The slam of the study door echoed through the mansion, leaving Daon standing alone in the vast, silent dining hall. The air still vibrated with the aftershock of his brother's departure and his father's ultimatum. Daon's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic.
"Father, wait!" he pleaded, following Mr. Lee into his study. "You can't be serious! Disowning him? He's your son! He's not thinking clearly—"
Mr. Lee spun around, his eyes glacial. "He made his choice. He chose that... that nobody over his own blood, over centuries of legacy. There is no going back." He moved to his desk, his movements sharp and decisive. "I will hold a press conference at the company first thing in the morning. Lee Taekyun will be formally removed from all positions and stripped of his inheritance. His name will be cut from the family registry. He is dead to this family."
The finality in his voice was absolute. With that, Mr. Lee brushed past a shell-shocked Daon and left the room, leaving his remaining heir standing alone, consumed by his greatest fear: watching his family disintegrate, piece by piece, until he was the only one left.
---
Upstairs, the scene was quieter but no less momentous. Eunjae had followed the sound of movement to Taekyun's room. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed as he watched Taekyun methodically place a few folded shirts into a small, simple suitcase. The arrogant heir was gone, replaced by a man with a grim, determined focus.
Eunjae's frown deepened. "Are you... are you really doing this?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. "Do you think you can just go up there and he'll take you back? After everything?"
Taekyun didn't look up from his packing. He shook his head. "I'm not going to bring him back. And I'm not coming back here either."
That made Eunjae straighten up. "What?"
"I'm not going to force him," Taekyun continued, his voice low but clear. "I don't deserve to. I'm going to find a reason to stay by his side. However I can. As a servant, if that's what it takes. I'll stay there until... until he forgives me. Or until he tells me to leave for good."
The humility in the statement was so profound it was disorienting. Eunjae stared, his mind reeling. This wasn't the Taekyun he knew. The Taekyun he knew demanded, took, and expected obedience.
"You can't be serious," Eunjae breathed, taking a step into the room. "You'd give up... all of this... to be his servant? What about your life? Your company?"
"It wasn't my life. It was a cage," Taekyun said simply, finally closing the suitcase with a definitive click. He looked at Eunjae, and for the first time, there was no hostility in his gaze, only a weary resolve. "The company, the money... it's all poison. It made me into a monster. I don't want it anymore."
Eunjae asked a dozen more questions, each one probing, trying to find the crack, the hidden agenda. But with every answer, Taekyun's sincerity only became more apparent. He was truly walking away from everything.
As Taekyun picked up his suitcase and walked toward the door, Eunjae hesitated. The man leaving was not the man who had hurt Rinwoo. This was someone else entirely.
"Hyung," Eunjae said softly.
The word made Taekyun stop dead in his tracks. It was the first time Eunjae had ever called him that. It was an acknowledgment, a fragile bridge built over a chasm of animosity.
Eunjae met his eyes. "Be careful."
Taekyun gave a slow, single nod. There were no more words needed. With that, he walked past Eunjae and down the hallway, leaving the Lee estate behind, not as an heir, but as a man seeking redemption, his future reduced to a single suitcase and a mountain path.
At shrine
The sleep that finally found Rinwoo was thin and fractured, a fragile barrier against the turmoil within. It didn't last. It never did.
It started as a whisper, a familiar, venomous hiss threading its way through his dreams. "Die..."
Rinwoo twitched, his brow furrowing. The whisper grew, layering over itself, becoming a chorus of cold, hateful voices. "Die... die... die..."
He shot upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. His body was drenched in a cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The room was dark, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the paper screen.
And it was there. In the corner.
The shadow. But it was different tonight. It wasn't just a patch of darkness. It was larger, denser, its form seeming to pulse with a malevolent energy. It loomed, taller than a man, swallowing the light around it.
The voice came from its core, no longer a whisper but a clear, cold, and terrifyingly familiar baritone. Taekyun's voice.
"You should just die."
The words were articulated with a cruel precision that Rinwoo remembered all too well from their worst arguments. This wasn't a memory; it was an assault.
