WGD Ch 6

The corners of Siheon’s mouth curled up as he looked at the screen.

“What’s this? Jackpot! I did send a message in advance, but I never thought you’d actually pick up!”

—You sent a message that made it impossible not to answer, didn’t you?

Siheon’s low chuckle flowed through the clamor of the reporters. His voice, tinged with a hint of awkwardness, gave the impression that he had taken this call only after much deliberation.

But that alone wasn’t enough. Suspicion would surely follow—doubts about whether this was a pre-planned call. Those doubts could even lead to accusations that the reporters had given Siheon a platform to clear his name.

“Hey, come on! We always make tons of calls, you know? But almost no one ever picks up. So this is honestly kind of surreal right now.”

—To be honest, I partly answered because I was scared of Reporter Kim and Reporter Park.

In the video, Siheon deliberately singled out two reporters with whom he had bad blood. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen this channel—to appear on a platform run by reporters who weren’t exactly friendly toward him.

“Oh, look, Reporter Kim and Reporter Park can’t even lift their heads right now. Why’d you have to do them like that?”

“No, I actually enjoyed Man to Man. I watched it, but I didn’t think it was a ten-million-ticket kind of movie. That’s what I meant when I posted my thoughts. I… yeah, I messed up. I shouldn’t have done that on my official account.”

Reporter Kim had once posted about Man to Man on social media—a movie poster, a ticket stub, and the caption, “This is supposed to hit ten million?”

It was a message that straddled the line between opinion and disdain.

Sure, plenty of people were offended, but it could also be brushed off as a personal take. The problem was that it sparked a heated comment war with netizens who loved Man to Man. In the midst of it, Reporter Kim inexplicably dragged Siheon’s fans into the mess. Fans who had been minding their own business were suddenly hit with comments like, “Stop whining here and go watch your oppa’s movie again~.” Unable to hold back, they dove into the fray, turning it into an all-out comment battle.

In the chaos, Reporter Kim, as if possessed by a rage-fueled puppet, went on to attack Man to Man’s other lead, Byun Haewon, and his fans as well. Things escalated as the two fandoms teamed up to demand an apology. Eventually, Reporter Kim backed down and posted an apology to close the matter.

But the resentment lingered. Ever since, Reporter Kim had been a thorn in the side of Siheon’s fans, using unflattering screenshots or clickbait headlines whenever writing about him.

—My fans might not even watch this because Reporter Kim’s on it.

“Oh, come on, don’t say that! I’ll be in big trouble again.”

Reporter Kim, visibly flustered, shot a pleading glance for help, but Reporter Park, in a similar predicament, looked away. The third reporter just watched the drama unfold from the sidelines. Of course, even this exchange had been pre-discussed.

The point was to emphasize that there was no camaraderie between Siheon and the three reporters—in fact, their relationship was tense and awkward.

“Anyway, thank you so much for making this big decision to join us. Have you seen that tabloid rumor?”

—Of course I have.

It was a calm, neutral response, betraying no emotion.

The reporters eagerly threw out questions, fishing for something juicy. How did such nonsense rumors even start? Looks like Kim and Park weren’t his only enemies. Their playful remarks carried sharp undertones.

“Since you’ve taken the call, why don’t you, Kang Siheon, the man himself, clear things up for us? Tell us about the tabloid.”

He couldn’t just bite at the chance to explain himself.

—Doesn’t it make you look kind of lame if you address this stuff yourself?

His tone was casual, as if it was no big deal, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should bother responding to every little joke. Rather than sounding defensive, Siheon’s voice carried a sense of ease, prioritizing “coolness” over excuses.

Even the staff watching the video—and CEO Heo, a veteran in the industry—were floored by his composure.

—My name keeps trending in real-time searches. I kinda like it.

“What? No way, is Kang Siheon actually enjoying this situation?”

—Haha, no way. I’m just used to it, so it doesn’t faze me. This is a place where scandals pop up out of nowhere, so I just let it roll off.

“Resignation?”

—I think “adaptation” sounds a bit nicer than that negative word, don’t you?

The reporters bombarded him with questions, scrambling to get something—anything—for their channel.

But Siheon, unbothered and in control, carefully chose what to reveal, refining his emotions and stories to show only what he wanted.

He said things had been misconstrued, that it was common for people to exaggerate or distort based on partial information, and that he wasn’t hurt by it. His honest yet calm tone carried no trace of grievance or self-pity.

“Seriously? He’s just going to let it end this blandly?”

CEO Heo, lost in thought and tapping the table with a pen, glanced at Siheon. The young man he’d known for years wasn’t the type to start trouble or attack others unprovoked—but he was someone who gave as good as he got.

Feeling the blatant stare, Siheon turned to CEO Heo and shrugged. As he flashed a sly grin, a name came up in the video.

—Everything else is fine, but I feel so bad for Jeonghyeon right now.

The name slipped smoothly from Siheon’s lips, sounding almost affectionate.

＊＊＊＊＊

Ye Jeonghyeon bit his nails.

—Jeonghyeon must be feeling awkward because of this tabloid mess too.

His phone screen was playing a freshly uploaded video from Bold Reporters. He’d expected that if a tabloid about Kang Siheon spread, this channel would cover it. When the teaser dropped yesterday, he’d even felt a quiet thrill.

How would Kang Siheon fall? An omega actor and a divorcee. No matter how much he tried to make a comeback, he’d probably only land sidekick roles next to the main character. If that happened, their positions would completely reverse.

Sure, one tabloid rumor alone wouldn’t be enough, but it’d deal a decent blow. Slowly crumbling until he ended up a pathetic, lonely has-been—that’s what Jeonghyeon envisioned.

Anticipating that eventual downfall, Jeonghyeon stepped into the hotel where a man was waiting. The man was an executive at a company currently pushing to acquire Lumière, a cosmetics brand.

Lumière, hit hard by shifting trends and offline store losses, was hoping to be bought out to escape its deficits. Thanks to this man’s influence, Jeonghyeon had secured a modeling gig for Lumière. Naturally, he owed the man a proper “thank you.”

