The city glittered beneath the night sky, towers of steel and glass rising like spears through the clouds. From his penthouse, Kang Jisoo could see it all—every light, every road, every flicker of movement below. Seoul was his kingdom, vast and unyielding.
And yet, for the first time in years, he felt as though the throne beneath him was crumbling.
The gala still lingered in his mind. The whispers, the stumble, the way Minjae's arm had steadied him in full view of the vultures. He had covered it well enough, made his excuses, disappeared into the night. But he knew.
They had seen.They had scented blood.
And worse, Minjae had seen more than anyone.
Jisoo ran a hand through his hair, staring at his reflection in the window. His tie was loosened now, collar unbuttoned, but it did little to ease the tightness in his chest. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand, fingers brushing over the familiar row of small vials.
Suppressants. His shield. His armor. The only reason he'd been able to maintain his image all these years.
He picked one up, turning it between his fingers. The liquid glimmered faintly in the light.
For a moment, he thought of Minjae's voice in the corridor. You're safe. I've got you.The words had lodged deep, unwanted and dangerous.
With a sharp breath, Jisoo uncapped the vial and pressed it to his lips.
But the taste was… different.
The next morning, Minjae entered the office with his usual easy stride, tablet in hand, smirk already playing at his lips.
"You're early," Jisoo said flatly, though his voice carried a faint rasp.
"I'm always early," Minjae replied smoothly. "You just never notice." He set the tablet down on the desk, then tilted his head. "You look tired, sir. Didn't sleep?"
Jisoo ignored him, flipping through the morning's reports. But Minjae's eyes didn't leave his face. He saw the faint shadows under his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. And beneath it all—faint, but undeniable—he caught the drift of that scent again. Sweet. Fragile.
Stronger than before.
By noon, the ache had worsened. Jisoo sat at his desk, pen hovering uselessly above the page, when Minjae placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
"Drink," Minjae said.
"I told you I don't need—"
"Drink," Minjae repeated, his voice low and commanding. For the first time, Jisoo found himself obeying without thought.
The coffee was bitter, grounding. But it did nothing to erase the growing warmth in his body, the way his pulse beat too quickly. He set the cup down with a faint tremor, quickly covering it with a stack of documents.
Minjae leaned casually against the desk, arms crossed. "Your suppressants aren't working."
Jisoo's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "What?"
"You heard me." Minjae's smirk widened just slightly. "They're failing. Or maybe…" he let the words hang, savoring the moment, "…maybe they've been tampered with."
Jisoo's chest tightened. He thought of the vial the night before—the faintly altered taste, the strange way it burned down his throat. His hand curled into a fist.
"You," he hissed.
Minjae tilted his head innocently. "Me?"
"You touched them."
"Maybe," Minjae drawled. "Maybe not. Does it matter? The truth was always going to come out, Jisoo-ssi. I'm just… accelerating it."
Silence thickened between them, heavy as the storm that had battered Seoul days ago.
Jisoo rose abruptly, slamming his palms against the desk. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Minjae's eyes gleamed, utterly unafraid. He stepped closer, so close that Jisoo could feel the heat of him across the desk.
"Yes," he said softly. "I've set you free."
Jisoo's breath caught.
"Those suppressants," Minjae continued, voice low and deliberate, "they've kept you chained. Pretending. Performing. Wearing a crown that was never meant to sit on your head. But underneath…" He leaned closer, eyes locking with Jisoo's. "Underneath, you're something else. Something softer. Something real."
Jisoo's pulse thundered in his ears. He hated it. He hated the way Minjae's words cut straight through the walls he had spent his life building.
But more than that, he hated that part of him—the part buried deep, the part that longed for rest, for relief, for someone to see him—ached at the sound of them.
The door burst open suddenly, shattering the moment. A junior executive stumbled in, clutching a stack of papers.
"C-Chairman Kang, the contracts—" He froze, eyes darting between the two men, the charged silence, the way Jisoo stood tense with Minjae inches from him.
Jisoo straightened immediately, mask snapping back into place. "Leave them. Get out."
The young man set the papers down and fled.
Silence returned, heavy and suffocating.
Jisoo turned away, adjusting his tie with trembling fingers. "This conversation is over."
But Minjae only smiled, the kind of smile that promised this was only the beginning.
"Of course, sir," he said smoothly. He stepped back, tablet in hand once more. "But remember—truth has a scent. And no matter how much you hide, I'll always find it."
Jisoo's hand froze on his tie. His heart pounded.
Because even as he tried to deny it, he could feel it—the faint sweetness clinging to the air, stronger than yesterday, stronger than ever.
The scent of truth.
And Seo Minjae was already breathing it in.