WGD Ch 13
by soapaKang San fanned his flushed face and called for the makeup artist. The artist, holding a lip brush, approached Siheon’s obviously smudged lips with a professional demeanor, quickly fixed them, and hurried off again.
Most of the staff had left, leaving the room nearly empty. As the remaining crew filed out, Subin, the stylist, approached and tucked in a bit of Siheon’s waistband that was sticking out. Their eyes met, and they shared an awkward smile. Cha Wonwoo stepped in, placing a hand on Siheon’s shoulder.
“Shall we go?”
Outside, assistants waited at both ends of the hallway for Cha Wonwoo. Yang, the chief aide, was absent, leaving only those who accompanied him on external duties. One, whose face wasn’t publicly known, was introduced.
“This is Senior Nam Ilho. Please take care of him.”
The man, bowing slightly without offering a handshake, was surprisingly an alpha. Wondering why they’d assigned an alpha, Siheon soon realized why.
Sebastian Sainz.
Since Kang San and the staff were betas and couldn’t preemptively respond, Cha Wonwoo must have taken it to heart. A traited individual could at least sense pheromonal disturbances nearby.
Walking to the elevator, Cha Wonwoo whispered.
“Senior Nam got married recently, and his spouse is pregnant.”
A pregnant omega and child require an alpha’s pheromones. During this period, even without mental conditions like imprinting, an alpha naturally rejects other omegas’ pheromones. So, no matter how much pheromone Siheon emitted, to Nam Ilho, it would just be a foul odor.
Descending in the elevator, the noise was already palpable before they rounded the corner. The lobby was bustling with Fashion Week attendees.
Siheon naturally paused and looked at Cha Wonwoo.
“Do well at work.”
“Hyung—”
Cha Wonwoo couldn’t tear his eyes from Siheon’s freshly re-applied, glossy lips. Leaning down, he whispered something and, before Siheon could react, disappeared with his assistants through the emergency stairwell.
Left alone with Cha Wonwoo’s words, Siheon muttered, cooling his flushed cheeks.
“…Is he crazy?”
＊＊＊＊＊
Pop. A spotlight hit the backdrop, and the muse emerged, striding down the runway to open the show.
Siheon meticulously observed the fashion show’s theme and details, pre-briefed by organizers, while consciously managing his expressions for the cameras.
A cream-and-red contrasted cropped blouson, a quilted jacket with Foremore’s subtle embossing, and a classic biker jacket with multiple pockets—overall, the clothes suited his taste.
When the muse for the solo closing walked past in a formal Chesterfield coat, Cha Wonwoo came to mind unbidden. That coat would look stunning on his broad frame. Siheon even imagined him walking the runway. Naturally, it wouldn’t compare to a model’s walk.
But picturing Cha Wonwoo crossing the runway with his unique, commanding presence felt surprisingly fitting. Though, upon spotting Siheon, his expression would likely soften instantly.
Perhaps due to the marking, Cha Wonwoo’s lingering image haunted Siheon’s mind, distracting him through the show’s finale applause and even into the after-party.
Fashion Week was always like this, but Foremore’s grand after-party drew a massive crowd. It seemed more people came as someone’s lover or partner than those formally invited.
What a mix of people.
Listening to music not to his taste, Siheon scanned the room, holding a rosé champagne someone had thrust into his hand. He had no intention of drinking it. It was merely a prop to fend off those pestering him about empty hands.
Alphas who approached upon recognizing him noticed Cha Wonwoo’s mark and left after brief pleasantries.
Familiar actors and singers chatted with him, but the conversations lacked substance. Gossip about Korean celebrities surfaced, making him uncomfortable.
They probably talk about me like this behind my back, Siheon thought cynically, finding it hard to continue. Unable to outright ignore them, he drew boundaries and moved on several times.
“Enjoy your chat.”
Once again, Siheon excused himself first and turned away.
Passing through the crowd, his face instinctively grimaced. Perhaps due to the culture of openly emitting pheromones, the mix of scents made his stomach churn. Quickening his pace to escape the increasingly nauseating smells, he wanted to return to the hotel. He likely wouldn’t stay long tonight.
Planning to make one last impression on Aubrey, Foremore’s art director and chief designer, before leaving, Siheon wove through the crowd.
Suddenly, he collided hard with someone, making a thud.
“Ugh.”
“Ah.”
Amber champagne splashed onto the other’s white shirt. Amid vanilla and citrus scents, an unpleasant pheromone mixed in. A familiar smell.
No way.
Siheon didn’t hide his displeasure as he looked up.
“Wow, long time no see. You didn’t forget my face, did you, brother-in-law?”
Smirking with dead-fish eyes was Cha Ijun, the second son of CH Construction’s president, Cha Eunsik, and Cha Wonwoo’s cousin.
“Looks like our grandfather is a gentleman. He didn’t block your path, huh? Seeing you thriving like this.”
One word sufficed to describe the twenty-four-year-old Cha Ijun.
Degenerate.
A stereotypical drama-style chaebol heir, he differed from his older brother, Cha Iryeong. While Vice President Cha Iryeong subtly demeaned with decorum, Cha Ijun equated Siheon with himself.
A slut who rolls around recklessly, succumbing to money and pleasure.
Cha Ijun calling himself a slut was a form of deception and arrogance. As CH Group’s grandson and CH Construction’s second son, no one dared call him that.
Many lined up for his sponsorship, and he lived a debauched life, like group sex parties, viewing celebrities like Siheon as his kind.
Whether invited or someone’s partner, encountering him here was unwelcome.
“The kids I sleep with, even when I pull strings, grandfather always sabotages their paths. Isn’t that discrimination? Don’t you think so, brother-in-law? My toys always get tucked away, but Wonwoo hyung’s toy gets to roam free. Doesn’t that make you feel a bit wronged?”
