Divorce Contract C6

Chapter 6

Rough with forced theatrics, Go Daesik’s voice trembled with feigned tears. From that moment on, Go Igyeol could not even reply. He clamped his lips shut. Whether or not he had ever been “loved,” it was undeniable that Daesik had spent the money Igyeol’s marriage brought him—so he had no defense.

“Put it on speaker.”

“…What?”

“I’m speaking to him now.”

“I… I can handle this—”

The whisper, desperate to take responsibility, dissolved helplessly. Blinking rapidly, Igyeol lowered the phone and tapped the screen, switching to speaker mode. Instantly, Daesik’s lament rang out loudly through the car.

“Father, this is Seo Dohyeon.”

— “I ought to die… eh? Director Seo?”

The voice that had been wrung into sobs shifted instantly to one of forced excitement. At the sudden change, chills spread along Igyeol’s spine. And what outrageous demand would come this time? He already knew without needing to hear. Shame flushed from his collarbone up to his pale neck. Dohyeon cast him a brief glance, then spoke smoothly as if rehearsed.

“I’ll be sending someone to your home tomorrow. Go shopping. Don’t skimp on Igyeol’s account—choose whatever you like best.”

— “Eh? Sending someone? You shouldn’t trouble yourself. Goodness… my son-in-law! Our son-in-law! I knew I was blessed in this lifetime. Director Seo of SJ Group himself, my son-in-law through marriage to our Igyeol, telling me to fit myself properly. It’s too much kindness—doesn’t need to be! Truly amazing—”

Suddenly, the quiet surroundings filled with noise. Boastful, swaggering tones carried with miserable clarity. He must’ve already rushed to some crowded place just to announce his connection. Exhibiting his greatest skill—exaggeration and empty boasting—Daesik practically shouted his good fortune. Igyeol squeezed his eyes shut, praying desperately that he wouldn’t make trouble.

“If your friends have a practice range they go to, sign up there too. We’ll go on a round together someday.”

— “Heh, a beginner like me compared to you, Director Seo! Anyway, I only said a few words out of frustration with our Igyeol. Poor child, maybe he’s fragile. I hope he wasn’t too hurt.”

“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll handle him.”

— “Yes—yes, I’d be grateful.”

“Good night.”

Without waiting for Daesik’s reply, Dohyeon cut the call.

“You could’ve just agreed, but why were you fumbling so badly?”

“……”

“Are you burdened because it’s my money? Whatever you spend, it’s nothing to me. Pocket change.”

“…Thank you.”

At last, Igyeol managed a faint word of gratitude. Dohyeon only nodded, unsatisfied. It was galling—even in debt and humiliation, he still thought it was Igyeol who owed thanks. With a tired sigh, he unfastened another shirt button and turned the wheel.

They traveled long in silence. The place they ended up was one Igyeol remembered—one of the few restaurants where he could finish nearly all his meal: a Korean-style fine dining house, mild flavors, quiet rooms.

“Out.”

He undid his seat belt and glanced toward Dohyeon circling to the passenger side. Before Dohyeon could reach the handle, Igyeol pushed the door open himself. For a moment, the man looked faintly affronted, but he said nothing.

“This coat—”

“Wear it. You dressed too lightly today.”

“But you should—”

When Igyeol draped it over his arm instead of his shoulders, Dohyeon’s sharp gaze froze him until he hastily slipped back into the coat. The gravel crunched softly beneath their feet as he followed behind.

Guided by the manager, they entered a private room away from the main hall. Beyond the polished glass, a small garden greeted them with early spring’s buds glowing light green upon low branches.

Though they hadn’t reserved, the table looked as though waiting for them. Dishes arrived one by one—seasoned greens, braised short ribs, three kinds of kimchi, dried banchan. Finally, a bubbling stew thick with perilla seed broth.

“Eat.”

“I’ll eat well. Please, you eat too.”

“Should I order more?”

