Chapter 29

The atmosphere had descended into utter chaos.

“So, he practically dives in headfirst, and that bastard Myeongsun… no, wait. Shit, I’m so sorry.” Jeong-gil backpedaled at once, clapping a hand over his mouth. “I really should watch my language with you sitting right here, hyungbu-nim, but I’ve always had such a filthy mouth…”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Jaeha assured him smoothly.

Even as he offered the reassurance, an unsettling ambiguity gnawed at him. He could not tell whether he was graciously overlooking Jeong-gil’s vulgarity or passively accepting the bizarre title of “sister-in-law” that had just been bestowed upon him. Being acknowledged as Taegeon’s spouse was one thing, but hearing a gang-adjacent familial title paired with the highly formal honorific -nim was dizzying in an entirely different way.

Still reeling from the almost mafia-like deference, Jaeha reached for his glass of cold water and cast a discreet glance at Taegeon, who sat beside him at the cramped round table, silently raising a small shot of soju to his lips.

The bustling barbecue restaurant was packed with cheap metal tables arranged around thick, inconvenient support pillars. Unable to fit his long legs comfortably beneath the narrow tin surface, Jaeha had been forced to angle them awkwardly to one side. At his height, maneuvering within the cramped space had become a genuine physical nuisance.

Desperate for even a fraction of comfort, he finally tried to cross his legs. With four large Alpha men crowded tightly around the tiny table, however, his knee inevitably struck the metal rim. As he shifted to avoid another bruising collision, his knee pressed flush against Taegeon’s solid thigh.

Alarmed that the sudden intimacy might look improper in front of Taegeon’s subordinates, Jaeha immediately attempted to pull away.

A broad, heavy hand clamped over his knee at once, pinning his leg firmly against the warm muscle beneath it.

Startled, Jaeha snapped his head up. Taegeon had not even looked at him. He merely accepted the drink Myeongsun poured, his expression utterly blank.

The entire outing had been Jaeha’s idea.

He had wanted to suggest stopping for dinner on the way home, though he had not gathered the courage to voice the request until they reached the sterile, echoing expanse of the VIP underground parking garage. When they encountered Jeong-gil and Myeongsun waiting dutifully beside the black sedans to retrieve their boss, the invitation finally slipped from Jaeha’s lips.

“Should we have dinner before we go?”

Before Taegeon could even process the question, a thunderous and humiliating growl erupted from the abyss of Jeong-gil’s stomach, obliterating the fragile silence.

In that horrifying instant, Jaeha realized with a jolt that his private invitation sounded dangerously close to asking his husband on a romantic date. Panic seized him, and he pivoted at once.

“Why don’t you two join us as well?”

Jeong-gil’s eyes lit with immediate, almost canine enthusiasm.

Though he stood nearly as tall as Jaeha, he possessed a leaner, more wiry frame and eyes that cut like bare glass, sharp and unforgiving. In any corporate corridor or rain-slicked alley, a stranger would have branded him violent on sight. Yet the moment his lips split into a wide, jagged grin, the intimidating thug transformed into something almost disarmingly innocent.

Myeongsun, blessed with a far better understanding of the social situation, drove an elbow sharply into his partner’s ribs and shook his head.

“We’re perfectly fine, Executive Director Lee. Why don’t you and boss enjoy a quiet meal by yourselves?”

“He’s only worried you pathetic bastards will starve to death on the job,” Taegeon cut in. “Stop grinning like an idiot and open the damn car door.”

Without waiting for an answer, Taegeon turned his broad back on the three of them, effectively shielding his expression from Jaeha’s analytical gaze.

Jeong-gil scrambled to wrench open the heavy rear door. As Taegeon climbed inside, he casually smacked the back of his subordinate’s head.

Entirely unfazed by the reprimand, Jeong-gil merely scratched the spot that had been struck. He closed the reinforced door with the care of a curator handling a fragile museum relic, then flashed Jaeha another wide, gap-toothed grin.

Reading the silent welcome in the gesture, Jaeha climbed into the sleek interior after his husband.