With a gesture, a hired server quickly approached. Cha Ijun tossed Siheon’s empty glass onto the tray and waved dismissively. The server noticed Cha Ijun’s champagne-soaked shirt but bowed silently and left at his gesture.
“This.”
As the server retreated, Cha Ijun grinned slyly.
“Will you lick it off, brother-in-law?”
His suggestive finger trailed from the stained spot downward. Facing blatant harassment, Siheon called out with an expressionless face.
“Cha Ijun-ssi.”
“Hey, just call me brother-in-law. It’s more thrilling, exciting.”
His almond-shaped, sunken eyes scanned Siheon up and down. Without the label of CH Group’s grandson, it was hard to believe he was related to Cha Wonwoo, sharing no resemblance.
“We’re not brother-in-law or anything anymore, but doesn’t playing like that sound fun?”
Cackling, Cha Ijun started dry coughing as if choking.
Siheon quickly scanned the surroundings. At the party’s edge, a man watched—Senior Nam Ilho, gauging when to intervene after spotting Cha Ijun. Shaking his head to signal no need, Siheon approached the coughing Cha Ijun, lowering his voice.
“Shall we move somewhere private?”
Cha Ijun smirked twistedly and moved first. His mocking gaze seemed to say, “See, you’re no different, a fallen guy with no options.” Siheon didn’t care what he assumed.
Passing a hallway without security cameras toward a lounge, Cha Ijun’s dry coughs continued.
Entering the private space, Siheon closed and locked the door. With a heavy clunk, he spoke immediately.
“Hey, Cha Ijun.”
At the sudden informal tone, Cha Ijun’s eyes widened.
“We’re not on good terms anymore, nor strangers, and I’m older, so I’ll speak casually. If you’re offended, tattle to your company’s legal team and sue.”
As if he’d get sued for a bit of teasing.
It was a jab to mock a guy who constantly caused trouble and ran to the legal team for cleanup. Cha Ijun’s eye twitched, showing he got the insult. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes quiver grotesquely, Siheon asked.
“If I lick it off, can you even get it up? You’re scared just seeing Wonwoo’s shadow. My body’s probably reeking of him right now—can you handle it?”
No way. Sneering, he added.
“Though, doped up, you probably can’t smell pheromones.”
In a conservative chaebol family like CH Group, where lineage and traits are paramount, being born recessive inevitably breeds inferiority. That was Cha Ijun’s plight. Recessive alpha. If only he were a normal alpha like his father or brother, but the recessive label haunted him with lifelong insecurity.
Addiction was inevitable. Cha Ijun was hooked on drugs that blocked the brain’s chemical responses to pheromones. It freed him from trembling and wetting himself when Chairman Cha emitted pheromones, which he despised.
Conversely, dulled pheromonal senses heightened his tactile sensitivity. Sex became insanely pleasurable, another reason for his addiction.
As Cha Ijun had done, Siheon scanned him head to toe. If only a couple of things were broken, they could talk, but this guy was empty from head to foot.
He didn’t want to taunt him for being recessive, being recessive himself. Instead, he pointed out his marked status.
“Do you know what happens when an alpha sexually touches a marked omega?”
He nodded toward Cha Ijun’s crotch.
“You’ll go impotent, punk. That already pathetic thing will become completely useless.”
Marking was a claim of ownership—my person, my omega—but also a shield against other alphas. It wouldn’t literally cause impotence, but a pheromone reflux would hit hard, sidelining Cha Ijun from his beloved sex for a while.
As dismissive remarks poured out, Cha Ijun’s eyes sparked. Anxiety, arousal, aggression—all addiction symptoms.
“You fucking bastard!”
“Not Lee, Kang. Why mess with the precious Kang family name? That pisses me off. Anyway, it’s Kang, you fucking bastard, so listen up.”
“What?”
“You pull strings for roles, and kids grovel. Give them a few bucks, and they’ll lick your feet. But you’re not the only one playing with them. Truth is, they’re playing you for a fool.”
Cha Ijun, surrounded only by drinking and drugging buddies, easily fell for provocation and raged. He shouted “Hah!” and kicked the wall. His hysterics didn’t faze Siheon. In a physical fight, he was confident against a drug addict.
“Look at Wonwoo. People line up to meet him without him doing anything. But you, strip away the money you leech from your parents and brother—what’s your worth?”
Cha Ijun’s flushed face burned with rage. Who’d ever spoken to him so bluntly? His father, President Cha Eunsik, treated him like a disgrace, and his brother, Vice President Cha Iryeong, feigned care while subtly scorning him.
“So don’t lump me with you. Play with the guys who lick your boots.”
Seeing Cha Ijun’s dumbstruck face, Siheon drove the point home.
“You and those sponsored kids are perfect for each other, leeching off someone for what you need.”
Sponsorship from parents and brother. The inferiority-stirring words made Cha Ijun yell.
“Hey!”
“I said I’d speak casually, not that we’d both do it. Didn’t get it? Or is your brain too short for words?”
Cha Ijun, fuming, shrugged his shoulders in frustration.
After marriage, protected by Cha Wonwoo, Siheon rarely saw him but attended mandatory family events to shield him from predatory onlookers.
“If it’s uncomfortable, you don’t have to come, hyung.”
“Leaving you alone is more uncomfortable.”
Each encounter brought different methods and words of harassment, but Siheon smiled without frowning. When they scorned him, he ignored them. Cha Ijun seemed thrown by someone usually so reserved acting this way.
“On drugs? Were you, brother-in-law? You’ve lost all sense of hierarchy.”
“You’re the one on drugs. Hierarchy’s out—equality’s the trend. I’m a celeb; I can’t fall behind.”
“Haha… wow, brother-in-law, you’re a real comedian now?”
“People say I make them laugh. Handsome guys do that. You wouldn’t know.”
He wanted to end this stupid, childish conversation. Talking long with someone incapable of logic was self-destructive.
Besides, lingering too long might prompt Senior Nam Ilho to report to Cha Wonwoo, who’d likely barge in.
