doing here? He had no right to be in this space, seeking comfort in the remnants of the man he had systematically destroyed.
He stood up, his movements stiff with self-loathing, and left the room without looking back, closing the door softly on the one place that had offered him a moment's peace, the ghost of Rinwoo's forgiveness feeling further away than ever.
The hallway was quiet, the morning light casting long, soft beams through the tall windows. Taekyun, looking more haggard and disheveled than Eunjae had ever seen him, was just closing the door to Rinwoo's room. The sight made Eunjae stop dead in his tracks, his earlier good mood evaporating. His jaw clenched. What was he doing in there? The thought of Taekyun invading Rinwoo's private sanctuary, sent a fresh wave of anger through him. He was so lost in his furious thoughts that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps.
He flinched hard when a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back against a firm, familiar chest.
"Yah! You scared me!" Eunjae exclaimed, twisting around to see Daon, already dressed in a impeccably tailored suit for work, a small, rare smile playing on his lips.
Daon's smile widened slightly at Eunjae's reaction. "What are you doing standing here all alone, looking so serious?" he asked, his voice a low, warm rumble.
Eunjae quickly shook his head, pushing the image of Taekyun away. "Nothing. Just... heading down." He reached up, his fingers automatically going to straighten Daon's tie, a habitual, caring gesture.
Daon let him fuss for a moment before catching his hands. He pulled Eunjae back into a proper hug, burying his face in the crook of Eunjae's neck for a second. "I'm going to work," he mumbled against his skin. "I need some energy first."
Eunjae chuckled, the sound bright and fond. He playfully hit Daon's chest. "This is not Daon, the almighty, cold, robotic Vice President. Hey, who are you? Where's my husband?" he teased, his eyes sparkling.
Daon just held him tighter, a quiet laugh vibrating through his own chest. He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned down, meeting Eunjae as he tiptoed up for a kiss. It was a soft, a world away from the tension and anger that plagued the rest of the house. For that brief moment, in the sunlit hallway, they were just two men in love, stealing a quiet moment before facing the world, the troubles of the Lee family momentarily held at bay.
Taemin shuffled into the dining room, his body still heavy with sleep and the lingering effects of his fever. He was hoping for a quiet breakfast, maybe some coffee to clear the fog in his head. The peaceful afterglow of his night with Juwon felt like a fragile bubble around him.
The bubble popped instantly.
"Finally decided to grace us with your presence?" Mr. Lee's voice was like a whip crack, echoing in the vast, silent room. He stood at the head of the table, his expression thunderous.
Taemin froze, his sleepiness vanishing under a surge of adrenaline. "Father, I—"
"Don't 'Father' me!" Mr. Lee cut him off, slamming his hand on the table, making the china rattle. "Where have you been? Gallivanting around the city without a care while this family is in shambles? Your irresponsible behavior ends today!"
Taemin flinched, the yelling making his already tender head pound. "I wasn't gallivanting, I was—"
"I don't care what you were doing!" Mr. Lee roared, taking a step closer. "You will go to the company today. You will report to Daon's department, and you will learn. You will take responsibility for once in your life!"
He leaned in, his eyes blazing with impatience and ambition. "You are going to be married soon. You will not embarrass us with this… this childishness any longer. Your days of frivolity are over. Is that understood?"
The words hit Taemin like physical blows. Married. Jeon family. Responsibility. They were sentences, not possibilities. The freedom he'd felt with Juwon, the sense of being truly seen and wanted for himself, shriveled under the weight of his father's demands. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a cold, familiar dread. The door to his gilded cage, which had swung open for a night, was slammed shut again, and the lock felt heavier than ever. He could only stand there, staring at his plate, and give a stiff, silent nod. The rebellion was gone, extinguished by the sheer force of his father's will.
Minutes later..
The sound of Mr. Lee's tirade echoed in Taemin's ears as he stormed out of the dining room, his appetite completely gone. He didn't look back, the slamming of the dining room door a final punctuation to his father's orders.
