Chapter 6

The thud of Han Jun-woo’s body hitting the Persian rug was not a loud sound. It was soft, muffled by the thick wool, but in the electrified silence following the violence, it sounded like the cracking of the earth’s crust.

"Jun!" Felix’s scream tore through the air, raw and terrified.

Baek Do-hyun moved before anyone else could process the collapse. His reflexes, honed in back alleys and boxing rings, kicked in instantly. He abandoned the bleeding form of Seok-jin and lunged toward the small, crumpled figure on the floor.

"Felix!" Baek barked, his voice commanding, cutting through the chaotic sobbing of the women. "Run to the servant quarters. Get the lead driver. Tell him to fetch Dr. Rhee immediately. Tell him Code Black. Go!"

Felix, eyes wide and brimming with panic, didn't argue. He scrambled backward, nearly tripping over an ottoman, and sprinted out of the room, his Gucci loafers slapping frantically against the hardwood of the hallway.

Baek reached Jun. He dropped to one knee, his large hands hovering for a split second before sliding underneath Jun’s shoulders and knees.

"Move," Baek growled at Mi-ran and Ji-yoon, who were crowding the space, their hands fluttering uselessly over Jun’s face. He used his shoulder to firmly, but not violently, push the weeping women aside to create space.

Baek engaged his core, preparing to lift Jun’s weight. He had carried men twice Jun’s size out of burning buildings and tricky situations. This should have been nothing.

But before he could lift Jun to his chest, the air pressure beside him changed.

It was a presence. A heavy, suffocating aura of dominance that made the hair on Baek’s arms stand up. He looked up.

Han Min-jae was standing over him.

Min had handed the two girls to his sister after he crossed the room in three long strides. He stood there, looking down at Baek and the unconscious boy in his arms. Min’s face was unreadable, a mask of stone, but his eyes were blazing with a possessiveness that defied logic.

Min didn't speak. He simply extended his arms.

The command was silent, but it was absolute. Give him to me.

Baek hesitated for a fraction of a second, a micro-moment of confusion, before his training overrode his instinct. He was the shield; Min was the sword. He relinquished his hold, transferring the dead weight of Han Jun-woo into the arms of the interim CEO.

Min took him.

He gathered Jun into his arms, adjusting his grip until Jun’s head lolled against his shoulder. Min was a strong man, his strength built in private gyms and through disciplined martial arts, but he was surprised by how light Jun felt. He felt hollow, fragile, like a bird with hollow bones.

Min’s fingers instinctively sought the pulse point at Jun’s slim wrist. He pressed two fingers against the pale skin.

Thump... thump... thump.

Steady. A bit fast, but strong.

Min let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. His thumb brushed over the delicate bones of Jun’s wrist. Jun wore no jewelry on his hands, no rings, no bracelets to clutter the fine architecture of his fingers. The only adornment was a vintage gold Cartier watch with a leather strap, ticking away the seconds of this disaster.

Min noticed the heat first. Even through the layers of the borrowed suit, Jun was radiating a feverish warmth. A flush was creeping up his neck, staining the pale skin a hectic red.

"Clear the way," Min ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

He turned and walked toward the door, ignoring the Vultures who were still paralyzed by shock, ignoring Seok-jin’s whimpers of pain.

As he walked, Min’s gaze traveled downward.

He was stunned, once again, by the sheer, devastating impact of Jun’s face. Up close, without the barrier of anger or distance, the boy was breathtaking. His skin was a flawless, blasian porcelain, a creamy, rich complexion that seemed to glow under the library’s chandeliers. It was a stark contrast to Min’s own skin.

And the hair.

Jun’s curls were a chaotic halo, textured and soft. As Min walked, the movement caused the curls to bounce slightly. They looked diaphanous, as light as gossamer threads, framing features that were classic and elegant.

Min faltered. Just for a second.

He paused in the hallway, the weight of the boy in his arms sending an odd, terrifyingly familiar sensation shooting through his nervous system. It was the same electric jolt he had felt the night before as he lifted Jun into his car, the same pull he had felt this morning on the couch.

It passed through him like a shockwave, settling low in his gut.

Min gritted his teeth and started walking again, his stride longer, harder. He headed toward the service elevator at the end of the east wing. They hardly ever used it, it was meant for laundry carts and luggage, but it was the fastest route to the residential floors, bypassing the grand staircase where staff might be lurking.

Get a grip, Min snarled internally.

