Lee Ha-jin picked up the fruit basket he’d thrown to the floor and pressed the elevator button. He couldn’t go see Yushin now—he was too aware of the Alpha pheromones clinging to him. But something more urgent had come up, so rather than regret, he felt only haste. He pressed the button again, even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
He’d imagined this moment countless times. Confessing to Tae-seong who had given him the pheromone disruptor in his past life… imagining himself making a different choice. Maybe—just maybe—if he could undo what might have been the biggest mistake he ever made at the end of his life as a manager, as he prepared to say goodbye to both Yushin’s recovery and his role.
If he hadn’t lost the trust built over two years… if he hadn’t died… what kind of person would he be now?
Ha-jin hurried out of the hospital and caught a taxi headed for the place where Cheon Tae-seong lived and worked. As soon as he got in, he called Kwak Mari.
— Oh, Ha-jin! I was just about to call you. How’s Yushin doing?
“He’s fine, noona. I actually called to ask you something. Can you talk now?”
— Yeah, yeah, hang on a second. Let me move somewhere quiet.
After a moment, the background noise on the line faded, and the low hum cleared. Once it was quiet, Kwak Mari spoke again.
“It’s about the CEO. Cheon Tae-seong. Do you happen to know anything about his mother?”
— Vice President Cheon Soo-young? She was really famous back in the day. They branded her as ‘Little Cheon Han-jo,’ and for a while, she was the icon of Chunwoo Group. Every project she touched turned to gold. I’m sure it helped that she was the Chairman’s only daughter and he absolutely doted on her, gave her his full backing—but still, the woman was a force of her own. I even looked up to her when I was a student.
“……What about now?”
That offhanded line—how he had no living mother to walk beside him—spoken with a faint, bitter smile, came back and nagged at Ha-jin.
— She suddenly stepped away from the front lines about ten years ago. After that, the whole family kind of disappeared into secrecy. Aside from CEO Cheon, you don’t see any of them in public anymore.
If the change had happened ten years ago, then it had nothing to do with Ha-jin’s regression. It wasn’t something he had caused.
Coincidentally—or maybe not—it also lined up exactly with the time Ha-jin had run away from home.
Back when his father was still alive. When he couldn’t stand the despair the man radiated anymore, so he’d left his grandmother and younger brother behind and fled to Seoul with nothing but a desperate need to survive. That had been ten years ago.
Back then, he was too busy just trying to stay alive to pay attention to anything else going on in the world. No wonder he’d never heard of this woman, Cheon Soo-young, or any stories about her.
— There were all sorts of crazy rumors—about her being severely depressed, about suicide—but none of it was ever confirmed. People still claim to have seen her, and her husband, Han Ki-taek, is still a major figure in Chunwoo Group, so no one really knows for sure.
“Do you remember what she looked like…? Do you know?”
— When she was still active, she was in the media a lot, so yeah—I’ve seen her face on TV. But now? Who knows. Maybe you can still find something online? Though Chunwoo Group probably scrubbed every article they could get their hands on…
Ha-jin had a gut feeling—the woman he’d met, that so-called madam, probably wasn’t Cheon Soo-young. He bit down hard on his lip.
— But why are you asking all of a sudden?
“I’ll explain later when I stop by your office.”
After ending the call, Ha-jin tried searching for images of Cheon Soo-young on his phone, but not a single photo came up. Compared to the numerous profiles and articles available on Chairman Cheon Han-jo and CEO Cheon Tae-seong, it was disturbingly empty.
He managed to find one blurry silhouette photo on some obscure blog, but even that wasn’t verified.
“What the hell is going on…?”
Clenching both fists, Ha-jin stared out the taxi window as the scenery rushed past. His reflection in the glass looked pale—completely drained of color.
***
Cheon Tae-seong’s residence – Study.
One side of the high-ceilinged room was lined with towering dark bookshelves in a four-tiered structure, packed with books ranging from classic literature to modern philosophy. Some shelves were enclosed in glass, showcasing rare books or pieces of art.
The walls were finished in rich mahogany and bronze, and a thick wool carpet muted all footsteps. Natural light poured in through the wide windows, making every strand of the carpet’s texture shimmer softly.
At the center stood a wide, solid wood desk paired with a leather chair. It was one of the places where Cheon Tae-seong spent the most time, and the surface bore signs of frequent use—personal items he often touched were scattered across it.