After a rough encounter with the man, who had him on his knees the moment he entered the room, Jeonghyeon poured himself some wine. He opened his phone and, for once, played a video from Bold Reporters, a channel he usually ignored. At first, his cheeks puffed with anticipation, but as time passed, they sank, and he lost all composure.

—Jeonghyeon’s got his own perspective, right? He’s one of the hottest names out there right now, and suddenly he’s caught up in something messy.

That two-faced jerk. Jeonghyeon ground his teeth, his clenched jaw aching.

He worshipped money and power, which was why he wanted Cha Wonwoo. The heir to the CH Group, a dominant alpha. He didn’t delude himself with fantasies of love or marriage—just one night. A night between a dominant alpha and a dominant omega could lead to a child with CH Group blood, and that wouldn’t be too much to ask.

Cha Wonwoo’s bloodline could be his unbreakable golden ticket.

But Cha Wonwoo showed no cracks. While most dominant alphas indulged in narcissism and cycled through omegas like disposable toys, Cha Wonwoo kept only one person by his side.

Kang Siheon.

How hard had Jeonghyeon tried to get rid of him?

“He’s seriously never had a sponsor?”

“No, he debuted young and rose fast, so he never needed one. Seems like he’s not into that kind of thing either.”

“What about other stuff? Like an ex who’s blackmailing him or some crazy family member?”

“His only family was his mother, who passed away after a long illness. His agency CEO is basically his family now. And because of his traits, he doesn’t date, so his past is clean.”

“That’s even weirder. He’s an omega, right? Even if he didn’t have a lover, he’d have to deal with his urges somehow. He didn’t go around having one-night stands?”

“No, there’s no record of him meeting anyone for that kind of thing.”

Since Cha Wonwoo wouldn’t fall for Jeonghyeon’s dominant omega pheromones, he thought shattering Wonwoo’s idealized image of Kang Siheon would do the trick. He pushed his manager and hired investigators to dig into Siheon’s life, but they came up empty.

Then, like a miracle, Chairman Cha Hyuncheol woke up.

He had always looked down on Kang Siheon, to the point that rumors about his disdain spread not only in the business world but also in the entertainment industry. And why wouldn’t he? A recessive omega by the side of his precious dominant alpha grandson. Though it seemed like Cha Wonwoo and Kang Siheon might hold on for a while, they ultimately divorced.

This was his chance. Or at least, he believed it was. He desperately wanted to believe it.

But when Cha Wonwoo liked a photo of Kang Siheon on social media, acting like a man still hung up on his ex-husband, and when Kang Siheon, despite failing to renew a contract, appeared unscathed and unaffected, his pride intact…

An unbearable rage boiled over.

“They’re saying I threw coffee at Jeonghyeon. If that were true, I’d just be the bad guy and that’d be the end of it. But wouldn’t that hurt Jeonghyeon’s pride?”

At those words, which pretended to care for him while prodding at his pride, Ye Jeonghyeon hurled the wine glass he was holding without a care.

He hadn’t imagined that Kang Siheon would do a phone interview with a channel like this, let alone openly mention his name. His trembling body unleashed a torrent of aggressive dominant omega pheromones.

At the same time, his phone rang. Checking the screen, he saw it was his manager, waiting in the hotel parking lot.

“I told you to wait until I called! Why the hell are you interrupting me?”

His directionless anger poured out onto the nearest, weaker target in sight. The manager, swallowing a sigh, mentioned something urgent.

Just then, the man who had stepped out of the shower approached, grinning as if intoxicated by Jeonghyeon’s fierce dominant omega pheromones. Taking the aggressive pheromones as a stimulant, the man wrapped his arms around Jeonghyeon from behind, slipping his hand inside the hotel robe.

Enduring the creeping touch, Jeonghyeon shouted.

“What? What’s posted where?”

＊＊＊＊＊

Five minutes before Bold Reporters uploaded their video titled “[Top Star A’s Ugly Jealousy and Abuse of Power Controversy?]”…

A post went up on a workplace app that required company email and business card verification to join. It was deleted shortly after.

Though it disappeared after only three comments, it was up long enough for someone to take a screenshot.

The reason this post, which could have easily been buried, was captured and spread to other platforms in such a short time was simple.

It was related to the Kang Siheon tabloid rumor that had been the talk of the town.

Pungye) JJSS is seriously scary │ AA Media Lab

Rumors spread in an instant, don’t they?

The mix-up happened because of a scheduling error, and the person thought they were there for a shoot.

Everyone who was on-site knows. We were stuck in the middle, sweating bullets.

Just seeing the actor and their manager’s faces was so awkward, I thought I’d die.

The situation was bad enough that it’s honestly a miracle the actor didn’t make a fuss. It was the kind of thing where they could’ve raised hell.

There was no situation like what JJSS reported. I don’t know if someone spread weird rumors or if a reporter spiced things up, but the actor being mentioned didn’t do what JJSS claimed.

On the contrary, it was B who was acting high and mighty with the staff, making the atmosphere tense.

If you swapped A and B’s actions, it’d make perfect sense.

Just in case, I’m deleting this ASAP.

(Comments)

TBN │

I think I know who B is. Their personality is a total mess—their tone, their expressions, lol… When we were filming that drama, I swear I thought they were some big shot. I’ll leave it at that.

Purple Planning │

I’ve been in the industry a long time, and the moment I saw JJSS, I was like, huh? But if you want to survive in this business, it’s better not to talk about on-set stuff. Even if it’s anonymous, if someone’s determined, they can track you down. 😢

Sori Entertainment │

In the midst of this, the legend is our coordinator who left without handing over anything and caused the scheduling mess, lol.

The original post had included a photo for on-site verification, but it was quickly taken down. By the time three comments were posted, the entire post was gone.

Combined with the fact that AA Media Lab was the ad agency for Lumière and the comment from an employee at Siheon’s agency, Sori Entertainment, the screenshot spread like wildfire across various online platforms.

But five minutes later, in the Bold Reporters video, Kang Siheon revealed that the junior actor, “B,” was Ye Jeonghyeon. Of course, he likely didn’t know about the post on the workplace app when he said it.

In any case, what would have originally been a video that merely cleared up Siheon’s grievances snowballed when paired with the app post. Netizens’ reactions spiraled out of control.

