Dominic stared at him in silence for a moment. Standing in the sunlight flooding the house, Juliet looked just as he had the day before—yet somehow different. Perhaps it was his still-damp hair and flushed cheeks, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. Dominic frowned and spoke.
“You just showered in my house?”
“Yes.”
He replied brightly to the question, asked slowly, as if Dominic couldn’t quite believe it.
“I’m a Gamma, so I don’t mutate easily. But if I were to mutate, it’d be a disaster. As you know.”
Juliet tacked on the last words deliberately, smiling sheepishly, as though asking for understanding since it was unavoidable.
Of course, nothing he said was wrong. They had been sealed in a car together the day before, and Dominic’s Pheromones lingered throughout the house. Spending the entire day here would expose him to a considerable amount. Not enough to mutate, especially as a Gamma—but still.
There was no harm in being cautious.
Besides, a Gamma mutating would be life-threatening. Staying overnight in this space, the man might have spent it trembling with anxiety. No matter how bold his nature, it would’ve been hard to brush off a risk like that.
He was the one who told him not to leave—he couldn’t now ask why Juliet had taken his words so literally. If he did, Dominic would only look like a fool.
How absurd.
Dominic swept back his hair and looked at Juliet. Just what was this man? He kept getting under Dominic’s skin, always slipping past consequences. He felt... unfamiliar. Was it because he was a Gamma? Or was he simply a sharper lawyer than he appeared?
He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, but he looked completely different. His hair, usually slicked back, now hung damp and loose over his smooth forehead, making him look younger than usual. His cheeks were still flushed with residual heat, and as Dominic’s eyes passed down the length of his neck, he saw the open collar revealing his collarbone.
That was when Dominic noticed his tie was gone and two shirt buttons were undone. His gaze dropped further, past the suit jacket slung over one arm—and stopped.
Bare feet peeked out beneath the hem of his dress pants.
Dominic’s eyes fixed on them. Small, shell-like toenails capped toes that were pink, like his cheeks. As he looked at those bare feet, a burst of Pheromone surged around him. It was so strong Juliet would’ve gone pale if he could smell it. But unfortunately, Dominic was the only one who could.
He spoke, voice cold and flat as usual.
“You don’t have to worry about protecting yourself from mutating. I’m not stupid enough to douse someone in Pheromones when they can’t even sense it.”
Of course, that was a lie. He’d already done it to him—twice.
Now, three times.
Dominic smiled bitterly and knocked back the rest of his drink. Juliet asked, as Dominic set the glass down on the bar table with a soft clatter,
“Then what shall we do now?”
Instead of answering, Dominic poured himself another drink. Picking up on the nuance behind his silence, Juliet casually suggested,
“If there’s nothing pressing... how about a game?”
Dominic looked up at him like he hadn’t heard right.
“A game?”
Juliet smiled at his frowning face. They were standing just three or four steps apart across the bar table. As if testing the distance himself, Juliet took a step forward.
Dominic didn’t move. He just watched.
Another step. Then another. Slowly, Juliet approached. Finally, he leaned across the marble bar table and opened his mouth.
“Well, of course…”
A low voice slipped out between his lips. Too far to kiss—but close enough to try if either of them wanted to. Juliet tilted his head, looking up at Dominic like he was about to whisper something deeply personal.
“Chess.”
Dominic’s only reaction was the brief twitch of an eyebrow. He looked almost frozen. Satisfied with the response, Juliet smiled brightly and pulled back, his voice light again.
“I drove you home last night—how about that as compensation?”
Dominic let out a short breath, frowning in irritation.
“Chess?”
“Yes.”
Juliet added with a smile, as Dominic repeated the word back to him.
“I don’t like freebies.”
Seeing his glowing smile, Dominic sneered like he’d been waiting for it.
“Then you don’t donate either?”
Clearly sarcastic—but Juliet didn’t flinch.
“I don’t think Mr. Miller is exactly in a position to receive donations, is he?”
Staring at that unfazed smile, Dominic felt like he was the one who had come up empty. He sighed and looked at Juliet again. Studying his face for a moment, Dominic turned away. He circled the bar and walked past Juliet without hesitation.
