Saturday arrived quietly.
For most people it meant rest.
A pause between the relentless rhythm of workdays.
For Kang Daehyun it meant something else entirely — the one night in the week when the corporate world loosened its grip just enough for him to disappear without drawing attention.
Even the executives of KGI Group and Hanseong Holdings expected fewer messages on Saturdays.
Markets slowed.
Meetings paused.
Reports waited until Monday.
But the house still carried the weight of everything that had happened earlier.
The quiet tension.
The shattered objects.
The lingering fear.
Preparing the House for Sleep
By evening, Sooah had returned to her clearer state.
Her eyes were calmer now.
More aware.
And that awareness carried something new tonight — a quiet guilt she no longer tried to hide.
She knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
Enough to understand the medicine.
Enough to understand why Daehyun insisted she sleep during certain hours.
Enough to understand that her mind sometimes betrayed her.
She sat on the edge of the bed while Daehyun prepared the pills beside a glass of water.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Minjun was already dressed in his small jacket downstairs, waiting to go visit his grandparents.
Finally Sooah reached for the pills herself.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she swallowed them.
This time she didn't pretend to drink them.
This time she didn't argue.
She simply looked at him.
Her voice was quiet.
"…Will you be okay tonight?"
Daehyun forced a small smile.
"I'll be working."
It was the same lie he always used.
But tonight there was something different behind his eyes.
Something tired.
Something hollow.
Sooah studied his face as if she wanted to say more.
But the medication had already begun pulling at her mind.
Her eyelids lowered slowly.
Within minutes she was asleep.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
Daehyun stood beside the bed for a moment longer.
Then he quietly turned off the lights.
Leaving Minjun
The drive across the city was silent.
Minjun sat in the back seat of the car with his dinosaur toy, talking softly to himself about imaginary battles between dinosaurs and spaceships.
Three-year-olds created entire worlds from nothing.
Daehyun listened quietly while driving.
Every small word felt precious.
When they arrived at Sooah's parents' home, the large gates opened immediately.
The Han family estate was even older than the Kang residence — traditional architecture blended with modern luxury, a quiet symbol of the dynasty behind Hanseong Holdings.
Sooah's mother opened the door before they even knocked.
She looked at Daehyun carefully.
Mothers noticed things others didn't.
She saw the exhaustion in his eyes.
The tension in his posture.
But she said nothing about it.
Instead she smiled warmly at Minjun.
"Grandma missed you."
Minjun ran inside happily.
For children, visits to grandparents were adventures.
Daehyun knelt down briefly to fix the boy's jacket.
"Be good tonight."
Minjun nodded seriously.
"Okay Daddy."
Then he hugged him quickly and ran away again.
Children moved on quickly.
That innocence was both comforting and painful.
Daehyun stood up slowly.
Sooah's father placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Get some rest tonight."
The words were simple.
But the older man's eyes carried quiet understanding.
Daehyun nodded once.
Then he left.
The Drive
The city faded behind him.
Tall buildings slowly gave way to quiet roads that wound through forested hills outside Seoul.
Few people knew about this place.
A secluded property he had purchased quietly years ago when life had still been simpler.
Back then it had been meant as a weekend retreat.
A place to escape the noise of corporate life.
He almost laughed at the irony.
Now it was the only place where he could exist without pretending.
The car stopped before a large modern house hidden among tall trees.
No guards.
No staff.
No cameras watching him constantly.
Just silence.
Finally Alone
The door closed behind him with a dull echo.
The house smelled faintly of wood and cold air.
He didn't turn on most of the lights.
Only the small lamp near the living room bar.
For a moment he simply stood there.
Then the pain hit.
Without adrenaline.
Without the constant need to stay composed.
Every injury he had ignored suddenly roared to life.
His ribs throbbed violently.
His shoulder burned.
The stab wound pulsed sharply with every breath.
A quiet gasp escaped him.
He stumbled slightly and grabbed the edge of the counter.
"…Ah…"
It was the first real sound of pain he had allowed himself all night.
He poured whiskey into a glass with shaking hands.
Then another.
Then another.
The alcohol burned down his throat.
But the warmth spreading through his chest dulled the sharp edges of the pain.
He leaned back against the counter.
His breathing grew heavier.
Another wave of agony rolled through his ribs.
This time the sound that left his throat was louder.
A strained gasp.
His hand pressed against his side instinctively.
"…damn it…"
He had held everything together for two years.
Two years of silence.
Two years of pretending nothing hurt.
Two years of acting like a man strong enough to endure anything.
But here there was no one watching.
No one to reassure.
No one to protect.
Another drink disappeared.
Then another.
His breathing grew uneven.
The pain from the stab wound flared sharply again, forcing him to bend forward slightly.
A broken sound escaped his throat.
Not quite a cry.
But close.
"…It hurts…"
The words came out weakly.
His fingers tightened against the counter.
He hadn't allowed himself to say that in years.
Because once you admitted something hurt —
You risked breaking.
His mind drifted slowly.
Through memories.
Through the life he once had.
Through the life he now lived.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"I hate this."
The words echoed through the empty house.
He looked down at the glass in his hand.
The amber liquid swirled slowly.
"My life…"
Another bitter laugh followed.
"I have everything."
His father was the richest man alive.
He commanded global corporations.
Entire industries moved when he made decisions.
People envied him.
Feared him.
Admired him.
And yet—
He couldn't have the one thing he actually wanted.
His wife's mind.
Her memories.
Her peace.
His head lowered slowly.
"…What kind of life is this?"
Another drink.
The pain in his ribs forced another strained breath.
His voice dropped into a whisper.
"I can't blame her."
Never Sooah.
Never.
She was the victim of something crueler than either of them.
"I can't blame Minjun."
The boy was innocent.
"I can't blame my father."
He had given Daehyun every resource in the world.
The silence of the house stretched endlessly.
Finally Daehyun laughed again.
Soft.
Broken.
"There's only one person left."
He stared at his reflection in the dark window.
A tall figure.
Sharp shoulders.
A body hardened by years of punishment.
A stranger.
"…Me."
His hand trembled slightly around the glass.
"If I was stronger earlier…"
"If I noticed sooner…"
"If I protected her better…"
The thoughts spiraled endlessly.
Because blaming himself was easier than blaming fate.
Easier than admitting the truth.
Some tragedies simply had no one to blame.
The pain in his side flared again.
This time he couldn't suppress the sound.
A sharp gasp tore from his throat as he doubled slightly.
The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
He didn't even look down.
He just stood there breathing heavily in the empty house.
Finally letting the pain exist.
Finally letting the exhaustion show.
For the first time in two years, Kang Daehyun allowed himself to be a man who was simply tired of carrying everything.