TCBW C47

Chapter 47

In the end, Suhoe had lost so much sweat and bodily fluid that his mouth was dry, and his legs had given out so completely that he couldn’t even keep his balance.

Only after confirming his state did Dowoon lift him in his arms and step out of the elevator.

Of course, with himself still buried deep inside him.

Leaning against Dowoon, eyes closed, his whole body limp, Suhoe suddenly realized he was outside the elevator and started, shuddering violently.

“T-this is… the h-hallway. Wh-what if someone sees me.”

Even as Suhoe recoiled in horror, Dowoon deliberately walked slower on the way to his office.

In fact, Dowoon’s office—even from the secretarial floor—was on a separate level, and the entire floor was a perfectly sealed space that no one could enter without his permission, but there was no way Suhoe could know that.

Naturally, Dowoon had not the slightest intention of telling him that comfortable truth, and so he let Suhoe remain steeped in the fear that someone might see them.

Just as Dowoon expected, with every step that pushed him deeper inside, Suhoe forced himself to stifle any sound, worried someone might come by.

Not only that, he forgot even to offer the slightest resistance and clung close to the solid lines of Dowoon’s body, murmuring for him to walk faster.

At last, once inside the office, Dowoon sank deep into the sofa with familiar ease and looked down at Suhoe, cradled in his arms.

At this level of shock and fear, he was certain the attitude required of him in the future had been sufficiently engraved in his body.

But when he checked Suhoe’s expression, Dowoon froze.

From his round eyes, tears spilled without pause, streaming endlessly down both cheeks.

He was even clamping both hands tight over his mouth, desperately trying to swallow the sobs that threatened to burst forth.

Unthinkingly, Dowoon seized both of his arms and asked,

“Why are you crying.”

For good reason: not on the day he’d had to leave his beloved hometown, not on the wedding night stained with deceit, not through the countless days he’d spent alone in this unfamiliar place—

Even in their past encounters when he’d been pushed until he lost his senses, never had Suhoe shown himself to be this shattered.

And now he was trembling like fragile glass, on the verge of breaking.

It was something Dowoon had not anticipated.

“Did it hurt?”

“……”

Instead of an answer, tears beaded and fell in heavy drops.

The instant his gaze met those swimming eyes, a cold, tingling pain began spreading from Dowoon’s fingertips, tightening from his wrists up to his heart with a dull ache.

“Where did it hurt?”

“…I was scared. My body… I couldn’t move, and you were angry.”

After some hesitation, Suhoe finally spoke. His face was flushed scarlet, his cheeks drenched through. Entranced, Dowoon buried his face in the slender slope of Suhoe’s nape.

A faint, rain-damp scent like wet leaves brushed his nose—his pheromones—stirring a maddening impulse inside him.

“…Are you still scared?”

Handling him as though he were something terribly precious, he embraced him very slowly. Suhoe shook his head, but the tears did not stop.

For the first time in his life, words of comfort—foreign on Dowoon’s tongue—slipped out with effort.

“…H-hey, could you… not cry.”

He had never once spoken such words aloud.

“What should I do so you won’t cry?”

The more he watched Suhoe sob in his arms, the more fiercely the pain tightened around his heart.

It felt as if the curse had already burrowed deep and taken root.

“Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

At that, Suhoe stammered a question back.

“Then you tell me… what you want me to do.”

To see him struggle to hold back tears, voice pitiful and halting—it was hellish. Dowoon pressed his face to Suhoe’s shoulder again and breathed in his scent deeply.

Grass tinged with salt, and, between it, a faint bloom of flowers.

Though the medicine kept it from spreading too strongly, the thin wisp of his wife’s pheromones in the air made Dowoon murmur softly,

“…That mutt wagging his tail at you—that Seojun or whatever—don’t let him touch you. As per our contract.”

“But… Jun is a friend.”

“Then at least don’t let him touch you. Keep that much.”

Suhoe’s eyes wavered for a moment.

“…Is that enough? As long as he doesn’t touch me…?”