“Cha Family Brawl: How Far Will Group Tensions Go?”
“CH Group: ‘Cousin Rebellion’ Brewing?”
Imagining headlines, Siheon grimaced and said.
“Anyway, Cha Ijun-ssi, don’t pick fights with me. Better yet, don’t talk to me—avoid me. I won’t hold back anymore.”
That should keep him quiet next time. Achieving his goal, Siheon turned to leave, but Cha Ijun grabbed his shoulder.
“Where you going? We’re not done. You’re great, but your confidence is overboard. Just a face selling himself.”
“Hmm… not selling and can’t sell are different. Doesn’t feel like you’re one to talk. Mood’s off.”
Siheon brushed off the hand gripping his shoulder like it was filth.
Cha Ijun, rarely restraining anger except with family, trembled and charged with a scream. “Aaaah!”
Sidestepping nimbly, Siheon yanked the door handle open. As Cha Ijun stammered, “Huh? Huh?” he stumbled, tumbling ungracefully into the hallway by inertia.
A loud thud. Cha Ijun groaned, clearly in pain, unable to stand. Trying to rise, he collapsed, spewing curses.
Should’ve gone easy on the drugs. Even drama chaebols get called tacky for this. Tsk tsk, Siheon exaggeratedly clicked his tongue. He didn’t want to stay. Turning away, Cha Ijun shouted.
“Fuck, let’s see how long you and Cha Wonwoo can keep this up!”
At the cliché line, Siheon rounded the corner with a bored expression.
＊＊＊＊＊
The sun sank between New York’s skyscrapers. Beyond the window overlooking the city, the scarlet remnants of the day poured in.
Arriving at the hotel, Senior Nam Ilho naturally guided Siheon to the penthouse suite. With Cha Wonwoo having moved his belongings there with his assistants that morning, refusal wasn’t an option.
“The director is on his way. We’ll prepare dinner for both of you.”
“Oh, time it with Wonwoo’s arrival. I need to shower.”
Still queasy, Siheon wanted a hot shower. Entering the bathroom, he pressed his chest.
The IV from dawn was wearing off, and his body ached. His joints might creak if tapped with a stethoscope. The entrance of his hole, penetrated multiple times by a large cock, stung, and the inner walls, scraped by the hard glans, were swollen, creating a strange pressure below. Every part of his body competed to complain the loudest. The body’s owner had nowhere to vent, silently enduring the pain.
Turning on the hot water, the spacious shower stall quickly steamed up.
Standing under the streaming water, Siheon swept his hair back, water droplets trailing down his smooth forehead.
“Fuck, let’s see how long you and Cha Wonwoo can keep this up!”
It was ignorable venom, but today it clung to his ears. That druggie punk stirring unease. He needed to shift his thoughts.
Next to the shower was a floor-to-ceiling window showcasing New York’s skyline. What’s the psychology behind designing a naked space like this? To feel thrilled while showering? Or to imagine someone watching, spicing up a passionate night with a lover? Even on a high floor with tinting…
Shaking his head at vague thoughts, he decided to hurry and get out. Dress, pretend to eat dinner when Cha Wonwoo arrives. Otherwise, he might try to feed him himself.
Planning the short rest of the day, Siheon’s hands moved quickly to finish before Cha Wonwoo’s return. Shampooing and applying body wash, he was rinsing when the bathroom door burst open.
“Hyung.”
Normally, in such a situation, half-naked, with an ex-husband barging in, one would be startled.
But Siheon wasn’t surprised at all. That fact was more surprising. It was as if his body already knew Cha Wonwoo was coming. Still, it was absurd, leaving him speechless, standing under the water like a mute.
Cha Wonwoo, entering the bathroom, was impeccably dressed. Aside from his usually neatly combed hair slightly falling over his forehead.
Clad in dress shoes, he crossed the dry bathroom floor and stepped into the shower stall. The once-spacious area felt cramped with his presence.
“Why, why are you in here?”
“You know why.”
“No, why do your eyes look crazed again?”
“You know that too.”
Unfazed by the water soaking him, Cha Wonwoo closed the distance.
One step, then another.
Cornering Siheon like prey, he raised an eyebrow nonchalantly and asked.
“Anything to say before the inspection?”
Without waiting for a reply, he pulled Siheon’s waist into an embrace. Grabbing Cha Wonwoo’s shoulders as his balance tipped, Siheon clamped his mouth shut, eyes darting. The hand around his waist slid down, pressing the swollen entrance. Not stopping there, a thick middle finger probed inside, scraping the sensitive walls before sliding out.
“Hnng.”
Suddenly, a suppressed voice echoed in his ears like a hallucination.
“Do well at work.”
“Hyung…”
“…”
“When you’re back, get your hole inspected.”
Exactly the kind of thing an alpha would say to an omega after a rut. And an alpha in this state never backs down. Even now, Cha Wonwoo stood firmly in front, clothes drenched.
Siheon looked up at him. His stubborn, wet face felt unusually seductive. Falling for this handsome face made life tough, yet he lost to it every critical moment.
He knew. It wasn’t losing—he was letting himself lose.
“…It’s swollen inside, so be gentle. No penetration.”
Sighing in resignation, Siheon relented. With permission, Cha Wonwoo leaned down, turned off the shower, and stopped the cascading water with a button.
Drip, drip.
The sound of water falling from the ceiling mingled with heated breaths, resonating softly. Cha Wonwoo, inches away, stared into Siheon’s eyes and whispered.
“Turn around.”
Siheon turned, gripping the wall. Cha Wonwoo knelt on the bathroom floor without hesitation, burying his sharp nose between Siheon’s cheeks and releasing pheromones.
The shower stall filled with pheromones instantly. Recognizing the alpha’s pheromones from knotting, Siheon’s hole twitched involuntarily, leaking slick fluid.
