Seung-ho's apartment resembled a museum of power and silence. A vast space with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows. Beyond them lay the nighttime Seoul: hundreds of lights sparkling on the wet pavement, ribbons of cars on the bridges, reflections of signs in the river. Up here, high above the city, the noise seemed distant.
Do-yun stepped inside cautiously. This was the first time he had been in the alpha's personal space. The simplicity of his own apartment contrasted sharply with this luxury—two different worlds. Everything here breathed control: expensive furniture, artwork, rare alcohol on the shelves.
Seung-ho took off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and poured himself a whiskey. His movements were calm and measured. But his gaze kept returning to Do-yun.
"You want to ask something," he said, as if he knew every word in advance. "So, ask."
Do-yun walked closer to the window. The city lights reflected in the glass, making his face look harder.
"Your business. The companies. Why do the names that surfaced in the missing omega cases link back to them?"
Seung-ho slowly took a sip. His eyes gleamed. "Straight to the heart of the matter. You don't waste time with detours."
"Answer me," Do-yun repeated.
A pause hung in the room. Only the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the ticking of a clock disturbed the silence.
Seung-ho set his glass on the table and walked closer. His steps were slow and confident. He stopped almost right in front of Do-yun.
"If the truth were so simple, you would have read it in a report long ago."
"You're avoiding the question," Do-yun said coldly.
"No," the alpha's voice deepened. "I just know it will be hard for you to accept."
He raised his hand and touched Do-yun's cheek. His fingers slid down to his neck. The touch was slow, searing.
"Do you think I'm afraid of your questions?" he whispered. "No. I'm afraid of what will happen when you hear the answers."
Do-yun froze. His breathing grew uneven. His own palm rose, intending to push him away, but paused on Seung-ho's chest.
The alpha moved closer, one hand resting on his lower back, the other on his thigh. The movements were too personal, too commanding.
And then Seung-ho continued:
"One of my directors. He opened a chain of clubs. And that's where three omegas disappeared."
The words struck harder than any physical touch.
Do-yun lifted his head, his eyes flashing. "The name."
Seung-ho smirked slightly, but the smirk was hard. "Han Jun-soo. He's an old player. Too smart to leave direct traces. But I know: those clubs are his work."
Do-yun clenched his fists. Every cell in his body demanded more, details, but another storm raged inside him—from the fact that the alpha was speaking this close, with a hand on his body.
"Why didn't you inform the police?" His voice wavered, but he kept his tone even.
"Because the police are his people," Seung-ho replied. "He's been feeding them for years."
The silence hit harder than the words.
Do-yun felt his pulse hammering in his temples. Finally, a piece of the truth. A thread. Evidence that connected his past cases with his current game.
But right at that moment, Seung-ho's hand slid higher, lingering on his waist. His lips were almost touching Do-yun's.
"I've said more than I intended," he whispered. "And you're still thinking about how to maintain distance?"
Do-yun closed his eyes. His body was burning. The mask was crumbling.
But he gathered his strength and breathed out:
"You're avoiding the question again."
The words stung no less than the alpha's touch.
Seung-ho paused, then slowly lowered his hands. A shadow of fury—or desire—flickered in his eyes.
"Someday, you'll understand," he said quietly.
He picked up his glass and took a sip, turning toward the window.
Do-yun remained standing, burning, his fingers trembling. He hated himself for allowing this to happen. He hated the alpha for cutting everything short on his own terms.
Outside, the city shimmered with a thousand lights. And inside the room, only unspoken tension and the echo of touches that stole his breath remained.