Mr. Lee stood seething, his anger at Taemin's disobedience still simmering. But then his gaze fell upon the other end of the table.
Daon was quietly sipping his coffee, a faint, content smile on his face as he listened to something Eunjae was whispering. Eunjae, for his part, was animated, his earlier fiery protectiveness replaced by a playful light in his eyes as he teased Daon, his hand resting casually on Daon's arm.
They looked… happy. A united front. A team.
The sight made Mr. Lee's blood run cold. This was wrong. This was not the order of things. Daon was his heir, his disciplined, obedient son. He was not supposed to be swayed by emotion, certainly not by a disruptive influence like Eunjae. The change in Daon was undeniable—a slight softening of his stern edges, a willingness to defy for Eunjae's sake. It was a weakness. A vulnerability that could be exploited.
A cold, calculating look replaced the anger on Mr. Lee's face. He needed to reassert control. He needed to remind Daon where his true loyalties lay. And to do that, he needed to break this dangerous bond. He needed to make Daon see Eunjae not as a partner, but as a problem. He needed to plant seeds of doubt, of resentment, and water them until the affection between them withered and died.
A plan, cold and precise, began to form in his mind. The happiness he witnessed wasn't a cause for celebration; it was a threat to his authority, and it needed to be dismantled. Piece by piece.
The quiet clatter of dishes was the only sound in the serene shrine kitchen. Rinwoo carefully placed the breakfast bowls into the sink, his movements calm and methodical. As he turned to get a cloth, he missed the hushed exchange happening just outside the door.
Master Hwang leaned close to Beom Seok, his voice a low whisper. "Did you notice anything... off about him this morning? Anything at all? A sign of weakness? A moment of sadness?"
Beom Seok thought hard, his brow furrowed in concentration, before shaking his head. "Nothing like that, Master. Honestly, the only weird thing is... he's laughing. He's smiling. After everything that happened... it's just... it's weird how fast he seems okay. I never thought he'd be able to heal so quickly."
Master Hwang's ancient eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The forced nature of Rinwoo's cheerfulness hadn't escaped him either. He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to the faintest murmur. "Perhaps he is burying it too deep. You're young. He might feel more comfortable talking to you. Later, share a drink with him. Sometimes, a little rice wine can loosen the tongue and let the pain out."
Beom Seok nodded slowly, the plan making sense. "We have that bottle of rice wine from the village festival. We could try that—"
He was cut off as Rinwoo reappeared in the doorway, a damp cloth in his hand. Both men instantly straightened up, putting a noticeable distance between them. Master Hwang cleared his throat loudly.
"—yes, the, uh, the medicinal herbs for the north garden certainly need more sunlight!" Master Hwang declared, his voice suddenly and unnaturally bright.
Rinwoo stopped, his head tilting to the side like a curious bird. His gaze flickered between his grandfather's slightly flustered face and Beom Seok's suddenly very interested examination of the ceiling.
"Medicinal herbs?" Rinwoo asked, his tone gentle but laced with open curiosity. "You were discussing the garden?"
A beat of awkward silence passed. The unspoken plan for an evening drinking session hung heavily in the air between the two conspirators, suddenly exposed under Rinwoo's innocent, questioning gaze.
Taekyun was at work when his phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Yuna's name flashed again and again, her persistence clawing at his patience. At first, he thought about blocking her number—he had done enough pretending she didn't exist. But something inside him shifted. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe the urge to finally put an end to her chaos. With a sharp sigh, he picked up.
The line barely connected before her voice exploded.
"Where the hell is Jake?!" she screamed, venom lacing every word. "Why did you kick me and my mother out of the penthouse? Do you think this is funny, Taekyun? You bastard!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting her rant echo against the sterile office walls. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but cutting.
"First of all, Yuna… I know exactly how Rinwoo found out about our affair. It was you. Don't play innocent."
Her shouting faltered, caught off guard. He didn't stop.
"And second—" his tone sharpened, "—I don't give a damn where Jake is. Don't drag me into your mess."
There was a pause. On the other end, Yuna's breathing shifted, quieter, hesitant. She spoke again, this time in a lowered voice.
