The next week was torture.
Marcus kept his head down, maintained maximum distance, and tried desperately to pretend everything was normal. He arrived exactly at 9 AM, worked efficiently, and left at 6 PM on the dot.
Dae-Jung didn't push. Didn't bring up the kiss. He didn't corner him in pantries or kitchens or anywhere else.
But he watched. God, did he watch.
Marcus felt those eyes on him constantly; when he cleaned, when he cooked, when he bent over to pick something up or reached for something on a high shelf. The attention was heavy, possessive and hungry.
It was driving Marcus insane. Worse, Dae-Jung had started asking questions.
Casual questions, dropped into conversation like landmines.
"Where did you grow up?"
"Do you have family nearby?"
"What made you move to Seoul?"
Marcus deflected, gave vague answers, changed the subject. But Dae-Jung was persistent. Patiently like he was slowly piecing together a puzzle, one carefully extracted piece of information at a time.
And it terrified Marcus.
—
Friday afternoon, Marcus was folding laundry in the utility room when he heard raised voices from Dae-Jung's office.
He froze, instinctively going quiet.
"—don't care what his excuses are." Dae-Jung's voice was cold, sharp. "He had one job. One. And he failed."
A pause. Someone on speaker phone responded in rapid Korean.
"Then make an example of him," Dae-Jung said flatly. "I want everyone to know what happens when they disappoint me."
Another pause.
"I don't care how you do it. Just handle it."
The call ended.
Silence.
Marcus's hands had gone still on the shirt he was folding, his heart racing. This was a reminder. A stark, brutal unexpected reminder of who Dae-Jung really was. Not the man who cooked French toast or looked at Marcus like he was something precious. But the man who ordered people hurt, who ruled his empire with respect, fear and violence.
Marcus needed to remember that. And he needed to keep his distance.
Because getting involved with someone like Dae-Jung didn't just risk his heart—it risked his life.
—
That evening, as Marcus was packing up to leave, Dae-Jung appeared.
"Marcus. A moment."
Marcus turned, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "Yes?"
Dae-Jung gestured toward the living room. "Sit. Please."
It wasn't a request even though it sounded like one. It's just how Dae-Jung talks and he grew used to it.
Marcus sat on the edge of the couch, backpack in his lap like a shield. Dae-Jung sat across from him, leaning back, one arm draped across the back of his chair. Casual. But his eyes were sharp.
"You've been avoiding me."
Shit, he noticed.
"I've been working." He lied.
"You've been hiding."
Marcus said nothing.
Dae-Jung sighed, running a hand through his pink hair. For a moment, he looked tired. Not the controlled, powerful man Marcus usually saw, but someone carrying a weight he couldn't put down.
"I'm not good at this," Dae-Jung said finally. "Relationships or Connections. Anything relating to intimacy, I don't—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I don't let people in. It's not safe. For them or for me."
"Then why—"
"Because I can't seem to help it with you." Dae-Jung's gaze locked onto his. "And before you run again, I'm not asking for anything you're not ready to give. I just want you to stop treating me like I'm going to hurt you."
"You're a dangerous man," Marcus said quietly. "I heard you on the phone today."
Dae-Jung didn't deny it. "Yes. I am. But not to you."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." Dae-Jung leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Marcus, I've done things that would horrify you. I've made choices most people couldn't live with. But I protect what's mine. And if you gave me the chance, I would protect you too."
Marcus's throat tightened. "I'm not yours."
"Not yet."
The words hung in the air between them, loaded with promise and threat in equal measure.
"I can't do this," Marcus whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because—" He couldn't say it. Couldn't tell him. "Because it won't work."
"Let me decide that."
"Dae-Jung—"
"Move in with me."
Marcus's head snapped up. "What?"
"Move in. Officially. Not as my housekeeper—well, still as my housekeeper if you want to keep working—but as more than that. Live here. Let me take care of you."
"Are you insane?"
"Probably." Dae-Jung smiled, but there was vulnerability in it. "But I want this. I want you. And I think, despite all your running, you want this too."
Marcus stood abruptly. "I need to go."
"Marcus—"
"No. This is—this is too much. Too fast. I can't—" He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. "I need time to think."
Dae-Jung stood too, and for a moment, Marcus thought he might try to stop him. But instead, he just nodded.
"Take the weekend," Dae-Jung said. "Think about it. But Marcus?"
"What?"
"Whatever you're hiding from me—whatever secret you think will change how I feel—it won't. I promise you that."
Marcus wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to believe him so badly. But belief was a luxury Marcus couldn't afford.
—
Saturday morning, Marcus's phone rang. It was an Unknown number. Local area code.
"Hello?"
"Is this Marcus Webb?" A woman's voice, professional.
"Yes?"
"This is Dr. Kim from Seoul Medical Center. You're listed as the emergency contact for—"
Marcus's blood ran cold. "For who?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Webb. There's been an incident."