“Wait in the game room.”
He gave the command plainly, heading to the dressing room. Dressed in vacation-appropriate cotton pants and a comfortable shirt, his expression was unchanged—but his thoughts weren’t.
How presumptuous.
A smirk twisted his lips. That man was walking a tightrope. There was no good reason to provoke Dominic, so was it just his personality? Or something else?
Descending the stairs, Dominic’s footsteps echoed in the spacious house.
I need to find out which it is.
He opened the door to the game room—and there was Juliet, already rising from his seat. He’d finished setting up.
“Everything’s ready.”
Sunlight streamed through the windows behind him as he smiled at Dominic, chessboard and pieces neatly arranged.
“I started playing chess when I was six.”
His clear voice echoed in the quiet room. He continued softly, as if telling a story to a child.
“I was an only child. My parents were ambitious—but they believed in quality over quantity. Instead of having many kids, they chose one and poured everything into him.”
Because of that, his family was ordinary middle class, but they could afford nearly anything he wanted.
“So, what else did you do?”
Dominic asked as he moved a piece. Juliet focused on the board, letting out a thoughtful “Hmm.”
“I did everything kids usually do. And I knew early on how to make people like me, so…”
Dominic responded casually, eyes scanning the board for Juliet’s move.
“It must have been easy.”
“It was exhausting.”
Juliet chuckled, and Dominic knew he meant it. This man was entirely different from him—but also oddly similar. Charming, articulate, socially skilled—most people probably adored him. Whether it came naturally or from strategy, he likely treated everyone with polite warmth.
But his real feelings…
‘I’m so bored, I could die.’
Just as a whisper brushed his mind, Juliet spoke again.
“What about you?”
Juliet smiled, tilting his head at Dominic, as if to ask: And you?
“It’s your turn now, isn’t it? What were you like as a kid?”
Dominic chuckled and looked at the board again.
“Nothing special. I was like everyone else.”
“In what way?”
Juliet pressed. Dominic moved a piece, dodging the rook.
“My first love was my nanny. Like everyone else.”
Juliet, eyes on the board, looked up at that. His expression twisted in disbelief.
“You had a nanny?”
“Yes.”
Dominic replied flatly. Juliet paused, then asked again.
“So? What happened? How did it end?”
Dominic answered with no hesitation.
“It ended when I saw her kissing my father.”
Juliet fell silent, and Dominic added without emotion,
“Isn’t that how it goes for everyone?”
Juliet seemed to search for a response, then gave a vague smile. In the heavy silence, the wall clock ticked audibly, the minute hand dragging forward. A small sound—but enough to shatter the stillness.
Juliet finally turned his gaze back to the board. A soft sigh slipped from his lips. Dominic, sitting opposite him, watched quietly.
Juliet looked deep in thought. It was only their second game, but Dominic had already noticed his habits. Juliet always opened with his knight to F3. Seeing him do it again, Dominic recognized the pattern.
Another habit: whenever he was considering a move, he’d bend his right index finger and stroke his lower lip with the middle knuckle.
〈I used to stroke it with the piece when I was a child.〉
Only after being warned several times not to touch the pieces unless he was making a move did he barely manage to break the habit. But instead, he seemed to have developed a new one—using his finger. Whenever he was thinking about his next move, he always did the same thing.
And this time again, watching his finger slowly trace his lips, Dominic mentally replaced it with a chess piece. The image of him holding the knight to his mouth, slowly rolling it as if kissing it, came vividly to life in his mind—as if it were real.
Dominic narrowed his eyes. If he still had that habit, he would’ve made him play black, just to see the piece fogged up by his breath.
Finally, when he saw that finger drop from his lips—clearly having decided on a move—Dominic shifted his gaze to the board. He studied the new layout after Juliet’s turn and thought:
Not bad.
He took his time thinking, but came up with a solid move. Juliet had dodged a crisis and secured an opportunity to strike back at the same time. This round, Dominic was the one on the defensive.
So this was why he wanted to play first?
