Chapter 15

“…Director Jang.”

Jaeha abruptly returned to his senses. Gently ushered out of the hotel lobby and into the cool afternoon air, he found himself submerged in a profound and quiet bewilderment. He had not expected Taegeon to dismantle Lee Jaeho with such effortless precision. It was not the ruthlessness itself that unsettled him. What struck him was the realization that Taegeon had noticed his restrained irritation almost instantly and acted on it without being asked.

Before Jaeha could reprimand his brother for his complete lack of dignity, Jang Taegeon had stepped directly into the line of fire and carried out the execution on his behalf.

Even for a man who had lived without material deprivation, there were agonizing voids in Jaeha’s life. Not once had anyone truly represented him.

Born into a fixed aristocratic position, he had occupied that isolated pinnacle for as long as he could remember, and maintaining it was inherently lonely. Whenever he encountered injustice, enduring it had always been his burden alone.

Having someone speak for him, recognize the emotions he refused to display, and shield him without hesitation was an entirely foreign experience. Jaeha commanded a small army of elite legal representatives, but not one of them had ever represented his heart.

For a man who wielded so much power, he was moved far too easily. Had the world known how desperately the cold and untouchable Director craved this precise form of protection, thousands would have rushed to offer it.

Instead, the experience stirred an unexpected and overwhelming surge of genuine affection.

Until now, what he had felt was a violent, consuming desire to possess Taegeon. Yet that hunger was softening into something else, something achingly tender and nearly impossible to bear. As Jaeha gazed at the broad expanse of those mountain-like shoulders moving ahead of him, he drew in the faint fragrance of Rugosa roses drifting through the air.

A sudden resolve took root in his chest.

It felt fundamentally wrong to let Taegeon simply walk away.

“Um, Director Jang… where are you going?”

The massive Alpha stopped and turned. His expression remained perfectly blank, as though he had only just realized Jaeha was still standing behind him.

“Why?” Taegeon asked. “Planning to follow me?”

“Ah, no, that’s not what I…” Jaeha faltered.

He wanted to invite him to dinner. His heart hammered so fiercely against his ribs that it felt capable of cracking bone, making it nearly impossible to construct a coherent sentence, but he refused to retreat.

Taegeon waited for Jaeha to continue. At least, he appeared to be waiting. Just as Jaeha felt his racing pulse begin to settle, a shrill voice cut through the moment and shattered it.

“How could you leave me behind like that, Director Jang?”

It was the delicate Omega from the lobby.

Jaeha had completely forgotten the stranger existed. The moment the slender man boldly seized Taegeon’s forearm, something dark, territorial, and ugly surged through his chest.

“Why are you clinging to me?” Taegeon asked flatly. “It’s annoying.”

He did not sound annoyed in the slightest.

Jaeha searched the Alpha’s face for even the faintest trace of irritation, but found nothing. Maintaining his stone-faced indifference, Taegeon merely reached down, peeled the Omega’s fingers from his suit jacket one by one, and cast the man aside as though removing a minor nuisance. Then he turned back to Jaeha and raised one cool eyebrow.

“Are you going to finish that sentence, or are you planning to let me die of curiosity?”

“Ah, no, I…”

Disoriented by the sheer whiplash of the exchange, Jaeha shook his head.

Taegeon’s brows drew together slightly. Then, with one predatory stride, he erased the distance between them.

The sudden proximity struck Jaeha with the force of a physical blow. The intoxicating scent of Rugosa roses washed over him in a heavy tide, sending a wave of dizziness through his head.

Taegeon looked down at him and lowered his voice until it became a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through Jaeha’s bones. “Then what is it? If you’re not following me, why do you keep calling my name?”

Ah… am I not supposed to call your name?

Drowning in the weight of Taegeon’s pheromones, Jaeha felt his usually sharp and calculating mind dissolve into useless mush. Struggling to reclaim even a fragment of clarity, he summoned every ounce of courage he possessed.

“…If you have time, perhaps we could have dinner together.”

“Sure.”

Before Jaeha could finish speaking, the answer was given. Startled, he looked up to see Taegeon staring at him intently, his dark eyes narrowed with unmistakable suspicion.

“You weren’t asking that just to be polite, were you?”

