The woman took a step back, hiding behind her husband after hearing Wonho's harsh tone.
"That's no way to speak to your mother. Have some respect, Wonho!"
Wonho rolled his eyes, how dare they demand for respect in his own fortress?!
"This woman is not my mother, neither am I obligated to show you any ounce of respect on my property. Now see yourselves out before I call security."
-_-
Dae-jung immediately frowned, how could he say she wasn't his mother, was he blind? He was her splitting image!
He hissed loudly and tossed a brown envelope at him.
"Don't deceive yourself. Look at our faces, then look at yours? We are like, you even have the same beauty mark your mother has near her eyes. You disrespectful child, to this you'll be so harsh to your own family. We'll be leaving now, if the information inside the envelope isn't enough for you, feel free to head to Seoul General Hospital and get another DNA test for yourself."
After that, he led the sobbing woman out of the gallery, leaving Wonho standing there in silence.
He bit his lips, staring at the envelope "Damnit. Why now?"
Turning to see Minji staring at him with a worried expression, he quickly forced a smile and walked to where she was.
"You have nothing to worry about. I'll be in my office reviewing the catalogues in my office. If the collector comes, do tell me. I'll see him personally."
Minji nodded, following with a bow. She was a third year art student, majoring in art history who was doing her internship at Wonho's gallery.
"Of course. Mr. Shin."
She had grown to love art even more with Wonho's guidance.
Inside his office, Wonho didn't immediately go to his catalogues.
He sat at his mahogany desk, the brown envelope sitting before him like a live explosive.
His fingers trembled slightly as he broke the seal. He pulled out several sheets of legal-grade paper. There it was: a DNA profile comparison. The probability of paternity was 99.99%.
Wonho leaned back, his mind racing. He had been in the foster system since he was a toddler.
He had no memories of his parents, only of cold rooms and the constant need to prove he was worth the space he occupied.
But how did they get his DNA? He hadn't been to a hospital in years, and he certainly hadn't authorized any testing. A cold chill settled in his gut—the Kangs were powerful enough to bypass consent.
They had hunted him down like a piece of lost property.
Inside the envelope, there was also a heavy, cream-colored card with an embossed address and a date and time. Tomorrow. 7:00 PM. It wasn't a request; it was an appointment.
He was staring at the bold print of the address when the intercom crackled.
"Mr. Shin? The collector has arrived. He's in the lobby now."
Wonho let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since the Kangs walked in. He shoved the envelope into his top drawer, the wood clicking shut with a satisfying finality.
He needed a distraction.
He needed to be the version of himself that was untouchable.
He checked his reflection in the small mirror behind his door, smoothing his hair and ensuring his tie was perfectly knotted.
He stepped out into the gallery, adjusting his cuffs.
However, the moment he saw the man standing in the lobby, his professional mask wavered.
The man wasn't the elderly, cigar-scented tycoon Wonho had mentally prepared for.
He was young, likely in his mid-twenties and possessed a physical presence that seemed to warp the very dimensions of the room.
From the breadth of his shoulders and the subtle, commanding aura he projected, Wonho knew instantly he was an Alpha.
But it was his face that was truly arresting.
He had wavy, blonde hair that looked like spun silk, catching the morning light in a way that seemed almost intentional.
His skin was fair, flawless, and seemingly untouched by the sun.
When he turned to face Wonho, his eyes were a startling, emerald green.
Wonho, who spent his life analyzing the golden ratios of the Renaissance, found himself momentarily stunned.
Could he say this man was the Korean version of the Greek Adonis? He was a living work of art, a perfect symmetry of features that made the expensive paintings in the VIP section look like mere sketches.
The man offered a soft, disarming smile. "Mr. Shin, I presume?"
His voice was deep, a rich, resonant baritone that vibrated through the floorboards and made Wonho's body tingle.
It was a visceral reaction that Wonho, an Omega who prided himself on his self-control, found deeply unsettling.
Still, he kept his chin high and his voice even.
"I am. It's a pleasure to meet you. I believe you were interested in our more... exclusive pieces?"
"I've heard your gallery holds things one can't find anywhere else," the man replied, his emerald eyes lingering on Wonho's face with an intensity that felt like a touch.
As Wonho began the tour, he found himself falling into his natural rhythm. He showed the man the various sections, engaging in small talk about brushwork and historical significance. The Alpha was surprisingly knowledgeable, his comments insightful and his movements graceful.
But as they moved toward the VIP section, Wonho noticed something. Every time the man leaned in to look at a detail, a scent would drift toward him. It wasn't the aggressive, nose scrunching smell he was used to.
This one was gentle with a hint of sweetness. Just like the man in front of him.
The smell reminded him of peaches and there was only one man he met during his stripping days that had the same scent.
He didn't dwell on it. Inside he met the man's gaze with a smile.
"This piece," the man said, stopping in front of a particularly dark, evocative oil painting. "It feels like it's hiding something. Don't you think, Mr. Shin?"
Wonho met his gaze, his heart starting to thump rhythmically. "Most things worth looking at are, Mr...?"
"Jeong." the man replied, his soft smile widening just enough to be dangerous. "Just call me Jeong Hoseok."