TCBW C28

Chapter 28

When the sudden movement left Suhoe reeling, by the time he caught his balance their positions had, as if reversed, completely changed.

Now it looked as though Suhoe was straddling Dowoon from above.

“D‑Dowoon-ssi?”

“Tonight, you move.”

“…Uh? M‑me?”

“Why, you practically threw yourself at me on the wedding night—trying to act all refined now?”

“Th‑that’s not it.”

“If you make me come before you pass out, I’ll allow you to work.”

“R‑really?”

Shuddering, Suhoe nonetheless wrapped his arms around Dowoon’s neck.

Well, well.

Finding him perhaps less hesitant than expected, Dowoon’s light‑brown eyes fixed directly on Suhoe’s deep chestnut ones.

“Y‑you promised.”

Dowoon, looking bothered at having to repeat himself, gave a short nod.

In truth, it would have been a lie to say Suhoe hadn’t been flustered by the abrupt proposition. Even holding this position over Dowoon made him so embarrassed it was hard to lift his head—but at the same time, he wondered if this might be an opportunity.

Not only had his own loneliness left him privately anticipating a night with Dowoon again, but here was a chance to win permission to go out and work.

And what was more, if he was moving on top, surely he wouldn’t lose his senses as he had last time.

Of course, how utterly overconfident that thought was—he would learn well enough by the end of the night.

On the very first day he’d brought Suhoe home, Haeeon had thought it déjà vu. Now, for the second time, his boss Dowoon had failed to appear at the appointed hour—a man who was never late.

Whether he had decided to make exceptions only for days spent at the Balhwa‑dong residence, or was trying to teach the omega aegbaji how to let hours slip by, Haeeon didn’t know. What he did know was that Dowoon took his time before appearing.

That, however, was the only difference.

From the moment they got in the car, he was exactly as usual—opening documents in the back seat, reading as the drive took them toward the company.

In the lull, Haeeon gave his routine schedule report.

“In the morning you have a meeting with a client, lunch with Chairman Lee, and since the afternoon looked open I took the liberty of contacting Professor Shim at Seoul Yongseong Hospital.”

At the unexpected and unwelcome name, Dowoon’s displeasure flickered toward his secretary for slipping it in.

“Professor Shim?”

After all, Shim was an orthopedic specialist at the Yongseong Hospital run by the Lee family, and until his death, had been the close attendant to Dowoon’s grandfather, Lee Jong‑cheol.

He was one of the few who knew of the Lee family curse, and that the blackening tips of Dowoon’s fingers could never be restored by modern medicine.

“Your hand… seemed to be troubling you.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

Dowoon clicked his tongue.

Haeeon was a capable aide: detail‑oriented, shrewd in judgment, and long‑seasoned to the exacting standards no ordinary subordinate could tolerate. That much was proven by the years he’d lasted at the perfectionist’s side.

But even that attentiveness had its limits.

Especially when it involved poking into matters tied to the hereditary curse of the Lees—it grated on him.

“Cancel it.”

The tone was flat as always, but Haeeon heard the steel of displeasure in it, and his spine stiffened.

“…My apologies. I only thought—maybe it wasn’t the curse after all.”

Murmuring his excuse, Haeeon got no reply. Dowoon only read over the prepared documents with his usual blank mask.

Just then, adjusting his glasses, Dowoon suddenly went still as a faint grass‑scent drifted to him.

Even when Haeeon had presumptuously arranged appointments, his face hadn’t shifted; now, the faintest change touched it.

He glanced at his cuff.

There, faint but present, was the scent of Suhoe’s pheromones.

…

Involuntarily he thought of that early‑morning hour, when Suhoe—full of bluster from the wager that had started the night before—had finally admitted defeat and collapsed.

“I‑I want to stop… I can’t anymore.”

“So you’re giving up on working?”

“N‑no, that’s not—”

“I told you: if you want to work, make me come yourself.”

“…Mm.”

In the end, barely rocking atop him and never taking him in deeper than on their consummation night, Suhoe had lasted only until Dowoon began thrusting up into him from below—then lost consciousness. By dawn, he was spent and unmoving.

Later, as Dowoon was preparing to leave, he went to the nightstand for his glasses—and that was when Suhoe’s hand had caught his arm.

Damp with sweat and saliva, the hand gripped for a long moment before finally slackening.

It would have been nothing to loosen those faintly clenched fingers, but Dowoon had simply waited for them to release.

Haeeon would never know—but that was the morning’s true story.

That afternoon, at a Korean fine‑dining restaurant—

An omega server in lavish attire escorted Dowoon into a room far too large for two and then slipped out.

“Late, aren’t you.”

Across the laden table, above dishes over‑sumptuous for daylight, sat his father, Chairman Lee Jong‑han.

Dowoon offered the customary bow and sat, ignoring the reproof.

Without even lifting his utensils, he stated the reason he’d come.

“I want to check the stock‑transfer contract first.”

“…Wouldn’t it be better to eat before talking business?”

The tone was mild, but Dowoon showed not a flicker of interest.

The silence between them seemed to chill even the steam from the costly dishes.

In the end, it was the seasoned elder who yielded—lowering his raised hand from the posed smile at his lips.

“Your temperament… Fine. Secretary Kim, bring it.”

At his word, the aide at his side set a thick envelope before Dowoon.

He took it at once, examined the contents carefully, and then handed them off to Haeeon at his side.

“Satisfied now?” the chairman asked.

Dowoon met his eyes.

“No. One more question—do you remember how my grandfather’s curse began?”

At the unexpected query, the older man’s brows drew down sharply.

He gestured for all the aides, his own and Dowoon’s, to step away before answering.

“Why bring that up here without context? Something wrong with you—physically?”

“No. I just wanted to confirm the facts, now that I know the talk of dragons and curses was real.”

A plausible enough excuse, but suspicion still shadowed the chairman’s gaze.

Eyes as if to lay his grandson bare swept him, searching for a crack—but Dowoon, schooled and steady, gave none.

Beneath the table, he felt the faint ache at his left fingertips, but betrayed nothing.

After a long scrutiny, the chairman spoke.

“The curse… they say it starts with part of the body turning black.”

“…”

“Then the pain begins there, and spreads. In the end, the flesh rots away. The speed differs for each, but death always comes.”

“Is that all?”

“No… they say after, it feels as if your heart is being eaten away.”

At that, Dowoon was certain again—that what was creeping through his fingertips was indeed the curse.

But he didn’t say that it had appeared.

Even when taking the contract, he had angled his hand to hide it, straining every nerve to keep the chairman from seeing the weakness.

It had worked.

Though the elder’s sharp gaze scourged his face, shoulders, arms, and hands, in the end he did not detect the hidden flaw.