As if fanning the flames, Bold Reporters took down the video and re-uploaded it, muting the part where Siheon mentioned Ye Jeonghyeon.

The online buzz quickly shifted from “Kang Siheon tabloid” to “Ye Jeonghyeon’s abuse of power” and “Ye Jeonghyeon’s character controversy.”

Within hours, multiple exposés from staff who had worked with Ye Jeonghyeon flooded social media.

[Thanks to that person, I quit and now I’m happily working at a new job. Should I be grateful?]

[I still can’t forget it. To you, it was just tossing clothes you didn’t like onto the dressing room floor, but in that moment, I felt like my dignity, my love for clothes, and my desire to dress my celebrity beautifully were all thrown away.]

[Is that hyung still acting like that? lol]

[Everyone’s being too nice. If they really spilled the tea, it’d be stuff that’d send him straight to rock bottom. lol]

No one directly named Ye Jeonghyeon, but the context made it obvious who they meant. The reaction was starkly different from when Siheon’s tabloid first broke.

Building on the Bold Reporters incident and Siheon’s situation, follow-up reports like “Tabloids That Kill” and “Who Spreads Tabloids and Why?” came out in droves. Soon, the news cycle was dominated by articles about Ye Jeonghyeon’s controversy.

And in the final moment…

Sori Entertainment posted a legal notice and an apology simultaneously.

The legal notice stated that they would no longer tolerate severe defamation and reckless spread of false information about their actor. They had collected evidence through tips and their own monitoring and would take strong legal action with no leniency.

The apology acknowledged that an employee’s mistake had caused harm to their actor and a brand, stating that all involved had been dealt with per internal regulations and that they would ensure such incidents wouldn’t happen again.

The legal notice was expected and welcomed by fans, a standard procedure with no issues.

However, the unexpected apology cemented the truth of the workplace app post.

It was exactly what Siheon wanted, at exactly the timing he wanted.

Though they couldn’t pinpoint the tabloid’s orchestrator, netizens widely accepted the theory that Ye Jeonghyeon was behind it.

At this point, Ye Jeonghyeon had no way out.

The next day…

Ye Jeonghyeon and his agency finally admitted to all wrongdoing, posting a statement that he would reflect and lay low for the time being.

＊＊＊＊＊

“Did you do this?”

Siheon patted the spot next to him on the sofa, as if calling a puppy.

Cha Wonwoo, fresh from a shower and dressed in a nightgown, sauntered over leisurely and sat down at Siheon’s gesture.

“What?”

As the freshly showered man settled beside him, a wave of warmth and the scent of body wash hit Siheon. He pointed to the screenshot of the workplace app post circulating online.

“This.”

“Yeah.”

Cha Wonwoo nodded quickly. When Siheon looked at him, his eyes curved as if expecting praise. But Siheon’s curiosity came first.

“How’d you do it? Did you buy an account?”

“No, it’s legit—the person wrote it themselves.”

Cha Wonwoo, his lips drooping slightly, explained.

“I decided to entrust some of our subsidiary’s ad work to their agency, on the condition that they post honestly about what happened that day. It’s not like they were lying—just writing what happened. They had nothing to lose. And CH subsidiary ad contracts aren’t exactly pocket change.”

“Pocket change? Come on, this isn’t just breaking even—you’re the one taking a hit here!”

As Wonwoo said, for AA Media Lab, it wasn’t just a no-loss deal—it was a jackpot.

Siheon raised his hand to give Wonwoo a playful smack but hesitated, noticing the slightly damp nightgown clinging to his body. No matter where he aimed, he’d feel too much of the guy’s physique.

Wonwoo grabbed Siheon’s wandering hand, pulled it to his thigh, and interlaced their fingers. Their hands fit together perfectly, not a single gap between them, as if they were made for each other.

“And all the follow-up reports about the tabloid issues? I orchestrated those too. Same with flooding the news with Ye Jeonghyeon’s controversy articles later.”

Wonwoo subtly tightened his grip on Siheon’s hand.

“So? You want me to praise you or something?”

“Wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“And if I don’t?”

Siheon was caught, unable to move, trapped by the dark eyes locking onto his. Every time Wonwoo looked at him, those deep, black eyes seemed to bind him.

“I’d still be fine.”

“…”

“Even if you don’t praise me, I’m fine.”

“…”

“I’m always fine.”

Siheon wasn’t foolish enough to miss the confession hidden in those subject-less words.

In truth, his plan was merely to put Ye Jeonghyeon in a difficult position. By mentioning Jeonghyeon and prodding at his pride, Siheon aimed to push him into saying, “The tabloid is fake. Nothing like that ever happened with my senior.” That was the goal.

But with Cha Wonwoo’s help, the outcome far surpassed what he had originally envisioned.

That guy was always like this.

If Siheon casually thought, Maybe I’ll try painting one day?, Wonwoo wouldn’t just buy him a canvas and paints—he’d want to create a world so beautiful it would inspire Siheon to paint. A man who always tried to give more than what was dreamed or imagined.

Letting out a hollow laugh, Siheon stood up from his seat. Following his movement, Cha Wonwoo tilted his head back.

“Hyung, where are you going?”

Worried that his subject-less confession might have made Siheon uncomfortable, or perhaps fearing that Siheon was about to leave without sleeping over, Wonwoo fidgeted, looking flustered and unsure of what to do.

“Just wait a sec.”

Siheon dashed to the bathroom and returned with a towel. He’d noticed that Wonwoo, eager to spend even a little more time with him, hadn’t properly dried his hair before coming out.

“Sit here.”

Siheon sat on the sofa and spread his legs, making space on the floor in front of him.

Cha Wonwoo, unbothered by the idea of sitting on the floor, quickly slipped into the space between Siheon’s legs. With wide, sparkling eyes and a smile so big it scrunched his cheeks, he looked up at Siheon.

“Cha Wonwoo, when someone says they’re going to dry your hair, you usually turn around and sit with your back to them.”

Instead of turning around, Wonwoo sat facing Siheon, tilting his head to one side.

“That’s just a stereotype.”

“Stereotype, my foot. There’s more hair on the back of your head, so it makes sense. How am I supposed to dry it like this?”

