WGD Ch 22

Both Cha Hyuncheol and his wife, being dominant, were certain their child would be too. But the baby was a recessive Alpha. Unable to accept or wanting to accept it, Cha Hyuncheol announced his eldest son as a dominant Alpha.

‘Before he was born, articles speculated he’d be dominant. They’d already received congratulations as the crown prince. Admitting he was recessive was unthinkable for Chairman Cha’s personality.’

Some feel disappointment when expectations shatter; others, like Cha Hyuncheol, rage. He hated Cha Geumho, believing his son betrayed his expectations and trust by being born recessive.

‘He’s insane.’

Hearing Cha Wonwoo’s blunt assessment, Siheon recalled an unforgettable remark from his first meeting with Chairman Cha.

‘Better to be a Beta. Recessives are all defective.’

It was directed at Siheon but surely also at his son, Cha Geumho.

‘That’s when things soured between the chairman and chairwoman. Their marriage was strategic, emotionless, but blaming each other for the recessive child drove them apart.’

A neutral business relationship turned worse than strangers.

Contempt and hatred. Scorn and indifference. Unwanted responsibilities and heavy duties.

Raised amid these, Cha Geumho grew wilted until he met Catherine, who saw and loved him wholly as he was.

“Hyung.”

“…….”

“Hyung.”

“Oh.”

Snapping back, Siheon saw Cha Wonwoo shaking dry logs, likely fetched from the terrace storage.

“Said you wanted to zone out by the fire. What, too pretty to look away?”

“Yeah. The colors are wild with that powder.”

Chuckling, Cha Wonwoo tossed the logs into the fire pit, intensifying the flames.

He tore open a new packet of ‘essential’ magic powder for fire-gazing, sprinkling it in. The flames bloomed in aurora-like hues, coloring the night sky.

“Cold?”

Glancing at the downpour beyond the awning, Cha Wonwoo asked softly.

Distracted by the flames, Siheon answered slowly.

“Not freezing. A bit.”

Sitting close, Cha Wonwoo draped a thin blanket over them, wrapping Siheon tightly.

“You watch the fire. I’ll watch you.”

Pressing their cheeks together, he gazed at Siheon with deep, dark eyes, silent for a long while.

Growing sulky when Siheon didn’t look back, he opened his mouth wide, as if ready to nibble cheek or lips with playful intent.

“Don’t.”

Eyes on the fire, Siheon warned. Thwarted by the quick rebuke, Cha Wonwoo smacked his lips and said.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just this and that.”

He wasn’t ready to share with Cha Wonwoo yet. His thoughts were tangled.

Other people’s stories didn’t matter much.

Cha Geumho and Catherine’s love marriage.

The existence of Cha Eunsik or Cha Donghyun, born between the estranged chairman and chairwoman.

Those might be curious but weren’t important.

Siheon glanced at Cha Wonwoo. The guy clung as if wanting to give all his warmth or share Siheon’s.

To Siheon, this guy was the priority. He moved his lips slowly, cautious about mentioning or addressing it.

“The one who gave birth to you…”

“Kwon Suyeon.”

Cha Wonwoo named her without sadness.

Beyond the flickering flames, he recalled a peeling gate, a composed woman, that melancholic day, and eyes the color of barley tea.

“Hyung, Chairman Cha used to say something. The first time’s a mistake; the second’s a failure. Know what that means? Marrying Song Wonju was a mistake. Having a child with her was a failure. In short, he treated Cha Geumho as a failure.”

Speaking calmly, Cha Wonwoo seemed unwilling to understand the deranged man, yet also appeared to pity Cha Geumho, projecting himself onto him.

Having heard some of Cha Wonwoo’s New York childhood on the way home, Siheon felt his heart ache again. It was too painful.

“Hyung?”

Imprinted Omegas don’t directly share sensations, but to soothe Siheon’s pain, his pheromone gland surged, triggering Cha Wonwoo’s in sync.

Sensing Siheon’s emotional shift through the sudden pheromone surge, Cha Wonwoo kissed his hair.

“Hyung, I hate when you’re in pain. I thought I’d like you suffering for me, but now that it’s happening, I don’t. Whether it’s because of me or anything, I just hate you hurting. Don’t be sad. Really, don’t. It’s all in the past.”

“You’re comforting me now? You’re really being cheeky.”

“It’s my goal, you know. Hugging you a lot.”

“It’s my turn to comfort you. I don’t know how you endured this far. If I were you, I wouldn’t have grown up like this. I’d have gone off the rails.”