Rinwoo scrambled backward on his futon, pressing himself against the wall, his eyes wide with terror. "You're not real," he choked out, his voice trembling. "You're not here!"
The shadow seemed to ripple, advancing without moving. The voice came again, dripping with disdain. "What's the point of you? A useless, pathetic creature. Die and make space for someone who matters."
"Stop it!" Rinwoo cried, clapping his hands over his ears. But it was useless. The voice was inside his head, a parasite feeding on his deepest insecurities. It was everything he feared Taekyun truly thought of him, given form and voice by his own broken mind.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that was worse. In the darkness behind his eyelids, the shadow was even clearer, Taekyun's face contorted in a mask of contempt. The hallucination was evolving, growing stronger, feeding on his isolation and deteriorating health.
Trembling uncontrollably, Rinwoo curled into a tight ball, burying his face in his knees, as the spectral voice of the man he had once loved continued to chant his damnation into the silent, uncaring night. The battle was no longer just against grief; it was against a phantom of his own trauma, and it was winning.
The shadow didn't just loom; it seemed to swell, feeding on his terror. The air grew thick and cold, each whispered "Die..." landing like a physical blow. Rinwoo's pleas turned into ragged sobs, his body shaking violently as he pressed himself harder against the wall, as if he could melt into it and escape.
"Please... stop... I'm begging you..." he cried, his voice a broken whisper. But the phantom was merciless.
"DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE."
The voice was a relentless hammer, shattering what was left of his composure. His eyes, wild with panic, darted around the room, searching for anything—a weapon, an escape, a way to make it stop.
His gaze fell on the simple glass of water he kept on the floor beside his futon. In a surge of desperate, primal fear, he lunged for it. His fingers closed around the cool glass, and with a guttural cry that was half-sob, half-scream, he hurled it with all his remaining strength at the pulsating darkness in the corner.
The glass shattered against the far wall with a explosive crash. Shards rained down, scattering across the wooden floor, glittering in the moonlight like fallen stars.
One particularly sharp piece skittered across the floorboards and came to a stop inches from his knee.
For a single, breathless second, there was silence. Rinwoo panted, his chest heaving, staring at the broken glass. Had it worked? Had he driven it away?
Then, a sound began. It started as a low rumble and grew into a cold, mocking laugh. It was Taekyun's laugh, but twisted, devoid of any warmth, filled only with cruel amusement.
The shadow remained. It hadn't flinched. The broken glass was just broken glass. The laughter echoed in the small room, louder than the shattering had been.
"You can't fight me," the voice taunted, the laughter subsiding into a hateful whisper. "There's nowhere to run. Just die. It's easier."
Rinwoo's eyes dropped from the shadow to the sharp, glinting shard of glass lying near his hand. The laughter echoed in his ears, the command to die ringing in his mind. The line between fighting the phantom and obeying it began to blur terrifyingly in the wreckage of the quiet shrine room. The thought, dark and seductive, whispered that the shard could bring a final, permanent silence.
The Lee estate was silent, save for the soft murmur coming from Taemin's room. He was propped up in bed, a dozen pillows cushioning his sore body, his phone pressed to his ear. A wide, playful grin was spread across his face, a stark contrast to the bruises coloring his skin.
"Aigoo, Juwon-ah, relax! I'm fine," Taemin said, his voice light. "It looks worse than it is. I've had worse hangovers."
On the other end of the line, in the sterile quiet of Mingyu's penthouse, Juwon was pacing. The fear that had been a constant companion since the cellar was now a frantic, clawing thing in his chest.
" 'Relax'? 'Fine'?" Juwon's voice was tight with anxiety, bordering on anger. "Taemin, you were chained to a ceiling! You couldn't even stand up! Don't you dare tell me to relax! What if your father finds out? What if he—?"
"Yah, Park Juwon," Taemin interrupted, his tone shifting into a low, teasing purr. "Are you yelling at your injured boyfriend? That's not very nice. I'm a vulnerable patient right now. I need gentle care and sweet words."
