The three words carved into the polished platinum cap didn’t just burn Ji-won’s eyes; they seemed to sear straight through his skin, branding themselves directly into his chest. ‘LS + JW. Mine.’ Ji-won stared at the delicate, cruel engraving until the letters blurred into a dark, illegible smudge before his eyes. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his ribs tight and aching as if he were suffocating in the middle of his own quiet study. It was a mark. A brutal, arrogant claim of territory planted firmly inside his brothers' sanctuary. Lu Sheng hadn't just breached the estate's physical perimeter; he had walked into the one room Ji-won thought was his own, leaving behind a physical, undeniable proof of Ji-won’s corruption. If Min-jun saw this—if Do-hyun picked up this pen to write down a note—there would be no explanations left. No amount of wide-eyed innocence or tearful excuses could explain why the heir of the Lu Conglomerate had left an intimately engraved custom fountain pen on Ji-won’s personal desk. "No... no, no, no," Ji-won whispered into the empty, quiet room, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated panic. He clutched the cold titanium pen in his fist, his knuckles turning stark bone-white. He ran toward his painting setup, looking frantically for somewhere—anywhere—to destroy or hide it. He looked at his brass paint-scraping knives. Could he scratch the metal? Could he scrape off the laser etching? He pressed the sharp edge of a steel palette knife against the platinum cap and pulled with all his strength, but the high-grade platinum merely resisted, leaving only a faint, useless mark over the permanent, custom engraving. Tears of sheer frustration and humiliation spilled over Ji-won's lower lashes, tracking hot paths down his pale, flushed cheeks. He was completely helpless. He was a bird caught in a net, thrashing wildly while the hunter casually tightened the ropes from afar. Lu Sheng was sitting back in his high-rise executive suite right now, drinking scotch, thoroughly entertained by the mental image of Ji-won losing his mind over a simple piece of metal. Desperate, Ji-won spun around, his eyes darting across the studio. He couldn't drop it out the window—the estate gardeners were currently trimming the hedge rows directly below. He couldn't throw it in the trash—the housemaids emptied every bin in the mansion twice a day with meticulous accuracy. His gaze landed on the far corner of the room, where a large, half-used tub of heavy gel medium and dark indigo oil pigment sat open on a side table. Without hesitating, Ji-won rushed over. He unscrewed the heavy cap of the titanium pen, pulled out the ink converter, and plunged the entire sleek metal body deep into the thick, dark, gooey mass of oil paint. He used his palette knife to shove it down, burying the custom pen under inches of dense, staining pigment until not a single glint of black titanium or engraved platinum remained visible. He slammed the plastic lid back onto the paint container, wiping his stained, trembling fingers on his smock. He leaned heavily against the marble-topped table, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against his sternum. He had hidden it. It was buried. For now, the bomb had been defused. BZZZ. The sharp, single vibration of his phone on the desk made Ji-won jump so hard his shoulder slammed against the wooden frame of the easel. Ji-won froze, his eyes snapping open. He slowly turned his head toward the desk, staring at the lit screen with horror. He didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. With heavy, dragging steps, Ji-won walked over to the desk and picked up the device. The screen displayed a single, encrypted text from the unsaved, black-listed number that haunted his dreams. [Lu Sheng]: Did you find my pen, little angel? I noticed I left it on your desk after my brief visit this morning while your brothers were at the office. Make sure you keep it close. I expect to see you using it to sign your obedience next time. Ji-won’s breath hitched. He was inside the house this morning? While Min-jun and Do-hyun were gone? The sheer, terrifying violation made Ji-won's stomach turn violently upside down. Lu Sheng hadn't just sent a messenger; he had physically walked into this house, bypassed the security detail, stood in this very room, and touched Ji-won's personal things while Ji-won was downstairs having breakfast. Before Ji-won could even begin to process the horrifying reality that his home was completely compromised, heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the hardwood corridor outside the studio door. Step. Step. Step. The steps were firm, confident, and unmistakably distinct. It was the heavy, tailored dress shoes of Min-jun. Ji-won’s heart leaped straight into his throat. Panic, hot and blinding, flooded his nervous system. He frantically wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, trying desperately to rub away the tear tracks, smoothing down his sweater collar to ensure the dark bruises on his throat were completely covered. KNOCK. KNOCK. The sound of his brother's knuckles against the heavy oak door sounded like a death knell. "Ji-won-ah?" Min-jun’s deep, calm voice called out from the hallway, smooth and authoritative. "Are you busy? It's almost time for dinner." Ji-won swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust. He gripped the edge of his mahogany desk to steady his shaking knees, forcing his voice to sound light, pleasant, and completely normal. "I-I'm coming, Hyung!" Ji-won called back, his voice trembling just enough to make his heart stop. "Just... just finishing up a sketch!" The heavy brass doorknob turned slowly. The door creaked open, revealing Min-jun standing on the threshold. Min-jun was still dressed in his immaculate dark three-piece suit, his silk tie impeccably knotted, his dark hair styled back. But his sharp, analytical eyes didn't look tired from a long day at the corporate office. They were clear, razor-sharp, and intensely focused as they swept over the entire studio. Min-jun's gaze passed over the mahogany easel, over the pristine tubes of Italian oil paint, over the covered tub of indigo pigment on the side table, before finally locking directly onto Ji-won’s pale, terrified face. "You look flushed, Ji-won," Min-jun said softly, stepping into the room and closing the heavy door behind him with a quiet, ominous click. "And your hands are shaking." Min-jun walked forward with slow, deliberate steps, stopping right in front of Ji-won. He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping Ji-won’s chin, gently tilting the boy’s head upward to inspect his face under the ambient evening light. Ji-won held his breath, terrified that Min-jun would smell the lingering scent of Lu Sheng's sandalwood cologne or notice the subtle, nervous twitch in his eyes. "Hyung... I'm fine," Ji-won lied softly, forcing a gentle, affectionate smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just... tired from painting all day." Min-jun didn't let go of his chin. His thumb brushed lightly across Ji-won’s lower lip, his expression entirely unreadable—a terrifying wall of calm stone behind which an tempest of suspicion was raging. "Is that so?" Min-jun whispered, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at his little brother. "Because my security team just finished analyzing the estate’s secondary perimeter logs from this morning, Ji-won-ah." Min-jun leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, lethal purr against Ji-won's ear. "Would you like to tell me why an unregistered black sedan belonging to the Lu Conglomerate was sitting in our private service bay for forty minutes while I was at work?"

Chapter 9