Taemin's shoulders slumped, the sting of the slap and the shock of Juwon's knowledge leaving him deflated. The frantic energy from his ride bled away, replaced by a weary exhaustion.
"Juwon-ah," he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Just… sit down. Please. Let's talk."
But Juwon remained standing, rigid as a statue. He knew his own weakness. If he sat, if he let Taemin get close, if he looked into those eyes, his resolve would crumble to dust. He couldn't afford to be convinced. He had to be the villain. It was the only way to save the person he loved.
So, he did the only thing he could. He leaned into the pain and chose the most negative, hurtful interpretation possible. He let the fear and the need for self-sacrifice twist his love into something ugly.
"Talk?" Juwon's voice rose, sharp and accusatory. "What is there to talk about, Taemin? How you've been playing with my heart? Marrying some… some girl while keeping me hidden away here in your friend's penthouse like a dirty secret?"
He threw his arms out, gesturing around the luxurious, sterile apartment. "Is this what I am to you? A convenient distraction? Something to play with until you have to go back to your real life, your real family, your real wedding?"
Every word was a lie, a deliberate distortion of the truth. He knew Taemin's defiance, his reckless love. He knew the engagement was a prison, not a choice. But he shoved that understanding down, burying it under a performance of bitter betrayal.
"You know what?" Juwon continued, his voice cracking with feigned fury and real heartbreak. "I'm done. I'm not going to be your secret anymore. I'm not going to sit here and wait for you while you plan your future with someone else. Go. Marry your fated match. Have your perfect, cursed life. Just leave me out of it."
He was building a wall of hurtful words, brick by painful brick, hoping it would be strong enough to keep Taemin out, and to push him toward the safety he so desperately needed. He was choosing to be the bad guy, so that Taemin could live.
Taemin's eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, held a desperate, pleading look that threatened to shatter Juwon's entire resolve. He took a pained step forward, his voice a raw, broken whisper.
"Juwon, please… don't say that. You know that's not true. You know I would never—"
"I don't know anything anymore!" Juwon interrupted, his voice rising again, a harsh, forced coldness covering his own agony. He turned his back, unable to bear the sight of Taemin's crumbling expression. "All I know is there's a wedding being planned. Your father is arranging your life, and you're here, telling me stories."
"I'm not marrying her!" Taemin insisted, his voice cracking. He limped closer, grabbing Juwon's arm, forcing him to turn around. "I'm trying, Juwon! I'm fighting this! I told my father I'd rather die! What more do you want me to do?!"
This was the moment. This was the opening Juwon had to crush. He had to make Taemin believe it was hopeless, that he was hopeless.
"I want you to be realistic!" Juwon yelled, wrenching his arm away as if Taemin's touch burned. "Look at yourself! Look at us! What future do we have? Huh? You think your father will ever allow this? You think this… this sneaking around can last forever? It's a fantasy, Taemin! A stupid, childish fantasy!"
He saw the words land like physical blows, saw the light in Taemin's eyes dim with each cruel syllable. It was torture, but he pushed on, digging the knife deeper.
"Maybe… maybe marrying Nayeon is the right thing to do. Maybe it's the only way to end this… this mess." He spat the word 'mess' out, making their love sound like a problem to be solved.
Taemin stared at him, his breath hitching, his face a mask of utter devastation. The person he loved most was not just giving up; he was actively tearing down everything they had fought for. Juwon's performance was working too well. He was successfully pushing Taemin away, and the cost was the absolute, soul-crushing heartbreak reflected in the other boy's eyes.
The first rays of the morning sun streamed into the penthouse, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air like the shattered pieces of their argument. Juwon took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself for the final, brutal act.
"Just stop, Taemin," he said, his voice flat and hollow, all the manufactured anger gone, replaced by a chilling finality. "It's over. We're over. Go marry Nayeon. Live the life you're supposed to live. Stop fighting for something that was never meant to be."