Juwon stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This isn't a joke! I'm scared to death over here, and you're… you're flirting!"
"Of course I'm flirting," Taemin said, his grin audible through the phone. "It's the only thing that shuts you up when you get like this. Besides, worrying that much is bad for your complexion. You'll get wrinkles. And I can't have my handsome Juwon getting wrinkles."
Juwon let out a sound that was half-groan, half-exasperated laugh. The sheer, unbelievable audacity of Taemin to be joking at a time like this was somehow both infuriating and incredibly reassuring. It was so quintessentially him.
"You're impossible," Juwon muttered, but the edge of panic in his voice had softened.
"I'm yours," Taemin corrected softly, the flirtation giving way to a moment of genuine tenderness. "And I'm tougher than I look. So stop worrying. Everything's going to be okay."
In the penthouse, Juwon sank onto the couch, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. Taemin's carefree act was a shield, he knew, for both of them. But behind the jokes and the flirting was a bedrock of unwavering courage that, for the moment, made Juwon believe that maybe, just maybe, everything really would be okay.
Back at shrine
The world had shrunk to the glint of the glass shard and the echoing, taunting voice in his head. Die. It's easier. The thought wasn't a scream anymore; it was a seductive whisper, a promise of peace. The pain, the loneliness, the phantom that wore his husband's face—it could all just stop.
Rinwoo's breathing was shallow, his tears drying on his cheeks as a terrifying calm descended over him. His fingers, moving almost of their own volition, closed around the sharpest piece of glass. The edge was cold and precise against his skin. He didn't feel fear anymore. He felt resolution.
He turned his wrist upward, the pale skin exposed in the moonlight. The shadow loomed, silent now, a silent, approving audience.
He never heard the frantic footsteps. The shattering of the glass had been a gunshot in the shrine's profound silence.
The door to his room burst open with a force that shattered the fragile moment.
"RINWOO!"
Master Hwang stood in the doorway, his ancient face etched with a terror far greater than any curse. Behind him, Beom Seok's eyes widened in pure horror at the scene before them: Rinwoo on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, a lethal shard poised above his wrist.
Time seemed to freeze.
The spell was broken. The shadow in the corner vanished, not with a sound, but like smoke dispersed by a sudden wind. The voice in Rinwoo's head fell silent.
The cold clarity shattered, replaced by a dizzying, sickening awareness. He looked down at his own hand, at the glass he was holding, and a gasp of pure, unadulterated shock escaped him. What was he doing? What had he almost done?
The glass slipped from his numb fingers, clattering harmlessly onto the floor.
Master Hwang rushed forward, not with anger, but with a heartbroken cry. He fell to his knees, his aged hands, usually so steady, trembling as he reached for Rinwoo, pulling him away from the broken glass and into a tight, desperate embrace.
"My boy... my dear boy..." the old monk whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "What has happened to you?"
Beom Seok stood frozen for a second longer, his own heart hammering, before he sprang into action. He began carefully gathering the larger pieces of glass, his movements quick and efficient, but his hands were shaking. He couldn't look at Rinwoo, the image of him moments from ending his own life seared permanently into his mind.
The secret was out. The carefully maintained facade of "I'm fine" lay in pieces on the floor, more broken than the glass. The depth of Rinwoo's suffering was now horrifyingly, undeniably clear.
Rinwoo collapsed into his grandfather's embrace, his body trembling not from cold, but from the aftershock of his own actions. He clung to the old monk's robes, burying his face in the familiar, soothing scent of incense and old paper, seeking an anchor in the storm that had just nearly consumed him. He couldn't speak. How could he possibly explain the shadow, the voice, the terrifying pull of the glass shard?
Beom Seok, his face pale and grim, silently cleaned up every last fragment of glass, sweeping them into a dustpan as if disposing of evidence of a terrible crime. He then hurried to fetch a cup of water, his hands still unsteady as he handed it to Rinwoo, who accepted it with a silent, ashamed nod.
