“If they insist the two of them were in love, even if you shove every piece of physical evidence in their faces, that’s the end of it. Wouldn’t Do Si-in have faithfully sent money to that bastard child born to a recessive Omega? They’d call it proof of love or some bullshit like that.”
“Hyung!”
At Jang Jihun’s remark, which jabbed mercilessly at his past, Jang Jihae snapped and shouted.
“That’s enough! I’ll talk to Father myself!”
“That’s as far as you go, Jang Jihae.”
Jang Jihyeok spoke sharply, his voice carrying weight for the first time since entering the room.
“If you don’t want your name to be scratched out of Father’s will—even a single line—then stop right there, Jang Jihae. Father isn’t on your side. He’s on the side of the son of the Omega he loved. Absolutely.”
Jang Jihae’s shoulders trembled violently before he slid open the door and stormed out. Hearing his sharp, agitated footsteps fade away, Jang Jihun glanced at his hyung once, then silently left his seat as well.
Only after both Jang Jihae and Jang Jihun were gone did Jang Jihyeok finally close his eyes and let out a breath that could properly be called breathing. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Pulling out a luxury designer wallet engraved with his initials, Jang Jihyeok stared intently at the family photograph tucked into the photo slot.
A dominant Omega wife chosen by his father, and the son and daughters born dutifully between them. At a glance, it was a normal, textbook-perfect nuclear family—exactly the kind society wanted. So standard it was almost dull and tedious, like something straight out of a schoolbook.
But no matter how presentable a family looks, like the two sides of a coin, each carries its own unhappiness and buried stories.
For example—if you took out Jang Jihyeok’s family photo and flipped it over, it was as if Father’s Omega was there.
“Juho hyung.”
The Omega his father had loved—and only ever loved—Choi Juho. Smiling brightly with the exact same face as Choi Suho now, Juho wore a Free Enterprise employee ID around his neck, arms slung over coworkers’ shoulders as he laughed. If the photograph weren’t old and worn, one might genuinely believe it was Choi Suho.
“You were a truly harmful person.”
Looking at Choi Juho, Jang Jihyeok smiled like a boy still hopelessly in love.
“Thank you for dying, hyung. Because you’ve been preserved in your most beautiful state, I can keep loving you forever.”
Murmuring that, Jang Jihyeok pressed his lips to Juho’s photograph. With a satisfied expression, he slipped the picture back behind the family photo, then left the room behind in utter disarray.
His footsteps, calmly trampling over the classical music playing in the background, were elegant and impeccably polite.
As expected, the dinner of the three Jang brothers didn’t even last an hour. Spotting his Rolls-Royce waiting among a line of luxury cars, Jang Jihyeok got in, stretched his long legs, closed his eyes, and spoke to the secretary seated in front of him.
“Find out Choi Suho’s recent movements.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And…”
“Yes, sir.”
How fortunate, Juho hyung.
The bastard you gave birth to only inherited your outward appearance—his vile disposition is exactly like Father’s.
Thanks to that, I think I can take everything without a shred of hesitation.
Because what I loved back then was everything about you—the person who was almost my mother.
But now, the Choi Juho Jang Jihyeok loved no longer exists. Only when the dead Choi Juho keeps his eyes closed does he continue to live and breathe within Jang Jihyeok’s memories.
—I told you I didn’t want it!
Always crushed beneath Father, flailing helplessly, he—
—Help me! Help me!
He reached out to Jang Jihyeok, the only one close to his age.
—Jihyeok, good timing. Come here and help me hold his hands down.
—Yes, Father.
Jang Jihyeok couldn’t refuse. If he had, Father would have discarded him.
Instead, he pressed down on Juho’s wrists, the Omega who was supposed to become his mother.
—Hngh… ah…!!
He still couldn’t forget that moment—the instant Juho’s pitiful tears fell onto his thigh.
It was hell for him.
But for father and son, it was paradise.
And Choi Juho’s hell never once became heaven.
***
Choi Suho was violently ill for days on end. Even so, the thought—‘The tonic Dad gave me has to be taken morning and night’—was firmly lodged in his mind. Enduring the pain of being split open, he forcibly gulped down the tonic labeled ‘For Choi Suho.’ Even when he couldn’t eat properly, he kept taking the medicine his father gave him, collapsing into sleep over and over again.
The problem was that if he’d stayed at the hotel, there would’ve been staff to wake him and tell him to go to work. But alone in the grand mansion in Pyeongchang-dong, there was no one to nurse him when he was sick, and no one to remind him to go to the office.
If only he were still living happily with Do Si-in like three years ago.
—Suho, are you very sick?
If Si-in were here, would he have been this sick?
Burning with a relentless fever, Choi Suho gasped, huffing and wheezing for breath. The more acutely he felt how sick and alone he was, the more Do Si-in came to mind. Do Si-in—and the life that might have been his child—were thrown away by Suho’s own hands.
So he should be able to let it go by now.