He gave Taemin one last, hard shove—not physically violent, but emotionally devastating—pushing him back a step as if creating an uncrossable chasm between them. Then, without another look, Juwon turned and walked out of the penthouse. The door clicked shut behind him with a sound of terrifying permanence.
Taemin stood frozen in the center of the room, the spot where Juwon had been standing feeling like a void. His first instinct was to run after him, to scream, to beg, to fall to his knees and plead until Juwon understood.
But he didn't.
A new, unfamiliar heat began to bloom in his chest, cutting through the icy shock of betrayal. It was anger. A raw, righteous, and furious anger.
How dare he?
After everything. After Taemin had defied his family, endured a beating, faced down a curse, and been willing to die for him. After all the fights, the secrets, the pain… Juwon had the audacity to walk away? To call what they had a "mess"? To tell him to just give up?
He didn't understand. He didn't understand the sleepless nights Taemin spent worrying. He didn't understand the constant, gnawing fear of the curse. He didn't understand the sheer force of will it took to stand in front of his father and refuse. He didn't understand that Taemin had already given up his entire world for him, and was ready to give up his life, too.
Juwon saw the struggle, but he didn't see the depth of the sacrifice. He saw the rebellion, but not the profound, unwavering love that fueled it.
The anger solidified, a hard, protective shell forming around his broken heart. He had fought with every ounce of his being for them. He had given everything. And it still wasn't enough for Juwon to stay and fight beside him.
Fine.
Let him leave.
Taemin stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling not with sorrow, but with a furious, wounded pride. He had had enough. He was done begging. If Juwon wanted to walk away from the war Taemin was waging for both of them, then he could go. But Taemin would not surrender. Not for anyone.
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind Rinwoo's eyes as he slowly regained consciousness. He groaned, the sound rough in his dry throat. Pushing himself up on the futon sent a fresh wave of discomfort through his body. He looked down, confused.
His arm was bruised, a purplish-yellow mark staining his pale skin. His knees were tender and scraped. A wave of nausea, unrelated to the hangover, washed over him. What had he done?
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push through the fog in his mind. Flashes came back, disjointed and terrifying.
The moonlit yard. The cold bottle of rice wine. The desperate need for the pain to stop.
Then, clearer. The shadow. Taekyun's voice, cold and commanding him to die. A shudder wracked his frame.
The memory shifted. Beom Seok. Beom Seok's arms around him, holding him tight. A feeling of safety, of not being alone with the phantom.
And then… a kiss.
The memory was hazy, blurred by alcohol and emotional turmoil, but the sensation was there—the soft pressure of lips, the feeling of being guided, of not being alone. He had kissed Beom Seok. Or… had Beom Seok kissed him? Shame, hot and sharp, joined the confusion.
But the memories didn't stop there. A new figure, erupting from the darkness. A roar of pure fury.
Taekyun.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Taekyun was here? At the shrine? He remembered the shock on Taekyun's face, contorted with a rage Rinwoo had never seen before. He remembered Taekyun pulling Beom Seok away from him, the force of it sending him stumbling to his knees. He remembered the sickening sound of fists hitting flesh, the shouted accusations that echoed in the night.
After that… nothing. A blank, merciful void.
He sat in the silence of his room, the morning light feeling accusatory. The bruises on his body were proof. It hadn't been a nightmare. The shadow, the kiss, the fight—it had all been real. Taekyun was here. And his presence had already brought violence and chaos back into Rinwoo's fragile world. The peace of the mountain was a lie. He had brought his hell with him, and now he had dragged everyone else into it.
Rinwoo's body felt heavy and uncoordinated as he pushed himself to his feet. The world tilted slightly, a combination of hangover and lingering weakness. He steadied himself against the wall before cautiously sliding his door open just a crack and peering out into the hallway.
It was empty. The shrine was unnaturally quiet.
He took a few unsteady steps, his bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor. As he neared the main hall, he heard the low murmur of voices. He stopped at the edge of the doorway, hidden in the shadows.