“Like this.”

Wonwoo’s large frame surged forward, and his arms wrapped around Siheon’s waist.

“You just dry it like this, right?”

Kneeling and burying his face in Siheon’s stomach, Wonwoo mumbled.

“…”

“…”

Momentarily at a loss for words, Siheon just blinked silently. When he didn’t react, Wonwoo buried his face deeper, his voice barely audible as he spoke.

“Is this not okay?”

“…”

“It feels like it’d dry faster this way.”

Yeah, it does feel like it’d dry fast. My blood, that is.

Swallowing the words he couldn’t say aloud, Siheon gently draped the soft towel over Wonwoo’s hair. He helped me out, so I’ve got to put up with this. No choice.

Repeating wholesome, upright thoughts to himself, Siheon quietly dried Wonwoo’s hair. The breath he could feel against his waist was growing hotter by the second.

As the towel grew damp, Wonwoo’s hair became soft and fluffy. Finally done, Siheon tapped Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Business hours are over, sir.”

The sturdy arms around Siheon’s waist tightened—not painfully, but firmly.

“No chance for overtime?”

At the question, burrowed into his embrace, Kang Siheon, the “business owner,” replied firmly.

“No, sir, I’m afraid not. I’ve got a dog at home who’s probably dying waiting for me.”

“…”

There was no real reaction from Cha Wonwoo. Did he not get it? Or was the roleplay not great? Siheon racked his brain, recalling that Wonwoo hadn’t minded roleplay in the past. No, wholesome thoughts. Upright thoughts. Shaking his head to clear out the nonsense, Siheon was caught off guard.

After hesitating, opening and closing his mouth in Siheon’s embrace, Wonwoo finally steeled himself and let out a sound.

“…Woof.”

Immediately overwhelmed by embarrassment, he shot up from his spot and vanished into the bedroom. His strides were so swift and decisive that with each step, it was as if he was teleporting further away.

Frozen for a moment, Siheon raised a hand to rub his face. Laughter kept slipping through his fingers. When he finally managed to stop laughing, he got excited at the thought of teasing Wonwoo and raced to the master bedroom.

Flinging the door wide open, Siheon shouted.

“Puppy, your hyung’s here!”

This time, Cha Wonwoo fled to the bathroom.

＊＊＊＊＊

The antics of the previous night came to an end like that. For a while, Cha Wonwoo seemed to cringe at the mere mention of the word “puppy,” but since Siheon’s last name was “Kang,” he couldn’t quite bring himself to hate it and just grumbled instead.

This is pretty okay, right? Pretending the past never happened, laughing for a bit like this, joking around, finding comfort in each other, and then slowly drifting apart to live separate lives.

But, like Murphy’s Law, the moment Siheon found peace in the present, trouble always came knocking.

“Hyung, you pick.”

It was an evening like any other, coming home to prepare for a pheromone reading.

Cha Wonwoo, eyeing Siheon cautiously, suddenly thrust a stack of documents at him. Confused by the unexpected pile of approval files, Siheon took them reflexively and asked.

“What’s this?”

“…”

Biting his lip, Wonwoo’s eyes darted around. Not out of shyness, but like someone who’d done something wrong, hyper-aware of Siheon’s reaction.

A bad feeling surged within him. Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, Siheon opened the file. Inside were several pages that looked like resumes.

“What are these?”

Siheon asked again. Knowing he couldn’t dodge this time, Wonwoo spoke up.

“They said I just have to meet them once. You pick, hyung.”

Siheon looked down at the papers in his hand.

So, these were profiles of Cha Wonwoo’s potential arranged marriage candidates.

“…”

“…”

Siheon didn’t say a word. As he stayed silent, Cha Wonwoo naturally followed suit. What was there to say? The two men sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

For a long time, Siheon didn’t move from his seated position. When he finally managed to twitch a finger, he only flipped through a few pages absentmindedly.

The words, the photos—none of it registered.

“Hyung.”

Cha Wonwoo was the one to break the tense, standoff-like silence. He carefully sat next to Siheon, aligning their shoulders.

“I’ve watched every drama and movie you’ve been in, no exceptions.”

It was a random comment. Siheon kept his eyes fixed on the papers, waiting for what came next.

“While watching, I noticed scenes like this come up a lot. The main character secretly meets someone without telling the person they like. Then, inevitably, that person shows up at the meeting spot and catches the main character lying about meeting someone else. And they misunderstand.”

“…”

“It varies depending on the character’s personality, but most of the time, they don’t say anything about the misunderstanding. They don’t ask, ‘Why did you lie to me?’ or ‘Who were you meeting?’ or ‘Am I supposed to believe you now?’ They just keep it bottled up.”

Wonwoo calmly recounted the clichés of romantic comedies he’d seen countless times. They weren’t necessarily from Siheon’s projects but appeared in endless works.

“I always found those scenes so frustrating and hated them. Ideally, you wouldn’t go to a meeting like that at all. But if you have to because of unavoidable circumstances, why not just be honest from the start? Secrets always come out eventually. Why hurt the person you care about by hiding things?”

Sitting side by side, neither looking at the other, they stared down at their own feet. Wonwoo spoke at a steady pace, without a single hesitation, as if he’d rehearsed these words multiple times.

“I know it might seem absurd from your perspective, hyung. You might even be angry. If that’s the case, I’m okay with it. But what I’d hate more is if you happened to show up at the place where I’m having an arranged meeting and saw me. Or if Chairman Cha had a hidden reporter snap photos and it turned into an article—that’s not how I’d want you to find out.”

“…”

“You can be annoyed as much as you want. Get mad, even. But I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Wonwoo stretched out his arm, placing his large hand over the papers Siheon held. The words summarizing someone’s life disappeared beneath his palm.

“I don’t care who I meet from this list. That’s why you have to choose for me.”

“…Why?”

Siheon finally spoke, turning his head to look at Wonwoo.

“Why do I have to choose?”

Wonwoo lifted his face to meet Siheon’s gaze.

“Because that’s the only way I can endure it.”

“…”

“Because if you choose, that reason alone will let me get through meeting that person and that moment.”

