Sihwan flinches. He doesn't look up from his plate, but his jaw tightens until the muscle jumps.
"But," Byungho continues, turning those beady, assessing eyes on me, "I suppose we have to be realistic about Sihwan’s... limitations. He’s always been a bit soft. Lacking that killer instinct."
He chuckles, a wet, grating sound.
"Bringing you into the fold, though? That’s a strategic move. I have to give the boy credit for that. Your bloodline is impeccable, Donghwa. The Kang family intellect, the political connections... it balances out Sihwan’s deficiencies."
He leans forward, his pheromones rolling across the table in a smug, suffocating wave.
"Ideally, we’d want grandchildren, but having a partner of your caliber? It elevates him. Maybe some of that dignity will rub off on him. God knows he needs someone to steer the ship, since he can't seem to do it himself."
The air in the room goes stagnant.
Sihwan has stopped eating. He’s staring at the tablecloth, his face drained of color, looking like he’s waiting for a hit. He’s accepting it. He’s accepting that he is a defect that needs to be fixed, and that I am the patch job.
My grip on my steak knife tightens. The metal bites into my palm.
I don't like bullies. I never have. But I especially don't like it when someone tries to devalue something that belongs to me. And right now, for better or worse, this idiot is mine.
I set my knife down. It makes a sharpclackagainst the china that cuts through Byungho’s rambling.
"I think you’re confused," I say.
My voice is low, calm, but it carries. Byungho stops chewing. Mrs. Oh blinks, looking up from her salad.
"Excuse me?" Byungho grunts, frowning.
I pick up my napkin and dab the corner of my mouth, taking my time. I look him dead in the eye, letting a fraction of my own scent—cold, sharp, biting winter air—bleed into the room. Just enough to drop the temperature. Just enough to make the hair on his arms stand up.
"You seem to be under the impression that I’m doing Sihwan a favor," I say, my tone bored but dangerous. "Or that I’m here to 'fix' him."
I lean back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, looking at the patriarch of the Oh family like he’s a particularly slow student.
"I don't take on projects, Mr. Oh. I don't have the patience for charity cases, and I certainly don't waste my time on people who lack 'dignity.'"
I turn my head slowly, locking eyes with Sihwan. He’s looking at me now, his eyes wide, terrified and confused.
"I am an extremely particular person," I continue, holding Sihwan’s gaze. "I have very high standards. I don't settle for anything less than exceptional. If I am with your son, it is because he is extraordinary."
Byungho’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He looks like I just slapped him with a wet fish.
"He has a drive and a vitality that most of the 'elites' I grew up with lost generations ago," I lie smoothly—well, mostly lie. "He is powerful, he is relentless, and he is the only person in that entire university who managed to catch my interest. So, suggesting that he is somehow 'deficient'..."
I turn back to Byungho, my eyes narrowing slightly.
"...insults my taste. And I really don't like having my judgment questioned."
Silence descends on the table. Absolute, ringing silence.
Mrs. Oh looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. Byungho is turning a mottled shade of red, his Alpha pride warring with the realization that he can't snap back at a Kang without starting a war he can't afford.
But I don't care about them.
I look at Sihwan.
His mouth is slightly open. He’s staring at me with an expression I’ve never seen on him before. It’s not the lust from the rut, or the anger from our rivalry. It’s pure, unadulterated shock. He looks at me like I just grew wings and blocked out the sun.
For the first time all night, he doesn't look small. He looks seen.