There, he saw them. Master Hwang sat cross-legged on a cushion, his face etched with deep worry. And Beom Seok… Beom Seok was holding a makeshift ice pack to his face, wincing as he pressed it against a visibly swollen, bruised cheek.
Rinwoo's breath hitched in his throat. The memory of the fight, of Taekyun's fists, slammed back into him with nauseating clarity.
"Beom Seok-ah, you must tell me what happened last night," Master Hwang implored, his voice gentle but firm. "This violence… it cannot be ignored."
Beom Seok shook his head, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor. "It was nothing, Master. A misunderstanding. It's over."
It was then that Beom Seok's eyes, full of his own pain and frustration, flickered upward and landed on Rinwoo standing in the doorway. His expression instantly shifted. The stubbornness melted away, replaced by pure, unguarded concern.
"Rinwoo!" he said, his voice slightly muffled by the swelling. He stumbled to his feet, ignoring his own discomfort, and hurried over.
He stopped in front of Rinwoo, his eyes scanning him, taking in the bruises on his arm, the general pallor of his skin. His hands came up, hovering as if he wanted to touch him but wasn't sure he was allowed.
"Are you okay?" Beom Seok asked, his voice soft, full of a tenderness that made Rinwoo's chest ache with guilt. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere? Your head?"
The contrast was stark. Beom Seok, beaten and bruised himself, was his first concern was for Rinwoo's well-being. He was asking about Rinwoo's pain while ignoring the ice pack pressed to his own face. In that moment, the hazy memory of the kiss, the feeling of being held and cared for, flooded back, intertwining with the shame and confusion, creating a tangled knot of emotions that left Rinwoo speechless and utterly lost.
Master Hwang moved with a quiet, deliberate grace. He gently took Beom Seok's arm, guiding him back a step to create some space. Then, with infinite care, he took Rinwoo's elbow and led him to a cushion, urging him to sit. The old monk's touch was meant to be calming, but Rinwoo felt like a fragile object being handled.
He looked between them—Master Hwang's carefully neutral expression and Beom Seok's bruised, stormy face. The silence was heavy, expectant. Swallowing hard, his heart beginning to drum a frantic rhythm against his ribs, Rinwoo finally voiced the question that had been screaming in his mind since he woke up.
"Where… where is Taekyun?"
The effect was instantaneous. Master Hwang's eyes widened a fraction. Beom Seok's face, already dark with pain, flushed with a fresh wave of anger. He looked away, his jaw working. They had hoped, perhaps prayed, that the alcohol and the trauma had blurred the events of the night into an incomprehensible dream. But Rinwoo remembered.
Beom Seok remained stubbornly silent, refusing to even acknowledge the question, his body radiating a protective, furious energy.
Seeing Beom Seok's reaction, Rinwoo's anxiety spiked. His fingers, resting in his lap, began to nervously twist and fidget with the fabric of his robe. The silence stretched, becoming unbearable.
He couldn't let it go. He had to know. The phantom was no longer just a phantom; he had been real, tangible, and violent.
His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and a desperate need for confirmation. "Please… tell me. Where is Taekyun? Is he… is he really here?"
The direct, repeated plea broke through the wall of silence. The truth they had tried to hide was now out in the open, and Rinwoo's wide, anxious eyes demanded an answer. The peaceful morning had shattered, and the ghost from his past was now a very real, very present problem they could no longer ignore.
Master Hwang let out a long, weary sigh, the sound carrying the weight of the entire difficult situation. He had hoped to shield Rinwoo a little longer. "He is here," he confirmed softly. "We have him in the abandoned guest room at the far end of the hall. We did not want him near you. We thought... we thought the sight of him would cause you more pain."
Rinwoo's eyes widened, but not with the fear or anger they had anticipated. Instead, a flicker of pure concern crossed his face.