Like a young animal curling its tail and flattening itself to the ground, Cha Wonwoo exhaled slowly and leaned his head on Siheon’s shoulder. Like approaching someone full of wariness with clumsy gestures, he rubbed his cheek against Siheon’s shoulder.

Help me, please. That unspoken plea was palpable.

Siheon’s gaze lingered on the back of Cha Wonwoo’s hand, resting on the papers. The prominent blue veins that crisscrossed his large hand seemed to pulse with life, branching out across his entire body. Even on the inner thighs, always concealed by a nightgown, where a scar—unique in its foreignness—marred the otherwise firm and smooth skin of Cha Wonwoo.

‘Cha Wonwoo!’

He tightly shut his eyes. Within Siheon lurked a nightmare. One he’d pushed to a corner, trying desperately not to look at, but a living nightmare nonetheless.

Ironically, Cha Wonwoo himself couldn’t recall why that scar was there. Chairman Cha had deceived him, forcibly placing him in a situation with an omega, and in a pheromone rejection frenzy, Wonwoo had lost all memory of that day. But for Siheon, it was vivid.

The scene when he entered that room.

Even though it clearly wasn’t his fault, Siheon felt guilt. He wanted to forget, but he couldn’t. Fragments of that day were embedded in his mind, writhing. Since Wonwoo couldn’t remember, it became Siheon’s nightmare to bear.

“Hyung…?”

As Siheon pressed his fingers against his eyelids, Cha Wonwoo gently rubbed his back with slow, soothing strokes.

“Headache?”

“No.”

Siheon steeled himself, pulling together the pieces of his crumbling resolve.

“Move your hand.”

Wonwoo hesitated, unsure whether Siheon meant the hand covering the papers or the one rubbing his back. Siheon manually pushed aside the large hand shielding the arranged marriage profiles.

The moment the hand was gone, Siheon pulled out the paper at the very bottom.

He didn’t look at the name, the face—nothing.

After all, the person at the top of the stack was probably the one Chairman Cha favored most. Siheon deliberately chose the one at the bottom and held it out.

Taking the paper, Cha Wonwoo didn’t bother to check who it was or what kind of person they were. His eyes were fixed solely on Kang Siheon.

“Cha Wonwoo, don’t make deals like this again.”

Siheon spoke with a rare coldness in his expression.

Because if Cha Wonwoo were to meet someone, to fall in love with someone else, Siheon genuinely hoped it would be a person he chose—not someone picked by Chairman Cha.

＊＊＊＊＊

Arriving at the Japanese restaurant, Siheon followed the staff across a path surrounded by a pond. Isn’t this a bit cruel? Making someone about to eat sashimi walk past living fish.

The further he walked along the bamboo-screened path, the fainter grew the sound of water trickling from a mill and the distant koto music coming from some unknown room.

Is this Korea or Japan? If it hadn’t been necessary, he wouldn’t have bothered reserving this place.

Lost in such thoughts, he ventured deeper until a large standalone building came into view.

Tucked deep within a bamboo grove, separate from the main building, the structure housed exactly ten tatami rooms—perfect for meetings that needed to stay out of the public eye.

As Siheon followed the staff, his mood was a bit unsettled. Choosing Japanese cuisine over traditional Korean was one thing, and now he regretted picking this specific restaurant out of so many options. Still, he didn’t forget to carefully observe his surroundings.

Because today, Cha Wonwoo was having an arranged marriage meeting here.

“You can go in.”

When they reached the reserved room, the staff opened the door. Siheon settled in and adjusted his tie.

The person he was meeting today didn’t warrant such formality. But just in case he ran into someone—like Cha Wonwoo or his arranged marriage partner—he’d dressed sharply, putting in extra effort to look polished.

Not long after, the door opened, and a man with graying hair walked in.

“Well, well, our Actor Kang is already here.”

“Director.”

Siheon shot up from his seat and bowed politely. The man was none other than Director Pyo Wook-jun.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Director.”

“Oh, come on, none of that. You’re embarrassing me.”

On public platforms, Director Pyo came across as a charismatic filmmaker, but in person, he felt more like a genial, cultured gentleman. This impression deepened as he chatted away about his hobby, fishing, while nibbling on tsukidashi appetizers.

“If I hadn’t become a film director, I’d probably be a fisherman. These days, young folks don’t care much for sashimi, so I was a bit disappointed—but I’m glad it’s to your taste, Actor Kang.”

“Please, speak comfortably, Director.”

Being addressed so formally by someone so much older was beyond uncomfortable. In a Confucian country, it felt like torture.

Moreover, Siheon felt a pang of guilt for choosing this meeting spot—not only because he’d heard Director Pyo liked sashimi, but also because of the hidden reason: Cha Wonwoo.

“Haha, I’ll speak casually once we’re family. By the way, do you fish, Actor Kang?”

“I don’t really have any hobbies to speak of. I hear fishing gives you a great sense of satisfaction, though?”

Tossing out a question to feign interest, Siheon watched as Director Pyo’s eyes lit up.

“It can take hours to get to a fishing spot by boat. During the ride, all the fishermen gather and chat. Are we here to catch fish or to catch people? Their tall tales could put a novelist to shame. But no one ever says, ‘Oh, stop lying!’”

“Why not?”

“Because when their turn comes, they’ve got to brag about catching a mullet as thick as an adult’s arm or a hairtail as tall as a person. So they have to play along.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, Director Pyo asked what Siheon thought was the most common lie fishermen tell.

“Hmm… ‘I’ll buy just this one rod and never buy another’?”

“Hahaha, that’s one too, but the most common is, ‘It was biting so well yesterday.’ They hype themselves up on the boat ride, so they feel pressured to show some results. But when nothing bites, they all take turns muttering, ‘It was biting so well yesterday.’”

“Oh, I can see that.”

“They tell it so convincingly. I swear, the real actors aren’t in Chungmuro—they’re out on the sea. If you’ve got time someday, come fishing with me, Actor Kang. Everyone there’s a master of ‘life acting’—it’s a sight to see.”

