(Tae Jihwa's POV)
As I stormed out of the restaurant, leaving Dohyun sitting there like some sad puppy, guilt tugged at me—but rage burned hotter. My chest felt tight, as if my ribs were splintering around my heart. By the time I reached my father's place, I wasn't thinking. I was just fired.
I slammed the massive front door open so hard the frame rattled. Polished wood. Expensive hinges. I didn't care. Somewhere in the hallway, I saw his wife flinch and one of his kids peek out from behind a corner. I didn't even look at them. No greetings. No fake smiles. They weren't my blood family, but why should I dislike them? They are all very nice to me. His wife treats me like her own son she's basically my stepmom and my stepsiblings are like my own blood. Sometimes I spend time with them when I'm free.
My boots echoed through the hall as I marched to his office, shoulders stiff, fists trembling. Without knocking, I shoved the heavy door wide.
"Oi, old man." My voice dripped acid. "We need to talk."
My father looked up from his leather chair, brown eyes sharp and cold, like a tiger deciding if its prey was worth chasing. "What the hell do you want, Jihwa?"
I crossed my arms, forcing my voice not to shake. "Papa called me earlier. You know what he said?"
"What are you, five? Calling that omega 'papa' instead of mother or father? Grow up." He leaned back, feigning boredom. "What does that idiot want from me now?"
The air left my lungs in a sharp exhale. "First of all, don't you dare call my mother an idiot." My tone cracked, raw. "Second, don't you even try to 'father' me now. After abandoning us—after building yourself a shiny new family—you think you can drag me into your company as your heir?! Worst of all yoi are living here comfortably while my mother is suffering."
His expression hardened. "But I haven't done it yet, son."
"Son?" The word burned my ears. I laughed bitterly. "You lost the right to call me that the day you walked out. A disgusting r@pist—that's who you are. And I'm cursed enough to share your blood."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your mouth, boy."
"No, you watch yours!" My voice rose until it cracked. The rage inside me trembled on the edge of tears I refused to shed. "What the hell did you say to pa-..I meant mother that made him call me sobbing? He's an omega—you think I wouldn't notice his voice breaking? Did you harass him again, you bastard?!"
His jaw tightened. For a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—guilt? Anger? Amusement? It didn't matter.
"Don't accuse me without proof," he said coldly. "Your mother always was too dramatic. You inherited that from him. Plus I have a wife, why the hell would I?."
"Isn't that how I was born."
"Its not my fault Seojoon was leaking huge amount of pheramones. How would you understand? You're a beta after all." He smirked.
Shut up!" I slammed my palm on his desk hard enough to make the paperweight jump. "He's the one who raised me when you disappeared! He stayed even when it killed him inside! And you—" my voice broke despite myself "—you left us to rot. Do you have any idea how many nights he cried himself to sleep? How many nights did I pretended not to hear?"
"Enough." He stood, towering over me. His demeanor pressed down like a vice, but I didn't flinch. I met his gaze head-on.
"No," I hissed. "You don't get to shut me up anymore. If you so much as breathe wrong near my mother again, I swear to god, I'll—"
"You'll what?" His tone dripped with contempt. "You're just an angry pup barking at a wolf."
I gritted my teeth, nails digging into my palms until I felt blood. "Try me. I'm not the kid you abandoned. I'm the man you made your enemy."
His wife appeared in the doorway, pale, holding their son's hand. "Honey? What's going on—"
"Stay out of this!" I smiled and said in a calm voice, then glared back at him. "Can you kindly leave please. It's between me and him."
The room fell silent except for my ragged breathing. My father's gaze was ice. "You've made your point," he said finally. "Now leave before I throw you out myself."
I took a step back, chest heaving. "Don't call me son again. Don't call him an idiot again. And don't ever—ever—make him cry again."
"How do you think Seojoon would react if you spend your time with my wife and kids and I allow you!?"
I turned sharply, nearly colliding with his wife in the doorway. Her wide eyes were full of questions I didn't care to answer. My hands still shook as I left the house, slamming the door behind me so hard it echoed down the street.
Out in the cold air, I pressed my forehead to my arm, trembling—not from fear, but from fury and the helpless ache in my chest. Papa's voice over the phone echoed in my ears: Jihwa… I can't… I just can't take this anymore…
I swore then and there—I wouldn't let that bastard hurt him again.
Who the hell does he think he is? After ruining my papa's life, he thinks he can just come and act like things are normal.