"The... the abandoned room?" Rinwoo repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "But that room is so dirty. The dust... the dampness... how could he sleep there? There are so many other clean guest rooms." His brow furrowed, his mind seemingly more occupied with the quality of Taekyun's accommodation than the fact of his presence.
This immediate, instinctual concern for Taekyun's comfort was the final straw for Beom Seok. He had taken a punch for Rinwoo, had held him through his tears, and now he was watching him worry about the man who had caused it all.
Beom Seok shot to his feet, the ice pack falling from his hand and landing on the floor with a soft thud. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists.
"That bastard deserves worse than a dirty room!" Beom Seok spat, his voice trembling with a fury he could no longer contain. "He should be sleeping outside in the cold! He shouldn't be under this roof at all! After everything he did to you, how can you even care where he sleeps?!"
The harsh, venomous tone was so unlike the gentle Beom Seok he knew. Rinwoo flinched back as if struck, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fear. He watched, speechless, as Beom Seok turned on his heel and stormed out of the hall, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.
Rinwoo was left alone with Master Hwang, the image of Beom Seok's bruised, angry face seared into his mind. One man was hidden away in a filthy room, and the other was so wounded he was lashing out with uncharacteristic rage. The calm of the shrine was gone, replaced by a tempest of pain and conflict that, once again, seemed to revolve entirely around him. And he felt more lost and helpless than ever.
The silence in the Lee dining room was brittle, broken only by the precise clink of silverware. Daon kept his eyes fixed on his plate, the memory of last night's argument with Eunjae a wall between them. Eunjae, for his part, sat stiffly, the accusation of being "selfish" still feeling like a fresh wound.
Mr. Lee observed the tension with a deep, perverse satisfaction. He took a slow sip of his coffee, a faint, smug smile playing on his lips.
"What a peaceful morning," he commented, his voice dripping with false cheer. "It's so refreshing to have a quiet breakfast without all the… recent dramatics. It seems things are finally settling as they should be."
The comment was a deliberate needle, aimed directly at the fracture between his son and Eunjae. Eunjae's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, knowing any retort would only fuel the fire.
Then, the dining room door creaked open slowly.
All three men looked up.
Taemin stood in the doorway. He looked like a ghost of himself. His skin was pale and clammy, his eyes hollow and shadowed, devoid of their usual rebellious spark. His clothes were rumpled, the same ones from his frantic ride to the penthouse, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe as if he could barely stand.
The exhaustion on his face was absolute, the kind that went beyond a single sleepless night and spoke of a soul-deep surrender.
His voice, when he spoke, was a flat, hollow monotone that echoed in the stunned silence.
"I'm ready," he said, his gaze vacant, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I'm ready for the wedding."
The words hung in the air, simple and devastating. The fight was gone. The defiance had been extinguished. Juwon's rejection, the curse's threat, the unbearable pressure—it had all finally broken him. He wasn't agreeing; he was capitulating. The vibrant, reckless boy who had fought for his love was gone, replaced by a resigned shell, ready to walk to the altar and seal his own fate.
The imposing gates of the Park estate felt less like an entrance and more like the door to a prison he had willingly escaped. Juwon stood frozen on the sidewalk, his hand trembling as he reached for the intercom. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, to run back to the penthouse, to beg Taemin for forgiveness.
But he had made his choice. A cruel, heartbreaking choice to save the boy he loved, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.
He was about to retreat when the front door swung open. A servant, taking out the morning trash, spotted him. Her eyes widened in shock. "Young Master!" she cried out, her voice carrying through the quiet morning air. "Young Master has returned!"
It was too late. The decision was made for him. Juwon stood rooted to the spot as the news rippled through the house. Within moments, servants were peering from windows, and the front door was flung open wide.
He walked inside, his steps heavy. The entire household staff seemed to be gathered in the grand foyer, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. Before he could process the scene, he heard rapid, heavy footsteps on the marble staircase.