Burying his face between Siheon’s legs, Cha Wonwoo lapped at the hole like savoring a delicacy, sucking the entrance with his lips. Each time flesh met and parted, Siheon flinched.
“Nng.”
The long, hot, wet lick made his toes curl instinctively. The unhurried tongue pushing deep inside made Siheon squeeze his eyes shut. Every sensation was vivid. With each breath, Cha Wonwoo’s pheromones flooded his mouth and nose. His churning stomach calmed miraculously.
“Mmm… hnn.”
Siheon’s body, unable to contain it, leaked pheromones in response. Cha Wonwoo, gripping his hips, warned in a stern voice.
“Haa… don’t release pheromones, hyung. Unless you want to get fucked.”
Leaving only that warning, he continued licking and sucking, inspecting Siheon’s lower body. As his tongue pressed and pistoned against the inner walls, Siheon’s heels lifted precariously, toes gripping for balance.
“Nngh, hnn…”
The hand stroking his thighs slid down, caressing Siheon’s Achilles tendon, raised from standing on tiptoes.
“Won, woo…”
Calling him with a wet voice, Siheon’s ankle was seized in a firm grip. A strength that felt like it would hold him forever. It was good. No, it shouldn’t be. His thoughts scattered as his flesh was sucked into Cha Wonwoo’s mouth.
His hazy eyes, as molten as his hole, stared blankly beyond the window. His fingertips, gripping the city-view window, turned white. His palms squeaked against the glass.
The city, once ablaze in scarlet, now cast dark shadows. Earlier, he’d thought no one would do this in front of such an exposed window, but here they were. Part of him understood why.
Just having his hole probed by a tongue was maddeningly arousing.
He wanted more.
Biting his lip, Siheon pushed his hips back, swaying to meet Cha Wonwoo’s thrusting tongue.
Unbearable pleasure drenched his entire body.
＊＊＊＊＊
“Sea bass garnished with hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, served with orange squash, black truffle, and ginger.”
A white plate was set on the table. The crispy-skinned fish was plated too beautifully to eat.
“How is it?”
Lifting his gaze from the fragrant dish, Siheon looked across. Cha Wonwoo, awaiting an answer, seemed unfazed, unlike Siheon, still lingering in the afterglow. Who was the one obsessively inspecting his hole in the bathroom?
Swallowing his grievance with the still-crispy sea bass, Siheon replied.
“It’s good.”
The large-scale hotel penthouse offered a service where a chef cooked in-suite, supposedly for guest privacy. Siheon learned these things through Cha Wonwoo.
Senior Nam Ilho handled serving the chef’s dishes to the dining room. According to him, it was “a custom course specially ordered by the director for Actor Kang.” Perhaps that’s why every dish so far was light and suited Siheon’s taste. Or maybe Cha Wonwoo’s pheromones settled his stomach, enhancing the flavors.
“I met Cha Ijun.”
Chewing and swallowing the perfectly textured fish, Siheon abruptly confessed the encounter. Cha Wonwoo, who’d been eating slowly with the same mouth that had sucked him, set down his fork and knife.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Nam told me.”
Senior Nam Ilho stood in the hallway connecting the kitchen and dining room, close enough to check plates but not hear conversations.
“Anything to say before the inspection?”
So that’s why he said that. Siheon recalled how Cha Wonwoo didn’t press further when he brushed it off.
His chest suddenly felt tight. Unable to swallow the stuck words, he spat them out. Because he was frustrated.
“I was just thinking. Maybe we ended up like this because we both keep quiet for each other’s sake.”
Wiping his mouth with the napkin, Siheon spoke in a cautious, weary voice.
“I don’t speak for your sake, and you don’t ask for mine.”
Lifting his gaze, he saw Cha Wonwoo’s handsome brow deeply furrowed. As he opened his mouth to say something, the hallway grew noisy. Senior Nam Ilho stepped aside, and Yang, holding a phone, entered with an urgent expression.
Cha Wonwoo scowled irritably at the man interrupting their important conversation.
“What is it?”
Bowing apologetically, Yang covered the phone’s microphone and reported.
“Sorry, sir. It’s the Hannam-dong chairwoman, so I couldn’t handle it myself.”
Hannam-dong chairwoman.
Hannam-dong was where Chairman Cha lived, and the chairwoman referred to Madam Song Wonju, who ran the CH Foundation. Through the wedding, official events, and family gatherings, she was more familiar to Siheon as Cha Wonwoo’s grandmother.
Hearing the caller, Cha Wonwoo drank water as if parched. His body, relaxed in casual attire after showering, tensed up.
“Hyung, keep eating.”
Even then, he prioritized Siheon, standing to take the call.
“Hello, this is Director Cha Wonwoo.”
His tone and voice were formal, unlike a grandson speaking to his grandmother.
Watching him walk away with Yang, Siheon bit his lip with worry. Senior Nam Ilho approached.
“Shall I bring the next plate?”
At the mention of three-week dry-aged duck, Siheon shook his head. He couldn’t waste food Cha Wonwoo had specially ordered.
“I’ll finish this first.”
Not wanting to worry Cha Wonwoo, he picked up his fork. Unlike before, the fish skin felt over-charred, and the flesh seemed dry. The only change was the empty seat opposite.
Obligatorily emptying the plate, a new one was served.
Marmalade-pickled duck, ribeye roasted with water parsley and matsutake—by the time dessert arrived, Cha Wonwoo returned. Checking Siheon had eaten properly, he spoke with relief.
“Hyung, sorry. I need to head back to Korea now.”
His lowered brows and apologetic face confirmed Siheon’s expectations. Setting down his utensils, Siheon asked cautiously.
“Is it bad news for you?”
At the concerned question, Cha Wonwoo made an odd expression.
“There’s an issue with Chairman Cha’s health.”
At the unexpectedly serious news, Siheon stood up abruptly.
“Is he okay?”
“He collapsed but has regained consciousness. He’s not someone who goes down easily.”