Cha Wonwoo countered Siheon’s quiet murmur.

“You’ve been my conscience my whole life. What’re you talking about?”

Dismissing it as cute nonsense, Siheon lifted his coffee mug without adding more.

Relieved by Siheon’s calmed pheromones, Cha Wonwoo resumed his earlier story.

“Anyway, maybe thinking a recessive could happen again, Chairman Cha gave up on heirs from Chairwoman Song and looked elsewhere.”

Calculating backward from Cha Wonwoo’s age of 28, it was nearly 30 years ago.

Now, scrutiny is high, rumors spread easily, and there are more things to be cautious about. Trait or non-trait, humans have standards to uphold.

But back then, money and power meant no limits. He was obsessed with finding a new dominant Omega to bear his heir. Healthy but lacking resources, thus vulnerable. Fragile and timid, someone who’d hand over the child and live quietly.

The story of meeting Kwon Suyeon, the first and last time she was alive, followed. Cha Wonwoo remained composed, but Siheon’s eyes reddened.

Ahem. Clearing his throat, Siheon murmured softly.

“So that’s how you recognized the safe key right away.”

“Yeah, she’d registered me as the proxy. Two conditions to open it: after her death, or after I turned adult.”

“You checked it right when you turned twenty, huh?”

“No, I waited. Until I could use whatever was inside most effectively.”

The response evoked Catherine, who’d spoken of waiting for the right moment.

Animals learn optimal hunting methods to compensate for weaknesses in their environment, whether kin or foe, ally or enemy, absorbing from anyone.

Though he might deny it, traces of Catherine lingered in Cha Wonwoo.

Instead of pointing it out, Siheon mumbled.

“So, what was it like when you checked?”

Lately fixated on fingers, Cha Wonwoo was now gently caressing Siheon’s empty hand.

Gazing at the fidgeting, Siheon realized unconsciously.

The ring.

Cha Wonwoo was kneading his left ring finger, where even the mark of their wedding band had faded.

Lifting his head to answer, Cha Wonwoo’s eyes were heavy, sunken.

“It was all useless.”

It was long ago. Back then, paternity tests were mainly for court filings related to inheritance. Genetic testing wasn’t common, and recording or filming with compact devices wasn’t easy, so perhaps it was expected.

“Useless? What was in there?”

Turning his head, Cha Wonwoo met Siheon’s eyes. Shadows cast by the burning logs deepened his sharp features.

“A paternity test confirming I’m Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s son. A document from Kwon Suyeon relinquishing all rights to me.”

And a letter, left alone.

From a sender he’d thought he’d never hear from twice in his life—his mother.

＊＊＊＊＊

The sound of rain seeped into the stillness of the midnight hour.

Holding Siheon’s chilled body close, Cha Wonwoo waited until his breathing settled into a calm rhythm before lifting his eyelids.

He lightly rubbed his nose against Siheon’s neck. Having spent considerable time talking on the terrace, Siheon’s body, cold when they lay down, was now warmed within the blankets.

There was no gap between them.

Inhaling Siheon’s scent—not his pheromones—deeply, Cha Wonwoo felt the familiar, comforting fragrance flood his lungs, stirring a sense of fullness.

As his mind grew sharper, sleep seemed out of reach.

When Cha Wonwoo rose to head to the study, Siheon instinctively tried to follow, stirring in his sleep.

“Where…”

“Keep sleeping.”

Kissing Siheon’s forehead to keep him from waking, Cha Wonwoo gently eased him back down. It was a routine occurrence whenever he greeted the early dawn. Happening in a half-dream state, one of them never remembered it.

His hungry eyes devoured Siheon’s sleeping form, taking in every detail.

If Siheon were awake, he’d have whined for caresses.

But he waited patiently. Only when Siheon’s breathing became completely even did he carefully tuck the blankets to keep out drafts before leaving the room.

To avoid the sound of water, Cha Wonwoo showered in the guest room. Emerging refreshed, he headed to the kitchen. Sipping a glass of water, he gazed at the misty rain beyond the terrace. Dawn had yet to break.

Click.

He moved to the study and turned on the light.

The calm, peculiar air of early morning greeted him. Fortunately, the rain’s sound washed away the silence, making it less oppressive.

Sitting at the desk, he unlocked a drawer.

A paternity test confirming he was Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s son. A document from Kwon Suyeon relinquishing all rights to him.

And a letter.

On the corner of a crisp, plain white standard envelope, familiar handwriting read:

To Wonwoo.

