In Daon and Eunjae's shared bedroom the adrenaline from the confrontation with Taekyun was fading, leaving behind a complicated aftermath. They sat on the edge of the large bed, a palpable distance between them.
Daon let out a long, weary sigh, breaking the silence. He didn't look at Eunjae, instead staring at his own hands clasped in his lap. "Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice low and heavy.
Eunjae, still riding a wave of righteous fury, answered immediately. "I hated it. I hated seeing him in there, clinging to Rinwoo's scent after everything he did. He doesn't get to—"
"I'm not asking about that," Daon interrupted, his tone sharpening. He finally turned his head, his gaze landing on Eunjae, and it was filled with a deep, unresolved conflict. "I'm asking about why you pushed my father."
The words landed like a physical blow. Eunjae stared at him, his own defensiveness crumbling into disbelief and a fresh wave of hurt. After everything—after Daon had defended him, after he'd pushed his own brother—he still didn't believe him.
"Daon," Eunjae said, his voice pleading, desperate to bridge this chasm. "I told you. I didn't push him. He grabbed my wrist and he fell. He staged the whole thing. You have to believe me."
Daon looked away again, his jaw tight. He wanted to believe him. The part of him that had just fought for Eunjae screamed that it was true. But the image was seared into his mind: his father on the ground, Eunjae standing over him. A lifetime of filial duty and respect warred with his love for his husband.
"Eunjae," he said, his voice strained, opting for a fragile, conditional peace. "I... I will forgive you for this. This time. But it cannot happen again. Do you understand me?"
It wasn't forgiveness. It was a pardon, and it came with the unshakable implication of guilt.
He stood up, the movement final. "Now, come with me. We need to go apologize to my father. We need to smooth this over."
He extended his hand, not as a partner, but as a warden leading a prisoner to make amends. He was choosing the path of least resistance for the family, asking Eunjae to swallow his truth and apologize for a crime he didn't commit. The unity they had found against Taekyun had fractured, leaving Eunjae isolated once more, his victory over Taekyun feeling hollow and bitter.
Eunjae didn't take the offered hand. He stood up, but it wasn't to follow. He took a step back, putting more distance between them on the large bed. The hurt in his eyes solidified into something harder: defiance.
"No," he said, his voice quiet but firm. It wasn't a shout, but it rang with finality.
Daon's expression tightened, his patience visibly thinning. "Eunjae—"
"I did nothing wrong," Eunjae stated, cutting him off. His gaze didn't waver. "I will not go down there and apologize for something I didn't do. I won't kneel and beg for forgiveness from a man who set a trap for me. Why should I?"
Daon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and disbelief at what he saw as sheer stubbornness. He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a low, cold warning.
"Don't be so arrogant," he said, the words biting. "This isn't about right or wrong. This is about peace. This is about living in this house. If you want any semblance of peace here, you will swallow your pride and you will apologize. No matter what you believe happened."
He was offering him the family's twisted logic: truth was irrelevant; compliance was everything. Harmony was maintained through submission, not justice.
"Now," Daon said, his tone leaving no room for further argument. "Are you coming, or are you choosing to make this even harder for both of us?"
He stood waiting, a statue of duty and expectation, giving Eunjae an impossible choice: betray himself to keep the peace, or stand his truth and risk shattering the fragile bond with his husband completely. The chasm between them had never felt wider.
Curled on the sterile, scentless bed, Taekyun was adrift in a sea of his own making. The silence in the room was no longer peaceful; it was accusatory. The void where Rinwoo's presence should have been was a physical weight, pressing down on him, forcing his thoughts inward.
The furious words of Eunjae and Daon echoed in his mind, their accusations stripping away the last of his denials. You treated him like a ghost. You broke him.
And for what?
The image of Yuna's face surfaced—her calculated smiles, her demands for money, her frantic calls about a missing lover. He had fought so hard for her, had been willing to risk everything for a woman who saw him as a bank account and a tool for her own amusement.
The contrast was so brutal it made him feel ill.
He thought of Rinwoo. Not the silent, accommodating figure he'd taken for granted, but the man he'd been before two years of neglect had worn him down. He recalled the hesitant hope in Rinwoo's eyes on their wedding day, quickly extinguished by Taekyun's coldness. He remembered the quiet offerings of tea left on his desk late at night, always ignored. The small, thoughtful gifts on holidays, left unopened. The way Rinwoo would flinch slightly when Taekyun walked into a room, as if bracing for impact.
