The morning after surrender was too quiet.
Jisoo sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the pale light filtering through the curtains. His body felt heavy, loose with exhaustion. But for the first time in weeks, there was no ache, no burn clawing at him from the inside.
The nest around him was still intact—blankets and pillows in disarray, carrying his scent mingled with Minjae's. He should have torn it apart the moment he woke. He should have erased every trace of weakness.
But Minjae was still there, reclining lazily against the headboard, eyes half-lidded as if he'd been watching him the entire time. His smirk was softer this morning, less mocking, more assured.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
Jisoo's throat tightened. He didn't answer.
By the time they arrived at the office, the mask was back in place—or so Jisoo told himself. His suit was flawless, his hair perfect, his voice steady as he greeted directors and staff. The memory of last night was shoved deep, buried under layers of pride.
But the cracks were already showing.
The suppressants he swallowed in the car did little to dull his scent. It clung sweet to the air, subtle but undeniable, stirring glances in the boardroom. His hands trembled faintly when he lifted his pen, and more than once his voice caught mid-sentence.
Minjae never looked away. Every falter, every slip—he saw it all. And each time, he stepped closer. Adjusting a pen. Pouring water. Leaning in with a quiet word only Jisoo could hear.
It was suffocating. And comforting.
And dangerous.
The mask shattered at a quarterly shareholder's meeting.
The room was packed—executives, board members, investors. Cameras flashed, recording every moment for the company archive. Jisoo stood at the podium, his notes perfectly aligned, his voice cool as he delivered the quarterly review.
Halfway through, the burn hit.
It was sharp, sudden, like fire ripping through his veins. His body stiffened, his breath faltered, and his hand clenched the podium to keep from collapsing. His scent burst into the air—thick, sweet, desperate. Unmistakable.
Gasps rippled through the room. Chairs scraped. Whispers hissed like knives.
And Jisoo—frozen, humiliated—couldn't move.
Then Minjae stood.
He moved to the podium with calm authority, one hand settling firmly on Jisoo's shoulder. His presence filled the room, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with a sharpness that silenced whispers.
"Chairman Kang is unwell," Minjae said smoothly. "The report is complete. If you'll allow, I'll finish in his place."
Murmurs rose, disbelieving, but no one dared challenge him.
Minjae's hand tightened briefly on Jisoo's shoulder—steady, grounding, possessive. Then he guided him gently from the podium, seating him at the head of the table like a king being escorted from battle.
Jisoo sat in stunned silence, chest heaving, every nerve screaming. He should have resisted. He should have stood, spoken, defended his pride.
But Minjae was already speaking in his place, voice calm, confident, commanding. And the room listened.
By the time the meeting ended, the damage was done.
Whispers followed them down the corridor. Staff bowed nervously, eyes flicking between the Chairman and his assistant. Rumors sparked like wildfire, spreading through every floor of the company.
Jisoo stormed into his office, slamming the door. His chest burned with humiliation, fury, fear. He turned sharply, ready to unleash his rage on Minjae.
But Minjae was already there, closing the door behind him, gaze steady.
"You humiliated me," Jisoo spat.
"No," Minjae said calmly. "I saved you."
"I didn't need saving!"
Minjae stepped forward, eyes flashing. "You were about to collapse in front of the entire board. Your scent flooded the room. Do you think they didn't notice? Do you think you can keep pretending?"
Jisoo froze, trembling.
"You can't," Minjae continued, softer now, more dangerous. "The mask is broken. And the more you fight it, the more you'll destroy yourself."
Silence.
The storm outside the windows mirrored the one in Jisoo's chest. He wanted to scream, to deny, to claw back the pride slipping through his fingers. But the weight of Minjae's words crushed him.
The mask was broken.
He couldn't go back.
Minjae stepped closer, his voice a low command. "Let me protect you. Stop fighting me."
Jisoo's throat burned. His pride shattered. His body trembled as instinct rose, desperate and sweet.
And in that moment—alone, broken, cornered—he surrendered again.
He stepped into Minjae's arms, burying his face against his chest, the words spilling broken from his lips.
"Don't let them see me."
Minjae's arms wrapped tight around him, fierce and possessive. "They'll only see what I allow."
The mask lay in pieces on the floor. And Jisoo, for the first time, wondered if he could ever wear it again.