So, the whole point of this long story was to recruit a fishing buddy. Siheon gave a bright smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

He looked genuinely excited about fishing. Director Pyo, realizing he’d rambled too much about trivial things, gave an awkward chuckle. Just then, a staff member opened the door, set down fresh sashimi, and left.

Around this time, Siheon’s phone started buzzing every few minutes.

“Sounds like an important call. Shouldn’t you check it?”

“It’s fine.”

Siheon poured sake into Director Pyo’s empty glass. The clear liquid flowed smoothly from a slender-necked bottle adorned with bamboo. Meanwhile, another text notification chimed.

Director Pyo gestured with his chin, signaling it was really okay.

“I’m not the type to mind that kind of thing, so feel free to check.”

“No, I’ll just put it on silent.”

It felt rude to pull out his phone in front of an elder, but seizing the chance, Siheon quickly switched it to silent. In that brief moment, he didn’t miss the chance to glance at the text notifications on the screen. They were all from Cha Wonwoo.

He seemed to be giving a detailed, minute-by-minute report of arriving at the arranged meeting and what they were talking about—unprompted.

“The knife work here is impressive.”

Director Pyo swallowed a piece of sashimi with a satisfied smile.

“Thanks to you, Actor Kang, I’ve discovered a great place.”

“Not at all. I’m just glad it suits your taste.”

Then a phone rang. Not Siheon’s, which was on silent, but Director Pyo’s. Excusing himself to Siheon, he took the call, exchanging some cryptic conversation before bursting into laughter and hanging up.

“Sorry to spring this on you, Actor Kang, but is it okay if we add another glass?”

“Huh?”

“When I mentioned I was meeting you, this guy kept begging to come here. I thought he was joking, but he actually showed up. I can’t just tell him to leave now.”

A fan? An industry contact? When dining with directors or writers, this kind of thing happened occasionally. Usually, it was to introduce useful connections, so it wasn’t a bad thing—but honestly, it was also a bit inconvenient. Still, he couldn’t show it, so Siheon nodded with a friendly smile.

“Of course. No problem. What’s one more glass?”

“Haha, it’s not like me or this guy to act like this, but when we started talking about you, Actor Kang, he insisted he had to at least see your face. I’m sorry about this.”

“No worries.”

Setting down his chopsticks, Siheon took a sip of water to cleanse his palate and asked.

“By the way, who is it, if I may…?”

He asked to mentally prepare himself, and Director Pyo Wook-jun was about to answer when—screech—the sliding door opened, and a tall man stepped inside abruptly.

“Siheon, hey.”

Seeing him, Siheon jumped up in surprise. The sudden movement knocked over the sake bottle, soaking his shirt with the liquor.

“Sunbae-nim?”

The man was none other than Lee Jinseok—Director Pyo’s muse, once a guaranteed box-office hit in Korean cinema, praised for balancing commercial and artistic success, and a powerhouse actor.

Another set of descriptors accompanied him: dominant alpha, the most beautiful alpha, insanely kind, the nation’s first love.

Having vanished without a trace, sparking all sorts of speculation, he now stood before Siheon, flashing a warm, crinkly-eyed smile.

“Long time no see, Siheon.”

His towering height, broad shoulders, and gentle eyes were unchanged from the last time Siheon saw him. Dressed in a cream-colored shirt, Jinseok stepped into the room and reached out toward Siheon.

“It’s been a while—how about a hug?”

Siheon, about to reflexively embrace him, snapped back to his senses and politely pushed Jinseok back.

“I just spilled some sake.”

His tie, the hem of his shirt, and even his pants were slightly damp, tinged with darker patches. The yeasty aroma of sake wafted up faintly.

“Did you get so excited to see me that you spilled? Or were you just startled?”

Lowering the arms he’d raised for a hug to spare Siheon any awkwardness, Jinseok offered a light handshake instead, teasing.

“Both.”

“Really? Should I thank you for the enthusiastic welcome? By the way, what about your clothes? They’re gonna smell.”

The face that had once elicited gasps from audiences when zoomed in on the big screen creased slightly. Even his frown looked like a masterpiece crafted with delicate brushstrokes. Setting aside his height and build, his soft facial features made him seem more like an omega than Siheon at times.

Looking at Jinseok’s kind, polished demeanor, Siheon responded reassuringly.

“It’s fine. I think I can just wipe it off with some water. I’ll step out to the restroom for a bit.”

With a slight nod to signal he’d be back, Director Pyo waved him off, gesturing for him to go ahead.

The corridor leading to the restroom was lined with sliding doors, but the soft shamisen music playing through speakers masked any conversations from the rooms.

Siheon couldn’t help but glance at each door as he walked. Somewhere in this place, Cha Wonwoo was sitting with his arranged marriage partner.

Maybe it was because he’d drunk the sake cold, per Director Pyo’s preference, but his chest felt tight, like he’d eaten something heavy. And that was despite only wetting his lips for politeness’s sake.

Pursing his lips at the bitter taste, Siheon loosened his damp tie and entered the restroom.

The interior looked less like a typical restroom and more like a modest tea room. The tastes of rich people with lots of secrets—go figure. Walking to the sink, he held the end of his tie under running water.

“Siheon-ah.”

A man followed him in, calling his name. It was Jinseok.

“Here to use the restroom too, sunbae-nim?”

“No, I felt bad about making you spill your drink. Plus, being alone with Director Pyo can feel a bit suffocating, right?”

As Siheon gently rinsed his tie, he asked, surprised.

“You find Director Pyo intimidating too, sunbae-nim?”

Director Pyo’s muse, Lee Jinseok.

No one in the Korean film industry didn’t know this fact. Having debuted as a child in one of Pyo’s films, Jinseok had consistently worked on his projects ever since.

Approaching the sink, which was accented with wood paneling, Jinseok playfully squinted one eye.

“Of course he’s intimidating. He’s got this knack for charming people—before you know it, you’re on a boat with him. The man’s obsessed with fishing.”

“Have you been in touch with him regularly?”

“Yeah, on and off. Mostly getting dragged out to fish.”

Siheon wrung out his tie, carefully placed it on a dry spot, and then tugged at the hem of his shirt.

But the tailored fit of the shirt made it impossible to pull the damp part under the faucet. With no other choice, he grabbed some tissue to wet and wipe it down, but Jinseok swiftly extended a hand.