He had mistaken that quiet endurance for weakness, that kindness for simplicity. Now, he saw it for what it was: a profound strength he had been too arrogant to recognize.
He tried to cling to his anger, to his justification that Yuna was his true love, his fate. But the fantasy crumbled to dust. His "love" for Yuna was a desperate, selfish obsession. What he had done to Rinwoo was a sustained, deliberate act of cruelty.
A memory, sharp and unbidden, flashed behind his eyes: Rinwoo, months ago, mustering all his courage to ask if Taekyun would be home for dinner. Taekyun had brushed past him without a word, on his way to see Yuna. He hadn't even looked back to see the way Rinwoo's shoulders had slumped, the way the fragile light in his eyes had died out completely.
Those pleading eyes.
He had seen them so many times and had always chosen to look away.
Now, in the emptiness of the cleansed room, he couldn't escape them. They were all he could see. The ghost of Rinwoo's pain was a far more effective torturer than any shadow. Taekyun squeezed his eyes shut, but it was no use. The truth was inside him, and it was a punishment far worse than any his brother or his husband's lover could ever devise. He had thrown away something precious for something cheap and false, and the realization was a rot in his soul, consuming him from the inside out.
The cellar beneath the Park estate was a place of cold, damp stone and shadows. The air smelled of mildew and old fear. Taemin's wrists were shackled in heavy iron cuffs, chained to a hook suspended from the low ceiling. The position forced him onto his toes, stretching his arms agonizingly above his head, making his entire body a taut, vulnerable target.
The first blow from the guard's baton landed across his ribs, driving a grunt of pain from his lips. The second struck the back of his thighs, making his legs buckle, the chains on his wrists jerking cruelly to hold his weight.
But Taemin wasn't fighting them. He wasn't even cursing them. Through gritted teeth, between ragged gasps of pain, his pleas were for only one thing.
"Please… just let me… talk to him," he choked out as another blow landed. "Just… once… Juwon… I just need to… see Juwon…"
His desperation, his single-minded focus on their master's son, only infuriated the guards more. It was a disrespect, an insanity that deserved to be beaten out of him.
"Shut your mouth, Lee scum!" one guard snarled, driving a fist into Taemin's stomach.
Taemin gasped, doubling over as much as the chains would allow, coughing violently. But as soon as he caught his breath, the plea started again, weaker now, but relentless.
"Please… tell Juwon… I'm here… just… tell him…"
Another guard laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You think the Young Master wants to see you? You're nothing but a stray dog he kicked away!"
The baton cracked against his shoulder blade. Taemin cried out, his vision blurring with tears of pain and frustration.
"Juwon…" he whispered, the name a prayer, a lifeline, the only thing he could cling to in the sea of agony. "Juwon… please…"
His unwavering begging, his complete disregard for his own suffering in favor of calling for Juwon, was a form of defiance the guards couldn't understand. It made them angrier. The blows came harder, faster, a storm of violence meant to silence the name that kept falling from the Lee boy's broken lips. But Taemin held onto it, the only thing that mattered, even as the world dissolved into pain.
The sound was a desperate, rhythmic pounding that echoed through the upper hallway of the Park estate. Bang. Bang. Bang.
It was followed by a voice, raw and broken, tearing itself from Juwon's throat.
"Open the door! PLEASE! Someone, open the door!"
He slammed his shoulder against the solid wood, but it didn't budge. He was a prisoner in his own room. On the other side, two servants stood frozen, their faces pale with anxiety. They could hear his cries, the heart-wrenching sobs that followed each failed attempt to break out.
"Please... you have to let me out," Juwon begged, his voice cracking. He slid down to the floor, his back against the door, his energy spent. "He's down there... they're hurting him... because of me..."
His words dissolved into helpless, gut-wrenching weeping. The image of Taemin, being dragged away, at the mercy of his father's guards, was torture. Every cry he imagined from the cellar felt like a physical blow.
One of the servants, an older woman who had helped raise Juwon, took a hesitant step toward the door, her hand trembling as she reached for the lock.
The other servant grabbed her wrist, his eyes wide with fear. "Don't! You heard the Master's orders. No one is to open this door. If you disobey him..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. The consequences were unthinkable.
Inside, Juwon heard the faint whisper of movement outside and his hope surged. "Is someone there? Please! I'm begging you!"