"Don't tell me…" her words trembled with accusation, "you hid Jake away just to get revenge on me. You… you sent someone to investigate me, didn't you?"
Taekyun's frown deepened. His jaw tightened. He hadn't sent anyone. The paranoia in her voice was almost laughable, but the situation had long stopped being amusing. He drew in a slow breath, fighting the urge to slam the phone down.
"Listen to me, Yuna." His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of finality. "I'm done. I'm tired of your games. I've had enough of you."
She stayed silent, as if the sharpness of his words cut her mid-thought.
"You ruined everything," he continued, voice cracking with restrained rage. "I tried to ignore it when you started sneaking around with Jake behind my back. I even ignored how you were bleeding me dry for money. I told myself I could handle it. But this—" his breath hitched, anger surging—"this time, you crossed the line."
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, dangerous, like a storm waiting to break.
Taekyun's grip on the phone tightened, knuckles turning white. He could hear Yuna's shallow breaths on the other end, but she didn't dare interrupt.
"You think you can twist everything, Yuna," he said slowly, each word deliberate, like a blade pressed to skin. "You think you can play victim, scream loud enough, and I'll come running. But I see you for what you are now. A liar. A parasite. Someone who doesn't care about anyone but herself."
Yuna's voice cracked. "Taekyun, wait—"
"No," he cut her off, sharp and final. "I waited long enough. I let you tear me apart piece by piece because I thought maybe—just maybe—you'd change. But you didn't. You only got crueler."
She tried again, desperate this time. "It's not what you think, I—"
Taekyun's laugh was bitter, hollow. "Don't waste your breath. I don't care anymore. Whatever happens to you, to Jake, to your mother—that's your burden to carry, not mine."
For a moment, silence swallowed them both. Then his voice dropped, lower than before, almost cold enough to freeze the line.
"You wanted war, Yuna? Fine. But don't call me again. You already lost me."
Taekyun ended the call, but the silence didn't bring peace. A dull ache began pulsing at the side of his head, the same throbbing pain that had been haunting him for weeks. He clenched his jaw, pressing his fingers to his temple as if he could grind the pain away, but it only grew sharper, like needles pressing from inside his skull.
His breath came unsteady. The bitter words he had just thrown at Yuna echoed in his mind, colliding with memories he didn't want to revisit—her laughter when she had first looked at him, the way she had clung to him when she wanted something, the betrayal in every lie she'd fed him.
The pressure behind his eyes blurred his vision. He leaned back in his chair, gripping the armrest so hard his knuckles ached. The office around him felt like it was tilting, closing in, suffocating.
Not again. Not now.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, jaw locked so tightly it hurt. The world outside the window carried on, cars honking, people laughing, the city alive—while inside, Taekyun sat in the dark fog of his own body failing him, his chest heavy with everything he hadn't said, everything he had lost.
The phone on his desk buzzed again, lighting up with her name. Yuna.
His vision sharpened for just a second as rage tore through the pain. Without thinking, he slammed his hand down on the phone, the screen cracking beneath the force.
The throbbing in his head didn't stop. It only got worse.
Back at the shrine..
At the shrine, the air smelled of incense and old wood, the kind of quiet place where even whispers felt too loud. Beom Seok shifted uneasily beside Master Hwang, his eyes flicking to Rinwoo, who was crouched by the stone steps, arranging offerings with careful precision.
"Rinwoo," Beom Seok said softly, trying to sound casual, "you've been… quieter than usual. Are you sure nothing's troubling you?"
Rinwoo didn't even glance up. "I'm just busy." His tone was light, almost dismissive, as if their concern was misplaced.
Master Hwang stroked his long beard, narrowing his eyes in the way that made people feel as though their very thoughts were being weighed. "It is not like you to brush people off, Rinwoo. Energy shifts around you—heavy, unsteady. We can feel it."
Rinwoo's hand paused only for a second before he reached for another candle. "You're both overthinking. I've always worked like this."
