The storm had not stopped since the night before.
By morning, Seoul was drenched in silver, rain falling in sheets that blurred the edges of the skyline. The Kang Group tower rose like a blade through the clouds, defiant against the weather. Inside, employees hurried through the lobby, umbrellas dripping, shoes squeaking against the polished marble.
On the top floor, the man they all feared—the one they whispered about in elevators and hallways—sat in his office with the blinds half drawn. Kang Jisoo's expression was the same as ever: composed, controlled, eyes like steel. His pen moved across the contract before him without pause, every signature as sharp as the cut of his jaw.
But inside, he was unraveling.
The suppressant had dulled the worst of the ache, but the edges of it still lingered. He could feel it every time he inhaled, a traitorous warmth that coiled low in his stomach. His hand trembled once, just slightly, before he pressed his palm flat against the desk to steady it.
A knock sounded. Seo Minjae stepped in without waiting for permission, as he always did.
"You're due at the convention center in an hour," Minjae said, voice bright despite the gloom outside. He set a folder on the desk and, with practiced familiarity, slid a steaming paper cup toward Jisoo. "Americano, no sugar. Don't say I never take care of you."
Jisoo glanced at the coffee but didn't touch it. "I didn't ask for this."
"You never do," Minjae replied, lips curving into a faint smirk. "If I waited for you to ask, you'd starve before noon."
Jisoo said nothing. He didn't need to. The faint twitch of his jaw, the way his eyes lingered on Minjae's face for a beat too long, spoke louder than words.
The rain was heavier by the time they reached the underground garage. Minjae held the umbrella as they walked to the car, his stride unhurried while Jisoo's was clipped, efficient. The sedan's tinted windows blurred the outside world into gray as the driver pulled into traffic.
For a while, neither spoke. The city rushed past in streaks of neon and rain, their reflections faintly superimposed on the glass. Minjae sat relaxed, legs crossed, scrolling idly through his tablet. Jisoo sat rigid, one hand resting on his thigh, the other tapping faintly against the door handle.
It was then Minjae noticed it—the faintest shift in the air.
Not the sharp musk of an Alpha's dominance that usually clung to Jisoo like armor, but something subtler. Softer. Sweet in a way that lingered just beyond words, like honey dissolving on the tongue, like spring blossoms caught in the rain.
Minjae's eyes flicked sideways. Jisoo's face was turned toward the window, expression carved from stone, but the tightness in his shoulders betrayed him.
Minjae inhaled again, just enough to confirm. Yes. It was there. Beneath the suppressant's artificial cover, his real scent was bleeding through.
He smiled faintly. So that's the crack in your glass, Kang Jisoo.
"Traffic's bad today," Minjae remarked lightly, breaking the silence.
Jisoo didn't turn. "It's always bad when it rains."
"You hate the rain, don't you?"
At that, Jisoo's eyes shifted, narrowing slightly. "What makes you think that?"
"Because every time it storms, you grip the wheel like you're waiting for lightning to strike."
Jisoo's gaze sharpened, but Minjae didn't flinch. He tilted his head, studying his boss with mock innocence. "I wonder why. Is it just the weather? Or something else?"
Jisoo's hand tightened on his thigh. "You talk too much."
"And yet," Minjae leaned closer, lowering his voice so only Jisoo could hear, "you never tell me to stop."
Their eyes met in the reflection of the window—Jisoo's dark and guarded, Minjae's gleaming with something unspoken. For a moment, the storm outside felt distant compared to the storm that churned in the narrow space between them.
Then the driver hit the brakes abruptly. The car jolted, thunder cracked, and for a split second Jisoo's mask slipped. His hand shot to his abdomen, fingers curling as though in pain, and his breath hitched audibly.
Minjae's eyes sharpened. There it is again.
"Sir?" he asked softly, almost mockingly. "Are you sure you're fine?"
Jisoo turned his head away, jaw clenched. "Focus on your work."
Minjae smirked. "I am."
By the time they arrived at the convention center, Jisoo's mask was firmly back in place. Cameras flashed as they stepped out of the car, umbrellas opening above them. The CEO strode forward like nothing could touch him, like the cracks weren't already spreading under his skin.
But Minjae walked half a step behind, watching. Always watching.
He had caught the first whiff of truth in the rain.And he would not forget it.
That night, after the long speeches and endless handshakes, they returned to the car. The storm had worsened, streets flooded, headlights streaking against wet asphalt. Minjae slid into the passenger seat, eyes closing briefly as he let out a sigh.
Jisoo sat in silence, his reflection fractured across the rain-streaked window.
The sweet undertone was stronger now, no longer something Minjae had to chase. It curled through the confined space of the car, wrapping around him like a secret begging to be uncovered.
He opened his eyes, lips curving slowly.
"You can cover it up all you want," Minjae murmured, just loud enough for Jisoo to hear over the rain. "But sooner or later, the world will smell it too."
Jisoo froze, every muscle taut, though he didn't look at him. His hand hovered near the door handle, as if escape were possible.
But Minjae leaned back, satisfied, closing his eyes once more.
The seed of doubt had been planted.And he knew it would grow.