Divorce Contract C134

Chapter 134

Go Igyeol had disappeared. He wasn’t beside Seo I-hyeon, and when he wasn’t in the bedroom either, Seo Dohyeon’s blood turned to ice. He rushed outside in a panic, unable to think clearly about where to start searching. Logic flickered weakly through the chaos: Igyeol wouldn’t have gone far — not with the baby asleep upstairs. So he sprinted around the villa’s small walking path, scanned the area, and hurried back inside.

He scoured the first floor, tearing through every room, checking the utility room twice. Every corner of the house — every possible hiding place — he inspected. Nothing. Sweat clung cold to his back. He checked the nursery again, thinking maybe Igyeol was hidden among the baby’s toys, then the veranda, but there wasn’t even a shadow.

Not in the bedroom. Not in the dressing room. Not in the wardrobe. Not even in the bathroom.

Gone — completely, inexplicably gone.

He hadn’t meant to leave, and yet he had vanished without a trace. Dohyeon cursed himself. He should’ve insisted they go together in the morning. He had felt uneasy — and now his gut was proving right.

“Damn it.”

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he forced himself to think. Call Yoon Jaeseon. Start a search. Find witnesses, anyone who might’ve seen something. His mind raced, tangled with rising dread. He almost dialed Kwon Seunggyu, ready to drag him out of bed to come over immediately — when his eyes caught the staircase leading to the second floor.

He froze.

In his desperation, he had searched the first floor again and again but hadn’t gone upstairs.

Since moving here, Igyeol had shown no interest in the upper floors — Dohyeon hadn’t even thought to check them. But a sliver of hope flickered.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, heart hammering. Room by room, he opened doors — the dressing room, the study, the guest room, the upstairs bathroom. Empty. The more rooms he checked, the tighter his chest became. Each empty space stole another breath from his lungs.

He gripped the railing, pulling up Yoon’s number, and pressed call. The ring tone buzzed in his ear as he exhaled a long, trembling breath.

“Executive Director  Seo?” Yoon’s voice came through.

“Sorry for calling so late. It’s just—”

Dohyeon’s gaze drifted toward his own bedroom door. It was closed tight. He hadn’t checked it — because there was no reason to. Why would Igyeol be there? He hadn’t even considered it. But… had he closed that door earlier?

“Executive Director ?”

“Hold on.”

He approached the door, heart pounding. The moment he turned the knob, a faint scent of flowers — warm and sweet — spilled out from within.

“…Ah.”

There he was.

Go Igyeol lay sprawled across Seo Dohyeon’s bed, his face flushed, his body radiating the soft warmth of sleep. His pheromones hung in the air, heady and unguarded. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, completely at peace.

How he’d ended up there didn’t matter. What mattered was that he hadn’t left.

He was here.

Alive. Safe.

Relief crashed through Dohyeon like a wave. His back was soaked with sweat, and his legs gave out beneath him as he sank to his knees. The darkness that had consumed him moments ago slowly ebbed away.

“I’ll call you back,” he muttered, ending the call before Yoon could respond.

As he stepped closer, the faint sweetness of alcohol mingled with the pheromones in the air.

He’d clearly drunk the rest of the beer while Dohyeon was gone.

Instead of irritation, Dohyeon felt only a deep, quiet exhale of gratitude.

He reached out, placing his palm gently on Igyeol’s cheek. The warmth beneath his fingers was real — grounding, human, alive.

Should he wake him? Or let him sleep here? Maybe carry him back downstairs? But if he moved him and the man woke up, it would ruin the peace of this moment.

He looked at Igyeol again — so still, so defenseless — and the decision was easy.

He would let him sleep.

He’d check on the baby downstairs now and then, but tonight, he’d leave Igyeol right here.

He brushed back the hair that had fallen across his face, revealing a smooth, round forehead.

For a fleeting second, he saw I-hyeon’s sleeping face in Igyeol’s features — and before he realized it, his hand was tracing over him again: his hair, his brows, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his lips.

Each touch was feather-light, reverent.

When he brushed his cheek, Igyeol stirred faintly, frowning in his sleep, then suddenly reached up and caught Dohyeon’s arm, pulling it close and hugging it against his chest.

