Seungmin pushed the heavy front door open and froze.
Two of his guards were on their knees. Their faces were bruised and bloody, heads hanging low, shoulders trembling with every painful breath.
He didn't need to ask what had happened. He already knew.
Step by step, he walked into the living room.
His father sat like a king on the sofa, one leg crossed, a cigar glowing between his fingers. Smoke filled the air, bitter and choking. On the side stood Mr. Jaehan, head bowed, silent.
Seungmin dropped to his knees.
"Father."
His father didn't look at him at first. He blew out smoke slowly, then spoke in a deep, calm voice.
"Jaehan told me you went to Busan. Not only that—you even took some of my men with you to chase after a girl."
Seungmin's head lifted slightly. His voice was low but respectful.
"Father, it wasn't like that. There was a boy… he was having trouble with that girl, so I—"
"Shut up." The voice cut like a blade. His father's eyes locked on him, sharp and cold.
"Don't tell me stories. I already know everything. I'm asking you one thing—why didn't I know you went to Busan?"
The question felt like a weight pressing him into the floor.
Seungmin bowed lower.
"I'm sorry, Father. I should have told you."
Finally, his father turned his gaze on him. Those dark eyes were merciless.
"Come here. Give me your hand."
Seungmin crawled closer and held out his hand. Without hesitation, his father pressed the burning cigar into his palm. The pain shot through instantly, burning deep into the flesh. But Seungmin didn't cry, didn't even flinch.
The next second, a heavy slap cracked across his face.
"I waste my money raising you, and this is what I get? A snake."
Seungmin's cheek stung, but his voice stayed calm.
"I'm sorry, Father. It won't happen again. Please forgive me."
His father stood, his shadow falling over him.
"Jaehan. Teach him a lesson."
Mr. Jaehan stepped forward. His hands shook, but he obeyed. His fist smashed into Seungmin's face, knocking him down. Kicks followed—hard, merciless. Seungmin didn't beg, didn't cry. He took the beating in silence, his body absorbing each strike.
A phone rang. His father's voice was firm.
"Handle it," he ordered before walking out of the room.
The moment he left, the beating stopped. Jaehan bent down, breathing hard, and helped Seungmin up.
Blood ran from Seungmin's lip, his cheek swelling, his palm blistered. He stared at his burned hand quietly, like he was memorizing the pain.
"Seungmin…" Jaehan's voice broke. "Forgive me. I had no choice."
Seungmin didn't look at him. His tone was flat, cold.
"Don't apologize. Just make sure he never doubts you."
Jaehan lowered his head in shame.
But Seungmin's eyes stayed on the burn in his palm—the mark of his father's power, and the reminder he could never show weakness