12

[Time Skip][After a few days]

The sky outside had gone grey-blue, the color of steel just before it bites. In the studio, the light was low, the room thick with silence, smoke, and the faint scratch of charcoal against paper.

Hyunjin sat alone—shirt loose, sleeves pushed up, wrist smudged in black. The sketch before him wasn’t a portrait. It was something warped, abstract—lines tangled, distorted, unfinished. Like a storm trapped on paper.

A cigarette burned between his fingers, the ash long.

Then—The door opened.Closed.

Hyunjin didn’t look up.

Footsteps.

He knew them.

He smirked to himself before blowing a long stream of smoke.

“You took your sweet time,” he said, voice low, not bothering to turn around. “Four days and I was beginning to think you’d actually grown a spine.”

Minho stepped forward, expression unreadable. His gaze swept across the mess of sketches, canvases, crushed cigarette butts.

“I’ve made my decision,” he said evenly.

Hyunjin finally looked at him, eyes hooded. “Mm. Let me guess. You’re finally refusing the marriage.”

Minho’s pause was short. “No.”

That single word made Hyunjin’s jaw tighten—only slightly.

He stood slowly, dropped the charcoal to the table with a soft thud, brushing his hand clean on a paint-stained rag.

“So you’re choosing obedience,” he said softly. “How noble. Predictable.”He let out a sharp exhale. “And Han?”

Minho’s voice didn’t waver. “You can tell them about him if you want. It doesn’t matter.”

A soft, humorless laugh escaped Hyunjin.

“So you’re telling me you don’t love him?” he asked, watching him carefully.

“I’m telling you I don’t care anymore.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Liar.”

Minho looked away then—just for a second. Just long enough.

“I’m done with it,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But don’t think that means I’ll turn a blind eye to you. To Felix.”

Hyunjin said nothing.

“I’m warning you,” Minho continued, hand on the door. “Stop whatever’s going on.”

Still nothing.

Minho opened the door.

Then—finally—Hyunjin spoke, low and unreadable. “You’re not the only one who made a decision, hyung.”

Minho turned back, brows pinching. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled—slow and crooked. Like he knew something Minho didn’t. Like the final piece of some invisible chessboard had already moved without anyone noticing.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “If this is another one of your games—”

“It’s not,” Hyunjin cut in, voice calm, almost gentle. “But I know you. You’re stubborn. Loyal to a fault. You’d burn for the people who raised you.”

He took a slow step forward, the smoke curling around his silhouette like a serpent.

“So I already knew you’d say no.”

Minho’s stomach dropped just slightly. “…Then why ask?”

Hyunjin leaned against the edge of the desk, ash flicking to the floor. “Because I wanted to see if you’d lie to me.”

A heavy silence fell between them. Something sharp in the air now—unspoken, humming.

Minho turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, Hyunjin exhaled slow, smoke seeping from his lips like a secret.

Then he turned back to his sketch.

And this time—he picked up red.

-------

[Time skip]

The long oak table gleamed under the chandelier’s golden light, dishes clinking gently, conversation flowing between sips of wine and shared laughter. It was one of those rare nights — everyone present, everyone civil. Mr. Hwang at the head of the table, Mrs. Hwang and Grandma beside him, and both sons — Minho and Hyunjin — sitting with practiced poise.

Felix sat quietly beside Minho, fork pushing food around his plate while the others spoke animatedly about wedding arrangements, catering disasters, and last-minute outfit corrections.

Then — a shift.

Mr. Hwang turned to his younger son, glass of wine half-raised.

“Hyunjin,” he said casually. “You’ve been quiet lately. Something on your mind?”

Hyunjin looked up, slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Just enjoying the peace,” he said lightly.

Mr. Hwang chuckled. “Well, we’ve been focused on Minho’s wedding so much, I thought it was time we asked — do you have anyone in your life?” His tone was easy, but something in his eyes was curious. “Could be your turn next, hm?”