For the first time, he found himself inside the private sanctuary of Taegeon’s personal vehicle, a startling realization that made him bite nervously at the inside of his lip. Taegeon had already settled into the leather seat, lounging with one elbow propped against the tinted window frame and his chin resting on his knuckles, radiating his usual air of bored displeasure.

Myeongsun took the wheel and brought the engine smoothly to life, while Jeong-gil dropped into the front passenger seat and fastened his seat belt with almost alarming enthusiasm. Twisting around, he beamed at the back seat.

“Where to, Director?”

“You’re the idiot harboring a starving beggar in your stomach,” Taegeon snapped. “Take us wherever the hell you want to eat.”

The hostility in his voice was sharp enough to draw blood, but Jeong-gil did not miss a beat.

“Then how about that back-meat place in Gwanak?” he chirped, visibly eager to please the pack leader.

To his own surprise, Jaeha found himself enjoying the relaxed, unpretentious rapport between the three men. A rare spark of satisfaction warmed his chest at having suggested dinner in the first place. Observing this dynamic felt like the correct strategic choice, given how closely Jeong-gil and Myeongsun orbited Taegeon’s life.

He even caught himself smiling faintly at Jeong-gil’s ridiculous giggling from the front seat.

Then the oppressive weight of someone’s gaze snapped his attention away.

When Jaeha turned his head, Taegeon was watching him with raw, predatory intensity.

The fragile smile vanished from Jaeha’s lips. His heart seized, then began hammering erratically against his ribs beneath the pressure of that stare.

Without a word, Taegeon reached across the leather seat and wrapped a large hand around the delicate nape of Jaeha’s neck. With one effortless pull, he hauled Jaeha across the space between them and seized his mouth in a sudden, searing kiss.

They parted with a soft, illicitly wet sound that seemed to echo through the enclosed cabin.

Completely derailed by the possessive display, Jaeha blinked rapidly and darted a panicked glance toward the rearview mirror.

Myeongsun stared rigidly at the asphalt ahead, his expression wiped into a meticulous blank.

Jaeha was not naive enough to believe the bodyguard had missed what happened. The man was exercising a level of discretion necessary for survival, pretending to be both deaf and blind to his boss’s erratic romantic impulses. Mortification scorched the tips of Jaeha’s ears, but he crushed the rising blush with ruthless discipline and forced his corporate composure back into place.

He understood with painful clarity that whatever happened within the privacy of the back seat, appearing flustered or fragile before Taegeon’s subordinates would damage both their reputations.

The subterranean world of Alphas functioned according to a brutally vertical and often violent hierarchy. Taegeon commanded absolute, unquestioning loyalty from these men, and the last thing Jaeha wanted was to undermine his husband’s authority by appearing weak enough to become a liability.

Jaeha ruled over white-collar executives rather than street-level thugs, but he still stood at the absolute apex of the Yooshin Group. He knew intimately how quickly even a minor, mishandled display of weakness could breed insubordination. Betas and Omegas might be capable of operating within flatter, more collaborative structures, but dominant Alphas belonged to an entirely different breed.

In an ecosystem governed by primitive hierarchy, challengers often had to be suppressed with force simply to maintain control of the room. It was a vicious law of nature that crossed every socioeconomic boundary, applying with equal brutality to sterile corporate boardrooms and bloodstained back alleys. Even if the rapport between Taegeon, Jeong-gil, and Myeongsun appeared deceptively relaxed, Jaeha knew it was tactically safer to keep his psychological armor firmly in place.

Steeling himself, he smoothed his features into an impenetrable mask and straightened into a rigid, disciplined posture.

Beside him, Taegeon released a low, vibrating chuckle, immediately recognizing the severe change in Jaeha’s demeanor.

“You look so damn good when you act tough that I’m honestly tempted to get hard right here.”

“…”

Refusing to dignify the crude sexual harassment with a response, Jaeha ignored his husband with practiced, icy perfection.