Summoned by the words, he slowly reread the contents he’d checked recently.

The letter, starting without pleasantries, began with an unexpected Cherokee fable.

To Wonwoo.

Have you heard the story of the two wolves? I read it in a newspaper and thought it was fitting, so I wrote it down.

An old chief told a child in his tribe this story.

Inside a person’s heart, two wolves are fighting. One is an evil wolf, called anger, sadness, greed, and regret. The other is a good wolf, called love, peace, faith, and forgiveness.

So the child asked the chief,

‘Then which wolf wins?’

You’d think he’d say the good one, right? But no. The chief answered,

‘The one you feed.’

The letter paused there. Cha Wonwoo turned to the next page.

Wonwoo.

I wonder what’s in your heart when you open this safe. I didn’t raise you, so even guessing is hard. I’ll probably never know more about you than I do.

You heard there was evidence, so did you hope for something grand?

It was hard to gather, but I burned it all the day I read that story.

Resentment, regret—those things. I realized I was trying to feed them to you too, after I’d already gorged on them myself. But that’s not right. I’m the adult, your mother.

So don’t think of revenge or anything like that.

Live feeding yourself love and happiness to your heart’s content.

This is all I can give you.

Happy twentieth birthday.

Laugh a lot, stay healthy, and be happy for a long, long time.

Lowering the letter, Cha Wonwoo’s gaze deepened. The day-long downpour seemed to pool in his eyes. A tempest stirred in his pupils as they traced the words.

He’d only read this letter, long dormant in the safe, recently.

Becoming an adult didn’t mean instantly escaping Cha Hyuncheol’s shadow. Surveillance persisted, and careless moves could get him tracked. He had to consider the chance Cha Hyuncheol might reclaim it if he noticed.

He steadily built his position, gathered strength, and carefully cultivated his people.

As he’d told Siheon, he waited until he could use whatever was in the safe most effectively.

And when he finally read this letter.

“Ha…”

A wry laugh escaped, just like now.

This woman was clearly a fool. Not even a single curse against Cha Hyuncheol.

All because she wished for his happiness.

Tap. Tap.

His index finger tapped the desk. He looked at the other papers with the letter.

The paternity test. The document relinquishing all rights to him.

There must have been a desperate wish to help somehow. The problem was leaving only factual documents in that detached manner.

He understood the intent to live free of negative emotions.

He followed the logic, but his heart couldn’t accept it. This self-sacrificial approach, bearing everything alone, felt… ticklish and foreign.

Cha Wonwoo carefully stored the letter to avoid creasing it and returned it to the drawer.

Two things remained to check before work. One was the USB from Catherine; the other, the documents from Chairwoman Song Wonju.

The chairwoman’s were likely meant to provoke him, so he decided to start with Catherine’s USB.

Connecting it, he opened the folder.

One video. Dozens of subfolders sorted by date. Without hesitation, he clicked the video.

“Greetings. I am Cha Geumho, the eldest son of CH Group Chairman Cha Hyuncheol.”

Frankly, the quality—both video and audio—was poor. Understandable for something filmed back then. It could’ve been enhanced with modern tech, but it seemed Catherine deliberately sent an unedited original segment.

In the video, Cha Geumho was visibly ill. Yet, despite the uneven footage, his lips curved slightly whenever he looked beyond the camera. Catherine was likely present at the filming.

He showed a calendar and clock to mark the date, then stated clearly he wasn’t under duress, drugged, or impaired in expressing his will.

Next came the video’s purpose.

“I’m recording this for myself, my wife, and my son, Wonwoo.”

Cha Wonwoo’s Adam’s apple moved slowly as he watched.

“More accurately, my younger brother. I imagine this is shocking, but I hope you’ll hear my story to reveal the truth.”

The man calmly continued his prepared account. No script in hand. Either he used a prompter, secretaries held cues, or the story, rehearsed in his mind for decades, flowed naturally.

“Cha Wonwoo, introduced as my son, is not the biological child of myself or my wife. His biological father is my father, Chairman Cha Hyuncheol.”

He then confessed to being a recessive Alpha himself.

Why record this?

Back then, affairs and illegitimate children among the so-called ‘social elites’ in politics and business weren’t rare. By today’s standards, even scandalous dramas couldn’t compare to the rampant indiscretions.

The difference was doing it openly or covertly.

Plenty passed off as dominant despite being recessive. Some adopted nephews to pose as their own. Socially frowned upon, but common in chaebol families valuing bloodlines and traits.