Honestly, I begin to despise myself every moment. I hated the fact I was a beta. I hated the fact that I used to blame my papa back when I was a kid for not having a daddy. I hate the fact I can't protect him. I hated the fact my dad had to suffer because of me. I hated that I was the son of the president of Hanil Group. I hate everything about me. I didn't want to worry people.
I tried to smile, so all my problems can disappear. You know what they say:
Smile through the pain ★
I still don't understand this concept. I felt joy seeing people smile. I noticed that when I smile, people smile as well.
When I saw Dohyun, he seemed sad and rather pityful. I had the sudden urge of wanting him to smile as always. I didn't want people to suffer. I wanted to be that one person to bring a person out from their sufferings.
I'm no superhero, I'm also a human. I tried to be an ideal person just so I could be loved. I slowly started to feel more empty when not being myself. No one ever shows appreciation. They really don't care. They don't even accept you for who you are and if so then you really are lucky.
The street was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. I sat on the crumbling edge of the pavement, knees pulled up to my chest, chin pressed against them as I tried to stop the sting in my eyes from spilling over. The evening air was heavy, sticky with the smell of dust and gasoline. A thin layer of heat still rose from the asphalt, pressing against my skin, and yet I felt cold.
What did that old man say to him? I could still picture the two of them in the alley—my father's face pale and drawn, lips pressed into a thin line as the man spoke in a low, clipped voice. It hadn't been an argument, but it hadn't been friendly either. It looked like poison being poured into his ears. Or did he try to assault him?
I kicked at a loose stone and watched it skitter across the road. My chest ached. I hated this—this constant guessing, this gnawing worry that wouldn't leave me alone. I wanted to cry so badly, to just bury my face in my hands and let it all out, but crying here in the open would only make me feel smaller. Weaker.
I stood up from the pavement, seeing cars as it passed me. I wonder if i should just stand in the middle of the road and perhaps have a chance of death.
I quickly shook my head and realized what I had just said. I couldn't possibly just die right now, but at the same time I'm tired of living.
No—I had to go home. I had to check on him. Whatever was going on, I needed answers why my dad just had a legit breakdown.
By the time I reached our house, the sky had turned a dark, bruised purple, the first stars just beginning to blink through the haze. I pushed the front door open, yearning to see my dad.
"Papa?" My voice echoed faintly in the hallway as I was walking. No reply. The smell hit me first—stale alcohol, sharp and sour, clinging to the air like smoke. My stomach clenched.
I found him in the living room, sprawled on the wooden floor beside the low table, an empty bottle rolling lazily near his hand. His shirt was crumpled, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. The sight of him like that—this man who was supposed to be unshakable, who once carried me on his shoulders as though I weighed nothing—made my throat tighten until it hurt. But it was normal. He usually stay drunk.
I rushed to his side and knelt down, shaking his arm.
"Papa! Papa, wake up. Please—"
His eyelids fluttered open, heavy and unfocused. Those black eyes that used to look so alive were glassy now, dulled by liquor and exhaustion. Somehow, it reminded me of Dohyun dead eyes.
"Papa, when will you stop drinking?" My voice cracked despite how hard I tried to hold it steady. "What did that old man even say to you? What happened?"
He didn't answer. He didn't even try. His gaze drifted on me. Then he kept it shut.
"Papa!" I shook him harder, desperate, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. "Talk to me! I'm not a kid anymore—you can't just shut me out like this!"
His lips parted as if he might say something, but no words came. Just a ragged breath, and then his eyes slowly closed again. He wasn't unconscious, not fully—just retreating, slipping back into whatever dark place he'd been hiding all evening.
I swallowed hard, forcing back a sob. My hands hovered uselessly, not knowing whether to slap him awake or cradle his head like I used to do with my dolls when they "fell asleep."
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I whispered, voice trembling. "You promised me. You promised you'd stop."
The room was silent except for the faint buzz of the ceiling fan. The bottle bumped against the table leg with a dull clink as I shifted closer. My knees hurt from pressing into the hard floor, but I didn't care.
"Was it because of that man?" I asked again, more softly this time, almost pleading. "Did he threaten you? Is it about the money? About me?"
Nothing. Just that slow, shallow breathing. Just that wall I couldn't break through.
I sat there for a long time, holding his hand even though it was limp and smelled of alcohol, staring at the lines in his face, at the tired curve of his mouth. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry until I had no voice left. But all I could do was sit in silence and wonder what kind of storm had passed over him—and whether it was about to swallow us both.