At that, Hyunjin chuckled, setting down his utensils with a clink. He leaned back slightly, voice smooth. “Actually… yeah. There is someone I like.”

Felix's hand froze around his fork.

Grandma perked up, smiling. “Oh? That’s the first time you’ve said something like that out loud.”

“Who is it?” Minho asked, the question too quick, too sharp.

Hyunjin glanced at him. His smile deepened — not friendly, not cruel. Something else. Something loaded.

“Well,” he drawled, picking up his wine glass, swirling the crimson liquid. “He’s not exactly someone you'd expect me to like. Not… of our status.”

Mr. Hwang waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is if you’re happy.”

Felix shifted in his seat, lips parting slightly. He didn’t dare look at Minho.

Mrs. Hwang grinned, placing a hand on her husband’s arm. “Don’t keep us guessing. You know we hate riddles.”

That’s when Hyunjin sat forward — elbows on the table, eyes locked on Minho.

“You all know him,” he said slowly.

The room stilled. Even the clinking of silverware stopped.

Felix swallowed hard.

Minho’s brow twitched. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin’s gaze didn’t move. “He’s close to this family. Really close.”

He leaned back again, exhaling softly.

“Han Jisung.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Minho stared at him, blank. Felix turned slowly to look at Minho — his eyes wide with confusion, shock, something else he couldn’t name.

Hyunjin smiled wider, tapping his glass once against the table.

“He’s Minho’s secretary” His voice was light, almost amused. “I’ve invited him to visit tomorrow. Thought it was time he met the family.”

Mrs. Hwang blinked. “Oh—oh my.”

Grandma looked, clearly scanning for Minho’s reaction.

Mr. Hwang raised a brow but said nothing — just studied Hyunjin carefully, as if weighing something in his mind.

Felix’s hand trembled slightly around his fork.

Minho?

Minho hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Not a twitch. But the way his knuckles whitened around the stem of his wine glass said enough.

Hyunjin sipped his wine, unbothered, eyes never leaving Minho.

And under the table, Felix felt like he couldn’t breathe.

----

[Flashback]

The cafeteria was unusually quiet — most of the staff had already cleared out, leaving a low hum of dishwashers and the occasional clatter of trays. In the far corner, at a booth secluded by frosted glass and a line of indoor plants, two men sat opposite each other — the tension between them far louder than the silence.

Han Jisung stared down at his untouched iced coffee, swirling the straw nervously.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, finally meeting Hyunjin’s eyes.

Hyunjin just smirked, sipping from his water bottle like they were talking about weather, not detonating emotional bombs.

“Not insane,” he said. “Just done pretending.”

Han leaned in slightly, brows drawn together. “You really want me to go along with this? Let everyone think we’re…” he paused, lowering his voice even more, “a thing?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, that smile never quite reaching his eyes. “It won’t be hard to sell. Everyone already knows you work closely with Minho. They know you’re close to me. One photo, one visit to the estate, and boom — perfect misdirection.”

Han exhaled. “You mean perfect distraction.”

Hyunjin set his water down. “Exactly.”

“But… why?” Han’s voice dropped, softer now. “Why drag me into it when you know what this could do?”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment. Then, eyes steady, he said, “Because you and I both know Minho isn’t going to walk away from this marriage. Not unless something forces his hand.”

Han looked away, jaw tight.

“i know about your feelings for him” Hyunjin said, matter-of-fact.

“Don’t—”

“And Tbh I have feelings for Felix too.”

Han’s eyes flicked back to his. “So this is about revenge?”

“No.” Hyunjin leaned in, voice low and sharp. “It’s about protection. If Minho wants to play saint, fine — let him. But I won’t let him use Felix as his guilt offering. And you—” he nodded at Han, “you’ve been the secret long enough.”

Han stayed silent, torn — heart beating too loud in his ears. Then:

“What if Felix finds out?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “He won’t. Not until it’s too late.”

Han blinked. “Too late for what?”

Hyunjin smiled again, slow and cryptic.

“For Minho to undo it.”

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