“Let me help.”

In his hand was a dainty handkerchief, oddly cute for a man. Distracted by the whimsical pattern, Siheon didn’t notice Jinseok wetting the handkerchief and leaning in.

“I wasn’t planning to do this movie originally, but Director Pyo said he was working with you, Siheon.”

Breeching personal space without hesitation to wipe Siheon’s shirt, Jinseok gave off a fresh perfume scent rather than pheromones. His voice, as bright and sunny as his fragrance, continued.

“So I signed on without a second thought.”

“What? I haven’t even confirmed my casting yet.”

“Really? Looks like Director Pyo pulled a fast one on me again. Oh well, no helping it. You’ve gotta sign too, Siheon. I can’t be the only one suckered.”

Siheon let out a deflated chuckle at the conversation, which sounded like it belonged in a director-actor con scheme. No better pitch than ‘let’s be scam victims together,’ huh? With a more relaxed expression than before, Siheon tossed out a question.

“So, you’re making a comeback?”

His voice carried genuine anticipation. Jinseok’s work had comforted him when acting felt tough, and Siheon had studied his performances to refine his own expressions and techniques.

A six-year age gap. Hiding their traits and maintaining a guarded stance made it hard to get closer than a certain distance, even when working on the same project. But Siheon was a fan of Jinseok.

“Being unemployed got old. Time to come back.”

Nodding, Jinseok meticulously wiped the damp hem of Siheon’s shirt.

“Your fans are gonna lose it. You disappeared so suddenly—it shocked everyone. People were really worried.”

His abrupt hiatus had sparked all kinds of rumors. At one point, there was even a death hoax. Thankfully, he’d unintentionally clarified he was alive, but still.

“You too, Siheon?”

“What?”

“Were you worried about me?”

“Of course.”

What junior wouldn’t worry when a respected senior actor vanishes out of nowhere?

“Getting worried about by you, Siheon? Guess I must’ve lived a pretty good life. You don’t usually care about people around you.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Not obvious, no. Most people probably didn’t notice.”

“Well, you’re a great actor, sunbae-nim, so maybe you just picked up on it right away.”

“Nah, it’s not that. Let’s just say some things you only notice if you really pay attention to someone.”

Having finished wiping the shirt, Jinseok grabbed the waistband of Siheon’s pants, intending to clean the damp upper edge.

Siheon’s balance faltered, and he instinctively stepped back with his left foot, suddenly finding the position incredibly awkward. As he debated how to naturally push Jinseok away and raised his hand, he heard movement outside.

The door swung open, and someone stormed in. Siheon’s eyes locked with those of the man who entered, his brows furrowed as if searching for something.

“…”

“…!”

By sheer coincidence, the person barging into the restroom was Cha Wonwoo. His face devoid of expression, he scanned Siheon with icy black eyes. Following his gaze, Siheon took stock of himself.

A loosened tie, pushed to one side. A damp shirt, partially pulled out. A man holding Siheon’s pants, his face leaning toward his groin.

It was a situation ripe for misinterpretation in the worst way. Startled, Siheon looked up.

“…”

“…”

Under the dim restroom lighting, Cha Wonwoo’s face was starkly contoured, like an unpolished sculpture. His expressionless mask revealed nothing, except for a storm of emotions swirling solely in his dark eyes.

“How’d you know I was here?”

Siheon bit the tip of his tongue. Flustered, his question came out accusatory. He was just embarrassed about being at Wonwoo’s arranged meeting spot without telling him.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Wonwoo’s voice was flat, stripped of inflection. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, as if suppressing the urge to release pheromones.

“I kept catching your scent, so I came out to check.”

The leather sole of his dress shoe pressed against the wooden restroom floor. Creak. A chilling groan interrupted the nature-inspired ambiance of the space.

One step, then another.

Cha Wonwoo approached slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking prey. Jinseok stepped in front of him.

“Hey, hold on a sec…”

Wonwoo let out a scoffing sneer. Looking down at Jinseok, he said.

“Some company you’ve got here.”

Instinctively, Jinseok unleashed his dominant alpha aura and pheromones, but Cha Wonwoo didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he wrapped Siheon in his own pheromones to shield him from any stimulation. The reason he suppressed his alpha pride to this extent was solely out of concern for Siheon’s well-being.

Noticing that the other had no intent to attack, Jinseok reined in his aura and pheromones as well.

Siheon gave a wry smile and gently pushed Jinseok away.

“Siheon-ah.”

“Sorry, sunbae-nim, but could you head back to Director Pyo first? He’s been alone this whole time, and it feels a bit rude.”

At the nudge, the handkerchief Jinseok had been holding fell to the floor. Without a thought to pick it up, he looked at Siheon with concern, issuing a firm request to leave.

“You okay? Your ex-husband’s not giving you a hard time, is he?”

Ex-husband. The word worsened the situation, and Siheon forced a laugh. From his perspective, the person Cha Wonwoo seemed to want to hassle right now wasn’t him but Lee Jinseok.

“It’s not like that. I’ll just talk for a bit and be right back.”

As Siheon spoke calmly, Jinseok reluctantly stepped back.

“…”

Catching every word, breath, and expression Siheon directed at Jinseok, Cha Wonwoo tugged off his own tie. Then he positioned himself to block Siheon’s view of Jinseok.

“Where are you looking?”

He grabbed Siheon’s chin, forcing his gaze to lock onto him. Then, he draped the tie he’d been clutching around Siheon’s bare neck and skillfully knotted it. In the final moment, Cha Wonwoo’s long fingers tightened the tie so deeply it grazed Siheon’s Adam’s apple, as if fastening a shackle.

“…”

“…”

Siheon, face-to-face with him at close range, swallowed hard. Though never released outward, he could feel the ferocious, simmering energy roiling within Cha Wonwoo.

After staring briefly at Siheon’s clear face, Cha Wonwoo bent down to pick up Jinseok’s handkerchief from the floor. Instead of returning it to its owner, he stuffed it into his pants pocket. Siheon’s eyes widened as he asked.

“Why are you taking that?”

