The office tower gleamed against the Seoul skyline, glass panels catching the afternoon light like a crown of ice. Inside, Kang Jisoo's empire ticked with precision—every floor a machine, every employee a cog turning at his command.
And yet, in the heart of it, the man at the center felt himself fraying.
The day had been relentless. Contracts, board approvals, investors—all waiting for his signature, his word. His reputation as an Alpha of unyielding authority had been carved through years of iron discipline, but today his hand trembled just slightly as he signed the final page.
It was a detail no one noticed. No one except Seo Minjae.
Minjae stood at the edge of the desk, tablet in one hand, expression impassive but eyes too sharp. He had been watching since the morning—watching the faint tightness in Jisoo's jaw, the way he pressed his palm against his stomach as though hiding something, the slight delay before he breathed in too carefully, as though his own body betrayed him.
"Your meeting with Chairman Park is in fifteen minutes," Minjae said smoothly. "He's already arrived."
Jisoo looked up from his documents. His gaze was sharp, his tone even. "Then we'll keep him waiting. A man in his position should know patience."
It should have sounded commanding. But Minjae caught the faintest rasp in his voice. He tilted his head, just enough to let his smile show.
"Of course, sir. But maybe you should use those fifteen minutes to eat. You skipped lunch again."
"I don't need food."
"Everyone needs food," Minjae countered, tapping his tablet. "Unless you've evolved into a new species of Alpha who survives on black coffee and pride alone."
Jisoo's pen stilled. He looked at Minjae as though the young man had stepped across an invisible line. And yet… he didn't push him back.
The meeting with Chairman Park dragged late into the evening. By the time they left, the first drops of rain had begun to fall against the glass lobby. Minjae carried Jisoo's briefcase, his umbrella tucked under his arm.
Outside, the storm had already broken. Sheets of rain blurred the streetlamps, cars rushing through the downpour. The chauffeur pulled the sedan to the curb, but Jisoo shook his head. "Go home for tonight," he ordered. "I'll drive."
The driver hesitated, glanced at Minjae, then bowed and retreated.
Inside the car, silence pressed thick between them, punctuated only by the sound of rain against glass. Jisoo drove with the same precision he did everything, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed forward. But Minjae, seated beside him, noticed how his grip tightened every time thunder cracked overhead.
He leaned back casually, watching the reflection of Jisoo's face in the dark window. Pale. Too pale.
"You're unwell," Minjae said suddenly.
Jisoo's jaw clenched. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
"Don't overstep."
Minjae chuckled softly, turning his gaze toward the rain. "It's funny, isn't it? Everyone else looks at you and sees the perfect Alpha. Untouchable. Cold. A king on his throne." He let the words hang before glancing sideways. "But I sit here and see a man who looks like he might pass out behind the wheel any second."
The car swerved just slightly before Jisoo corrected it. His knuckles whitened. "Seo Minjae."
"Yes, sir?"
"Watch your tongue."
Minjae smirked. "If you say so."
But he leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for it to cut through the rain. "You can lie to everyone else. But you can't lie to me. Not forever."
Jisoo's heart gave a sharp, painful thud. For a moment, he thought Minjae had meant something more—that he had seen the truth Jisoo had buried beneath suppressants and steel. But when he risked a glance, Minjae was already leaning back, eyes half-closed, as if it had been nothing more than a casual remark.
Still, the words echoed long after they reached Jisoo's apartment.
That night, he stood before the tall windows of his penthouse, rain streaking down the glass like cracks running through a mirror.
He could still hear Minjae's voice in his ear. You can't lie to me. Not forever.
Jisoo pressed a hand to his abdomen, where the dull ache had begun again despite the suppressant. His reflection stared back at him: sharp suit, cold eyes, the image of a flawless Alpha.
And yet, in the shifting light of the storm, he thought he saw something else in the glass.
Not a king, but a man trapped in his own crown.Not dominance, but fragility waiting to shatter.
The cracks were spreading.
And Seo Minjae—smirking, fearless, infuriating Seo Minjae—was already watching.