“No, I’m asking if you’re okay.”
Why would I worry about Chairman Cha? Sometimes Cha Wonwoo seemed to think Siheon was some kind of saint, spouting nonsense. Siheon’s serious expression crumbled into disbelief.
“If Chairman Cha suddenly passes, do you think there’s just one or two people who’d come after you to grab something? It’s not like there’s no precedent. Whatever happens to Chairman Cha…”
Spewing words in his excitement, he clamped his mouth shut. Even so, that was too harsh for a grandfather. Should he belatedly add, “I said it because I’m worried about you”? But it felt like an excuse, so he stopped.
“You’re still the same, hyung.”
Cha Wonwoo’s eyes, a mix of joy and self-deprecation, held Siheon.
“Worrying about me and not trusting me.”
He was glad to be worried about, yet mocked himself for not being trusted.
“I told you. I won’t take a succession where I’m just a puppet sitting above that old man.”
Stepping closer, Cha Wonwoo gently brushed Siheon’s hair back. Unlike the feather-light touch, his gleaming eyes were greedy.
“I promise.”
Siheon, targeted by that fiery desire, couldn’t move. His Adam’s apple rose and fell slowly with tension. Cha Wonwoo traced the movement with his thumb and said.
The company Chairman Cha cherishes, I’ll take it. And absolutely,
“I’ll make it so you want to come back.”
It was closer to a vow than a promise, or perhaps more like a prayer begging for a response.
Feeling the warmth on his lips, Siheon closed his eyes, thinking so.
＊＊＊＊＊
“Do you know about Honey Jar? That bridge over there isn’t the Brooklyn Bridge—it’s the Manhattan Bridge. I just learned that this time.”
Holding a selfie cam, Siheon alternated between filming his face and the distant bridge.
Two days after Cha Wonwoo left for Korea. Today’s schedule was a magazine shoot at Brooklyn’s DUMBO photo spot. Famous for life shots, a couple who’d just finished their wedding shoot passed by, smiling brightly. Siheon’s gaze lingered long on their clasped hands.
“Hyung-nim!”
Kang San’s booming voice called from afar. Finishing standby, he waved at the camera, signaling he’d see Siheon soon. In the brief moment of powering off and handing the cam to Kang San, Siheon’s expressionless face brightened again as he stood before the camera for the shoot.
The moment Siheon raised the corners of his mouth, pop, a shutter sound as light as the clear sky rang out.
Time flowed capriciously.
Some days were viciously fast, others maddeningly slow. His body wasn’t tired. Thanks to Cha Wonwoo’s instructions—IV drips at night, clothes imbued with his pheromones—Siheon managed his schedule without pain.
Five days after Cha Wonwoo’s return to Korea.
The New York schedule finally wrapped up.
“Hyung-nim, you’re not going?”
Kang San’s face, refreshed from spending the two-day vacation arranged by CEO Heo at the gym, was vibrant. On New York’s last night, when asked if he’d join the staff’s wrap party, Siheon shook his head.
“I’m a bit tired. Have fun.”
Returning to the room, Siheon scanned the dark penthouse. It was always large, but alone, it felt far vaster and bleaker than expected.
Did Cha Wonwoo feel this way guarding their newlywed home?
Unlike Siheon, who packed and left, Cha Wonwoo chose to stay alone in that memory-filled place. The photo frames that held their pictures hung empty, and paired items, once used together, stood alone, lonely.
Did the quietly settling sunlight feel cold? Did the clamor of rain make him lonely? Did a passing breeze shatter him helplessly? He must have wept, tracing the ruins of that space, that heart, those layered memories. It probably hurt a lot. Just as it had for Siheon.
Lost in sentiment, Siheon moved to check his pre-packed luggage. Most could be taken as is, but there was new baggage.
A large bouquet and two shopping bags.
Gifts from Aubrey, Foremore’s chief designer. She’d chosen two runway looks Siheon liked: an embroidered bomber jacket and a black Chesterfield coat.
He’d visited a pop-up store displaying this collection for vlog filming, and a staff member, noting his reactions, must have informed Aubrey.
Siheon preferred the coat. The black outfit that closed the show kept catching his eye, as it would look stunning on Cha Wonwoo.
Glancing at the neatly placed shopping bags, he turned to New York’s nightscape.
Too embarrassed to give it directly, I’ll hang it in his closet secretly.
He was quite curious how long it’d take Cha Wonwoo to find and wear it.
＊＊＊＊＊
“Hyung-nim, feel it? It’s Korea!”
Inhaling Incheon Airport’s air deeply, Kang San made a fuss. Anyone would think he’d been on a seven-month location shoot, not a week. Still, joy was contagious, and a smile soon spread across Siheon’s face.
“Actor-nim, you’ll join us for gukbap, right?”
The haggard fashion magazine team leader approached. Skipping the wrap party was one thing, but declining a meal felt awkward. Ignoring Kang San, Subin, and the content team, who kept glancing at the gukbap place, was tough.
“Sure.”
Pressing his cap down, Siheon nodded. The cheering staff charged toward the gukbap restaurant like triumphant generals.
“This is it.”
At the long table in the airline-recommended gukbap place, steaming tteokbaegi were set before the group. Even Kang San, who avoided salt, couldn’t resist the beef-laden yukgaejang after a week, mixing rice in. Subin, with a touched expression, slurped noodles in red broth.
In contrast, Siheon’s spoon moved slowly. Not fond of spicy food, he’d ordered clear soup but still ate sluggishly. After a few spoonfuls, he turned to the TV on the wall. Checking his phone during a meal felt off, so he planned to watch TV until the others finished.
That’s when he spotted a familiar face on the screen.
“The CH Group stated that Director Cha Wonwoo’s promotion to president and acting vice chairman authority is a decision to drive sustained growth. The sudden promotion, outside regular personnel announcements, has sparked various speculations.”