Mr. Park descended, his usual stern expression replaced by one of genuine, overwhelming relief. He rushed to his son, stopping just in front of him.
"Juwon," Mr. Park said, his voice thick with an emotion Juwon had never heard from him before. "You're back. Thank goodness. That Lee boy… he left you, didn't he? You finally saw reason. You're finally home. I knew you would come back."
The words were meant to be comforting, but they were salt in the gaping wound of Juwon's heart. He had been the one to leave. He had been the one to break things. But his father's narrative, that Taemin was the villain and he the prodigal son returning, was already being written.
Looking up into his father's eyes—eyes that usually held only cold expectation—Juwon finally broke. The dam holding back his grief, his guilt, and his profound loss shattered. A ragged sob tore from his throat, and his legs gave way. He collapsed to his knees on the cold marble floor, his shoulders shaking.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he wept, the words barely intelligible. "I'm so sorry."
The confession, born from utter despair and a need for any anchor in his crumbling world, stunned the room into silence.
Mr. Park stared down at his broken son. For the first time, he wasn't seeing a heir, a representative, or a disappointment. He was seeing his child, utterly lost and in pain. In the days since Juwon had left, a chilling fear had taken root in Mr. Park—the fear of truly losing his only son. That fear now overrode his anger.
His own heart seeming to clench, Mr. Park slowly, hesitantly, knelt down. He ignored the stunned gazes of the servants. He reached out and pulled his sobbing son into his arms.
"Shhh," Mr. Park murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He awkwardly patted Juwon's back. "It's alright. It's over. He doesn't deserve you. You're home now. You're safe."
The tenderness, so foreign and unexpected, broke Juwon even further. He clung to his father, burying his face in his shoulder, crying for the future he had just destroyed and the love he had sacrificed. In that moment, the Park estate was no longer a gilded cage, but the only shelter he had left, and his father, for the first time in his life, felt like a refuge.
The shrine was quiet, the morning chores providing a thin veneer of normalcy. Beom Seok, his movements stiff from his own bruises, was focused on making breakfast in the kitchen, his back turned. Master Hwang was outside, gently watering the plants, his attention elsewhere.
Seeing his chance, Rinwoo moved silently. He padded down the hallway, away from the main living areas, toward the most secluded part of the shrine. He stopped in front of the door to the abandoned guest room, his heart hammering. He took a shallow breath and slowly, carefully, slid the door open just a crack, peering inside.
The sight that greeted him made his breath catch.
Taekyun was sitting on a simple, wooden chair, his posture slumped in defeat. His head was bowed, one hand pressed against his temple, his fingers gripping his own hair as if trying to physically pull the pain from his skull. His face was a mess of untreated bruises from the fight, stark against his pale skin. The room itself was just as Master Hwang had said—dirty and untouched. A fine layer of dust coated every surface, and old cobwebs hung in the corners. It was clear Taekyun had done nothing to clean it or make it habitable; he had simply endured it.
A sharp pang of something—pity, concern, a remnant of a love he thought was dead—twisted in Rinwoo's heart. He quickly pulled the door shut, not making a sound, and retreated back down the hall, his own problems momentarily eclipsed by the shocking image of Taekyun, the once-proud heir, brought so low in such a wretched state.
Inside the room, unaware he had been seen, Taekyun let out a low groan. The throbbing in his head was intensifying, a familiar, punishing rhythm he couldn't escape. He squeezed his eyes shut, his knuckles white where he gripped his hair.
"Please," he murmured to the empty, dusty room, his voice a ragged whisper. "Just stop. Please, make it stop."
He was begging the pain to leave him, but the plea felt like it was meant for something much larger—the guilt, the regret, the consequences of his entire life. He was a king dethroned, trapped in a dusty cell of his own making, and the only thing ruling him now was an unrelenting agony.
The air in the kitchen was thick with unspoken words and the scent of simmering soup. Rinwoo hesitated by the doorway before stepping fully inside. Beom Seok, who was chopping vegetables with a little too much force, looked up. Seeing Rinwoo, his expression instantly shifted to one of guilt and remorse.
