Han stared at his father with a hatred so sharp it felt like it could cut through bone.
I wish I could get up and strangle him to death. Or shoot him straight through the mouth because he speaks too much shit.
Worse, Han wanted to rip him apart piece by piece—take his eyes, break his legs, tear out his tongue and leave him breathing just long enough to understand what pain really meant.
Would it even be enough for how much I hate him?
Han's glare burned hotter.
Mr. Joon noticed it, and like the coward he was, he couldn't take it.
"Put your eyes down," he ordered.
Han didn't move.
Mr. Joon leaned back on the couch, voice dropping into that quiet, poisonous tone Han had known since childhood.
"I said… look down."
Han lowered his eyes—not out of fear, but out of strategy.
I can't die here. Not like this. Not under this cruel man. I'll tolerate him for one day. Then I'll run away with Jiwoo. Just today, Han. Only today.
Mr. Joon smiled like he'd won a war.
He ordered a man to bring his golf bat.
When it arrived, he said casually, almost with amusement,
"Beat him. If my son can take this without fainting, I'll let him live. If not… he dies today."
The bat swung.
The first hit drove the air out of Han. The second one felt like fire exploding under his ribs. The third rattled his bones.
With every strike, he repeated in his mind:
Just for today. Just for today, Han. You will get out of this. You won't die by this man.
Time vanished. Pain didn't.
Han was on his knees, barely holding himself upright, blood dripping down his chest, his skin burning.
He couldn't feel his fingers. He could barely hear.
All he could think was how much he had done for this man—how much he had tried, begged, earned, obeyed.
And none of it mattered.
Mr. Joon always saw the one mistake, never the years Han spent trying to be enough.
The door burst open.
Seokmin stumbled in, breathless and desperate.
One of the guards blocked him, but Seokmin shouted over them,
"Mr. Joon! The person in the pictures—he's my boyfriend. Han didn't date him. Please trust him! Look at him! Do you want to kill him?! Please—let him go!"
Mr. Joon shook his head slowly, disgust dripping from his expression.
"Get him out. He's annoying."
When the guards grabbed Seokmin, he snapped.
He slammed his fist into one man's abdomen, sending him to the floor, kicked another away, and rushed toward Han.
As soon as he touched him, Han collapsed into his chest—half conscious, breathing in shallow, broken gasps.
"Hyung… open your eyes," Seokmin begged, voice cracking. "Hyung, please—are you okay?"
Han nodded weakly. Maybe out of instinct. Maybe out of denial.
With effort, Seokmin pulled him to his feet, supporting most of his weight.
Then another guard rushed in, face pale, voice terrified.
"Master… Mr. Choi is dead."
Seokmin froze.
Han's consciousness snapped back like someone poured ice water down his spine.
"What are you saying?" Seokmin demanded. "Are you insane?"
The guard dropped to his knees.
"Sir… Master Seungmin killed him. He stabbed him. Twelve times. Mr. Choi died on the spot."
The room shattered.
Seokmin's mind stopped. His voice dropped to a whisper, "No… no, he wouldn't… you're lying…"
Mr. Joon stood up, almost casually.
"Seokmin, it's fine. Sit down."
His eyes were already cold, calculating.
"Get our lawyer."
But the guard shook his head.
"Sir… it's useless. Mr Seungmin already confessed. He accepted everything."
Han didn't hear the rest.
His brain shut down. His body numbed.
His vision blurred.
Seungmin.
Twelve stab wounds.
Confession.
No escape.
Everything inside Han cracked.
The world tilted.
His knees buckled.
So this is it…? The beginning of the end?
His vision went black as he collapsed into Seokmin's arms.