The studio desk switched to a VCR, broadcasting a splendid bust shot of Cha Wonwoo. The near-close-up zoomed out, capturing the full scene. Surrounded by assistants, Cha Wonwoo, with the CH building behind him, strode confidently, escaping the camera flurry to enter a car.
“Some speculate Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s health has worsened again. What’s your take?”
“That’s possible, but the National Audit is coming up soon, isn’t it? Recently, there was the CH Construction explosion accident, and it happened overseas.”
“The aftermath of this accident is expected to extend to the upcoming National Audit.”
“Yes, with Congress gearing up to address chaebol family mismanagement, many believe summoning CH Construction President Cha Eunsik alone won’t suffice.”
The screen displayed a CG-processed Cha family relationship and company structure for clarity.
“Whoa, what’s up with the director? Did you know, Hyung-nim?”
Pausing mid-yukgaejang, Kang San leaned in, whispering. Siheon shook his head. How would he know? Time zones didn’t align, and Cha Wonwoo was too busy for even a call.
When Cha Wonwoo’s face appeared, some patrons showed interest, but as the screen shifted, it became background noise. Only their table, pausing hot gukbap, watched the TV intently.
“Are you saying the promotion was to send him as the chairman’s proxy for the National Audit summons?”
“Not solely for that. There’s been much internal and external talk about group succession, hasn’t there? Some oppose handing the company to a grandson, not a son. So, opinions suggest this is a chance to push forward stalled succession plans.”
“It could also be a move to solidify President Cha Wonwoo’s succession position.”
“Yes, but we must keep open the possibility of a change. After the summons, they might retract the acting vice chairman role, leaving only the president position. Whether this is a reward or punishment remains unclear.”
News analyzing CH Group’s situation continued. Noticing the group’s eating slowed due to watching him, Siheon stood.
“Kang San, I’m heading to the restroom. Keep eating.”
Raising his voice for all to hear, he grabbed his phone and stepped out.
Like an ordinary traveler, Siheon, cap pulled low, lowered his head to check his phone. Among piled-up messages, none were from Cha Wonwoo.
What’s going on?
Mulling over the TV news while walking, his phone screen lit up. The device buzzed uniformly, displaying caller info saved long ago. Without hesitation, Siheon pressed the call button.
“Yes, this is Kang Siheon.”
A calm voice responded.
—Actor-nim, hello. This is Attorney Park Jio from CH Group’s legal team.
“Yes, Attorney.”
Like himself, Cha Wonwoo entrusted most divorce proceedings to legal representatives. They conveyed necessary opinions to their lawyers, who met to negotiate, so the divorcing parties rarely needed to meet the other’s attorney.
But Siheon had to save Attorney Park Jio’s contact. They’d met face-to-face twice, despite Park not being Cha Wonwoo’s divorce attorney.
“Go ahead.”
—You must be exhausted from returning today.
“I’m fine. Get to the point.”
Perhaps surprised by the sharp response, the other side fell silent briefly. Siheon pressed his throbbing head, waiting. Fortunately, the silence wasn’t long. Regaining his pace, Attorney Park Jio stated the call’s purpose in a businesslike tone.
—I’m contacting you regarding the divorce filing deadline extension.
“That’s not your job, is it?”
—Not entirely unrelated. There’s something we’d like to discuss directly with you about the divorce.
“Oh…”
Letting out a low sigh, Siheon’s fingertips tensed. So there’s another agenda. Having experienced this before, he caught the vibe easily. Adjusting his grip on the phone, he cut to the chase.
“When and where should I go?”
—We’ll send a car to your residence.
“So, today. Got it. See you later.”
Hanging up, Siheon slipped into a distant restroom to avoid prying eyes. Placing his cap on the sink, he washed his face with shockingly cold water. Lifting his head, water dripping, he studied his reflection.
He wasn’t gaunt or haggard enough to look unsightly. Fatigue was inevitable from jet lag. Beyond that, nothing seemed hidden or suspicious. It was passable.
Before anyone entered, he roughly dried his face with a paper towel and pulled his cap back on. Exhaling deeply, purging the lingering anxiety, he left the restroom.
Strolling through the airport, he composed his expression and timed his return to the gukbap place as the group finished.
“Hyung-nim, you okay?”
Kang San, who’d paid for the staff with the company card, probed cautiously.
“What wouldn’t be?”
Despite his effort to brush it off, his anxiety must have shown, as Kang San, who usually avoided public spaces fearing Cha Wonwoo, insisted on staying.
“Maybe the spicy, salty gukbap? I’ve been thirsty the whole way. Just one glass of water, okay, Hyung-nim?”
The guy who rarely entered shared spaces, citing Cha Wonwoo’s scariness, moved with feigned nonchalance.
Perhaps not entirely lying about thirst, Kang San gulped down a glass, surveyed the newlywed home, and nodded, satisfied.
“No danger in sight, looks good, Hyung-nim.”
“Danger? What’s dangerous in my house?”
“Alpha types?”
Did he pick that up from Cha Wonwoo? Shaking his head at Kang San’s silly remark, Siheon gestured toward the door.
“Finished your water? Go rest.”
Unable to ask for tea or coffee from someone fresh off a flight, and finding no other excuse, Kang San groaned, conceding defeat.
“I’m off. No schedules until the day after tomorrow, so rest well. I’ll recheck the hospital consultation and action school schedule and text you.”
“Got it.”
“Yep, rest well, Hyung-nim!”
Kang San bowed halfway and left. His voice was so loud that Siheon’s ears rang even after the door closed. Pressing his muffled ears, Siheon returned to his room to prepare for going out.
After a quick shower, feeling refreshed, he received a call that the car had arrived.
Grabbing a favorite cap, Siheon stepped out. A pitch-black sedan, its interior invisible, smoothly stopped before him. Glancing at the complex’s CCTV, he climbed into the back seat without hesitation.