"Rinwoo," Beom Seok started, putting the knife down. "About earlier... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. I was just... angry. Not at you. Never at you."
Rinwoo offered him a small, understanding smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He moved to the cupboard to collect plates and chopsticks. "It's okay, Beom Seok-ah. It's not your fault." He said it gently, his voice a soft balm. "I know you were just worried."
The kindness in Rinwoo's smile, so freely given after his own outburst, made Beom Seok's cheeks warm. His mind treacherously flashed back to the feel of Rinwoo's lips against his, the weight of him in his arms. He quickly looked away, focusing intently on the pot of soup, a faint blush coloring his neck. "Yeah... well..." he mumbled.
Rinwoo noticed the blush and the sudden avoidance. A different kind of tension entered the room. He cleared his throat softly, the sound nervous. "Beom Seok-ah..."
Eager to be helpful, to make up for his earlier anger, Beom Seok turned back, his expression open and ready. "Yes? What do you need? Are you feeling unwell?"
Rinwoo fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's... it's not for me." He took a shaky breath, gathering his courage. "Could you... could you take the first aid box to Taekyun's room? His... his bruises looked really bad. They're untreated."
The request landed between them like a stone. Beom Seok's open expression slammed shut. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked. He took a deliberate step back, turning his back to Rinwoo to focus on the stove.
"No," he refused, his voice flat and cold. "I won't."
"Beom Seok, please," Rinwoo pleaded, his voice trembling slightly. He took a step closer. "He's in pain. I just saw him. He's... he's not well."
"Good," Beom Seok bit out, stirring the soup with violent jabs. "Let him be in pain. He deserves every bit of it. He deserves to lie in that filthy room and rot for what he did to you. Why do you even care?"
"Because I'm not like him!" Rinwoo's voice rose, edged with a desperate frustration. "I can't just... ignore someone who is suffering right in front of me, even if he... even if he was the one who caused it! That's not who I am!"
"Then who are you, Rinwoo?!" Beom Seok spun around, his own pain and jealousy boiling over. "His nurse? His caretaker? After everything, you're still running to him the moment he's hurt? What about my bruises?" He gestured to his own swollen cheek. "Do they not matter?"
"Of course they matter!" Rinwoo cried, his eyes glistening. "They matter so much! That's why this is so hard! Seeing you hurt because of him kills me! But I can't... I can't just let an injury fester. Please," he begged, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "Please, just take him the box. You don't have to talk to him. You don't even have to look at him. Just... just leave it by the door. For me. Please, do this for me."
The raw plea in Rinwoo's voice, the tears he was fighting back, and the sheer, impossible goodness of his heart warred with Beom Seok's bitterness. He wanted to refuse, to stand his ground, to protect Rinwoo from his own compassion. But looking at Rinwoo's pleading face, he found he couldn't.
With a sound of pure frustration, Beom Seok slammed the ladle down. "Fine!" he snapped, storming over to a cabinet and yanking out the first aid kit. "For you. Only for you. But don't ask me to go near him. I can't promise I won't add to his injuries."
He turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Rinwoo alone.
Rinwoo stood alone in the kitchen. He could feel his own heartbeat, a heavy, frantic drum against his ribs. He had just wanted to help, to ease a little suffering, but he felt the tension he had created vibrating through the entire shrine.
Down the hall, Beom Seok's fury propelled him forward. He didn't knock. He kicked the door to the abandoned guest room open, the wood splintering against the wall with a violent crack.
Taekyun, who had been sitting with his head in his hands, looked up sharply. His eyes, shadowed with pain, narrowed into a cold, hostile glare. "You," he spat. "What do you want?"
Beom Seok didn't answer. He strode across the dusty room and slammed the first aid box down on the small table so hard the contents rattled. He turned to leave, his message delivered.