Beom Seok exchanged a glance with the old monk, frustration simmering beneath his worry. "Rinwoo, this isn't nothing. You've been distracted, sometimes even dazed. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it yourself."
Finally, Rinwoo looked up, brows drawn slightly in confusion rather than guilt. His dark eyes moved between them. "Why are you two acting so strange? Did something happen that I don't know about?"
The genuine curiosity in his voice made it harder. He wasn't playing stubborn—he truly didn't understand the storm brewing around him.
Master Hwang sighed, the weight of centuries seeming to press into his shoulders. "Sometimes the afflicted are the last to see their own chains."
But Rinwoo only shook his head, turning back to his task, dismissing their concern as if it were nothing more than an unnecessary interruption.
Beom Seok's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to shout, to drag the truth out of him, but all he could do was stand there in silence, watching Rinwoo slip further into his work—unaware, or perhaps unwilling, to face what loomed over him.
After hours of questions that led nowhere, Beom Seok finally sighed in defeat. Master Hwang's furrowed brow softened, and with a small nod, the old monk whispered, "If we cannot pull the truth from him, then perhaps… we give him what he refuses to admit he needs. Peace. Joy. Let us walk with him, not against him."
So they stopped pressing.
Instead, they started doing everything to make Rinwoo's day brighter. Beom Seok appeared with tea exactly when Rinwoo reached for the kettle. Master Hwang offered small stories from his travels, tales meant to draw laughter instead of suspicion. They followed him through the shrine corridors, into the garden, even to the steps where he liked to sit in the evenings.
At first, Rinwoo simply rolled his eyes. "Why are you both suddenly acting like I'm some fragile porcelain cup?" he muttered, continuing with his work.
But as the day stretched on, their constant presence began to feel… strange. Beom Seok hovering while he swept the courtyard. Master Hwang watching intently as he fed the shrine birds. Their smiles came too quick, their concern too soft, as though they were guarding him from shadows only they could see.
By nightfall, Rinwoo finally set down the broom, narrowing his eyes. "Alright," he said, voice edged with curiosity. "What's going on? Why are you both glued to me like my shadows? You weren't like this yesterday."
Beom Seok stiffened, at a loss for words. Master Hwang's expression remained calm, but his silence said enough—there was something unspoken between them.
And Rinwoo, caught between irritation and unease, realized for the first time that maybe they did know something he didn't.
Master Hwang and Beom Seok exchanged a look before they both swallowed hard, summoning the courage to finally speak.
"Rinwoo," Master Hwang's voice was steady, but heavy with sorrow, "we are worried. We can feel it—the weight behind your smile. The way your laughter is forced. It hurts us to see you this way."
Beom Seok's voice wavered as he added, "We care for you. We just… can't stand pretending everything is fine when it's not."
For a heartbeat, silence hung thick in the shrine courtyard. Then, something inside Rinwoo snapped.
His hands balled into fists at his sides as the words came spilling, raw and louder than he ever thought himself capable of.
"What do you even want from me?!" he roared, his voice echoing against the shrine walls. "I'm happy! Can't you all see that? I'm laughing because I'm happy! Isn't that enough? What should I do, huh? Tell me—what do you want from me?!"
His own shouting startled him more than it startled them. His voice—usually quiet, even timid—wasn't his own in that moment. It tore out of him like a beast unchained.
Rinwoo froze, breath caught in his throat. His wide eyes darted to Master Hwang and Beom Seok—both staring at him in shock, as if they'd just witnessed something impossible.
"What…?" Rinwoo whispered, stepping back, his body trembling. He lifted a hand to his mouth, covering it, as though that could take back the words. But they kept replaying in his head, words he didn't even remember choosing. He remembered only the shouting—the rage that didn't feel like his.
"I-I'm sorry…" he stammered, bowing so quickly it was almost desperate. "I didn't… I didn't mean—"
Before either of them could answer, Rinwoo spun and ran, the sound of his footsteps fading into the shrine's halls.
Beom Seok took a step forward, but Master Hwang's hand caught his sleeve, holding him back. The old monk's face was grave, his eyes dark with something unspoken.