Not long afterward, the luxury sedan slipped behind a dense cluster of weathered commercial buildings and entered a district Jaeha knew by reputation but had never personally visited. Jeong-gil spent most of the drive babbling nervously about the restaurant’s rustic charm, apparently terrified that Jaeha, a man raised in the opulent and sterile halls of a chaebol estate, would recoil from the grit of the place.

His anxiety was entirely misplaced.

Jaeha’s biological mother had possessed an exquisitely refined palate, but she had died when he was still very young. Left largely to his own devices, he had grown perfectly comfortable eating street food. Unless his private chef, Mr. Jeong, was personally handling the pans, Jaeha rarely bothered dining at the Yooshin estate.

His undergraduate years had been much the same, before he left the country to pursue his MBA.

The sprawling Gwanak district had been packed with cheap, greasy eateries catering to hordes of perpetually hungry university students. His classmates, blissfully unaware of his astronomical wealth, had dragged him through nearly every grimy and questionable pub in the area. Places like these did not trouble him in the least. He simply lacked any personal inclination to seek out run-down, nondescript establishments on his own.

Eventually, the heavy sedan glided to a smooth stop outside a brightly lit storefront veiled in charcoal smoke. The fact that Myeongsun navigated the chaotic alley without once consulting a GPS confirmed that this was a familiar and beloved haunt of the Janghan crew.

As Jaeha unfastened his seat belt, a rare flutter of genuine anticipation stirred in his chest.

For the first time, he was being permitted to witness an authentic and uncurated fragment of Jang Taegeon’s daily life.

They filed into the noisy restaurant and claimed a table with the brazen ease of long-standing regulars. The ordering process unfolded with almost instinctive efficiency, requiring scarcely any verbal exchange with the harried staff. Trays of raw meat and chilled bottles of soju appeared within minutes, and to Jaeha’s own surprise, he found himself slipping effortlessly into the loud, grease-slicked atmosphere.

He had never found other Alphas particularly difficult to manage. True dominant Alphas were statistically rare even within his elite social circle. Whenever he did encounter one, his overwhelming corporate presence naturally took command of the room. Younger men regarded him with trembling admiration, while older and more established patriarchs treated him with cautious respect.

Myeongsun and Jeong-gil seemed to understand this instinctively. Acting as enthusiastic proxies for their boss, they made every effort to draw Jaeha into the conversation with a stream of lively suggestions and stories. Jaeha responded with polite nods and curious questions, moving comfortably through the casual banter while waiting for the thick cuts of pork to sear on the grill.

“Looks like it’s finally done.”

Myeongsun flipped the sizzling meat with an expert flick of his metal tongs.

The restaurant was packed to capacity, operating in a frantic whirlwind of grease, smoke, and raised voices. Jaeha, who had not even known such a rustic establishment existed behind the monolithic concrete jungle of corporate high-rises, calmly raised his chopsticks. He plucked a perfectly caramelized piece of skirt meat from the grill and placed it in his mouth.

Myeongsun leaned forward, his face bright with anticipation.

“Is it to your liking, Executive Director? This is the kind of rough place we usually frequent, so…”

“I actually enjoy it.” A gentle smile touched Jaeha’s lips. “I’ve visited similar places during informal company dinners. They say authentic back-meat restaurants are becoming increasingly rare, but you’ve certainly found a gem, Myeongsun.”

Taegeon set down his empty shot glass and watched a bead of condensation slide along its curved surface before pooling on the tin table. Beneath the tabletop, his other hand remained planted heavily on Jaeha’s knee.

He curled that hand into a loose fist and gave Jaeha’s kneecap a light, possessive tap. A moment later, his thumb began tracing the same spot in a slow and deliberate stroke.

“Are you busy flirting while your wife is sitting right beside you?” Taegeon drawled, dark amusement simmering beneath every word. “I warned you that bastard was going bald.”

“It’s not hair loss. I’m a committed skinhead!”

Apparently desperate to prevent any misunderstanding about the condition of his scalp, the massive bodyguard hunched his broad shoulders and fired back at once.