A cold, mocking voice stopped him. "And how do I know you haven't put something in there? Something to finish the job from last night? A little poison, perhaps?"
Beom Seok froze, his back to Taekyun. He slowly turned around, his jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle his teeth didn't crack. "If I wanted you dead," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "I wouldn't need poison. I'd do it the easy way, you psycho."
Taekyun pushed himself up from his chair, a bitter smirk twisting his bruised lips. He took a step closer, deliberately invading Beom Seok's space. "Oh? And what 'easy way' would that be, kiddo? Do you even have the strength? Or do you just talk big?"
That was it. The condescending tone, the word "kiddo," the memory of this man's hands on Rinwoo—it all fused into a red-hot spike of rage. Beom Seok saw red.
He didn't think. He moved.
In one swift, brutal motion, he lunged forward, grabbed Taekyun by the back of his head, and slammed his face down onto the wooden table.
CRACK.
"YOU MANIAC!!" Taekyun roared, stumbling back and clutching his now-bleeding nose, his head spinning.
Beom Seok stood over him, a dark, satisfied smirk on his own face. "What's the matter, Hyung? Not so strong now, are you?"
The mockery was the final spark. With a guttural snarl, Taekyun launched himself at Beom Seok. He didn't aim for a punch. He grabbed a handful of Beom Seok's hair and, using all his weight and fury, yanked him sideways and slammed him head-first into the nearest wall.
The drywall shuddered with the impact. The fight was no longer about words or posturing. It was a raw, vicious explosion of hatred, jealousy, and pain, and the dusty, abandoned room was their brutal arena.
The initial wave of tenderness in Mr. Park's study had passed, leaving a more complicated, sober atmosphere. Mr. Park sat beside Juwon on the plush sofa, his posture stiff, as if unaccustomed to such proximity.
"When you left," Mr. Park began, his voice low and deliberate, "I was furious. I had men searching the entire city for you. I was going to drag you back myself." He paused, his gaze distant. "But then your mother… she fell ill. The stress, the doctors said. She looked at me from her bed and begged me. 'Let him go,' she said. 'Let our son be happy.'"
He turned to look at Juwon, his expression unreadable. "I didn't want to listen. But she kept begging. For your life. For your freedom." He let out a short, harsh breath. "I wasn't… I wasn't against the idea of you being with a man, Juwon. I was against him. A Lee. The Lee family are snakes. They betray everyone who gets close to them. It's in their blood. I was trying to protect you from that."
He placed a hand on Juwon's knee, the gesture awkward but meant to be reassuring. "But it's over now. You're back. You're safe. Everything will be alright." He stood up. "Your mother is resting now. You can see her when she wakes up."
Juwon simply nodded, his eyes red-rimmed and downcast. He felt hollow, the confession about his mother's illness adding another layer of guilt to the mountain already crushing him.
Mr. Park gave him one last, long look before turning and leaving the room. The moment the door closed behind him, his compassionate facade vanished. His expression hardened into its familiar, cold mask. He gestured to a guard standing at attention down the hall.
"You," Mr. Park said, his voice dropping to a whisper that brooked no argument. "Keep an eye on him. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to. He doesn't leave this estate without my direct permission. Is that clear?"
The guard bowed sharply. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Park nodded, his eyes cold and calculating. His son was home, but he was now a prisoner in his own house. The hug had been real, the relief was genuine, but for Mr. Park, trust had to be earned back through control. Juwon's heartbreak had granted him a temporary reprieve, but the gates of the Park estate had clanged shut behind him, locking him in once more.
Alone in the suffocating silence of the study, the dam finally broke. The image of Taemin's face—not angry, but utterly shattered, his eyes wide with the shock of the slap and the cruelty of Juwon's words—flashed behind Juwon's eyelids. It was a ghost that would haunt him forever.
A ragged, guttural sob tore from his throat, so forceful it bent him double. He collapsed forward, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands as his entire body was wracked with the convulsions of his grief.