But the silence that answered him was absolute. The servants had retreated, leaving him alone with the sound of his own despair. He was trapped, utterly powerless, forced to listen to the silence that was somehow louder and more terrible than any sound, knowing that with every passing second, Taemin was suffering alone in the dark because of him. His fists, bruised and sore, beat a final, weak rhythm against the unyielding door before he collapsed fully onto the floor, consumed by a guilt and helplessness so profound it felt like it would crush him.
The walk to Mr. Lee's bedroom was a silent, tense procession. Eunjae followed a half-step behind Daon, his every fiber screaming in protest. The opulent hallway felt like a tunnel leading to his own humiliation.
Mr. Lee was propped up in his bed, the picture of convalescence. He wasn't resting; he was scrolling idly through his phone, the blue light illuminating his cold, calculated expression. He didn't look up as they entered, letting the silence stretch, making their presence feel like an intrusion.
Finally, he spoke, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Why is he here?" The question was directed at Daon, dismissive and icy.
Daon, standing stiffly beside the bed, cleared his throat. "Father, he... he needs to say something to you."
Mr. Lee's scrolling stopped. He slowly, deliberately, turned his head to look at Eunjae. His gaze was a physical weight, full of disdain. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he looked away again, back to his phone, as if Eunjae were too insignificant to hold his attention.
Eunjae felt Daon's subtle nudge. He took a shaky breath, the words ash in his mouth. "I... I apologize," he forced out, the sentence feeling like a betrayal of himself.
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across Mr. Lee's face. He still didn't look at Eunjae. "I don't forgive anyone," he stated flatly, to the room at large. The words were absolute, final.
Daon flinched almost imperceptibly.
Then, Mr. Lee turned his head again, this time looking directly at his son, completely ignoring Eunjae. "Daon," he said, his tone shifting to one of cold inquiry. "Should I forgive him?"
The question was a trap. It wasn't about forgiveness; it was about loyalty. It was about forcing Daon to choose, once again, between his husband and his father.
Daon hesitated. Eunjae could see the conflict warring on his face. Finally, Daon bowed his head slightly to his father. "Please, Father. Give him one last chance. It will never happen again." He was pleading for a pardon for a crime that never happened, validating his father's twisted narrative.
Eunjae stood rigid, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He glared at the intricate pattern on the rug, heat of anger and shame washing over him. He wanted to scream, to denounce the old man's manipulation, to shake Daon and make him see. But he stayed quiet. He swallowed the truth, letting it burn a hole in his stomach, the taste of his own forced apology bitter on his tongue. He had chosen peace, but it felt exactly like surrender.
Mr. Lee's smirk was a fleeting, venomous thing before he schooled his features into a mask of stern condescension. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Eunjae.
"An apology is just words. Empty air," Mr. Lee said, his voice dripping with false reason. "If it is truly sincere... if you truly wish for peace in this family... you will kneel."
The air in the room went from tense to frozen. Both Eunjae and Daon stiffened.
Eunjae's head snapped towards Daon, his eyes wide with disbelief and a spark of betrayal. Kneel? He had already apologized for a lie. Now he was expected to debase himself completely? He shook his head, a sharp, minute movement. "No," he whispered, the refusal meant for Daon.
Daon didn't look at his father. He was staring at Eunjae, his own face a conflict of duty, shame, and a desperate desire for this nightmare to be over. He saw the refusal in Eunjae's eyes, the righteous anger. But he also saw his father's unyielding will.
"Do it," Daon said, his voice low but firm, devoid of its earlier warmth. It was a command. "Do as my father says."
The words were a slap. Eunjae stared at him, the man who had just defended him against Taekyun, now asking him to kneel.
"I won't," Eunjae said, his voice gaining strength, laced with anger. "I already apologized for something I didn't do! I will not kneel. This is... this is humiliation!"
"Eunjae, just do it!" Daon insisted, his own frustration breaking through. "Why must you always be so difficult? Can't you just do this one thing for peace?"
"For peace? Or for his ego?" Eunjae shot back, his voice rising as he gestured toward Mr. Lee, who watched the argument unfold with a faint, satisfied glint in his eyes. "He set me up! He's enjoying this! And you're asking me to play along?"
"Watch your tone," Daon warned, stepping closer, his own temper fraying.
"Why? So he can invent another reason to make me kneel?" Eunjae argued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I am your husband, not his servant! I will not kneel and beg for forgiveness for a crime I didn't commit!"
The argument erupted in the sickroom, a stark contrast to the quiet manipulation that had started it. Mr. Lee said nothing. He simply watched, the instigator observing the beautiful chaos he had orchestrated, the divide between his son and husband widening with every angry word.