The man slowly set down his phone after ending his call with Ha-jin.
A secretary who had come to report on the status of the revised compensation plan stood quietly in front of the desk, waiting for his next words. Standing beside him was Kim Dae-hong, just as silent.
“Dae-hong.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Apparently some weirdo dropped by the hospital.”
Cheon Tae-seong spoke in a voice chilled to the bone, never once taking his eyes off the monitor.
The mouse clicked as he flipped through screens, and from where he stood, Kim Dae-hong could only wait for the next order. The corners of the CEO’s mouth, which had been curved in a light smile during his earlier call, were now stiff and cold, making everyone tense.
Eventually, Tae-seong placed his fingers on the keyboard, typing rapidly before pressing Enter. The shifting screens reflected sharply in his glasses.
“Ha-jin said the guy’s name was ‘Kang Sung-oh’… but there’s nothing on the company intranet.”
“Sir?”
“You know all the names of the secretaries Han Executive Director uses privately, right? Anyone named Kang Sung-oh?”
At the mention of Executive Director Han, Kim Dae-hong immediately stiffened.
“No, sir. Never heard that name before.”
“Thought so. That’s how I remember it, too.”
Tae-seong began drumming his fingers on the wood desk like piano keys—a habit of his whenever he was thinking. Both the secretary and Kim Dae-hong held their silence, waiting for his decision.
After a brief pause, Tae-seong issued his orders in a calm yet commanding voice.
“Secretary Song, get in touch with Han’s secretary’s office. Set up a meeting and report back to me. Dae-hong, put together a team and post security at the hospital. Don’t just send subordinates—go yourself and check things out.”
Both men bowed their heads and quickly left the study. The heavy door shut with a soft click, and silence returned. Tae-seong sat still for a moment, eyes on the monitor, then let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
After a while, there was a soft sound from beyond the study—someone had entered the house and was moving inside. He sat upright immediately. A few seconds later came a gentle knock, and the door opened again.
Just as he’d expected, Ha-jin stood on the other side.
“Come in.”
Tae-seong curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning gesture.
Ha-jin, cheeks still flushed from rushing over, swallowed down his labored breathing and stepped closer to the desk.
“The tests took a little longer than expected. Sorry I’m late.”
“Come closer. You need to take in some pheromones.”
His tone made it sound like the most natural thing in the world. Ha-jin swallowed dryly.
It was only a few steps around the desk to get inside, but it always felt like crossing a line—that heightened tension of willingly stepping into someone’s arms.
Tae-seong turned his chair toward him and pulled Ha-jin by the hand, placing him between his knees. Tilting his head slightly, he wrinkled his nose.
“You picked up something strange.”
“There was an Alpha—someone named Kang Sung-oh. I used a lot of neutralizer before I came up, but…”
As Ha-jin started to step back, disturbed by Tae-seong’s displeased expression, the grip on his hand tightened. Unlike Omegas, Alphas could detect the scent of other Alphas with almost unnatural precision.
“If you let go for a second, I could—”
Before Ha-jin could finish, Tae-seong stood, bringing their eyes level. He slipped off his rimless glasses, then grabbed Ha-jin’s chin and pressed their lips together.
He sucked at Ha-jin’s lower lip, as if biting down, then slipped his tongue in, scraping the roof of his mouth in a slow, upward stroke.
“……Nnh!”
Ha-jin flinched, and Tae-seong gripped his jaw tighter.
His ears flushed red as Tae-seong licked up every last drop of saliva, not letting up until Ha-jin’s mouth went dry. Even so, their breath stayed hot and humid between them—it felt almost unnatural.
When their lips finally parted, Ha-jin was panting harder than when he’d first entered the study. Tae-seong, on the other hand, stared down at him with his usual quiet, unreadable expression.
Ha-jin, shaken and angry, opened his mouth to protest, but Tae-seong beat him to it.
“It mixed with another scent. It put me in a bad mood. I had no choice.”
“That’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“Why don’t you go take a shower, Ha-jin? My head’s killing me.”
“Can you at least look at this card first?”
Ha-jin, determined to talk, held out the business card he’d received and stood his ground. Tae-seong, unfazed, added another line.
“Dae-hong’s already on his way to the hospital. But I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on a conversation until you wash up first. You know how this works—give and take.”