Scanning the board and simulating the possibilities in his head, Dominic quickly came to a decision. Juliet might think he had no way out—but he was wrong. Dominic picked up the bishop, gleaming almost invitingly, and moved it.
“Checkmate.”
“Ah.”
As soon as he chose offense over defense, Juliet let out a breath. He sighed and moved his king to the side.
“There’s no way you didn’t see that coming.”
Juliet replied bitterly to Dominic’s relaxed tone.
“There was a chance, but most people would’ve gone for defense in that situation.”
Dominic stared at him silently as he gave a small, awkward smile. Once again, Juliet raised a finger to his lips. His hand, which had been idly stroking his mouth, now swept across his ear. Whether it was itchy or just unconscious movement, it was unclear. He stopped, tilted his head, frowned, and then reached out—as if making up his mind.
“I lost.”
His expression as he admitted defeat looked dejected. It was understandable—this was already his second loss. Now he only had one chance left. Dominic shook his hand briefly out of formality, then pulled away. The mix of anxiety and disappointment on Juliet’s face was almost enjoyable. He regretted, just a little, that it would all be over in one more round.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Juliet asked, seemingly reluctant to leave just yet. Dominic wanted to sit back, light a cigar, and enjoy the sight of that frustrated face—but a sudden wave of dizziness made that impossible.
…Damn Rut.
He swallowed the curse and noticed Juliet’s bare feet. The skin, like soft cream, and the neatly shaped toenails drew Dominic’s gaze—and refused to let go.
“Go back.”
Dominic spoke more slowly than usual. Tearing his eyes away from Juliet’s feet, he stood up and said,
“The game’s over. Go home. I need to rest.”
Juliet had remained quiet, but when Dominic turned and actually began to leave the room, he finally spoke.
“Then, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll take my leave.”
He bowed, polite as ever, and left. Dominic stood at the bar, drinking, and listened to the sound of the front door closing—followed by the hum of a car exiting the private garage. Only then did he realize he was truly alone. All that remained was the lingering scent of his own Pheromone.
After several days of bad weather, hail the size of fists began to fall. On the news, shattered windshields flashed across the screen while Dominic lounged on the sofa with a glass of whiskey.
Today was the day Juliet was supposed to come over for another chess match. Since then, Dominic hadn’t reached out, and neither had Juliet. Just yesterday, a brief message had confirmed their meeting—no changes.
But now, past the scheduled time, he still hadn’t shown. It was too sloppy, too immature to be a deliberate mind game. More believable that he’d simply given up.
Did he bail?
Did he back out because of his last defeat? If so, then he was just a small man after all.
With the dark sky pressing down beyond the tall windows, Dominic rose and walked to the bar. He dropped ice into a glass and poured himself another drink as hail pinged violently against the windows. The reinforced glass wouldn’t crack—but it couldn’t block out the sound.
Annoying.
He’d just emptied his third glass when a mechanical chime signaled a visitor. Dominic froze, mid-pour, and checked the time.
More than two hours late.
Could it be him now? He doubted it, but no one could access the private parking lot without prior authorization. So it had to be Juliet.
He slowly set down the bottle and stood behind the bar for another five minutes or so. Then, just as expected, the doorbell rang. Only then did Dominic move. Since the guest was pre-approved, he didn’t bother checking the screen.
The garage door was already open—but he rang the bell anyway, probably trying not to appear discourteous. Dominic understood the gesture.
But what happened next—no amount of calculation could have predicted.
He’s right on time.
Dominic was about to make a sarcastic remark—but froze when he saw the man standing there.
His hair was soaked and disheveled. His suit was a wreck. He stood shivering, face pale. Juliet, soaked to the bone, moved his blue lips and barely managed a sound.
“I-I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Miller.”
The voice trembled, thin as a sob. Dominic stared blankly for a beat before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. This wasn’t the time to stand frozen. Blood was running down from a wound on Juliet’s forehead, staining his white shirt a deep red.
Dominic sat him down on the sofa, ran to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and came back. Finding the source of the bleeding, he saw a long gash. Pressing the towel to the wound, Dominic snapped,
“What happened?”
“I-I’m sorry.”