“Yeah. Just that. Let me be the only one who touches your body.”

At that, Suhoe’s sobs slowly subsided. The condition he’d set was simple enough that it felt doable.

But even after that, as if drunk on Suhoe’s scent—or perhaps shaken to his core—Dowoon did not stop muttering against his nape.

“Nothing else? Anything you want.”

“No. That’s enough.”

“Just say more.”

Dowoon brought his lips to the curve of Suhoe’s ear and held his delicate body tightly, as if to bind him. Suhoe let out a small, trembling moan.

“Ngh. Not really… Ah—then, one thing I want, and one thing you want.”

“Fine.”

“Then… go to the sea with me.”

“Okay.”

Ask for what you want, he’d said—and all he asked for was a trip to the sea.

Dowoon lifted his face from the thin skin at his wife’s throat and looked at him. The bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes were swollen and red.

“Let’s go this week.”

Dowoon was silent for a moment, then answered in a tired voice.

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

“Yesterday… nothing happened, right?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Really?”

“Y-yeah.”

The next morning, under Seojun’s probing stare, Suhoe barely managed to equivocate.

The truth was, he’d fallen asleep in Dowoon’s office and woken up at home, but there was no way he could say that.

Seojun frowned, displeased, but soon left, saying he’d trust him.

Alone in the elevator, Suhoe headed for Dowoon’s office.

There was no answer to his knock, so he opened the door. The space was empty—not even the secretary, Hae-eon, was there. Guessing there must be an important meeting or an outside appointment, he cleaned in silence.

As he was about to leave, he heard footsteps. At first he thought Dowoon had returned and moved toward the door, but a sharp female voice made him pause.

“I told you I have an appointment today.”

“It’s just that the president hasn’t returned yet.”

“Do you know who I am? I’ll wait in his office.”

It was Saeman’s director, Han Sara.

Suhoe hurriedly stepped back from the door and looked around for a place to hide, but there seemed to be nowhere big enough for an adult Omega to conceal himself.

“Then I can just call and ask, right? Whether I can wait inside?”

Cold sweat broke out from nerves. Deliberately switching on her speakerphone, Sara called Dowoon, but the ringtone just went on and on—no one picked up.

With her prickly complaints, the secretary seemed to manage to usher her elsewhere, and the sharp clack of her heels faded by degrees.

Only after Sara’s heels had completely receded down the marble corridor did Suhoe finally exhale, escaping that suffocating tension.

He hurried back to the janitors’ room, but that brush with danger was only the beginning.

From that day on, Sara came to Yongseong Finance headquarters—specifically to Dowoon’s office—almost every day, as if stamping a seal.

On days marked by her glamorous arrivals, Suhoe had to move like a shadow, avoiding her route so as not to be seen.

Sometimes, toward quitting time, the sight of her casually leaving the company with Dowoon would fall into his field of vision. He would force himself to look away, but each time his heart sank.

To make matters worse, almost as if coordinated, on days when Sara appeared at the company, Dowoon did not come home to the Balhwadong residence. A day, then two—the frequency settled into a clear pattern that seeped into Suhoe’s daily life.

On the morning they had promised to go to the sea, intermittent coughs split the stillness of the room. It was the lingering cold that had plagued Suhoe for nearly a month.

Hae-eon, helping him get ready, asked with worry in his eyes,

“Madam, about that cold—it still hasn’t cleared up. Will you be all right? It’s the day you’ve been looking forward to, after all.”

“Cough. I’m okay. It’s just like this for a bit when I wake up. It won’t be a problem!”

Even with his bright reply, the concern on Hae-eon’s face did not fade. Then a small vibration buzzed in his inner jacket pocket, and he checked the caller.

“That would be good. Ah—excuse me for a moment.”

He immediately excused himself to take the call.

“Yes, President.”

At the title “President,” Suhoe’s ears pricked up. He wondered if Dowoon, who had spent the previous night at his city apartment near the office, was finally ready to depart and calling to check in.

But Hae-eon’s next words dashed those hopes without mercy.