He refused to credit what he was feeling to anything more than a biological response. He was a healthy, thirty-five-year-old male in his prime. He hadn't been with a woman—or a man—in several months. Between the intricacies of Mafia business, managing the board, and dealing with his father’s sudden disappearance, his libido had been placed in a cryogenic freeze.

That was all this was. A physiological response to an objectively attractive male who happened to be pressed against his chest. It was friction. It was heat. It was stress.

It was not care.

The elevator doors slid open with a metallic groan. Min stepped inside and hit the button for the third floor.

As the car ascended, the enclosed space concentrated the air. A scent drifted up to Min’s nose.

It escaped from Jun’s hair, which was blowing slightly from the elevator’s ventilation. It was faint, sweet, and maddeningly fruity. Like peaches and rain. Like something alive.

The scent tantalized his nostrils, bypassing his logic centers and hitting the primal part of his brain. It weakened him. It made his arms tighten around Jun, pulling him closer, not to secure him, but to possess him.

What the hell are you thinking?

The thought snapped like a whip in his mind. He is unconscious. He might be dying. You should be panicked.

Wait.

Min frowned, watching the floor number tick up. Why should I be panicked?

This was Jun. The usurper. The boy who just stole twenty percent of his company. The boy whose existence was a monument to his father’s betrayal. If Jun died... wouldn't that solve everything? The shares would revert to the estate. Min would have 100%.

The thought was logical. It was cold. It was efficient.

And it made Min feel absolutely sick.

The elevator chimed. Min stepped out, shoving the dark thoughts away. He walked briskly down the corridor to Jun’s room.

He kicked the door open.

He walked to the bed and lowered Jun onto the mattress. He did it gently, far more gently than necessary, ensuring Jun’s head hit the pillow softly.

Seconds later, the room filled with noise.

Han Mi-ran rushed in, her face streaked with mascara tears. Ji-yoon followed, looking pale and shaken. Then Felix burst in, breathless, his silk shirt clinging to his back with sweat.

"The driver... he’s gone," Felix gasped, leaning against the doorframe.

"Good," Min said, standing by the window, his back to the room. He needed distance. He needed to stop looking at Jun.

They waited.

Eighteen minutes.

It felt like eighteen years.

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by Mi-ran’s soft weeping and the sound of the rain intensifying outside. Min stood like a sentinel, watching the driveway. He didn't offer comfort. He didn't speak. He just waited, his mind racing through scenarios, calculating risks.

Finally, headlights swept across the wet pavement.

"He's here," Min announced.

Two minutes later, Dr. Rhee marched into the room, followed by a nurse carrying two large metal cases.

Dr. Rhee was a man of few words and immense skill. He was the head consultant for the Han Medical Center, a hospital co-owned by the Organization. While his hospital serviced the wealthy elites of Seoul, Rhee himself answered only to the Hans. His retainer f*e alone could buy a small resort. He knew discretion was more valuable than medicine.

"Out," Dr. Rhee said, dropping his bag on the side table. He didn't look at the weeping mother or the frantic best friend. He looked at Min.

"Everyone out," Min commanded.

"But—" Mi-ran started.

"Out," Min repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Go downstairs. Drink water. Wait."

Felix grabbed Mi-ran’s arm and gently guided her out, casting one last, terrified look at Jun before closing the door.

Min stayed.

"What happened?" Dr. Rhee asked, already snapping on latex gloves.

"He collapsed. Syncope. High fever," Min reported, his tone clinical. "He was drinking heavily last night. Hangover this morning. Emotional shock an hour ago."

Dr. Rhee moved quickly. He checked Jun’s pupils, listened to his heart, and palpated his abdomen. He frowned.

"Nurse, IV line. Saline and electrolytes. Draw blood—full toxic screen, metabolic panel, CBC."

The nurse, a woman who had stitched up bullet wounds in the back of moving vans, moved with practiced efficiency. She inserted the cannula into the back of Jun’s hand. Min watched the needle pierce the skin, his own hand twitching at his side.

"I need to run these," Dr. Rhee said, handing the vials to the nurse. "There’s a portable analyzer in the car. Go."

The nurse left.

"I have another patient downstairs," Min said, reluctantly. "Injured jaw. Blunt force trauma."

Dr. Rhee sighed, grabbing a second bag. "It’s going to be a long night. Watch him. If he seizes, turn him on his side."

The doctor left to attend to Seok-jin.

Min was alone with Jun again.

He walked to the side of the bed. He looked down at the sleeping figure. The IV drip was steady—drip, drip, drip—a hypnotic rhythm. Jun looked peaceful now, despite the fever.