The car, mission accomplished, glided forward again.
“The New York schedule must’ve been tough. Your face looks half gone, Actor-nim.”
In the back seat, a middle-aged man, Attorney Park Jio, spoke with feigned sympathy. Siheon, cap pulled low, nodded slightly.
“Yes, long time no see, Attorney.”
They’d met twice, both times behind Cha Wonwoo’s back.
The first meeting involved receiving documents. Contrary to Cha Wonwoo’s intent to respect Siheon’s voice post-divorce, it was a confidentiality agreement barring Siheon from disclosing any issues or incidents from their marriage.
He’d had no intention of speaking out, but Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s underhanded move disgusted him.
The signing was semi-coerced. The document included not only Chairman Cha’s desired clauses but also verbal promises Siheon had secured during the divorce decision.
- Cha Hyuncheol (Party A) shall not, under any circumstances, disclose to third parties that Kang Siheon (Party B) participated in clinical trials funded by the CH Foundation or the trial results.
- Cha Hyuncheol (Party A) shall not, under any circumstances, disclose to third parties any medical procedures Kang Siheon (Party B) received at CH Foundation hospitals during the marriage.
- The “third parties” specified in the agreement expressly include Cha Wonwoo.
Secret talks with a conglomerate leader in his study held no value as verbal contracts. Even if they did, his wealth and power could nullify them. Refusing the contract was tantamount to a threat he wouldn’t honor those terms.
Siheon signed with a fountain pen he’d once gifted Cha Wonwoo. Just as the gift inevitably returned to him, he believed all secrets were his to bear. In their second meeting, he handed over the inked document to Attorney Park Jio.
And today, in their third meeting, what proposal would he face?
“You said you wanted my direct opinion.”
Taking the initiative, Siheon prompted Park Jio, who tapped the armrest dividing the back seat with his index finger. Seeming to choose his words, he threw an unexpected topic.
“The young master has been promoted. He’s now the president leading the group.”
President. An unfamiliar title for Cha Wonwoo. Noticing Siheon’s awkwardness, the man smiled softly.
“He’s also taken on acting vice chairman duties, so it’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?”
“We didn’t meet to exchange congratulations.”
“It’s similar. With a sudden promotion outside regular personnel changes, there’s a lot of talk. Oh, you heard about the chairman’s health from the young master, right?”
“Seems you haven’t sorted out your titles. As you said, someone leading the group shouldn’t be called young master. It’s president, isn’t it?”
Speaking calmly while staring at the seat-back pocket, Siheon’s intent was sharp. Park Jio, needing no time to interpret the directness, raised the corner of his mouth amusedly.
“Haha, you still come in without signaling.”
“No need to be cautious.”
“Don’t misunderstand. It’s a professional quirk—I like straightforward people.”
“I don’t misunderstand. I don’t think much about worthless things.”
The car cruised alongside the Han River. Resting his arm on the door trim, Siheon gazed at the calming scenery. Park Jio, seeing him turn away entirely, clicked his tongue and explained.
“If the chairman’s health issues leak, group-related stocks will fluctuate. Internal predictions suggested governance transition stocks might rise, but the chairman wanted to avoid health-related risks. Of course, they also needed someone to attend the National Audit in his place to make an impression.”
Siheon whipped his head around, glaring at the man whose words dismissed Cha Wonwoo’s efforts and achievements. Heat surged from his chest to his eyes and head. Lowering the hand propping his chin, he clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to stay calm.
“You’re shamelessly saying you’ll send a kid out as a scapegoat.”
Despite his effort, a reproachful voice burst out. Biting his lip to suppress curses, Siheon shot a cold stare. Though not a gaze to be taken lightly, the middle-aged man responded with his characteristic arrogant smile.
“Have you heard of PI marketing? ‘Image making’ might be easier for you to understand, Actor-nim. It’s meticulously planning and coordinating everything—clothing, shoes, hairstyle, words, even food. Typically, when leadership changes or a company faces issues, this strategy is used for crisis management. Our group currently faces both.”
For someone mentioning a crisis, the man’s expression was confident.
“The PI strategy for President Cha Wonwoo is ‘young but responsible leader.’ Resolving the construction company’s accident, attending the National Audit in the chairman’s place, and sincerely apologizing…”
Cutting off the lengthy explanation, Siheon spoke coldly.
“Just get to the point. Let’s save time.”
Recognizing Siheon’s patience had reached its limit, Park Jio got to the point.
“Fine. Here’s our proposal. We want to sell you, Actor-nim.”
Even CEO Heo, who literally profited from Siheon, would balk at such a statement. Outraged by the blatant insult, Siheon protested.
“Watch your words. I’m not here to listen to that crap.”
“My apologies. I aimed for brevity and clarity.”
Park Jio’s face remained smiling.
Realizing the offensive words were deliberate to gain psychological leverage, Siheon hid his agitation. Leaving just enough irritation and anger, he feigned composure. Seeing him swiftly manage his emotions and switch expressions, Park Jio smiled meaningfully, exuding the confidence of a seasoned player waiting to see how long Siheon could keep it up.
“Young but responsible leader. This strategy has one flaw: divorce.”
“Are you serious?”
“No? Why would divorce be a flaw? Personally, I think it’s great business for colleagues.”
How thick is his skin? Siheon stared, dumbfounded.
“You became a lawyer and spit trash instead of words every time you open your mouth.”
Despite the overt criticism, Park Jio shrugged nonchalantly and continued.
“Anyway, most people don’t see divorce as a flaw. It’s that era. But imagine someone who couldn’t maintain a two-person household talking about responsibility for a company with over 100,000 employees. Is that credible?”
“Choosing divorce can be about taking responsibility for oneself and one’s children.”
“It’s about image and trust. That’s why we need your help.”
So, what, stay together until Cha Wonwoo’s position stabilizes? Strategic choices were common in chaebol families. But Siheon knew. Behind all this was Chairman Cha Hyuncheol, who wouldn’t want him and Cha Wonwoo to reunite.