“…Mmm…”

A soft sound escaped him — a sleepy, dazed hum — and heat radiated from his skin, the alcohol still thrumming through his body. Dohyeon could feel the warmth seeping into his hand, could hear the rhythm of his breathing.

He gazed at him for a long time. Every time he looked at Igyeol, something inside him ached with tenderness. His gaze slid from that serene face to the roughened palm resting on the sheets — the one that had caught his attention since the day they’d met again.

The skin was split and raw, patches where it had peeled and never healed properly.

Even now, he hadn’t bothered to treat it.

It must’ve hurt — but Igyeol endured it, as he did everything else, quietly, stoically.

Dohyeon gently freed the hand from his own and stood. He fetched the first-aid kit from the cabinet and returned, kneeling at the bedside.

Carefully, he unfolded the small, curled fingers, revealing the palm — soft in some places, torn in others. The faint scars from old stitches cut across his skin.

Even his wrist bore traces of past wounds, hidden beneath long sleeves.

The memory of shattered glass in the hospital flashed through Dohyeon’s mind. His throat tightened.

If only he could take those scars for himself — the cuts, the pain, the memories that still haunted him.

He pressed his forehead against Igyeol’s palm, eyes closing briefly before he began cleaning the wound.

He dabbed at the broken skin with antiseptic, flinching each time Igyeol’s lashes fluttered. He paused at every twitch, every small shift of breath, whispering silent apologies under his breath.

When the antiseptic dried, he blew softly on the skin before applying ointment with a sterile cotton stick.

Finally, he covered the area with a wide adhesive bandage and smoothed it gently with his thumb.

Then, noticing the faint bruise on Igyeol’s knee, he rolled up the loose pajama pants.

The skin was scraped and mottled with purple — clearly from when he’d fallen earlier. The sight made Dohyeon’s chest tighten painfully.

“…Ha. Igyeol-ah.”

He breathed out the name like a sigh.

How could he walk around like this, pretending he wasn’t hurt?

He should’ve made him sit down and tended to him right away. Now, it might scar.

His hands trembled as he lifted the cotton again, dabbing delicately at the wound. Even this small act felt cruel — the thought of hurting him again, even unintentionally, was unbearable.

But he forced himself to continue.

By the time he finished cleaning, applying ointment, and sealing it with a clear, healing bandage, his forehead was damp with cold sweat.

Thankfully, Igyeol didn’t wake. He let out a faint groan but settled back into sleep, unbothered.

Dohyeon exhaled softly in relief.

He lowered the pants leg again, tidied the scattered supplies, and dimmed the bedroom lights before leaving the room.

Downstairs, the nursery was quiet.

I-hyeon slept exactly as he had been laid down — his hair fine as silk, his cheeks soft as petals. Dohyeon brushed a hand over them, watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each even breath.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, listening.

Then, a thought struck him — an image that wouldn’t leave his mind. Something he needed to confirm.

He turned off the lights in the living room and stepped onto the terrace.

Before opening the door, he paused, listening for any sound from the second floor. Nothing.

The silence inside was complete.

He opened the terrace door quietly and stepped into the cold air.

It was late — deep into the night — but he had a strange certainty that Yoon Jaeseon wasn’t asleep either.

He found the number and pressed call.

“Executive Director !” came Yoon’s voice almost immediately.

“You’re awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Should I come over?”

“No. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

While he’d been waiting for this call, Yoon had convinced himself of the worst — that the “parenting clock-out” and “chicken dinner” had all been delusions born from stress. He’d even drafted three different ways to intervene.

“So it… wasn’t real? You were dreaming, weren’t you? It must’ve felt vivid — something you wanted so badly that—”

“Secretary Yoon,” Dohyeon interrupted flatly. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“…Sir?”

“But that’s not why I called. I saw something strange outside the house.”

“Something strange?”

Yoon barely kept himself from asking if it was another dream.

“There were two young people on the street by the villa,” Dohyeon said. “They looked drunk.”

“It’s nearly the end of the year — there are parties everywhere. Probably just some kids resting on their way home.”

“Maybe,” Dohyeon murmured. “But this isn’t an area with bars, and they didn’t look like they belonged here. Their clothes… didn’t look like they were coming home.”

He looked back toward the dark street beyond the gate, the faint echo of that uneasy feeling tightening in his chest again.