TCBW C89

Chapter 89

‘…Director. What I’m about to say is both my medical opinion and my professional obligation. Please understand that I’m telling you this because there are aspects of the patient’s condition that you, as the guardian, must be fully aware of.’

With that, Professor Eun reached into her pocket and held out a small stick.

The moment Dowoon recognized what it was, his expression darkened sharply.

“A pregnancy test? What are you implying?”

“…To be honest, I still haven’t been able to completely rule out the possibility that your wife might be pregnant.”

“……”

“Ordinarily, for a male Omega, the result appears within two weeks. But if the partner is a dominant Alpha, and if there was a rut period involving knotting, the observation period can extend up to three weeks.”

“I already told you—there was no knotting.”

“Yes, that’s what he said,” she replied carefully. “Which is precisely why I’m bringing this matter directly to you.”

“So you’re suggesting he lied?”

The sudden chill in Dowoon’s voice made Professor Eun stiffen.

“You’ve been running tests on his body without consent—was that the reason?”

“…You must understand,” she said softly, “that the circumstances at the time were highly irregular. And knowing how deeply your wife desired a child, I felt it necessary to verify every possible outcome.”

“Then what’s the point of giving me this?” Dowoon’s tone cut cleanly. “If you’re suggesting we wait another day for results, I’ll delay the discharge.”

“No. I just… wanted your perspective.” Her voice faltered. “If your wife is pregnant, the birth will place irreparable strain on his body. It may cause permanent disability—or even threaten his life.”

“……”

“So, Director,” she continued quietly, “you’ll have to choose. Between the child and your wife. My intuition says that he—your wife—would choose the child, even if it cost him his life. And if that happens, he may try to hide that decision from you.”

The memory alone sent a sharp pulse of pain crawling up from Dowoon’s fingertips.

“He’ll avoid you. He’ll reject intimacy.”

The pain spread, twisting through his veins until it clutched at his heart.

He waited for it to subside, as he always did. When at last the curse quieted, he laid a hand slowly over Suhoe’s flat stomach.

It was too thin—just fragile skin stretched over bone. There was no way a child could be forming there.

No. Impossible.

It was just Professor Eun’s baseless suspicion.

He tried to believe that. To cling to logic.

And yet… her warning—that Suhoe might choose the baby over his own life—was not entirely unbelievable.

But even if that were true, Suhoe would never hide it from him.

He told himself that firmly. And yet, all it took to shake his conviction was a single, simple sentence.

He hadn’t even intended to touch him—not while he was still recovering—but the moment Suhoe asked, “Let’s not do anything tonight,” the professor’s words came rushing back.

The faint breaths that escaped his lips. The way his body flinched at every touch.

Dowoon had looked down at him for a long time, his thoughts dark and unsteady, before finally standing and leaving the room—like a man under a spell.

He walked past the mansion gates, through the cool night air, without once glancing toward the roaring waves below the cliff.

When he stopped, it was before the car they had driven earlier that day.

In the darkness, he opened the driver’s door and took something from inside.

Dowoon looked down at the small plastic testing kit in his hand. His expression remained perfectly composed.

Then, just as he had walked out, he turned back toward the mansion—toward the room where Suhoe slept soundly.

You’ll have to choose. Between the child and your wife.

Professor Eun’s voice lingered in his mind.

She must have mistaken his recent behavior for that of a devoted husband. She had probably thought that if anyone could convince Suhoe to give up the child, it would be him.

A naive misjudgment.

Because Dowoon had already chosen.

The child.

Ever since the rut, the curse had been consuming his body faster—the pain constricting his heart growing stronger each day. He didn’t know how much time he had left.

He had been lenient enough—delaying conception out of consideration for Suhoe’s condition. But there would be no more waiting.

That leniency, in truth, had been a luxury.

Suhoe had been fortunate—fortunate to have a closed mouth and to have earned Dowoon’s favor. Otherwise, he would have faced a far colder, more inhumane reality.

Yes. That was all it was.

Suhoe was simply that—an exception, a temporary indulgence.

Even when Professor Eun had spoken of his possible death, what had truly unsettled Dowoon was not the risk of losing him, but the idea that Suhoe might have lied.

That was the core of it.

And that was where Professor Eun had made her mistake—believing that affection, rather than logic, guided him.

Reaffirming his own thoughts, Dowoon reentered the room where Suhoe lay asleep.

Without hesitation, he rolled up his sleeve and raised the needle-tipped device toward his pale, slender arm.

But before the needle could pierce skin, a sharp crack split the silence.

The device flew from his hand.

He froze. He hadn’t seen clearly in the dim light, but he knew—something had struck his fingers.

Instinctively, he shielded Suhoe and looked toward the window.

There was nothing.

No wind, no shadows, not even the slightest movement of the trees outside.

The window was closed.

For a brief, eerie moment, the silence felt almost sentient.

Dowoon’s jaw tightened as a fragment of memory returned—the car that had refused to start on Mount Unbang. The ritual, the rising wine in the bowl.

Could it be happening again?

Holding Suhoe closer, he shook him urgently.

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

The voice—Dowoon’s voice—echoed faintly as Suhoe’s eyes fluttered open.

“Dowoon-ssi…?”

But what met his gaze was not Dowoon.

It was darkness. Absolute, endless darkness.

The warmth he had felt before—the faint scent, the sound of another’s breathing—was gone.

Completely gone.

Only emptiness remained.

And something else—an odd, oppressive sensation, seeping into his limbs.

In that moment, he realized: this was a dream.

Or was it?

Something about it felt wrong. Unlike the dreams he’d had before, this one carried no meaning, no message—only stillness.

It wasn’t a vision or a memory. Just… nothingness.

Until, faintly, a voice broke through.

“…Ma…”

The sound was fragmented, distorted—like static from a broken radio.

He couldn’t make out the words, but someone was definitely speaking to him.

Not Dowoon. Someone else.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“From here… do as I say.”

“What?”

“…Don’t…!”

Though the words kept breaking apart, their tone was clear—a warning. A command.

Suhoe’s heart raced. He had never had a dream where someone ordered him to do something.

Then—he heard it. A single word that froze him in place.

Child.

His eyes widened.

“What—what do you mean, child?”

The voice sounded faint, but it knew. Somehow, it knew.

“…Hide it. From everyone.”

It came again, sharp and pleading.

And then, the fragmented whispers smoothed into full words, piercing his mind.

“Hide the child’s existence. Tell no one—until it’s born.”

“What are you talking about?” Suhoe shouted into the void, eyes darting through the dark.

“Why? Why must I?”

No answer.

He waved his hands, reaching for something—anything—but his fingers met only air.

The voice was gone.

No echo, no trace.

“Hello?”

His voice broke as it vanished into the empty dark.

He called again. And again. But no one replied.

Breath ragged, he sank to his knees. The silence pressed down like a weight.

For a long time, he stayed there—thinking, trying to recall the sound of that voice.

Then, suddenly, it hit him.

This wasn’t a normal dream.

It wasn’t even the kind of vision that came with prayer.

It was closer to a taemong—a prophetic dream tied to birth.

And with that realization, his lips parted, trembling.

Could it be…?