The silence in the penthouse was heavy, broken only by the steady drip-tap of blood hitting the hardwood floor.
Doyun remained slumped on the sofa, his face buried in his palms. The crimson smear on his skin was warm, but his heart felt like a block of ice.
As the minutes ticked by, the thick, metallic blood began to mix with something saltier and clearer.
Silent, jagged tears escaped through his fingers, tracing paths through the red stains on his cheeks. For the first time in years, the "Iron CEO" was hollowed out.
Eventually, the tears stopped, leaving only a cold, vibrating numbness.
He stood up, his movements stiff like a ghost's. He found the first-aid kit in the cabinet.
The hiss of the antiseptic as it hit the raw, glass-torn gashes on his knuckles was the only thing that made him feel alive.
He didn't flinch. He watched with detached intensity as he wound the white bandage around his hand.
He pulled it tight—tighter than necessary—until the stark white fabric began to bloom with a small, central spot of red.
With his hand finally bound, he turned to the mahogany bar.
He didn't reach for a glass. He grabbed a bottle of premium whisky and ripped the seal off with his teeth.
He tilted his head back, his throat working in desperate, rhythmic gulps as he choked the liquid down.
The burn was a mercy. It took less than sixty seconds for the bottle to hit the floor, empty and hollow.
He didn't stop. One bottle turned into an unrecognizable blur of labels and glass.
The moonlight shifted across the room, illuminating the graveyard of empty bottles surrounding him until his vision finally went dark and the floor claimed him.
DRRRRRRIIIIIING.
The sound was like a physical blow to his skull. Doyun's eyes snapped open to a world of blinding morning light and the smell of stale spirits.
His head throbbed with a rhythmic, pulsing pain.
His phone was sliding across the floor, vibrating near a pile of shattered glass. He squinted at the screen.
[Min-joon]
Doyun reached out with his bandaged hand—the white fabric now grey and crusty with dried blood—and swiped the screen.
Doyun forced himself up. His legs felt like lead, and the room tilted dangerously as he stood on both feet, stumbling through the sea of empty bottles to reach the vibrating phone.
He pressed it to his ear, but before he could even draw a breath to speak, a sharp voice exploded on the other end.
"What are you doing?! Why aren't you picking up?!"
Min-joon was practically shouting. The volume sent a spike of pure agony through Doyun's hungover skull.
"Stop shouting..." Doyun rasped, squinting against the sunlight pouring through the windows.
"It's early morning. Why are you complaining this much?"
There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a frustrated groan.
"What do you mean 'early morning'? Doyun, it's past 12 p.m.! You're hours late for the board briefing. Check your call history—I've been ringing you since eight!"
Doyun pulled the phone away, his eyes blurring as he looked at the screen.
34 Missed Calls. Reality hit him like a bucket of ice water.
He hung up without a word. He looked at his hand; the white bandage was a mess of yellow antiseptic and dried brown blood.
He ripped it off, hissing as the fabric tugged at the fresh scabs, and threw it into the glass-filled wreckage on the floor.
He spent exactly twenty minutes in a freezing shower, trying to wash away the smell of whisky and the memory of Chae-won's tears.
By 12:30, he was dressed in a crisp black suit, looking every bit the powerful CEO, even if his eyes were bloodshot and his head was screaming.
He left the penthouse, grabbed his keys from the guard's room downstairs, and climbed into his car.
He didn't care about the speed limits. He slammed his foot on the gas, his injured hand gripping the steering wheel so hard the wounds reopened.
Fresh blood began to seep onto the expensive leather, but he didn't even flinch.
When he reached the office building, he didn't stop to talk to the receptionist or
acknowledge the bowing staff. He walked straight into the private lift, his face a mask of cold stone, heading up to the top floor.