Once the immediate danger had passed and Rinwoo had taken a few sips, Master Hwang gently held him at arm's length. His eyes, deep and knowing, searched Rinwoo's face. "Rinwoo-ya," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "What happened? Tell us the truth."
Rinwoo's gaze dropped to the floor. The shame was a hot, heavy weight. He couldn't meet their eyes. "It... it was nothing," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a... a very bad dream. A nightmare. I must have thrashed around and knocked the glass over. That's all."
The lie was flimsy, pathetic. It didn't account for the position they had found him in, the intent in his posture.
Master Hwang's expression did not change. He didn't scold or press angrily. Instead, his face filled with a profound, sorrowful understanding. "My child," he said gently. "We are not fools. We heard the glass break, yes. But we also heard your cries last night. We thought perhaps it was the wind, or an animal... but we heard you. We have been hearing you for days."
Beom Seok stood by the door, his own silence confirming the old monk's words. Their worried glances, their constant presence—it hadn't just been paranoia. They had known. They had heard his suffering echoing in the night and had chosen to give him space, hoping he would come to them. Tonight had proven that hope was a dangerous gamble.
"The thing we saw tonight," Master Hwang continued, his voice trembling slightly, "was not a man startled by a dream. It was a soul in torment. You do not have to carry this burden alone. Whatever demons you are fighting, you must let us help you fight them."
The carefully constructed wall of "I'm fine" crumbled completely. There was no point in lying anymore. The truth was there in their eyes: they had witnessed his breaking point. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken pain, but for the first time, it was a shared silence. Rinwoo was no longer alone in the dark with his shadows.
The silence in the room was heavier than the mountain itself. Master Hwang's plea hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into a churning sea. But Rinwoo remained adrift, trapped by a shame and fear so profound he couldn't speak of it.
He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, making himself small. He stared at the spot on the floor where the glass had been, as if the answers were written in the cleanly swept boards.
"I'm just... tired," Rinwoo whispered, the words a hollow echo. "My mind plays tricks on me when I'm tired. It was just a dream."
Master Hwang knelt before him, his old bones creaking. He reached out a hand, but didn't touch him, offering the space instead. "Tiredness of the body can be healed with rest," he said, his voice aching with tenderness. "But the exhaustion I see in your eyes, my boy, is a weariness of the soul. That kind of tiredness... it needs to be spoken. It needs to be shared."
Rinwoo shook his head, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, as if ashamed of its existence. "There's nothing to share. I'm sorry I worried you. It won't happen again."
From the doorway, Beom Seok couldn't stay silent any longer. His voice was thick with emotion. "Hyung, please," he begged, using the familiar term for the first time in his distress. "We saw you. We saw what you were about to do. That wasn't nothing! You were going to—" He couldn't finish the sentence, the words choking him.
The mention of the unthinkable act made Rinwoo flinch. He curled tighter into himself. "I wasn't," he lied, his voice breaking. "I was just... scared. I didn't know what I was doing."
"But we do know!" Beom Seok insisted, taking a step forward, his own fear for Rinwoo overriding his usual shyness. "We know something is tearing you apart! Let us help you! Why won't you let us in?"
"BECAUSE IT'S NOT REAL!"
The words burst from Rinwoo, a raw, desperate cry. He looked up, his eyes wild with a mixture of terror and frustration. "Don't you understand? It's all in my head! He's not here! He's just... a voice! A shadow! My own stupid, broken mind is doing this to me! If I tell you, then it makes it real! It means I'm truly going crazy!"
He was breathing heavily, the confession about the "voice" and "shadow" slipping out unintentionally, only to be immediately rationalized away. "It's just stress," he insisted, trying to claw back control. "It will pass."
Master Hwang looked at him, his heart breaking. He saw the truth Rinwoo was refusing to see: that the phantom was real because it was causing real pain. The source didn't matter; the wound was mortal.
"Rinwoo," the old monk said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with an infinite sadness. "Whether the demon is outside you or within you, the pain is the same. And you do not have to face it alone. Your silence is the only thing giving it power over you."