Jaeha cast Taegeon an amused glance before offering Myeongsun a sympathetic nod. The gesture politely indicated that he did not believe the accusation, though Myeongsun still looked deeply offended by the slander.

“I shave my head every morning, just like I shave my beard,” he grumbled. “That’s why it shines.”

Taking advantage of the lighthearted mood, Jaeha parted his lips and voiced a question that had lingered in his mind for some time.

“Director, do you come here often as well?”

Taegeon tossed back the fresh shot Jeong-gil had poured and set the glass down with a hard click before turning his attention to Jaeha. Because of the slight difference in their seated height, his dark gaze angled downward.

Pinned beneath those narrowed, predatory eyes, Jaeha felt his pulse grow inexplicably restless.

“In the old days,” Taegeon murmured.

“When exactly were the old days?”

“Are you really that curious?”

Jaeha answered with an honest nod.

As Myeongsun tilted the green bottle to refill Taegeon’s glass, Jaeha reached decisively across the table and pressed his palm flat over the rim. Myeongsun froze mid-pour, the bottle suspended awkwardly above them.

Taegeon tapped one finger against the back of the hand covering his glass, silently demanding an explanation.

“Your abdominal wounds haven’t fully healed,” Jaeha said, his tone firm and immovable. “You shouldn’t drink any more alcohol.”

“You’re a relentless nag.”

Taegeon propped his elbows on the table and rested his heavy chin on his knuckles, clearly entertained by the resistance.

Jaeha, however, remained entirely serious. This was not nagging. It was basic medical common sense.

How could a man who had suffered a massive, life-threatening stab wound only ten days ago sit here recklessly pouring hard liquor into his body?

Jaeha had wanted to intervene before the very first shot, but he had hesitated for tactical reasons, unwilling to challenge Taegeon’s authority in front of his subordinates.

The concern in his eyes did not waver.

Taegeon noticed.

Without warning, he slid his hand beneath Jaeha’s and smoothly pried his fingers away from the glass. Instead of releasing him, Taegeon threaded their fingers together and pinned their joined hands against the cold tin tabletop.

Jaeha’s eyes widened at the blatant public display of affection.

Taegeon had already looked away, staring blankly into the distance as though he had not just openly claimed his spouse in front of everyone at the table. Seated to Jaeha’s left, he gave the captured hand a firm and possessive squeeze.

“I’m right-handed,” Taegeon remarked.

“Yes… I know.”

Jaeha gave a slight, bewildered nod.

He had known which hand Taegeon favored for years. After all, it was that same right hand that had held his own on their wedding day, steady and certain as it slid the platinum band onto his ring finger.

Faced with Jaeha’s oblivious confirmation, Taegeon maintained an expression of complete indifference. He tipped his chin toward the meat sizzling fiercely on the grill.

“So what are you waiting for? You’ll have to feed me. The Executive Director is stubbornly holding my dominant hand hostage and refuses to let go.”

I’m not the one refusing to let go, Jaeha thought indignantly.

The accusation was an obvious lie, yet the realization that Taegeon genuinely wanted to be fed overrode every protest forming in Jaeha’s mind. Wondering whether the injured Alpha might actually be hungry, he obediently picked up his chopsticks with his free hand.

He selected a thick, caramelized piece of pork from the grill and lifted it toward his lips, blowing gently across the glistening surface to cool the steaming fat.

Halfway through the unexpectedly tender gesture, the weight of two intense stares dragged his attention outward.

Jeong-gil cleared his throat with violent urgency, his entire face flushed a vivid scarlet.

“Uh, right… We should order the cold noodles. Myeongsun, you idiot, call the waiter!”

“Oh! Right! Four bowls of iced water noodles over here!” Myeongsun bellowed.

Both men wrenched their gazes away, suddenly finding the restaurant’s peeling wallpaper fascinating beyond measure.

Jaeha remained frozen in place, holding a piece of carefully cooled meat in midair while clasping hands with a mob boss in the middle of a packed restaurant.

[END of VOLUME 1]