Taemin sat at his desk, lazily twirling a pen between his fingers. The reports in front of him blurred together into a wall of dull words. Boredom finally got the best of him, and he reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until his thumb stopped at one name. With a small smirk, he pressed call.
"Where are you?" Taemin asked as soon as Juwon picked up.
"At home," Juwon's voice came, soft but tired.
Taemin's brows knit together. "At home? Why aren't you at work?" His tone carried more concern than he meant to show.
There was a pause on the other end, then Juwon's voice dipped, a little embarrassed. "...My back hurts from last night. How am I supposed to go to work like this?"
Taemin blinked, then leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at his lips. "Your back hurts?" he repeated, amusement lacing his tone.
"Dad asked what happened," Juwon mumbled, and Taemin could practically hear the blush in his voice. "I told him I fell on my back."
A laugh escaped Taemin before he could hold it in. "You fell on your back? That's the story you went with?"
Juwon groaned. "It's better than the truth, isn't it?"
Taemin chuckled again, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. You, lying so smoothly to your own father. What would he think if he knew the real reason you couldn't walk straight?"
"Taemin!" Juwon hissed through the phone, his voice half-scandalized, half-laughing.
"That bad, huh?" Taemin teased, his grin widening. "Maybe I should feel proud… or guilty. Or both."
Juwon buried his face in a pillow, muffling his laughter. "Shut up. You're not funny."
"Yes, I am," Taemin shot back, his tone smug. "Your back proves it."
The call carried on with their voices tumbling over one another, laughter spilling through the line.
"Don't act so smug," Juwon muttered, rolling onto his stomach. "You're the reason I can't get up today. You should be the one bringing me tea, not teasing me from your fancy office."
Taemin chuckled. "Tea? I was thinking more like a massage, but I don't trust myself not to make it worse."
"Exactly why you're banned," Juwon shot back, though his voice betrayed the smile tugging at his lips.
"You wouldn't last a day banning me," Taemin teased. "You'd come crawling—well, limping—back."
"Taemin!" Juwon buried his face in his pillow again, muffling his laugh. "Stop before I hang up—"
Before Taemin could retort, a knock echoed through Juwon's room. He sat up quickly, wincing at the ache in his back. A servant's voice carried from behind the door.
"Sir, Mr. Park is asking for you. He wants to see you now."
Juwon's smile slipped, replaced with a flicker of unease. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear. "Taemin… I have to go. Father's calling."
The warmth in Taemin's expression cooled instantly. "Now? What does he want?"
"I don't know," Juwon admitted, forcing steadiness into his voice. "But I can't keep him waiting."
"Juwon—" Taemin started, but the line clicked as Juwon ended the call.
For a moment, Taemin sat in his office, pen forgotten between his fingers. The playful air from earlier drained away, replaced with a gnawing tension in his chest. He hated that familiar pull—Mr. Park's shadow reaching between them, dragging Juwon away.
It was almost evening when Daon decided to leave work earlier than usual. He was exhausted, though he didn't show it, and quietly gathered his things. His driver was already waiting outside, and on the way, the driver sent a message to Mr. Lee in advance—as part of Mr. Lee's carefully laid plans for the evening.
At the Lee estate, Eunjae had just entered, his steps heavy but steady as he made his way toward the stairs. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into his room, to be alone, away from everyone's prying eyes and harsh words. But before he could even place his foot on the first step, Mr. Lee's sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Stop right there."
Eunjae froze, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned, his face calm but his eyes already clouded with weariness. Mr. Lee stood with his arms folded, his expression cold and calculated, the kind that made it clear he was searching for an excuse—any excuse—to unleash his frustration.
"What do you think you're doing, walking in here like you own the place?" Mr. Lee's tone was laced with disdain. "You're shameless. Always hiding in that room of yours, useless and ungrateful."
Eunjae's jaw tightened. He inhaled sharply, holding back at first, but then something in him snapped. He spun around fully, eyes blazing.
"Stop it already!" Eunjae shouted, his voice echoing in the grand hall. "You pick fights on purpose every time I walk in. Do you even hear yourself?"