“You wiped yourself with it, didn’t you? It’s got your scent on it—I can’t let someone else have it.”

Cha Wonwoo gave a chilly smile.

“No, but still…”

Cutting him off mid-sentence, Cha Wonwoo spun around, pulled a clean handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and held it out to Jinseok.

“Here, take mine instead.”

“No, I’m good.”

Jinseok immediately declined. But Cha Wonwoo strode over and, without a word, slipped the handkerchief directly into the man’s welt pocket.

The dark red handkerchief bloomed vividly and eerily in Jinseok’s breast pocket, like a venomous flower.

“It might carry a bit of my pheromone scent. Keep that in mind.”

Cha Wonwoo’s face, speaking in a low voice, was as still as if cast in plaster.

“Why would I need to remember your pheromones, Mr. Cha Wonwoo?”

“There’s a reason.”

Cha Wonwoo paused briefly before continuing.

“Because the same scent comes from my husband.”

The “ex-husband” Jinseok mentioned and the “husband” Cha Wonwoo claimed differed by just one syllable, but the gap between them was vast.

“Make sure you remember.”

By deliberately handing over a handkerchief steeped in his scent, Cha Wonwoo was issuing a warning—marking territory like an animal, making it clear who belonged to whom.

Jinseok let out a soft chuckle.

“You’ve got quite the misunderstanding. I don’t have any ulterior motives toward Siheon. Believe what you want, though.”

Glancing at Siheon, still partially obscured by Wonwoo, Jinseok left the restroom with a casual remark to take his time and come back when ready.

Click.

As the door closed, a suffocating silence flooded in.

Cha Wonwoo slowly turned around.

“Hyung.”

Meeting his gaze, Siheon felt a chill down his spine. It was like standing before an apex predator. If Wonwoo were whining or throwing a fit like usual, it’d be easier to handle, but faced with this subdued, sunken version of him, Siheon was powerless. He struggled to part his lips.

“Don’t misunderstand. I was in a meeting with Director Pyo. I didn’t ignore your texts on purpose—it’s just that I couldn’t check them one by one in front of an elder.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet.”

The corners of Wonwoo’s lips curled up, but his eyes were icy cold.

“Why are you panicking like you got caught cheating? You’re making me want to misunderstand.”

Cha Wonwoo locked the restroom door and closed the distance between them.

“Let’s go through this step by step.”

“…”

“First, your meeting with Director Pyo was scheduled for lunch. Why did it change to dinner?”

“…”

“Second, the meeting was originally set for somewhere else. Why is it here?”

Coming close enough for Siheon to feel his body heat, Cha Wonwoo gripped his shoulders, locking eyes with him.

“You don’t actually need to explain. Just say I’ve got the right answer.”

“…”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“…”

“You’re not going to say it’s not, are you?”

“…”

“You don’t lie to me, hyung.”

At that moment, Siheon’s expression darkened. Countless lies he’d told Cha Wonwoo flooded his mind. That he no longer loved him, that the thought of spending the rest of his life with him felt suffocating, all the things he’d said to make Wonwoo give up on resisting the divorce.

Cha Wonwoo let out a quiet sigh. He seemed fine at a glance, but a closer look revealed his eyes were slightly unfocused. With a rougher touch than before, he grabbed Siheon’s chin again, pinning his gaze.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”

“…”

“I want to drag you out of here this instant. Take you home and lock you up so you can never leave. You know that.”

It was the instinct of a dominant alpha. Omegas, too, sought a place to take root and bind themselves tightly, making them a perfect pair. In extreme cases, some alphas even acted on words like Wonwoo’s.

But he had always respected Siheon. Though he got rough when he couldn’t hold back, he mostly endured.

Even now, swallowing a low groan as if suppressing something, Cha Wonwoo stepped forward and pressed his lips against Siheon’s pheromone gland.

“Don’t let another alpha’s scent get on you.”

A scorching heat climbed up Siheon’s neck, reaching his ear. A damp, husky voice whispered close.

“We haven’t filed for divorce yet. Every strand of your hair, every eyelash—it’s all mine.”

His sticky gaze pierced Siheon, as if stripping him bare.

“…”

“…”

The mood needed a shift. Like he’d received a cue, Siheon snapped to attention, curving his lips. A perfect smile bloomed on his face.

“You’re right about everything, so stop with the pretty-boy tricks and step aside.”

Stunned by the sight, Cha Wonwoo flinched like a man entranced before slowly regaining focus. Letting out a scoff at Siheon’s attempt to defuse the situation with acting, he released him.

I’ll probably never beat you, not even when I die. Muttering to himself, Cha Wonwoo added.

“We’re going home together after this. That’s non-negotiable.”

He didn’t forget to grab Siheon’s damp tie from the corner either.

＊＊＊＊＊

When Siheon returned to the room, Director Pyo didn’t ask why he was late. Sharp as a seasoned filmmaker, he noticed Siheon’s tie had changed but said nothing. Jinseok, too, only glanced over, silently asking if he was okay.

“Now, let’s get back to talking about the movie.”

The moment Siheon sat down, Director Pyo stopped his lively chatter with Jinseok and got to the point.

“I’m thinking about changing the movie’s title. The studio staff said Ignition is too abstract, so I’m considering Forgery. What do you think, Actor Kang?”

Both seemed equally abstract to Siheon. Assuming he was being asked as if he’d already signed on, he trailed off with a hesitant, “Well…” Sensing his discomfort, Jinseok jumped in.

“Come on, Director, you already decided and now you’re asking him? You’re so sly. Kids these days call that ‘dapjeongneo.’”

“Dapjeongneo?”

“The answer’s already set, and you just have to say it.”

Laughing at the novel term, Jinseok raised a sake bottle adorned with cherry blossoms, pouring into the director’s empty glass as the liquor trickled out.

Checking the table, Siheon noticed the sashimi platter was already half-empty. With an extra person now, it seemed wise to order more. He hated wasting food, but being stingy in a setting like this could earn him a bad rep. Though neither Director Pyo nor Jinseok seemed the type to care, it was a different matter for the host.

With the corporate card CEO Heo had given him in hand, Siheon called for a staff member and waited. Soon, the sliding door opened.

“Huh?”