“I heard you two delayed the divorce filing. The reason was… pheromone issues, right? Whose pheromones or if it’s true, I don’t know. The lawyer handling the president’s divorce keeps details tightly locked.”
Pheromones. Those three syllables made his heart plummet. Trying not to show it, his fingertips trembled again. Siheon gripped his knee to hide it.
“But does the truth matter?”
Park Jio said, eyeing Siheon’s clenched hand.
“Our point is simple. We want to publicize that you’re extending the divorce filing and that it’s due to your pheromone issues.”
The car fell into a silence where even breathing was inaudible. The heavy air, as weighty as the engine’s hum, pressed hard on Siheon’s chest. If words could strike, Siheon felt like he’d been uppercut out of nowhere. It wasn’t just a feeling—his chest to his head tingled. Seizing the moment, Park Jio pressed on.
“Divorce, responsibility. We’re tying these conflicting keywords together. Like, ‘a man staying by his ex-husband’s side, delaying divorce for him.’ Especially effective if that ex-husband is Korea’s top actor.”
“…So, even if Wonwoo’s the one with pheromone issues, you want to pin it on me externally, crafting an image of a dominant alpha sacrificing for his omega. That’s what I’m hearing.”
“Exactly.”
On the surface, Siheon seemed fine, but since deciding on divorce, he’d been mired in a swamp. No, perhaps since being summoned to meet Chairman Cha at the hospital, he’d stepped into a quagmire devouring him. To ruin someone’s life like this and show not a speck of guilt—confirmed so blatantly.
Engulfed in rage, a black envelope with the CH Group logo was thrust before him.
“We trust you’ll make a wise decision, Actor-nim.”
He wanted to say no, that he didn’t need any of it, and to just honor the promises made. Even if not to Chairman Cha himself, he wanted to tear the documents before his lackey and declare it. But as his resolved hand gripped the envelope, Park Jio spoke with a confident face.
“You still love him, don’t you?”
The words, wielded like a weapon, pierced his heart.
＊＊＊＊＊
Outside, it was already pitch-black night.
The black car, cruising along the Han River, returned to the newlywed home, leaving behind a battered Siheon. As the vehicle exited the upscale complex, only his pale face remained.
Like a defeated soldier after battle, he tilted his head back limply. The sky was so vast it seemed it would swallow his frustrations without a trace.
Siheon inhaled the chilly air deeply, swelling his chest, and exhaled slowly.
“Phew…”
The breath, laden with unshaken emotions, was heavy. Lowering his head, he looked at the item in his hand. The document envelope he couldn’t tear up. Closing his eyes tightly as if witnessing something horrific, he opened them and entered the house with the envelope.
As he stepped in, the dark foyer lit up. Soft lights followed his steps down the hallway. They were the lights Cha Wonwoo had insisted on installing, calling them cute in an odd way. He’d said he wanted their home to evoke a wedding road lined with candles, a candle road to relive that beauty.
“Coming home late, heading to our room, it’ll feel like our wedding every time.”
Our room, wedding—Cha Wonwoo was excited using those words. His voice, claiming it’d feel like marrying each time and bring happiness, was vivid. Despite his tough appearance, he was surprisingly sentimental.
What did I say back then?
It was a far-from-romantic response. Funnily, Siheon’s words were hazy, but Cha Wonwoo’s sulky reaction was crystal clear. Recalling the moment his long lashes cast shadows, frustrated by Siheon’s lack of cooperation in envisioning a happy future, a chuckle escaped.
Entering the study, Siheon tossed the envelope lightly onto the desk piled with scripts and screenplays. Slumping into the chair, he buried himself deep and rubbed his face.
The more he deliberated, the rougher his dry face-washing became. After a fit of agitation, he pulled a phone from his pocket—not his current model, but the previous one. The purpose of carrying a SIM-less phone was singular.
[New Recording 001]
His thumb, wavering between the play button and the trash icon, finally decided.
—The New York schedule must’ve been tough. Your face looks half gone, Actor-nim.
Pressing play, the unused phone played the recorded voice.
—Fine. Here’s our proposal. We want to sell you, Actor-nim.
—Our point is simple. We want to publicize that you’re extending the divorce filing and that it’s due to your pheromone issues.
—We trust you’ll make a wise decision, Actor-nim.
—You still love him, don’t you?
The final sentence tore Siheon’s heart to shreds. Park Jio didn’t doubt Siheon because he believed those words. Then and now, he thought Kang Siheon couldn’t harm Cha Wonwoo.
But at the airport, a conversation from New York with Cha Wonwoo flashed back.
“I was just thinking. Maybe we ended up like this because we both keep quiet for each other’s sake. I don’t speak for your sake, and you don’t ask for mine.”
It’d be a lie to say he felt no guilt for recording without consent. Yet he had to. If they wielded Cha Wonwoo as a weapon again, Siheon needed to counter.
The reason for his hesitation…
His weapon was also Cha Wonwoo.
Lost in thought, he tapped the envelope with his finger.
Decide quickly, Kang Siheon.
Cha Wonwoo’s voice intruded at his ear, urging himself.
“You’re still the same, hyung. Worrying about me and not trusting me.”
He felt the same now. Unlike the misunderstanding of distrust, he’d always stayed silent out of worry for Cha Wonwoo.
But if his way of protecting Cha Wonwoo was wrong, if something needed to change, if it could change, could this moment be the turning point?
“I promise.”
If he alone heard that vow-like prayer, then he alone could answer it.
Powering off the phone with the recording and stowing it in the drawer, Siheon stood with a resolved expression. Turning off the study’s lights and entering the living room, he picked up his active phone and called the complex’s management office.
Despite the late hour, the call connected quickly. Hearing the other’s voice, Siheon spoke with a determined look.
“Hello. I’m calling about checking the security CCTV.”