Mr. Lee's brows furrowed, his lips twisting into a mocking smirk. "Oh? Finally found some courage, have you? Or is this just another one of your childish tantrums?"
Eunjae stepped closer, not backing down. His chest heaved with every breath, but his voice carried steady anger. "This isn't courage, and it's not a tantrum. I'm sick of your games. If you hate me so much, then just say it instead of constantly trying to humiliate me!"
The air thickened, charged with tension. The servants nearby froze, glancing nervously at one another, unsure whether to intervene or vanish into the shadows.
Eunjae's anger poured out like a storm he had been holding in. His fists trembled at his sides as he raised his voice, each word cracking with raw pain.
"I hate you! I hate everything about you—your rules, your control, the way you make this house feel like a prison! And most of all, I hate how you treat Daon—like he's not even your son, just some robot programmed to follow your orders!"
Mr. Lee stood perfectly still, his face unreadable. He didn't interrupt, didn't scold, didn't even smirk. Instead, his eyes flickered toward the large entrance doors of the estate. His ears strained for the sound of Daon's footsteps. Eunjae didn't notice. He was too consumed, his fury boiling over.
Then—it happened. The faint echo of the door opening. Daon had arrived home.
Mr. Lee's lips curved ever so slightly, the predator in him awakening. He began circling around Eunjae, slow and deliberate, like a vulture. His voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth and theatrical, as if meant for an audience.
"Why do you hate me so much, Eunjae?" Mr. Lee asked with feigned hurt. "All I ever wanted was the best for this house… for you."
Eunjae blinked, taken aback by the sudden softness in tone. His chest was still heaving, his words caught in confusion. Something didn't add up—why was Mr. Lee acting like this all of a sudden?
He turned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, when—
"Wait—"
Mr. Lee lunged forward, seizing Eunjae's wrist. Before Eunjae could pull away, Mr. Lee stumbled backward dramatically, dragging Eunjae's hand with him. With a loud thud, Mr. Lee collapsed onto the polished floor as though struck.
The timing was perfect. Daon stepped into the hall at that exact moment. His eyes widened at the sight before him: his father sprawled on the ground, clutching at his chest with one hand, Eunjae standing over him, hand still outstretched as though caught in the act.
Eunjae froze, his own eyes widening in horror. "No—Daon, it's not what it looks like!"
But the scene had already been set. Mr. Lee lay on the floor, groaning softly, playing the role of the wounded father, while Eunjae stood helpless in the frame of guilt.
"Dad!" Daon rushed forward, panic flashing in his eyes as he knelt beside Mr. Lee. His hands trembled as he tried to help him sit up, carefully propping him against the wall. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Mr. Lee groaned weakly, keeping his expression pained but just soft enough for Daon to see him as the victim. "I… I don't know why Eunjae hates me so much. I only spoke to him, and then… this."
Eunjae staggered back, his throat tightening. "Daon—no, he's lying! I didn't touch him like that! He—he pulled me!" His voice cracked with desperation.
But Daon snapped his head toward him, fury written all over his face.
"Enough, Eunjae!" Daon yelled, his voice louder than Eunjae had ever heard. "I defended you so many times, I trusted you—but this? You crossed the line!"
Eunjae's heart sank, his stomach twisting into knots. He had never seen Daon look at him like this—like he was a stranger, like he was dangerous.
"I didn't!" Eunjae's voice broke, his hands trembling as he reached out a little before pulling them back. "Daon, you have to believe me, he—"
But Daon didn't let him finish. He wrapped one arm firmly around Mr. Lee's shoulders, helping him stand as if shielding him from further harm.
"Stay away from him," Daon warned sharply, his words like knives. "If you can't respect my family, then you can't be part of my life. Not like this."
Mr. Lee lowered his gaze, hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips. His plan had worked flawlessly—Daon had taken the bait.
Eunjae could only watch in silence, his chest heaving, his eyes stinging with betrayal. For the first time, he truly felt like he was losing Daon.