Daon's patience, stretched thin by the day's events and the immense pressure from his father, finally snapped. The argument, the defiance in front of his father's smug gaze, was the final straw.
"ENOUGH!" Daon's voice erupted, not loud like Taekyun's, but sharp and cold, cutting through Eunjae's heated words. It was the voice of the Vice President, the heir, the disciplinarian. It was a tone Eunjae had rarely heard directed at him.
He took a final, authoritative step forward, his eyes blazing with a frustrated fury that demanded immediate obedience. "You will stop this childish arguing and you will do as you are told. Now. Kneel."
The command, delivered with such cold finality, stole the breath from Eunjae's lungs. He saw the man he loved vanish, replaced by the stern, unyielding son of Lee. The fight drained out of him, not from acceptance, but from a devastating realization of his powerlessness.
His eyes, wide with shock and a fresh wave of betrayal, glistened with unshed tears. He looked from Daon's hardened face to Mr. Lee's triumphant, cold expression.
Slowly, every movement screaming with reluctance and shame, Eunjae's shoulders slumped in defeat. His knees, feeling like they were made of lead, began to bend. He lowered himself, not in reverence, but in utter submission, until he was kneeling on the cold, hard floor at the foot of Mr. Lee's bed.
He kept his head bowed, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at either of them. The victory was Mr. Lee's. The compliance was Daon's. And Eunjae was left with nothing but the bitter taste of his own humiliation and the shattered pieces of the equality he thought he had in his marriage. He had knelt, but a part of his spirit had just broken and refused to bow.
The words were ripped from him, each one a shard of glass scraping his throat. "I... apologize," Eunjae forced out, his voice tight and strained, his fists clenched so tightly his nails bit half-moons into his palms. He kept his head bowed, not out of respect, but to hide the furious, humiliated tears threatening to fall.
Mr. Lee watched him, savoring the sight of his son's husband brought to his knees—both literally and figuratively. He let the silence hang, drawing out the moment of his absolute victory. Finally, he spoke, his voice dripping with magnanimous condescension.
"Very well," he said, as if bestowing a great gift. "I will consider this matter closed. I will give you this one, final chance. Do not make me regret my forgiveness."
The moment the sentence was finished, Eunjae moved. He didn't thank him. He didn't wait to be dismissed. He shoved himself up from the floor, turned on his heel, and strode for the door without a single backward glance. The door slammed shut behind him with a crack that echoed through the suite like a gunshot, a violent punctuation to his rage and shame.
In the ringing silence that followed, Daon clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking nervously. He gave a stiff, shallow bow to his father. "I apologize for his behavior," he said, his voice formal and hollow. "I will speak with him."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him, a stark contrast to Eunjae's explosive exit. He stood alone in the hallway for a moment, the sounds of his husband's retreating, angry footsteps already fading. He had enforced his father's will and maintained a fragile, twisted peace, but the cost of that peace was echoing in the slam of a door and the chilling silence that now lay between him and the man he loved.
The silence in Juwon's room was absolute, broken only by his own ragged breaths and the occasional, helpless sob that still shook his frame. He had given up. His hands were bruised, his voice was gone from screaming, and a numb, cold despair had settled over him. Taemin was down there, suffering, and he was utterly powerless.
The soft, almost silent click of the lock was so faint he almost missed it.
His head snapped up. The door swung open slowly, revealing not a servant, but his mother. She sat in her wheelchair, her face pale but set with a determined expression. Her eyes were wide with fear, but also with a fierce, unwavering love for her son. She held a single, heavy key in her lap.
Juwon scrambled to his feet, a surge of desperate, disbelieving hope flooding his system. "Mother..." he choked out, his voice a raw whisper.
She held a finger to her lips, her eyes darting nervously down the empty hallway behind her. "Quickly," she mouthed, her voice barely audible. "Before your father returns."
He didn't need to be told twice. A sob of gratitude escaped him as he lunged forward, dropping to his knees to embrace her briefly, fiercely. "Thank you," he breathed, the words filled with more emotion than he knew he had left.
He kissed her cheek, then sprang to his feet. He didn't look back. He flew out the door and into the hallway, his heart hammering against his ribs not with fear, but with a renewed, frantic purpose. He had to get to the cellar. He had to stop them.
He took the back stairs, moving faster than he ever had in his life, his mother's brave, treasonous act fueling his every step. The dungeon-like cellar door loomed ahead. He could hear nothing from behind it, and that silence was more terrifying than any sound. He grabbed the handle, threw the door open, and plunged into the darkness below.
