Naturally, Lyle did not remember such detailed clauses. Matters like that fell within the domain of the butler or the secretary. The only reason he remembered that Haejin had to visit the hospital once every two weeks was simple—during their first meeting, the trembling man had still managed to mention that clause aloud.
To be honest, he felt at a loss. He was accustomed to earning personal resentment, but he had never spent effort trying to resolve it.
And if Haejin had truly resented him, it might have been easier. Even while listing what had happened, Haejin asked nothing of him.
Troublesome.
With a frown, Lyle let out a sigh. He did not want to appear discomposed, yet he could not bring himself under control.
As far as he knew, Haejin had barely left this room for nearly two weeks, yet his pheromones were so faint they did not even seep beyond the door. As if they had been sealed away tightly—like his heart.
Thinking of Haejin’s pheromones made his throat feel strangely dry.
“Then sue me.”
“What meaning would that have now.”
At the mention of a lawsuit, Haejin let out a faint, self-mocking smile without thinking. Filing legal action against the Vermouth Family—he would have a far better quality of life dropping into a jungle clutching a single stone.
He should not have flared up and made such meaningless protests. Haejin realized again that, contract or not, he was the weaker party.
Voicing dissatisfaction changed nothing.
“……”
Irritably pushing his hair back, Lyle found he could not take his eyes off Haejin’s mouth. As though his body had frozen.
A smile, faint as his pheromones, had appeared and vanished, leaving only an afterimage. The corners of Haejin’s lips were now perfectly still, as if they had never moved. Aware of the burning dryness in his throat, Lyle chose his words carefully. The self-mocking smile had left Haejin looking somehow more exhausted.
He looked as though he might disappear at any moment, and for some reason, it became difficult to speak.
“Chairman. I’ve brought it.”
“……”
The secretary, who had been waiting downstairs, came up carrying something. Assuming it was another contract, Haejin looked at him indifferently—then shifted his gaze to Lyle when he saw the syringe in the man’s hand.
As Haejin’s eyes turned toward him, Lyle felt his mouth grow heavier. Yet cold reason recited what needed to be done.
“We need to run a blood test.”
“……”
“……I knotted at the end. We need to check.”
It was something that should have been confirmed as soon as the rut period ended. He had simply forgotten because something had come up with Haejin.
Now confusion surfaced in him. He had forgotten about knotting Haejin—but once he remembered, the doubt would not leave.
Knotting required a firm will from the Alpha. Instinct alone could not bring it about. Whether for pleasure or for pregnancy, the Alpha’s intent was essential.
And Lyle had no intention of knotting anyone.
“Ha……”
With a sigh, Haejin extended his arm. The secretary, reading the situation, stepped in and drew blood with the syringe he had brought.
Even though Haejin complied without resistance, Lyle found it difficult to withstand that gaze. The sigh had been so heavy it felt as though it struck him directly.
From Haejin’s perspective, anger at this unilateral act would have been natural. If he wanted compensation, Lyle would have granted it.
“Is that enough now?”
“……Yes.”
Rubbing the spot where blood seeped from his arm, Haejin spoke calmly. As if there was nothing at all he intended to take from Lyle. Faint bruises still marked his wrist. Some traces, repeated binding and unbinding over too long a time, did not look as though they would fade easily.
Lyle’s gaze lingered stubbornly on Haejin’s arm. Calculations raced through his mind. For now, it would be better to step back.
He nodded and took a step away. As if waiting for it, Haejin closed the door.
“……”
Even after shutting it, Haejin stood there for a long time, lost in thought. Somehow, it felt as though this was not the end—and that troubled him.
He was curious why Lyle was acting like this. Remembering the knotting he had forgotten, none of Lyle’s actions made sense.
But did he really need to understand?
Just as he had failed to find any reason to remain at that estate, he found no will to resolve this question either. There was only one thing he wanted—to sink quietly and peacefully.
Having reached that conclusion, Haejin moved his body for the first time in a long while.