Min reached out. He couldn't stop himself. He brushed a stray curl away from Jun’s forehead. His skin was burning.

Two hours passed.

Min didn't sit. He paced. He answered emails on his phone, handling the fallout of the meeting, freezing the Vultures' access to company accounts, setting up the new board structure. But every three minutes, his eyes flicked back to the bed.

The door opened. Dr. Rhee returned. He looked grim.

He walked over to Min, holding a tablet with the lab results.

"It wasn't stress," Dr. Rhee said quietly.

Min stiffened. "Explain."

"Toxicology came back," the doctor said, scrolling through the data. "He has traces of Thallium in his blood. And a synthetic sedative—something akin to Rohypnol but chemically altered to dissolve faster."

Min’s blood went cold. "Poison."

"Yes," Dr. Rhee confirmed. "The dosage wasn't lethal—not immediately. It looks like a slow accumulation, or perhaps a single dose that was diluted. It wasn't enough to kill him today, but it was enough to cause the fever, the dizziness, the collapse. If he had taken more..."

"He would be dead," Min finished.

"Correct."

"Time of ingestion?"

"Impossible to say for certain," Rhee shook his head. "Could be twelve hours ago. Could be twenty-four minutes ago. Given the sedative, likely sometime between this morning and now."

Min’s mind raced. Soup? Lunch? Or before the meeting?

No. Min had made the soup himself. He had watched Jun eat it.

Someone at the Mansion before the meeting commenced? Or someone had tampered with his drink at the library? But most of them had drinks

“Who knows about this?”.

"Just me, the nurse, and you," Rhee said.

"Keep it that way," Min ordered. His eyes narrowed. "If the perpetrator thinks they failed, they will try again. If they think we know, they will go to ground."

"What do I tell the family?"

"Tell them it was acute exhaustion and dehydration compounded by emotional shock," Min said smoothly. "Tell them he needs absolute bed rest. No visitors."

"Understood."

"And the treatment?"

"Prussian blue for the Thallium, fluids to flush the system. He’ll be weak for a few days, but he will recover. The nurse needs to stay to monitor his vitals."

"Fine."

Min turned to Baek, who had slipped back into the room and was standing by the door like a shadow.

"Baek."

"Boss."

"We are moving him," Min said. "This room is too accessible. Too near the main staircase."

"Where to?"

Min paused. He looked at the ceiling, thinking of the layout of the mansion. There was only one place that was secure enough. One place that had a single point of entry and a private reinforced door.

"The Garden Suite," Min said.

Baek’s eyebrows shot up. "The Master Bedroom? The bridal suite?"

"Yes," Min said, his jaw setting. "It’s on the third floor. Rooftop view. Private passageway from the main upstairs hallway. Only mine and Dad’s biometrics can open the corridor door."

It was the most isolated room in the house. His father had used it as his bridal suite with Min’s mother. Then with Mi-ran. And his father before him. It was a room steeped in history, intended for the consummation of marriages and the securing of heirs.

"No one has occupied that room in ten years," Baek noted. "The staff keep it covered in sheets."

"Then uncover it," Min said. "It’s the only place I can guarantee his safety."

Min looked at Jun. To put him in the bridal suite... the irony was bitter.

"No one will be occupying it again until my own wedding night," Min muttered, half to himself.

The thought brought a dark shadow across his face. His wedding night. It was not yet scheduled, but the contract was already inked. He was betrothed to the daughter of the HK Group—a merger of convenience, a loveless union designed to consolidate political power. A woman he had met twice. A woman who looked at him with fear.

He looked at Jun.

Fate has a sick sense of humor.

"Good," Baek responded, breaking Min’s reverie. "The nurse and I will transfer him there immediately. I’ll clear the corridor."

Baek signaled the nurse. They began to prep the gurney.

Min walked over to the bed one last time. He looked down at Jun. The boy looked so peaceful, so unaware that his blood was fighting off poison, so unaware that he was the center of a war.

Min felt a surge of anger. Not at the poisoner, though he would find them and skin them alive, but at himself.

He was angry that he cared. He was angry that the thought of Jun dying made his chest ache. He was angry that he was about to put the boy he was supposed to hate into the bed that was meant for his wife.

He turned abruptly.

"Get it done," Min snarled.

He stormed out of the room, leaving the scent of peaches and the sight of the porcelain boy behind, returning downstairs to the vipers' nest to lie to their faces.