Juwon stumbled down the rough stone steps into the cellar's oppressive gloom, the heavy door swinging shut behind him. The air was cold and smelled of damp and iron. The main area was empty, the guards having departed minutes before, their brutal work done for now.
"Taemin?" Juwon's voice was a panicked whisper, echoing in the silence. He moved further in, his eyes struggling to adjust.
Then he saw him.
Taemin was slumped forward, his entire weight held by the cruel chains shackling his wrists to the ceiling hook. His head hung low, his body limp. His clothes were torn and dark with sweat and what Juwon feared was blood. He was so still.
A choked gasp tore from Juwon's throat. He stumbled backward, his legs giving way, and he fell hard onto the cold stone floor. For a terrifying second, he couldn't breathe, couldn't process the broken figure before him.
Then a sound—a weak, ragged intake of breath. Taemin was alive.
The sight fueled a surge of adrenaline so powerful it overrode his shock. Juwon scrambled to his feet and rushed forward, his hands trembling violently as he fumbled with the heavy lock on the manacles.
"Taemin, I'm here, I'm here," he sobbed, his tears falling freely now, splashing onto Taemin's bruised arms as he finally worked the mechanism loose.
The chains clattered to the ground. Released from the tension, Taemin's body collapsed forward into Juwon's waiting arms. Juwon caught him, sinking to the floor under his weight, cradling him tightly.
Taemin groaned, his head lolling against Juwon's shoulder. He struggled to open his swollen eyes. Through the haze of pain, he focused on Juwon's tear-streaked face above him.
A weak, bloody smirk tugged at his cracked lips. His voice was a faint, broken rasp, but the old, familiar teasing tone was there, a ghost of itself.
"I knew it," Taemin whispered, each word an effort. "I knew you loved me."
It was a stupid, reckless thing to say. An attempt to lighten a moment that was beyond any lightness. But it was so utterly Taemin that it shattered Juwon completely.
Juwon let out a heart-wrenching sob, holding Taemin closer, burying his face in his hair. He cried for the pain, for the fear, for the cruel words he'd said, for the incredible, stupid bravery of the boy in his arms who could still joke while bleeding on a cellar floor.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Juwon wept, rocking them gently. "I never meant it. None of it. I'm so sorry."
He held onto Taemin as if he were the only real thing in the world, his tears a desperate, healing rain on the wounds they had both inflicted and endured.
Juwon's apologies were a continuous, broken stream, muffled against Taemin's shoulder. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean it... I was so scared... I'm sorry..." Each word was a sob, wrenched from the deepest part of him, his body shaking with the force of his grief and guilt.
Taemin, despite the fire burning across his ribs and the throbbing agony in his limbs, tried to shush him. "Hey... stop that," he rasped, his voice barely audible. He attempted to lift a hand, to wipe the torrent of tears from Juwon's cheek, but the movement sent a sharp, searing pain through his shoulder. His arm dropped back down, useless, a low groan escaping his lips.
The failed attempt only made Juwon cry harder, his own helplessness mirroring Taemin's. "Don't move, please, just don't move," he begged, his hands fluttering over Taemin's body, afraid to touch anywhere and cause more pain.
" 'S okay," Taemin whispered, forcing the words out. He managed a weak, lopsided smile, though it looked more like a wince. "Worth it... to see you... cry over me." He tried for the joke again, but it ended in a cough that made his whole body tense in agony.
Juwon held him tighter, careful but desperate. "You idiot," he cried, the words filled with so much affection it hurt. "You reckless, stupid idiot. Why did you come here?"
"Had to..." Taemin breathed, his eyes fluttering closed for a second before he forced them open, determined to keep looking at Juwon. "Your... shitty acting... 's terrible." He was fading, the adrenaline leaving him, the full extent of his injuries pulling him toward unconsciousness. "Knew you... were lying..."
Juwon held him, rocking gently, his tears finally beginning to slow as a fierce, protective resolve hardened through the pain. Taemin had seen through him. He had come for him. And he had been broken for it.
"I've got you," Juwon whispered, his voice firming, promising himself as much as Taemin. "I've got you now. I won't let anything else happen to you." He pressed a gentle, tear-stained kiss to Taemin's forehead, holding the brave, foolish, precious boy who had fought his way into a dungeon for him. The joking had stopped. Only the raw, painful truth of their situation remained.