But Rinwoo had shut down again. He retreated back into his shell, the brief flash of honesty replaced by a stubborn, terrified resolve to bear his torment in solitude. He had offered them a glimpse, only to slam the door shut again, leaving the two people who loved him most standing helplessly outside, listening to the silent screams they could no longer ignore.
The first rays of morning sun streamed through the glass doors of the balcony, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled bedsheets. Eunjae stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes. The space beside him was empty. He pushed himself up on his elbows and saw him.
Daon stood on the balcony, his back to the room. He was still in his sleep pants and a thin t-shirt, silhouetted against the brightening sky. A faint wisp of smoke curled from his fingers. The sight made Eunjae's heart clench. Daon didn't smoke. Not unless he was under a stress so immense he had no other outlet.
Quietly, Eunjae slipped out of bed and padded across the cool floor. He didn't say a word. He simply stepped out onto the balcony and wrapped his arms around Daon from behind, pressing his cheek against the tense muscles of his husband's back.
Daon started slightly at the touch, then relaxed into the embrace. He took one last, long drag from the cigarette before flicking it over the balcony railing. He turned within the circle of Eunjae's arms, his face etched with a deep weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. The usual sharp, composed lines of his face were softened by worry and fear.
Eunjae nuzzled closer, seeking his warmth in the cool morning air. "Why are you up so early?" he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep. "You didn't rest at all, did you?"
Daon's arms came around him, holding him tight, as if Eunjae were the only solid thing in a world that was collapsing. He let out a shaky breath, the scent of tobacco clinging to him.
"How can I rest?" Daon's voice was a raw whisper. "Taekyun's gone. He walked out of here with nothing. And Taemin… he's in love with the son of our father's greatest enemy. He's willing to die for him. My family… it's falling apart, Eunjae. Everything is falling apart."
The confession was torn from him, a admission of the terror he usually kept locked away behind a wall of duty and control.
Eunjae reached up and cupped Daon's cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin under his eye. "Hey," he said softly, leaning in to press a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. "It's going to be alright. We'll figure it out. Together."
But Daon shook his head, his eyes wide and vulnerable. The kiss hadn't calmed him; it had only made him feel safe enough to show the depth of his fear.
"You don't understand," he whispered, his grip on Eunjae tightening. "I'm so scared. I'm scared for Taekyun, alone out there. I'm scared of what my father will do if he finds out about Taemin. I'm scared that… that I'm going to lose everyone. That I'll be left here all alone."
The admission was heartbreaking. The mighty, stoic Daon, terrified of being left behind. Eunjae held him tighter, wishing he could absorb the fear right out of him. The morning sun illuminated not a powerful heir, but a man terrified of the emptiness that was threatening to swallow his entire world.
Eunjae didn't answer with words. He saw the raw terror in Daon's eyes, the tremor in his hands, and knew that logic and promises weren't what he needed. He needed an anchor. He needed to be pulled out of the storm in his mind.
So, Eunjae rose onto his tiptoes, bridging the slight difference in their heights. He framed Daon's face with his hands, his touch gentle but firm, and pulled him down into a deep, tender kiss.
It wasn't a kiss of passion, but of solace. It was a silent language, speaking of I'm here. You're not alone. I've got you.
For a moment, Daon remained rigid, the weight of his fears still holding him captive. But then, a low sound escaped his throat—a mix of a sigh and a sob—and he surrendered. His hands, which had been hanging limply at his sides, came to life. They slid around Eunjae's waist, pulling him flush against his body, holding him as if he were the only thing keeping him from being swept away.
He kissed Eunjae back with a desperate intensity, pouring all his fear, his loneliness, his need for connection into the act. It was a kiss that begged for reassurance, for a momentary forgetfulness from the chaos surrounding them.
On the sun-drenched balcony, high above the waking city, they stood entwined. The world with its curses, its disownments, and its forbidden loves faded into a distant hum. There was only the warmth of each other's bodies, the softness of the kiss, and the unspoken vow that whatever fell apart, they would not let go of each other. It was a fragile peace, stolen in the morning light, but for those few precious moments, it was enough.