When they reached the house, Han immediately sensed something was wrong. Dozens of men stood in the yard, lined up like guards. The air hung heavy and silent.
It wasn't always like this — only when there was a problem.
And tonight, that problem was him.
At the door, he froze. For a moment, he lowered his gaze, closing his eyes as if gathering strength. Then he lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and stepped inside with quiet dignity. He would not bow in shame—not for doing what he believed was right.
His father sat on the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand, eyes sharp and calculating. When he saw Han, a smirk curved his lips.
"Oh, my son," Mr. Joon said softly. "Come here. Sit and drink with me."
Han obeyed silently, seating himself across from him. A maid poured a glass of wine and handed it over. Their glasses clinked lightly—the sound almost mocking—before he took a careful sip.
Leaning back, his father spoke calmly, each word cutting through the room like a blade.
"You know, Han, when I brought you into this home, I saw something special in you. I raised you carefully—kept you safe, sent you abroad, taught you business, gave you power. You were the only one I trusted enough to hold the key to my main office—not even my own blood children have that privilege."
He paused, sipping slowly.
"I trusted you because I believed you would never betray me."
His tone hardened.
"But lately… you've been disappointing me again and again. You're neglecting work, and when you brought that girl, Jiwoo, into my office—using the key—I let it slide. I forgave you. But now, you went to Yuan… without my permission. Tell me, why?"
Han's fingers tightened around the glass, but his voice remained calm.
"Because if I told you," he said quietly, "you would never have let me go."
A dark chuckle escaped his father.
"Oh. So it's my fault then?"
Han said nothing, knowing silence was safer.
Mr. Joon leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"So you agree—it's my fault." He placed the glass down slowly.
"That area belongs to our enemies. The same people who killed your twin sister. Did it ever cross your mind what could have happened if they caught you? If they made you spill our company secrets? Do you even understand how important you are?"
Han's chest twisted. His father's words showed no concern for him—only for the business. The cold focus burned like acid.
"I would die," he said firmly, "before telling anyone your secrets."
A low, menacing laugh echoed in the room.
"Han… that's what I wanted to hear. You're my treasure. I intended for you to inherit everything one day, my precious piece of art. But after what you've done, I'm not sure I can trust you anymore."
He stood abruptly and snapped his fingers.
Several men stepped forward instantly.
The tone in his father's voice had turned ice.
"Do whatever you want with him. Don't stop until he gives you the passkey to my locker. But don't kill him." He smiled faintly. "He's still my treasure."
One of the men yanked Han to his knees by the hair, while another drove a fist straight into his stomach.
Pain shot through his ribs and abdomen like lightning, forcing him to curl over. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching his side, his breath ripped apart by the impact.
The sound of wine sipping echoed through the room—cold, steady, merciless.
Han bit his lip hard to suppress the scream clawing at his throat. His body trembled violently, but his voice remained silent.
If this was the price of loyalty, he would pay it.
He would never give them what they wanted.