TCBW C18

Chapter 18

“Shh. Don’t talk about him. Since he’s someone Lady Gye‑geum personally brought in, it’s best not to mention him carelessly. If the wrong words ever reached his ears… well, it’d be serious trouble.”

Unhyo, who—like the other attendants—could use spiritual power, was gossiped about far less.

Suhoe’s case was different.

He had no spiritual power whatsoever.

And it wasn’t something that could be hidden.

“Eh, what’s it matter? Word will spread around anyway… He’s not the same as us, right from the start.”

The woman glanced around, then lowered her voice.

“The truth is—he’s an aegbaji.”

At that one word, the air around them instantly turned cold.

Aegbaji.

In this shrine, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know the weight and meaning it carried.

A being raised for a special fate.

That such a young omega boy, with such a tragic story, had become an object of curiosity and gossip—perhaps that was inevitable.

“So young…?”

The newcomer looked shocked.

“That’s right. Normally it’s never to this extent. It’s very rare, but I heard there were such special circumstances that they raised him separately from the time he was an infant.”

“What kind of circumstances?”

When the questioner swallowed dryly and leaned in, the woman with the secret brought her mouth to the other’s ear, whispering softly.

“This is… something almost no one knows… but they say—”

She even stilled her breathing as she said it.

“—he’s being raised to bear a child. For a family that’s under a terrible curse.”

At that, the listener’s face went pale.

“…”

Her small lips parted soundlessly.

Just two more steps. That was all she’d have needed to recover the ball lying out in the yard—but Suhoe couldn’t move forward.

Nor could he bring himself to turn and walk away.

All he could do was hide his small body behind the wall, head bowed low.

The words pressing in on his ears were far too heavy for a child to shoulder; he could only hold his breath, praying they would leave first.

“…Then… after he has the child? What happens to him then?”

A sharp inhale as the gossip‑bearer hesitated.

“No one really knows… But think about it. If he’s only there to bear a child to break the family’s curse, do you think they’d leave him alone afterward?”

“…”

“They could just quietly get rid of him… or shut him away somewhere remote so he never sees the light of day. You’ve heard—they’re obscenely rich. Letting someone who knows all their dirty laundry live freely? That’d be the stranger thing.”

Another servant swallowed and added:

“Or maybe… with that pretty face, he’d end up as someone’s kept lover.”

“Ah, that makes sense too.”

Sniff.

Suddenly, Suhoe was remembering—a day long ago when the tip of his nose turned red, when he’d had to crumple the bridge of it just to hold back his emotions.

Freedom.

That single word on the last page of the contract had struck something raw in him.

He lifted his head with care, his voice trembling as he asked:

“Um… Mr. Dowoon. This phrase written here—‘at their own free will’—what exactly does it mean?”

Dowoon’s gaze slid briefly over him.

From his perspective, the question wasn’t worth answering, but he could see the desperate hope flickering in Suhoe’s face.

Knowing that ignoring it would only prompt the boy to pester him relentlessly, he finally answered in a flat, indifferent tone:

“…It’s not a hard phrase to grasp.”

He gave no further detail; there was no obligation to.

Feeling that his curiosity hadn’t truly been satisfied, Suhoe hesitated before looking at him again.

Would asking more be rude? Would it test his patience?

Still, he wanted certainty—wanted to know that he wouldn’t live the way the servants had whispered.

“If you don’t mind… could you explain it, even just simply? It’s a very important matter to me.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, cool in the air.

Dowoon spoke again, voice a shade lower than before.

“…It means that once you’ve had the child, from that moment on you’ll bear no obligation—none to the contract, none to the family.”

“So that means… after I’ve had the child…”

He started to repeat it back, confused, but Dowoon cut him off.

“Free.”

It was clipped and firm, the word given to shut down what he saw as a meaningless line of talk—especially the way Suhoe seemed to chase a pre‑set answer.

But regardless of his intent, in that one resolute word, Suhoe found the certainty he’d wanted so badly.

Lowering his head again, he fixed his gaze on the blank in the contract where the signature belonged, as if to drive out the childhood prophecies that now rang hollow.

“Then… if I sign here… there’s no chance of me being locked away… or becoming Mr. Dowoon’s kept lover.”

“…”

It was clearly a mutter to himself.

The problem was, in a quiet house with only the two of them, there was no such thing as an unheard mutter.

By the time he realized this and looked up, Dowoon’s face already wore a trace of distaste—as if wondering what base notions Suhoe had been entertaining, or refusing to comprehend such a thought.

Then, with unmistakable finality, he said:

“If that’s what you came here expecting, you’d better let go of that hope. I don’t keep men, and I don’t lock them up.”

It dismissed both the “lover” idea and the notion of imprisonment outright.

If anything, it was a warning—not to even dream of such things.

But whether it was warning or rejection, Suhoe felt no sting—there was no room for it.

He forgot the fact that he was crouched on cold marble, the numbness in his knees.

All he focused on was gripping the pen tightly, writing out his unfamiliar name stroke by stroke in the dotted space marked Party B’s signature line.

( Suhoe )

When his name filled the blank, Dowoon stepped close and plucked up the paper, unhurried.

On the sheet, the two stark characters—written in an unsteady, almost precarious hand—stared back up at them.

Stepping out of the shower, wearing a robe, Dowoon stopped short.

Even here, at this out‑of‑the‑way bathroom, Suhoe’s pheromones hung thick in the air.

By now, he could tell exactly when Suhoe leaked them—whenever he was tense, startled, or overcome with emotion.

And right now, the boy had to be shaking badly.

“…”

Slowly, Dowoon walked toward the bedroom where Suhoe should be waiting.

With each step, the omega’s scent grew more concentrated.

At the threshold, he saw him—sitting meekly on the edge of the bed.

The en‑suite bath had been left for him deliberately, but he looked exactly as before, in the same clothes, hair unchanged.

That made Dowoon stop where he was, not drawing closer.

Suhoe, unaware of his presence, sat staring at the floor, replaying the earlier words in his mind.

“Then get ready right away.”

“…For what—ah.”

“What else? It’s obviously the contract’s execution.”

Execution—meaning, preparing to consummate the marriage.

He had known, but now that the moment was here, his chest trembled and refused to calm.

Why am I like this? After waiting so long…

Just then, feeling the presence at the doorway, he looked up.

“Uh—”

There stood Dowoon, arms folded, silently taking in his appearance.

Realizing what that gaze meant, Suhoe spoke first.

“I… I didn’t skip washing. I saw the gown you set out. But I… couldn’t bring myself to wear it.”

Dowoon still said nothing, only seeming to wait for him to go on.

“I—was afraid my body would be too exposed.”

Then, in a small voice, he gave another reason—making it clear that as a man, he was wary of baring himself.

“And my hair…”

He toyed with the end of a neatly braided lock.

“I’d heard that… on the first night…”

He hesitated, unable to speak the word husband.

He knew this union was built on a cold contract, not on affection; the term would be as disagreeable to Dowoon as it was bitter to himself.

So he swallowed the rest, lowering his eyes.

“…you’re not supposed to undo it.”