Felix did not know how long he stood there, frozen, the echo of Rowoon's words clawing at his chest. Each syllable replayed in his head like a cruel melody, cutting deeper every time. His lungs burned, but he couldn't breathe; his legs trembled, but he couldn't move. It felt as if his whole body had betrayed him, refusing to function under the weight of a heart that had just been shattered beyond repair.
The silence of the room was deafening. Every second stretched into an eternity, suffocating him. Finally, his body lurched forward as if driven by instinct alone. He stumbled toward the door, barely aware of Rowoon's shadow lingering behind him.
Without looking back, Felix ran.
He pushed through the mansion's heavy doors and into the night, the chill of the air hitting his skin like knives. He didn't care where he was going, didn't notice the gravel biting into his shoes as he sprinted through the dark streets. All he knew was that he had to get away — away from those eyes, away from those words that would never stop echoing in his head.
At some point, the night sky split open.
Rain poured down in sheets, soaking him within seconds. It mixed with the tears streaking down his face, erasing them as if even his pain could be washed away. But it wasn't relief — it was mockery.
Felix stopped in the middle of the empty street, chest heaving, the sound of rain swallowing his sobs. He tilted his head back toward the sky, letting the downpour drench him, strands of hair plastering to his pale skin.
A hollow, broken laugh escaped his lips.
"Even the sky is mocking me," he muttered, voice hoarse, swallowed by the storm. His laugh cracked midway, turning into another sob, but he didn't care. He stayed there, trembling, drenched, his world collapsing around him.
And in the shadows he couldn't see, Rowoon stood at the mansion window, a drink forgotten in his hand, watching Felix disappear into the storm. His jaw clenched, his chest tightening in a way he refused to admit.
He told himself it was better this way. Safer. Necessary.
But as Felix's figure vanished into the night, Rowoon felt the bitter sting of something he hadn't expected — regret.
--
Rowoon's POV
Rowoon's eyes didn't leave the rain-soaked street, the same spot where Felix had just vanished. His hand tightened around the glass, the amber liquid trembling with the tremor in his grip.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Zain's calm voice broke the silence.
"Boss… should I go after him?" His tone was careful, cautious, but there was no mistaking the unspoken truth. He knew. Everyone close enough to see Rowoon knew — the man still cared, even if he refused to admit it.
Rowoon's jaw tightened, his gaze still locked on the storm outside. Finally, he gave a small nod, never tearing his eyes away from the window.
"Don't alarm him," he said quietly, almost more to himself than to Zain. His voice was rough, low, and sharp as broken glass.
Zain gave a single nod of understanding, then turned toward the door. Two broad-shouldered men immediately fell in step behind him, their presence a shadow of protection meant for the boy who had just run out into the night.
The room fell silent again.
Rowoon's eyes burned, red like a fire he could not quench. His grip on the glass tightened until it shattered in his hand, the shards cutting deep into his knuckles. Crimson bled down his fingers, mingling with the spilled whiskey dripping onto the floor, but he didn't even flinch. Pain was nothing compared to the war raging inside his chest.
With a sharp breath, he ran a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers harshly until the dark strands stood in messy disarray. The image of control, the mask of a mafia king — all of it crumbled in that moment, leaving behind a man choking on emotions he refused to name.
He leaned his forehead against the cold windowpane, laughing bitterly under his breath.
"This is what I wanted, isn't it?" he whispered to his reflection. "To push him away. To make him hate me."
But the laugh died quickly, swallowed by silence. His shoulders shook, though no tears fell.
Felix couldn't possibly love him.
How could he? From the very first moment, all Rowoon had done was bully him, break him, crush the light in his eyes just to test if it would return. He had treated Felix like a pawn, like a distraction, like anything but the fragile, stubborn heart that boy carried inside him.
"No one could ever love me," Rowoon muttered, his voice hoarse, bitter. "Not when I'm nothing but a monster."
His reflection in the glass smiled back at him, cruel and hollow — the smile of a man who had everything, yet nothing at all.
And for the first time in years, Rowoon felt the crushing weight of his own emptiness.
---
✨ Rowoon sank into the leather chair behind his desk, his bloodied hand dangling carelessly at his side. The shards of broken glass glittered on the carpet, catching the light like tiny fragments of the past he couldn't piece together.
His chest ached, but it wasn't from the cuts. It was deeper — raw, unbearable. He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to swallow down the storm raging inside him.
He hated this.
He hated himself.
Since the day Felix stumbled into his world, Rowoon had convinced himself it was just amusement, a fleeting distraction in the endless cycle of blood and power. But amusement didn't leave scars like this.
He raked his hands down his face, groaning under his breath. "Damn it…"
Every memory hit him at once — Felix's stubborn glare, his quiet laughter, even the way he trembled but still stood his ground. That warmth had slipped past every wall Rowoon built, seeping into places he never thought could feel again.
And what did he do?
He crushed it.
He crushed him.
Rowoon's lips twisted into a bitter smile, though his eyes were burning. "Love me? No…" His voice was low, almost mocking himself. "I've done nothing but break him. If he had any sense, he'd hate me."
But the truth he couldn't admit — not even to himself — was that part of him wanted Felix's love. Desperately. More than he wanted power, more than he wanted loyalty, more than he wanted the empire he had built with blood.
And that made it worse.
Because monsters didn't get to crave things like love.
Rowoon's fist slammed against the desk, rattling the whiskey bottles and knocking papers to the ground. The veins in his hand stood out, blood seeping fresh from the cuts. His breath came heavy, harsh, almost like a growl.
"Stupid," he hissed. "Pathetic."
He stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged beast. His hair fell into his face, wild and untamed, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered — not the power, not the money, not the empire. Not when Felix's last look haunted him, burned into his soul.
For the first time in years, Rowoon felt fear.
Not of death. Not of betrayal.
But of losing the only person who had ever made him feel human again.
And deep down, buried beneath the self-loathing and the anger, he realized something terrifying:
He didn't want Felix to forget him.
He didn't want Felix to leave.
But he had already driven him away.