The boardroom smelled like expensive leather, fear-sweat, and bullshit.
Kang-woo sat at the long table in another flawless suit, legs crossed like the perfect Omega trophy, while Kwon Group executives threw around words like "hostile takeover" and "synergies" like they meant something. The merger with the Japanese firm was bleeding money—leaks to the press, delayed approvals, sudden "regulatory hurdles" that smelled like sabotage.
He didn't understand half the charts on the screen, but he understood rats. He'd collected from enough of them.
Ji-woon presided at the head of the table, voice cold and cutting as he grilled the finance director. Min-jae lounged two seats down, looking bored in his designer shirt, but his eyes kept flicking to Kang-woo with that same hungry smirk from the garden.
Kang-woo's neck still ached from the claiming bite hidden under his collar. Every time he shifted, he felt it—Ji-woon's mark, Ji-woon's scent still soaked into his skin. He hated how it made his body hum like a tuned engine.
The finance director droned on about missing documents. Kang-woo's street ears perked up. Numbers didn't add up. A wire transfer to an offshore account that "disappeared" last week. Same pattern he used to see when a debtor was skimming before he broke their fingers.
He leaned forward before he could stop himself. "That transfer," he said, voice soft and elegant but the words pure gutter instinct. "The one to Cayman Islands last Tuesday. It's not missing. Someone parked it there on purpose. Looks like they're waiting for the merger to collapse so they can scoop it up cheap."
Dead silence.
Every head turned.
Min-jae's smile froze.
Ji-woon's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "Explain."
Kang-woo shrugged like it was nothing. "Street math. If you're bleeding a company dry, you hide the blood in offshore pockets. Seen it a hundred times with loan sharks who wanted to look clean before they gutted someone."
The room erupted. Accusations flew. The finance director turned red and started babbling about audits. Min-jae laughed it off, smooth as ever. "My brother-in-law's still recovering. Amnesia makes people see conspiracies everywhere."
But his eyes weren't laughing.
Later, in the private elevator back to the penthouse, Ji-woon cornered him again. Not rough. Not yet. Just close enough that his Alpha scent wrapped around Kang-woo like chains.
"You keep surprising me," Ji-woon said quietly. "Street math? From the congressman's delicate son who used to cry over flower arrangements?"
Kang-woo swallowed. The bite on his neck throbbed in time with his pulse. "Maybe the river washed the delicate out of me."
Ji-woon's hand came up, thumb brushing the hidden mark through the collar. "Or maybe the river brought something else entirely."
The elevator dinged. Doors opened into the mansion hallway.
Min-jae was already waiting, leaning against the wall like he owned the place. "Family dinner tonight," he announced, smile sharp. "Mother wants us all there. Something about 'unity' before the merger vote tomorrow."
Kang-woo felt the trap closing. He could smell the rat now—Min-jae's scent carried the same sour edge as every backstabbing debtor he'd ever collected from.
Dinner was a bloodbath in slow motion.
The mother-in-law picked at her food like it offended her. The father-in-law was absent again. The sister-in-law kept glancing between them all like she was watching her favorite drama. Ji-woon sat like a king on a throne of knives. Min-jae kept "accidentally" brushing Kang-woo's leg under the table again.
Halfway through the main course, the mother-in-law dropped the bomb. "The Japanese side is pulling out unless we find the leak. Seung-ho, you were supposed to charm them. Instead you're playing detective in my boardroom."
Kang-woo's spoon paused. The heat was gone, but the rage wasn't. "Maybe if someone wasn't selling us out from inside the house, I wouldn't have to."
Min-jae laughed. "Still with the conspiracy theories? Cute."
Kang-woo looked him dead in the eye. "Cute? Try desperate. Someone's feeding the press. Someone's moving money offshore. Someone who wants the merger dead so they can swoop in and take the CEO chair when hyung falls."
The table went silent.
Ji-woon's voice cut through like ice. "Enough."
But his eyes weren't on Kang-woo anymore. They were on his brother.
Min-jae's smile finally cracked.
Later that night, after the screaming match that turned the dining room into a war zone—accusations flying, mother-in-law threatening to disown half the table—Kang-woo stood on the balcony trying to breathe.
Ji-woon stepped out behind him, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up. No words at first. Just the solid warmth of his chest pressing against Kang-woo's back.
"You protected the company tonight," Ji-woon murmured against his ear. "Even though you could've let it burn."
Kang-woo's hands tightened on the railing. "Didn't do it for you."
Ji-woon's arm slid around his waist, possessive. "Doesn't matter. You're still mine."
Somewhere below them, tires screeched in the driveway. A black car peeled out fast—too fast for this neighborhood.
Kang-woo's gut twisted. He knew that sound. That was a man running from something.
And he had a sick feeling the man behind the wheel was Min-jae.
The merger wasn't just under fire anymore.
It was bleeding out.
And the knife was still inside the house.