He tossed the cotton he had used to stop the bleeding into the trash. Picking up the wallet he had left carelessly on the small table, he pulled out the thickest clothes from his suitcase and put them on, spreading the rest out conspicuously around the room. He deliberately removed the family photograph he treasured most and tucked it inside his coat.
Without gathering anything else, Haejin stepped out of the room lightly. It had been so long that going down the stairs strained him slightly. Once on the first floor, he extended the duration of his stay in the room. Nearly half of the money he had left vanished at once.
After that, without hesitation, he headed to the grocery store in the building next door. There had been nothing to eat in his room since yesterday anyway.
But after stepping inside and briefly looking over the food, Haejin went straight to the back door. Just outside was a bus stop, and at that moment he heard the sound of a bus arriving.
He stepped out and boarded naturally. Even if someone had been watching, they would not have had time to follow.
“……”
Seated on the bus, Haejin silently watched the city that smelled of winter. It had been so long since he moved that his ankle throbbed again.
He regretted leaving the rest of his belongings behind, but he had no intention of returning to that room.
***
“So it really was there.”
Carefully reviewing the contract, Lyle clicked his tongue. As Haejin had said, there was indeed a clause stipulating that if news arrived from the hospital, Haejin was to be informed immediately.
Of course, it was an empty phrase without any real compensation measures in case of violation. If tied to other clauses below, Lyle’s lawyer could have resolved the matter with a perfunctory letter containing a single line of apology. Not that he intended to go that far.
Now that he thought about it, when signing the first contract, Haejin had not brought a lawyer. As he vaguely recalled, there had been an accident. And Haejin had just been discharged, going around borrowing money. He had not been in a position to scrutinize anything.
Lyle had seen that clearly—and ignored it.
The image of Haejin at the time surfaced in his mind. A slightly younger face. Pale hands trembling as he signed the contract.
“……”
Though it was a retrospective thought, now that things had come to this, Lyle did not feel entirely at ease. Judging by the emotional reaction he had barely managed to draw out, Haejin must have relied quite heavily on those clauses. In fact, Lyle himself had repeatedly demanded that they be strictly observed.
“Chairman.”
“Speak.”
The secretary entered his office then, holding a phone as though he had received urgent contact.
“The blood test results for Mr. Bright have come in. There’s no cause for concern.”
“……Good.”
For an Alpha and Omega to conceive, knotting was required. Knotting did not guarantee pregnancy, but without it, pregnancy was virtually impossible. During rut or heat cycles, the probability rose slightly.
It was fortunate that Haejin was a Recessive Omega with low fertility. Otherwise, a troublesome situation might have arisen. Lyle had no plans yet for marriage or an heir. And he loathed the thought of his genes spreading carelessly. He would rather forgo marriage altogether than behave recklessly.
So this was something he should have been pleased about. Yet somehow, he did not feel particularly good. Gathering his strange emotion, Lyle gestured for the secretary to continue. It was clear there was more.
But the words that followed left him unable to hide his surprise.
“And Mr. Bright’s whereabouts are currently unknown.”
“……What?”
“According to the security personnel who report Mr. Bright’s location periodically, he has not returned to his room for two days.”
“Two days?”
It had been two days since Lyle saw Haejin. An unpleasant feeling surged up—why had there been no report when he first failed to return?
Reading his expression easily, the secretary added calmly.
“He extended his room on the first day and went out. They confirmed that. So they waited one more day before reporting.”
“Even so, why—!”
Lyle stopped mid-sentence. He could not understand his own reaction.
Haejin was a negotiation target, not someone under intensive surveillance. The security team checking his location once a day was merely a minimal measure for future negotiations. Their judgment had been correct.
Yet regardless of logic, his chest pounded violently. As if something that should never happen had happened. Pressing down the sensation, Lyle rubbed between his brows. The headache that had briefly subsided flared again like a seizure.
“No, it’s fine. Their judgment was correct.”