Just quiet awe. And maybe… a little fear.
“Then I’ll start drafting the evacuation plan,” he said finally.
Seungho almost smiled.
??????
Chapter 35 – The Unseen Flame
The door clicked shut behind him with surgical precision.
It was just past midnight. Seoul glittered far below the penthouse windows—ribbons of traffic, scatterings of light. But the man who stepped in from the night brought no warmth with him. Only tension.
Seungho stood in the foyer, coat still on, jaw tight. The gala suit felt heavier now. The echo of Chairman Kwon’s voice thudded behind his eyes.
“You forget, Seungho-ssi, that alliances are not built on affection. They are secured in blood and business. And Yeol Holdings has precious little of the first left.”
He hadn’t responded. Not with words. He’d simply raised his glass, toasted to “new flames,” and walked away.
But his fists had clenched the entire drive home.
Now, in the hush of the penthouse, fury simmered low in his spine like banked coal.
The hallway light spilled into the bedroom in a pale line—and there he was. Haneul. Fast asleep on top of the duvet, curled like a fox in molted snow. One bare arm thrown above his head, braid splayed messily across the pillow. The Birds of East Asia guide lay open on his chest, pages crinkled, thumb still caught between two chapters like he’d drifted mid-sentence.
Seungho’s breath caught.
Even now—even in sleep—this man made noise inside him.
He stepped closer. Looked down.
The ache in his chest was almost unbearable.
He wanted to touch him. Just—rest a hand on that book. Close the page. Maybe trace the edge of that absurd braid. Maybe lean down and breathe in whatever cinnamon-sharp, snow-bitten shampoo Haneul insisted on using. Maybe press his face against that warm, reckless shoulder and forget the weight of empires.
But he didn’t move.
Because Chairman Kwon’s voice still echoed behind his ribs:
You’ve made your choice, Yeol Seungho. Just be sure you’re willing to pay for it in full
Seungho had smiled, of course. Said nothing. But inside—
He was already calculating the cost.
It wasn’t the board meetings. Not the severed alliances or tanked contracts. Not the whispers, the tabloids, the goddamn legacy his father tried to hang around his neck like a leash.
He could survive all of that.
He’d survived worse.
No—the thing that rattled him was this.
This boy. This sky-wild, sharp-mouthed, soul-stirring boy. The one who sketched falcons and kissed like he’d just remembered how to breathe. The one who’d wrapped himself around Seungho in sleep like he belonged there.
That was the problem.
Because Seungho wanted to keep him there.