In short, Cha Geumho’s story was family business. Too small-scale for a conscience confession. No one would bother confronting Cha Hyuncheol now for his youthful indiscretions. They’d be too busy gossiping about his illegitimate son.

“My father, Chairman Cha Hyuncheol, forbade us from having children. Because I was recessive, any child we had couldn’t be dominant.”

A painful story, but deeply personal. Cha Wonwoo patiently awaited the man’s next words. He could reveal his parentage without Cha Geumho’s testimony. This couldn’t be all she sent.

“There was only one way we could have a child with Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s permission. For me, born recessive, to become dominant… That was it. To be treated and become dominant.”

Treated to become dominant. Cha Hyuncheol’s influence was unmistakable.

“Thus, under Chairman Cha Hyuncheol’s orders, I’ve been taking pills and injections.”

As if rewarding Cha Wonwoo’s patience, Cha Geumho got to the point.

Illegal drugs. He revealed being forced by Cha Hyuncheol into illegal clinical trials.

Listening, Cha Wonwoo’s mind raced.

With victim Cha Geumho deceased, no one could be held accountable for his case. But Park Jio’s documents showed the experiments continued recently.

If he steered the focus there.

Cha Hyuncheol wouldn’t just fail to return to management; he’d be busy with investigations. Considering corporate image, stepping down as chairman would be a matter of time.

Originally, he planned to use Director Yoo Yeonoh’s testimony and a copied list of then-research heads. But a direct testimony video from Cha Hyuncheol’s own son, Cha Geumho?

In Cha Wonwoo’s memory, Cha Geumho wasn’t the type for this. A hollow man, swept along, wouldn’t have done this without Catherine’s influence.

Some give up thrones for love.

To Cha Geumho, the company, Cha Hyuncheol, or Song Wonju likely didn’t matter.

He seemed to sense his death while filming.

Checking other folders, Cha Wonwoo found captured photos of Cha Geumho’s diaries, seemingly self-recorded medical logs.

“You held out a long time.”

Skimming them, he gave a brief assessment—of Catherine.

Given the era’s climate, it would’ve sparked brief controversy before fading.

Crossing an ocean requires three things.

A boat. Oars. Someone to row.

A sturdy boat was wealth and power to challenge Chairman Cha; these materials were the oars.

And finally.

Someone willing to row against treacherous waves to the end. That was Cha Wonwoo himself.

Catherine and Cha Geumho had been waiting for him.

This likely wasn’t all; Catherine probably had more.

Cha Wonwoo forced himself to think colder. He didn’t want to dwell on Cha Geumho and Catherine’s pain—not out of ignorance but deliberate avoidance. He too had been treated as defective, overdosed with pheromone enhancers, writhing in agony.

If he didn’t escape that, he’d be trapped forever. He was fragile, easily swayed. Letting emotions in would leave him vulnerable.

So he kept his distance.

He stepped back from them to move forward.

Suppressing emotions, he prioritized meeting Catherine and secured the USB.

Next, he needed to review Chairwoman Song Wonju’s documents to plan countermeasures. That way, he could instruct Secretary Yang upon arriving at work.

Recalling his conversation with Song Wonju, he opened the sealed envelope.

‘You’d have found it even if I hadn’t given it to you.’

‘Then why not let me find it myself?’

‘Time wasted is a pity. How much longer will I live? You and my son both need a place to rest.’

‘Sounds like you’re deciding who lies where and how.’

‘You hear what you want. Take it. This is from my authority as foundation chairwoman.’

If it’s her authority as foundation chairwoman, it’s likely tied to Park Jio’s documents—probably clinical trials.

Both Cha Hyuncheol and Song Wonju were thrusting related materials at him as if waiting.

Hoping he’d be shaken by learning his biological father’s identity? He’d long been immune to that.

Mocking himself for joining this poorly scripted melodrama, Cha Wonwoo opened the multiple file folders one by one.

As expected, they concerned clinical trials.

Unlike Cha Geumho’s era of drugs and injections, chips were now used. Previously illegal, it was now a legitimate, transparently managed study with no apparent issues.

The final folder was thin and light.

*{Special Management Subjects Confidential}

Details regarding non-standard personnel. Please maintain confidentiality.

A list of five names.

Special management. Non-standard personnel. Ominous phrases.

Cha Wonwoo slowly scanned the names.

At the last one, his eyes froze. His face drained of color.

He couldn’t breathe.

Kang Siheon.

The moment he saw those three characters, he forgot how to breathe.