Seungho lay embracing Do-jun, who had finally fallen asleep, his breathing even. The phone, which Seungho had left on the bedside table in silent mode, suddenly lit up. A call from an unknown, but unblocked, number. Seungho immediately picked up the receiver, not turning on the light.
— Yun Seungho.
— Can't sleep, Director Yun? — The voice was smooth, low, familiar from old corporate wars. The voice belonged to Hwan, the man behind the "Northern Line."
— Can't sleep, Mr. Hwan. You seem to have the wrong time.
— No. I never get the time wrong. Especially when it concerns vulnerability — Hwan made a theatrical pause. — You've surrounded your house with security. But you didn't consider that the most valuable thing can be found not outside, but inside.
Seungho clenched his jaw. Do-jun stirred in his arms, waking up.
— What are you talking about? — Yun's voice was even, without a hint of threat, but it held steel.
— I'm talking about the fact that I know about your Om… about your partner, who is currently experiencing certain difficulties. Do you think your apartment is safe? It's just a large cage. And I know what is growing inside it. Do you think I can't reach it?
Do-jun flinched, instantly coming to full awareness. He raised his head and looked at Seungho. In Yun's eyes was a rage restrained by a titan's effort.
— You've got the wrong door, Hwan — Yun used the informal address for the first time. — My business is my business. My house is a front line you will not cross.
— We'll see — Hwan laughed. — I await you at the office tomorrow. Come alone. Otherwise…
Seungho dropped the call. The darkness in the room became not a shield, but a threat.
— He knows — Do-jun whispered, his body numb. — He knows about the baby.
— He knows you are my weakness — Yun embraced him with animalistic force. — But he's bluffing. We will check the perimeter.
— No — Do-jun pulled away. He sat up, leaning against the headboard. — I can't stay here. I can't be the cause.
— You are not the cause, you are the target — Yun cut him off. — And I will not let you go. I will not allow you to flee while I must fight.
— I'm leaving. Kim is already ready…
— Nowhere. You will stay here, under my lock — Yun raised his hand and touched his cheek. — If you leave now, you acknowledge his victory.
Do-jun looked at him. There was tenderness in Yun's eyes, but beneath it—a command. He felt the Omega instincts screaming obedience, but his mind fought back.
— My departure is a strategy.
— My possession of you is the only strategy that works right now.
⋆⋆⋆
In the morning, a dead silence reigned in the office. Oh-hwa stood by the window, holding a folder.
— Mr. Yun, he was here.
— Who?
— Your 'guest.' Last night.
On the desk—the trace of a cigarette. The ash in a smooth arc, as if left intentionally. And beside it—a business card. No name. Only one imprint, barely visible under the lamp light.
Yun crushed it with his fingers.
— He left this so I would understand: he is not afraid.
— What will we do?
— Play his game. But by my rules.
He looked out the window—the city, wet, shining, indifferent.
— Let him think he's winning. Until he gets too close.
⋆⋆⋆
When Yun returned home, the door was already ajar. In the apartment—the smell of cigarettes, thin, dry, with a hint of stale tobacco. Do-jun stood in the middle of the room, pale, his fingers trembling.
— He was here — he whispered. — I felt it. He left a trace.
Yun approached. An almost fresh cigarette butt smoldered on the windowsill.
— He could have entered if he wanted — Yun looked into the darkness. — But he didn't. He just breathed our air.
— Is this a warning?
— It's an invitation.
Do-jun retreated to the wall.
— I can't take this anymore. No sounds, no shadows. I'm tired of being afraid.
— Then stop.
Yun came closer. Too close. Do-jun looked up.
— You don't understand… I can't live under your protection, like a shadow behind your back. I'm not the air you breathe.
— Then be the fire — Yun said softly. — Burn everything that holds you. Even me, if necessary.
Those words broke something inside. Do-jun stepped towards him, grasping his collar.
— You don't know what it's like to live with the thought that anyone who touches you is a target.
— And you don't know what it's like to live with the thought that you might die, and I won't reach you in time.
Their breaths mingled, like an electric current. Seungho pulled him close, roughly, without asking. Their lips collided—not a kiss, but a crash, pain and salvation in one movement. He pressed Do-jun against the wall, his hands on his face, his breathing erratic.
— Tell me you hate me.
— I can't.
— Then tell me what you want.
— Can't either.
— Then just don't speak.
Do-jun felt the authority in his touch. It was not tenderness; it was possession. And instead of pushing away, he leaned forward, meeting the rage. He needed this rough branding.
Seungho lowered him onto the bed. The light was too bright, the shadows too sharp. Yun leaned over him, without removing his jacket; his lips found his neck, and he bit into it with a strong, tender bite, asserting his ownership. This was the first thing they lost—control. Their kisses were rough, demanding; they tore at the clothes, disregarding the fabric.
Seungho moved lower, his hands slipping under his pajama pants; he found Do-jun's hot, wet need. He began to massage him, gently but insistently.
— You will feel only me — Yun growled, looking into his eyes. — Only my strength. Only our right.
— Yes — Do-jun breathed out. — Do it. Make me yours.
Yun didn't wait. He brutally tore through the last boundaries. He entered him abruptly, giving no time for adaptation, and Do-jun let out a loud, uncontrollable moan. It was uncomfortable, almost painful, but it was necessary.
— Seungho!
— I'm here. I'm here — Yun moved hard, fast, beating the remnants of fear and reason out of him. He didn't let him think about Hwan, the house, the baby. Only about himself.
Do-jun wrapped his legs around his hips; his legs trembled. He felt his instincts taking over, how he, the Omega, needed this rough, forceful intimacy to drown out the external chaos.
Seungho pressed his palm onto Do-jun's abdomen, continuing the motion. It was the only reminder of protection in this act of losing control.
— Look at me, Do-jun — Yun commanded, his eyes burning in the dim light. — Remember who owns this house. Who owns you.
They both climaxed on a gasp. A loud, almost desperate one. Yun collapsed onto him, his heart pounding wildly.
After the storm subsided, silence descended. Heavy, palpable. Yun slid out of him, not allowing himself the right to relax. He crawled to the edge of the bed, his back to him. He smelled of Hwan's tobacco, mixed with rage and their pheromones.
— I won't let them even breathe near you — his voice was hoarse.
⋆⋆⋆
Yun looked up at the window. In the reflection—a silhouette standing opposite, on the street. A cigarette flashed and died out.