Juliet apologized again, still shaking from the cold.
“The hail broke the window. I got hit at an angle, but it’s fine. It’ll s-stop soon.”
His breath came out as cold as the air around him. Dominic clicked his tongue and asked,
“The hospital?”
There hadn’t been enough time to get treated and return. Juliet answered without hesitation.
“Chess comes first.”
For the first time, Dominic was speechless. Had he ever truly been at a loss for words? Never. Not even once.
Who was this man?
Misreading Dominic’s silence as bafflement, Juliet rushed to explain.
“I’m s-sorry I didn’t call. I was driving the whole time... B-but I can still play.”
Still panting, still stammering, still freezing. Even if he had gone to the hospital, he’d be more than two hours late. And then Juliet reluctantly admitted:
“I passed out for a little while after the hail hit me... But it wasn’t long. I’m really okay.”
“…Hah.”
That was all Dominic could say. Juliet stared at him nervously while Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back.
“First, get treated.”
His voice was firmer now, his decision made. Before Juliet could argue, he added,
“There’s a medical service in the building. I’ll call someone to patch you up. Then we’ll play.”
There was no, “Is that okay?” No gentle suggestion. Dominic simply expected him to comply. He turned around, and Juliet, wrapped in a blanket, stayed seated and listened to him call the doctor.
“All done.”
The doctor arrived within ten minutes. The wound wasn’t serious—the bleeding had stopped—but still, the doctor recommended rest. Juliet, wrapped tightly in the blanket, listened quietly.
“Thank you for your consideration.”
He said once the doctor had left. Dominic replied flatly,
“I just didn’t want to play a game with someone bleeding all over the place.”
“Yes, I’ll be careful not to stain the chessboard.”
Juliet smiled like it was the most natural thing. He winced slightly right after, as though the wound throbbed again.
Dominic paused briefly, watching him—but then turned and walked off. Juliet, bundled up, followed him into the game room.
Outside, the hail kept hammering the windows. Juliet no longer seemed to be shivering, maybe because he’d warmed up a little, but he was still clutching the blanket closed with one hand. While he focused completely on the chessboard, Dominic wasn’t looking at the game at all—he was watching Juliet.
He held up pretty well, occasionally frowning or biting his lip as pain flickered across his face. He looked deathly pale, his lips tinged blue. His soaked hair clung to his forehead, still damp. As Dominic’s gaze lingered on the edge of gauze barely visible beneath his bangs, Juliet moved his knight and captured a pawn. Dominic forced himself to look at the board, then said,
“Not bad.”
“I prepared a lot.”
Juliet answered with quiet confidence. It was true—if his pawn reached the end of the board, it was over. Blocking it would trigger checkmate on the opposite side.
The man who had shown up dripping wet and half-frozen had vanished. In his place was the same one who had provoked Dominic last time. Ironically, Dominic found himself liking that version of him better.
His eyes drifted again—to Juliet’s forehead, covered in gauze. The blanket was still draped over his shoulders, but his hands were now relaxed. Through the opening in the front, Dominic could see his thin shirt. The collar, once soaked with blood, now showed faint dried stains. His pale face looked genuinely worn out—like someone who had been through hell just to make it here for this match.
Dominic knew exactly how to turn the tables here. He calculated the next few moves with ease—but instead of touching a piece, he spoke.
“All right, you win.”
Juliet covered his mouth with one hand, trying to stifle the victorious laugh rising in his throat. But his face lit up anyway as he said, “Finally, I’ve caught up by one point.”
Dominic looked at that smile for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes. Well done.”
Juliet blinked, surprised. He looked like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. But Dominic didn’t repeat himself. He stood up.
“The hail seems to have stopped. Can you drive?”
Judging by Juliet’s condition, the car was likely damaged. Even if there was no more hail, it wouldn’t be an easy drive. But Juliet responded without hesitation.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for today—”
He stood, following Dominic, but stopped mid-sentence. That was when Dominic saw it—his hazel eyes lost focus and clouded over.
“Dawson—”
Juliet collapsed into Dominic’s arms.
Dominic caught him, scowling, as the man went completely limp in his grasp.