The afternoon sun streamed through the high, arched windows of the third-floor studio, casting a warm, golden haze across the room that felt entirely mockingly bright. Outside, the estate gardens were still, the leaves of the old oak trees rustling softly in the late-summer breeze. Inside, however, the air was suffocatingly thick, heavy with the scent of dried oil paint, turpentine, and the lingering, phantom trace of expensive sandalwood cologne.
Ji-won sat motionless on his plush velvet stool, staring blindly at the blank canvas resting on his mahogany easel. His sweater collar was pulled up awkwardly high against his chin, chafing his sensitive skin, but he didn't dare adjust it. Every time he moved his neck, he felt the faint, dull ache of the marks left behind from the night before—tangible, burning reminders of the dark, filthy secret he was keeping from the people who loved him most.
The maid’s casual remark from earlier that morning kept echoing in his head, repeating over and over like a sinister refrain.
“He used to be so quiet. Now, he practically glows. Wonder what changed?”
A bitter, nauseating lump formed in Ji-won's throat. Glowing? Is that what they thought it was? He wasn't glowing. He was burning alive from the inside out. He was drowning in sheer, unadulterated terror, waiting every second for the fragile house of cards he had built to collapse around him. His double life was straining at the seams. Min-jun’s sharp, laser-focused eyes followed his every move; Do-hyun’s relentless, smothering care felt like a tight rope around his chest; and Lu Sheng... Lu Sheng was pulling the strings from the shadows, enjoying every second of Ji-won’s desperate, frantic struggle to stay afloat.
Unable to sit still any longer, Ji-won stood up, his knees shaking slightly beneath his linen trousers. He needed to clear his thoughts. He needed to organize his workspace to give his trembling hands something—anything—to do so he wouldn't look so painfully guilty if his brothers stepped into the room.
He walked over to the heavy mahogany study desk sitting in the corner of the room—a beautiful, vintage piece of furniture his father had personally ordered for his entry exams. Ji-won reached out, intending to tidy up the scattered sheets of economics notes and research papers he had brought back from his supposed "off-site seminar."
As he shifted a heavy stack of leather-bound reference books, something metallic caught the ambient afternoon light, glinting sharp and cold against the dark wood.
Ji-won froze. His heart skipped a violent beat.
Lying casually right in the center of his main desk blotter was a object that had definitely not been there when he left the room that morning.
It was a custom-crafted fountain pen, forged from polished jet-black titanium and capped with a brushed platinum clip. It was exquisite, ridiculously expensive, and unmistakably distinct. It belonged to the Lu Conglomerate’s executive line—a bespoke series crafted exclusively for the senior directors of the Lu family empire.
It was Lu Sheng’s pen.
Ji-won’s blood ran completely cold, the air rushing out of his lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp. He stumbled back a step, his thighs hitting the edge of his velvet stool, knocking it slightly askew. He stared at the pen as if it were a venomous snake coiled across his desk, ready to strike.
How? When did he...?
Panic, cold and sharp as an icy blade, flooded his veins. Lu Sheng hadn't just dropped it by accident. A man as meticulous, controlling, and terrifyingly calculated as Lu Sheng did not simply lose a multi-thousand-dollar custom pen in his rival’s private residence.
This wasn't a mistake; it was a message. A deliberate, psychological landmine left right in the middle of Ji-won’s safe haven.
Lu Sheng was playing with him. He was amused by Ji-won's escalating anxiety, actively pushing the boundaries of their hidden arrangement just to see how far he could stretch Ji-won's composure before the boy completely snapped. Lu Sheng knew that if Min-jun or Do-hyun walked into the studio to check on Ji-won and saw that specific executive pen sitting on his personal desk, the game would be over instantly. Min-jun would recognize the Lu family crest on the cap in a fraction of a second.
With trembling, clumsy fingers, Ji-won reached out and snatched the pen off the blotter, as if touching it for another second would set off an alarm throughout the mansion. The metal felt heavy, smooth, and chillingly cold against his warm palm.
Ji-won held his breath, his eyes darting frantically toward the heavy oak door of the studio, listening for any sound of footsteps coming up the hallway. The silence of the mansion pressed in around him, heavy and menacing.
Standing near the desk, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sleek metal casing, Ji-won brought the pen closer to inspect it, his eyes wild with terror. He turned the polished titanium body in his trembling hand, checking for any identifying marks he might be able to scratch off or hide.
As the heavy barrel rotated under the afternoon light, Ji-won caught sight of fine, delicate laser etching running along the side of the platinum cap, hidden just beneath the clip.
Ji-won’s breath hitched completely. He raised his hand higher, his eyes scanning the microscopic, custom-engraved lettering.
The pen, sleek and cold in his hand, bore a tiny inscription: 'LS + JW. Mine.'
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