“No… this is already plenty.”

Igyeol carefully picked mild dishes first. But when he raised a spoonful of rice to his lips, nausea fluttered—reading his body’s betrayal. Before Dohyeon could notice, he gulped it down with water, chewing nothing. Dish after dish remained nearly untouched, in sharp contrast to the emptying bowls across the table.

“I recall you ate well here before. Am I mistaken?”

“No, it’s delicious. I’m eating plenty.”

“Hnh.”

Dohyeon’s long fingers pressed roughly against his own temple. His cold eyes, reopening slowly, cut across to Igyeol.

“Don’t be difficult.”

“……”

“Divorce can only happen when I decide. Not before.”

He dropped his spoon, rose, and walked out. Only then did Igyeol release his taut breath. His unease wasn’t over the man’s temper, but over the food threatening to drag up bile before his eyes. Hastily, he closed the lids, swallowed down another gulp of water, and wiped his damp lips.

Gathering Dohyeon’s coat, he thought again—it must be because the rut cycle was near. His growing irritability, his insistence on keeping Igyeol constantly within sight. Yes, it had to be.

“…What do I do.”

Dohyeon’s ruts were long, unyielding. Was it all dominants, or just him? Even with suppressant injections, his heat never abated quickly. With a worried expression, Igyeol rose and followed.

In the familiar corridor, through the quiet entrance, he saw Dohyeon waiting outside, leaning against the car, eyes cold as blades.

“Get in.”

“I….”

“What.”

“…Is it… your rut—?”

Words tangled in his throat. But before he could form them properly, Dohyeon’s lips tugged upward.

“They say even a mutt can recite poetry after three years at a Confucian school. Looks like after two years of marriage, you can tell by my rut cycle too. Yes. Today was bad. I took leave.”

“…How long… how many days…?”

“Until it subsides, of course.”

The calm voice carried weight enough to suffocate. If it was just beginning, then at least a week—or longer—where he’d be bound to Dohyeon. He closed his mouth, not daring to ask if they were headed home.

As scenery blurred by outside the window, a long-harbored thought slipped out before he could stop himself.

“…I’ve wondered—why isn’t a child part of the terms?”

“What?”

“Having a child might make succession easier. Your grandfather would speed up preparations to hand over the company.”

“Oh, that.”

Leaning on the window, brow creased from a shallow headache, Dohyeon answered.

“I thought it’d be too pitiful. Being born from nothing but desire and necessity. And—if I wanted a child, it wouldn’t be with you. It’d be with someone else. The stronger the genes, the better.”

The blunt answer made Igyeol nod. At last, it was clear. Divorce wouldn’t happen until Dohyeon said so.

“Did that upset you?”

“No. It makes sense. If I were you, I’d want children with a dominant omega, not a recessive like me.”

“You understand well. You will never be the one to bear my child.”

Yes—if he stayed, Dohyeon would never let him have the baby. A man who said only superior traits mattered would never want the child of a recessive omega. He’d have to leave before it showed. Somewhere Dohyeon couldn’t reach.

The instant they stepped into the house, Dohyeon seized him. Coat still on, shoes still tight, Igyeol was yanked deeper inside. His pheromones poured uncontrollably, overwhelming—spilling, cascading, drowning the air.

“W-wait—at least let me wash—”

“I don’t have the patience tonight.”

“Ah—!”

Even the words were cut off by the press of a mouth. Pheromones rained over him, layer upon layer smeared until they were all he could taste and breathe. A small mouth pried open, the rough edges of Dohyeon’s hunger invading, every heated surface smeared with his scent.

“Unh—hhk—haa.”

“Open wider. Tongue out.”

When Igyeol timidly extended it, Dohyeon caught it at once, dragging it inside. Between his teeth, sharp edges nipped it mercilessly. Whimpers spilled like broken air against his lips. By the time he let go, Igyeol’s tongue was cut, the whole inside of his mouth brimming with salt and iron.