"I'm sorry," he choked out to the empty room, his voice a broken whisper meant for the boy who couldn't hear him. "Taemin, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. None of it."
He knew, with a certainty that was more painful than any lie, that Taemin would understand. Taemin, with his reckless, all-seeing heart, would look past the harsh words and the staged anger and see the truth: that Juwon was trying to save him. He would know that Juwon loved him enough to shatter his own heart if it meant Taemin could live.
But that understanding made it worse. The thought of Taemin, alone and hurting, yet still somehow knowing that Juwon's cruelty was a desperate, twisted act of love, was unbearable. It meant Taemin was carrying the weight of Juwon's sacrifice on top of his own pain.
"You have to be safe," Juwon wept, his tears soaking into the expensive fabric of his trousers. "You have to marry her. You have to live. Please, just live."
He had chosen the path of the villain to become Taemin's savior. But sitting in the gilded cage of his family home, the weight of that choice felt less like a noble sacrifice and more like a life sentence. He had pushed away the only person who made him feel real, and the echo of his own bitter words was the only company he had left. The silence of the study was deafening, broken only by the sounds of a love that had been willingly, agonizingly, destroyed.
The sound of crashing and snarled shouts tore through the shrine's fragile peace. Rinwoo's heart leaped into his throat. He dropped the first aid box and ran, his own fears forgotten.
He skidded to a halt in the doorway of the abandoned room, his eyes widening in horror. Taekyun had Beom Seok pinned against the wall, his arm pressed against Beom Seok's throat. A trickle of blood was running down the side of Beom Seok's temple from a fresh cut, his face a mask of pain and fury.
The moment Taekyun's eyes met Rinwoo's, his aggressive stance faltered. The rage drained from his face, replaced by a stunned guilt. He immediately released Beom Seok, who slumped against the wall, gasping.
"Rinwoo, I—" Taekyun started, taking a hesitant step towards him, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
But Rinwoo didn't even look at him. He rushed past Taekyun as if he were invisible, his entire focus on the bleeding, bruised boy sliding down the wall.
"Beom Seok!" Rinwoo's voice was a panicked whisper. He fell to his knees, his hands trembling violently as he pressed the sleeve of his robe against the bleeding cut on Beom Seok's head. "Hold still, just hold still," he pleaded, his own body shaking like a leaf in a storm.
Beom Seok winced but leaned into the touch, his eyes closing in a mixture of pain and relief.
Seeing Rinwoo's tender, frantic care for the other man, a fresh wave of agony seized Taekyun. He knelt beside them, his voice desperate. "Rinwoo, please, listen to me. He hit me first. He slammed my head into the table. I was just defending myself—"
Rinwoo's head snapped up. The tears he had been holding back finally spilled over, but they were tears of pure, unadulterated fury and pain. Before Taekyun could finish, Rinwoo's hand flew out, striking his cheek with a sharp crack.
"Leave!" Rinwoo screamed, his voice breaking. The word was a raw, wounded sound. "Why are you here?! Just go! Leave us alone! Go back and live your peaceful life with Yuna! Why can't you just disappear?!"
He was sobbing now, all his composure gone, the carefully constructed walls of "I'm fine" obliterated. Every shouted word was laced with a hatred that was inextricably tangled with a deep, shameful love. He hated Taekyun for coming back, for disrupting the fragile peace he had tried to build. He hated him for making Beom Seok bleed. But most of all, he hated himself for the part of his heart that still, stupidly, ached at the sight of him.
Taekyun stared, the sting of the slap nothing compared to the devastation on Rinwoo's face. He tried to form words, an apology, an explanation, but they died in his throat. He could only kneel there, utterly defeated, as the man he loved screamed at him through tears, his every word a confirmation that the damage he had done was far worse, and far deeper, than he had ever imagined. The love was still there, but it had curdled into something painful and sharp, and he had no one to blame but himself.