“Ah, no! Not at all.” Jaeha shook his head so quickly that the motion bordered on frantic.

Apparently satisfied, Taegeon gave a short, decisive nod. “If your schedule is clear, go home and wait. I’ll be finished with work soon.”

“…Yes.”

Jaeha responded with a stiff nod at the same time. He immediately clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, berating himself for the nervous and inefficient gesture. A verbal confirmation or a nod would have been sufficient. There had been absolutely no reason to do both, yet the pressure of the moment had stripped him of his usual corporate composure.

Unbothered by Jaeha’s private mortification, Jang Taegeon merely stared down at him with an inscrutable expression. A low, resonant hum vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Hey, Myeongsun,” Taegeon called lazily.

“Yes, hyung-nim,” the enormous subordinate answered without missing a beat.

“Escort your hyeongbu back to the estate. Make absolutely certain he doesn’t wander anywhere else tonight.”

Hyungbu (Older sister’s husband (since Taegon is the wife))? Did he just use the gangland title for a boss’s spouse on me?

A faint and absurd surge of dismay rippled through Jaeha’s chest at the crude, heavily gendered title. Nevertheless, the alarming gravity of the situation compelled him to refuse as politely as possible.

“That really won’t be necessary. I already have my own attendants waiting for me…”

“So what?” Taegeon interrupted, his tone turning dangerously flat. “Do those attendants of yours not have eyes?”

No… Of course they have eyes. Why in the world would he ask something so senseless?

Jaeha blinked rapidly, his brilliant mind utterly incapable of deciphering the violent, possessive implication buried inside the ridiculous question.

Rather than offer anything resembling a coherent explanation, Taegeon looked away. He reached into the breast pocket of his tailored coat, drew out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and slipped a white cigarette between his lips with practiced ease.

Jaeha’s gaze was immediately drawn to his dry, heavily calloused fingers. Small, ragged scars crisscrossed his knuckles, some pale with age and others still dark enough to seem recent.

They were nothing like the manicured hands of a wealthy corporate director. They resembled the scarred, unforgiving tools of a veteran construction worker or a back-alley enforcer, hands that had spent years gripping brutal instruments with relentless force.

As Taegeon’s firm lips closed securely around the slender neck of the cigarette, Jaeha swallowed hard.

An involuntary shiver traveled down his spine. His breath caught as an abrupt sensation seized him, almost as though his own throat had been trapped in that same punishing grip.

Sensing what his boss required, Mo Jeong-gil, who had remained silently in the background like a looming shadow, stepped forward and cupped his massive hands together.

His fists were too large for Jaeha to see between them, but a sharp metallic click revealed the hidden Zippo lighter an instant before a bright flame flared inside his protective grasp. With solemn respect, he raised it to the tip of Taegeon’s cigarette.

Taegeon inhaled deeply enough for the sharp planes of his cheeks to hollow into harsh shadows. He held the smoke in his lungs for one heavy beat, then exhaled a thick, poisonous plume of gray into the frigid air.

“Right. They should all have working eyes, shouldn’t they?” Taegeon murmured through the thinning haze, answering his own question. “You look especially pretty today, Jaeha. So get into Myeongsun’s car and go straight home safely.”

“…What?”

“Just go home quietly.” Taegeon gave a dismissive wave and turned his broad back on the bewildered aristocrat. “Your wife has to go earn our keep.”

What did he mean by “especially pretty”? And what did my appearance have to do with needing an armed escort from Myeongsun?

A multitude of frantic and unanswerable questions spun through Jaeha’s mind, but the Alpha offered no clarification whatsoever. Taegeon strode confidently into the darkness, and the trembling Omega who had been clinging to him hurried after him, casting one final, complicated glance back at Jaeha.

Their gazes met, and the freezing air between them immediately thickened with a strange, unspoken tension.

What kind of twisted relationship do those two actually have?

A poisonous, agonizing jealousy burned along the edges of Jaeha’s consciousness, yet he could not gather enough dignity to demand the truth. Before he could begin untangling the emotional knot, the towering wall of muscle beside him shattered the silence. Myeongsun looked down at Jaeha with an expression of such guileless sincerity that his next words seemed almost innocent.

“Shall we get going, hyungbu-nim?”

***