Then why?
—Suho, you look strong, but when I really look at you, there’s something childlike about you. That’s actually kind of…
Remembering a conversation once shared on this very bed, Choi Suho let out a dry, brittle laugh.
But the laughter died unfinished, erupting into a coughing fit instead. The aftereffects of being torn open and having his pride completely shattered lingered as a fever that refused to break even after three days.
He couldn’t go to the hospital, and he couldn’t whine to his father about being sick either. All he could do was shut himself away in his own house and wait for the illness to subside.
This is fucking disgusting.
As he slowly closed his eyes, he felt something trickle down from the corners of them. Startled, Choi Suho raised a hand and touched his face. When he felt it, it was tears. Blinking sluggishly, he stared at the increasing flow in disbelief, then let out a hollow laugh before roughly rubbing his eyes.
Me, Choi Suho, crying? Because I’m lonely? Or because of Do Si-in?
Either way, it’s all bullshit. I’m not someone who cries over things like that.
I’m crying right now because my fever’s too high—it’s just a physiological reaction. I’m not crying because I miss Do Si-in.
“Fuck… this dog-shit… Ji Haesu…!”
—We’ll see each other again soon, Suho. I’m looking forward to you calling me Haesu hyung again next time.
He fucked me senseless just because he was “applying medicine”—
—Ah, come to think of it, you don’t have my contact info, do you? There’s no paper to write it on. I’ve got a marker, though. Hm. Since this is our secret contact info, I’ll write it somewhere no one else can see. Somewhere only you’ll see.
“Ji Haesu, you fucking bastard!”
Ji Haesu had written his phone number and office address on Suho’s ass with a marker before leaving.
—Haha, if you look in the mirror, you’ll see it clearly. Make sure you find your way here. Then we’ll meet again, yeah?
“I’ll kill you!”
Taking advantage of the moment when Suho was weakened from being sick, that coward wrote his contact info and office address on his ass! Wasn’t that treating him like a goddamn dog?! It was so humiliating, so fucking disgusting, that he couldn’t even tell anyone about it.
Trembling all over, Choi Suho slowly lifted his pajamas—and froze.
On his toned abdomen, his abs clearly defined, there were marker stains.
Just below his navel, thick, raised lines had been drawn, followed by a fucking ‘<3’ symbol. Realizing immediately what it meant, Choi Suho screamed, “Aaaahhh! Ji Haesu, youuuu!” and promptly tumbled off the bed.
The bed was fairly high, and he rolled hard across the floor with a loud crash.
“Ugh… ngh… ah. My wrist…”
Instinctively bracing himself with the hand Ji Haesu had so carefully put in a cast, all the impact transferred straight into his right wrist. Unable to get up right away, he swallowed his groan.
A wrist that had already been twisted the wrong way and lost its function took another shock—the pain was beyond description. His fever-racked body already hurt, and now he couldn’t even support himself properly. The mental shock left his face blank.
Why do things keep piling up like this?
Kiiik—tak!
Choi Suho clawed at the floor with his left hand. Scratching the marble with nails full of resentment, one nail snagged and bent back, blood seeping out—but he didn’t care. Pressing his left palm against the marble, he staggered upright.
Fully standing, Choi Suho looked like someone who’d lost far more than just his composure. His eyes gleamed like a madman’s, his hair plastered to his forehead with cold sweat. His once softly rounded, handsome cheeks had wasted away after days of illness, leaving him gaunt and hollow-faced.
A bruised cheek. Lips and eyes crusted with dried blood…
And yet, his eyes—searching, wandering for where he belonged—were desperate.
“Do… Si-in.”
Blinking rapidly with one eye bloodshot and the other still clear, Choi Suho murmured the name of yet another person he now had to find.
“Ji Haesu.”
Muttering that, Choi Suho looked down at his right hand. A half-cast he’d skillfully put on himself using supplies from the pharmacy. Just looking at the swollen fingers peeking out was enough to tell how bad his wrist was—but because it was a place Ji Haesu had touched, he wanted to rip it all off, and boldly unwound the bandages.
What was revealed was worse than he’d expected. The wrist had been completely wrecked—bluish and yellow bruises spread from the back of his hand all the way past his wrist. Even slightly curling his fingers sent throbbing pain radiating through it. At the very least, it was a fracture.
A fracture would be better.
Better than feeling semen leaking out of him just because he moved a little.
The fact that he even had to compare which was worse—a broken bone or being split open—was so absurd that Choi Suho shook with laughter.
Si-in, is this what you wanted me to become? Is this my repayment for loving you? Do you even know how much I loved you…?
Ji Haesu—I can just kill him.
But what about Si-in?
I can’t stage an accident and beat his stomach to return the child—I threw it away with my own hands.
—Suho, what do you think it’d be like if we had a kid who looked like both of us?
When Do Si-in asked that back then… what did I answer?
Choi Suho clutched his head, trying to remember—but the memory wouldn’t come back.
