(Dae-hyun pov)
Two years later.
Two years. That's how long it's been since everything burned down and rebuilt itself into silence. Two years of peace from Woo-jin's embrace. No longer his Alpha. Free from all this pain and suffering from his smirk. Shimber me timbers.
I decided to live the mansion I always lived in. My mom didn't fight nor got angry at me when I told her about the finalized divorce. Instead, she wrapped her hands around me and whispered. "Hope you don't regret it."
The Jung mansion looks the same as always — polished floors, golden lights, a dining table big enough for ten but barely used by two. I still come here sometimes, though I don't know why. Maybe habit. Maybe guilt.
My mother sits across from me, posture perfect, her knife gliding through steak like she's signing a contract.
"Eat something, Dae-hyun," she says. "You look thinner."
"I've been busy," I reply, my tone flat.
"Busy or overworking again?"
"Both," I say. "It's the same thing anyway."
She sighs, but it's not worry. It's… approval. "I heard about your new deal with that Group. Impressive. The youngest CEO in Seoul's top fifty."
I cut into my food, barely tasting it. "They were easy to convince. Their proposal lacked direction."
"Still," she says, her gaze softening for a brief second, "your father would've been proud."
That line again. I answered politely and look at my plate.
"If he cares to even bother coming here."
Silence sits between us, thick and heavy. I've learned to live with it.
"Sorry mom."
"It's fine." She said. "It's good to see you've matured," she continues. "No more fights, no more rumors. You've finally learned how to stay composed."
I smirk faintly. "Guess peace looks good on me."
She sets down her fork. "You used to say peace felt like dying."
I pause, my knife hovering midair. "…Guess I got used to dying a little."
Her lips tighten. "Don't stay a stranger, Dae-hyun."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
When she left the room, I stay behind for a moment. The ticking clock is louder than it should be. I finish the rest of my wine, staring at the reflection in the glass — sharp eyes, tired face, a stranger wearing my name.
I tell myself I'm fine now.
That the quiet means I've finally moved on.
But sometimes, in the quiet, I swear I hear someone laughing — soft, sweet, and annoyingly familiar.
And I hate that I can't remember why.
Later on.
My office smells like coffee and exhaustion.
The city outside is still half-asleep, but I've been up since five — not because I wanted to be, but because sleep refuses to stay. It's fine. Work fills the silence better than dreams ever did.
The floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across my entire wall, Seoul's skyline glittering beneath the dawn light. I sip my coffee and stare at the horizon for a while, pretending it means something.
"Morning, CEO Jung!"
Minho, my assistant, bursts in like caffeine in human form — too loud, too cheerful, and completely oblivious to the fact that I hate mornings.
"You're early," I say without looking up from my screen.
"I never left. You said the presentation had to be perfect."
"Then it better be."
He grins nervously and sets down the files. "You're scary before breakfast, sir."
"I'm scary after breakfast too."
He laughs awkwardly before leaving me alone again. I glance over the numbers, the charts, the endless proposals that never seem to end. Running my own company had sounded liberating once — now it's just routine.
"CEO Jung," comes a knock. This time, it's Jiyeon, head of PR. "You have lunch scheduled with the Han Group's CEO. Shall I confirm?"
"Cancel it. Send him the revised documents instead."
Her brows knit together. "Again? You've been cancelling every meeting lately."
"I prefer results to small talk," I reply.
She hesitates, then nods and leaves.
When the door shuts, I exhale slowly. The clock reads 1:42 PM. My untouched breakfast has gone cold.
I rub my temples, leaning back in my chair. Somewhere between all the numbers, all the fake smiles, I forgot what silence without pressure felt like.
Someone save me from this exhausting life.
The only sound in the room is the steady tick of my clock — the same rhythm that filled my mother's dining room last night.
For a second, I think about what she said.
"You've finally learned how to stay composed."
She's wrong. I didn't learn it. I built it — piece by piece — because everything else kept breaking.
As time passed.
It's past midnight, and the city outside has gone silent.
Most people are home, dreaming, breathing easy.
Me? I'm still here, surrounded by the noise of machines and the glow of my computer screen.
The numbers blur after a while — profit margins, project proposals, deadlines. None of it feels real anymore. Just motion. Just noise.
I lean back in my chair and let out a slow breath, staring at the reflection in the window. Red hair messy, dark circles under my eyes, tie half loosened. The image of success. The lie of peace.
The cursor blinks at me like it's mocking me.
Another late night, CEO Jung?
Yeah. What else is new.
Minho had gone home hours ago. He'd asked if I wanted dinner before he left. I said no. The truth? I can't taste anything anymore — not the food, not life.
I feel depressed but I don't know why.
I check the time. 3:57 a.m. My body's begging for rest, but my brain refuses to stop spinning. Sleep always brings the same dreams anyway — things I can't remember but still ache for. Faces that fade before I can reach them.
Once, I used to beg for silence. Now, it's driving me crazy. Someone talk. I'm tired.
The desk light flickers for a second. I rub my temples and close my laptop, the sudden darkness swallowing the room. My reflection stares back at me through the glass — blank, exhausted, hollow.
"You're finally at peace," my mother had said.
Peace. Is that what this is? Working myself numb so I don't feel anything?
I'm sick of everything. Why do I even bother working as a businessman even I don't even enjoy. I wanted to be a singer. Guess that won't ever fade into existence. How sad.
I stand and stretch, wincing at the ache in my shoulders. My apartment is just a few blocks away, but I already know — I'll barely get an hour of sleep before the alarm drags me up again.
The city outside begins to stir, faintly glowing with the first hint of dawn.
I grab my coat and head out.
New day. Same emptiness.
Maybe that's just how it is when you've forgotten what you were supposed to miss.