Ji-won’s breath hitched, the sudden pulse of panic in his veins cold enough to rival the icy death of his past life. Min-jun’s thumb was still resting near his jaw, mere millimeters from the fabric of his buttoned collar. The eldest Kang brother’s dark eyes were unblinking, probing, searching Ji-won’s face for any crack in his innocent facade. "I... I just found the lecture really engaging, Hyung," Ji-won stammered, forcing his eyes to widen slightly with the glossy, docile warmth his family expected. He let out a soft, sheepish chuckle, raising a hand to touch his own cheek. "The professor went over market acquisition strategies, and... well, you know how much I want to understand what you and Dad do every day. I guess I got a little worked up." The lie hung in the silence between them, fragile as spun glass. Min-jun didn't move for three agonizing seconds. Then, slowly, the razor-sharp tension in his shoulders thawed. A rare, genuine warmth softened his harsh jawline, replaced by the familiar, overbearing devotion of an doting elder brother. "Is that all?" Min-jun murmured, his hand moving up to ruffle Ji-won’s soft hair with affectionate roughness. He let out a low sigh, chuckling softly. "Here I thought you were keeping a secret from me. You don't need to push yourself so hard, Ji-won-ah. The empire Dad and I built is meant to protect you, not stress you out." "I know, Hyung," Ji-won whispered, his heart aching with a sudden, crushing weight of guilt. Min-jun’s love was absolute, pure, and unconditional—and Ji-won was standing in front of him with another man’s mark hidden under his shirt. "Go get some rest," Min-jun said, stepping back and gesturing toward the grand staircase. "I'll have the kitchen send up hot honey tea to warm you up." "Thank you, Hyung. Goodnight." Ji-won practically floated up the stairs, forcing himself to walk at a steady, leisurely pace until he reached the safety of his third-floor bedroom. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, he threw the lock, backed up against the panel, and slid down to the hardwood floor, burying his face in his knees as his body shook with delayed adrenaline. He had survived. He had dodged the blade by a fraction of an inch. Across the city, in the sprawling penthouse of the Lu Tower, Lu Sheng leaned back in his leather executive chair, swirling a glass of neat bourbon. His laptop screen flickered in the dark, displaying a live high-definition feed of the security cameras monitoring the perimeter of the Kang estate. A slow, wicked smirk spread across the billionaire's face as he watched the lights in Ji-won's top-floor bedroom turn on. Lu Sheng picked up his encrypted satellite phone, dialing a single number. "Sir?" his head of security answered instantly. "The Kang family's eldest son was suspicious tonight," Lu Sheng purred, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. He set his glass down, his eyes narrowing on the silhouette of Ji-won visible through the distant window curtains. "Set up the private retreat in the mountains for tomorrow evening. It's time to pull my little angel out of his nest for a few days... away from his brothers' watchful eyes." The next morning, the aroma of cinnamon-dusted French toast filled the sunlit dining hall, but Ji-won couldn't stomach a single bite. He knew that surviving last night's near-miss was a fluke. Min-jun’s sharp, analytical mind wouldn't stay pacified for long if Ji-won kept looking like a nervous, flushed wreck every time he returned from his "study sessions." He needed a distraction—something so undeniably innocent, consuming, and wholesome that his family would attribute his recent odd behavior entirely to a new passion. "Hyung," Ji-won murmured softly during breakfast, setting his fork down with a small, hesitant clatter. He looked up at Min-jun and Do-hyun, wide-eyed and slightly flustered. "I... I think I want to try painting." Do-hyun paused mid-bite, his face instantly lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy. "Painting? Our Ji-won-ah wants to make art?" "I've just been feeling... really inspired lately," Ji-won lied seamlessly, forcing a soft, shy blush to his cheeks as he leaned into his role. "I want to set up a small studio space in my third-floor study. But I need proper supplies. Oil paints, heavy canvases, French easels, camel-hair brushes..." Min-jun’s tense shoulders visibly dropped. The suspicion that had been quietly festering in his mind since the previous night dissolved into instant, indulgent brotherly affection. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, a rare, fond smile breaking across his stern face. "Consider it done," Min-jun said, already pulling out his phone. "I'll have our personal shopper clear out the finest art supply house in the city. The entire top floor of the west wing will be set up by this afternoon." By three o'clock, Ji-won's study was transformed into a masterpiece of gilded indulgence. Stacked against the mahogany walls were imported Italian linen canvases, hundreds of tubes of hand-ground oil pigments, and custom-carved wooden easels. When Do-hyun and Min-jun came up to inspect the room, Ji-won was already wearing a smock, his hands lightly dusted with charcoal as he feigned complete absorption in a rough sketch. "Look at you," Do-hyun gushed, practically beaming as he snapped a photo on his phone. "A true artist!" "Take all the time you need up here, Ji-won-ah," Min-jun said softly, resting a heavy, warm hand on Ji-won's shoulder. "If this brings you peace, that's all that matters." As his brothers finally left the room, closing the heavy doors to give him "artistic space," Ji-won dropped his charcoal stick onto the rug. He stared down at his smudged, clean hands, a sudden, sickening wave of self-loathing crashing over him. It was horrifyingly easy. He had spun a completely fake narrative, manipulated their unconditional love, and spent thousands of their dollars just to build a smoke screen for his filthy, secret encounters with Lu Sheng. He wasn't just losing his virtue to a demon; he was actively poisoning the sweet, innocent brother his family cherished. Desperate to cleanse the disgust clinging to his skin, Ji-won retreated into his private adjoining bathroom to wash his hands, completely unaware of the subtle adjustment Min-jun had made to the decor before leaving the room. Sitting quietly among a row of leather-bound volumes on the high bookshelf—right next to a new stack of art history texts—was a small, brass antique bird figurine. Its tiny, polished obsidian eye gleamed in the dim light of the study, a microscopic camera lens pointed directly at the heavy oak entrance door. Downstairs in his private office, Min-jun opened a hidden tab on his tablet, his expression unreadable as the live high-definition feed streamed onto his screen.

Chapter 4