Jihan’s POV
I notice it before he says anything.
The way Wonbin’s eyes keep flicking back to me, like he’s checking for damage.
Like he thinks he might’ve said something wrong and is bracing for the consequences.
It makes my chest tighten, because it means he still cares—at least a little.
Enough to worry.
“Hey,” he says softly, leaning closer.
“Are you okay?”
The question alone nearly undoes me.
I exhale through my nose, fingers twisting together on my lap.
“It’s just… my bodyguards haven’t eaten since this morning. We were at the hospital earlier.”
The relief on his face is immediate and almost painful to witness.
His shoulders loosen.
His brow smooths out.
For a split second, it looks like he’d been blaming himself.
“Oh,” he says, like the word carries a weight he’s finally allowed to put down.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they eat and rest first. You can stay here with Mom.”
That simple.
That considerate.
That Wonbin.
My lips curve into a smile before I can stop them.
It comes out small, instinctive, the kind I hate because it betrays me every time.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He looks at me like I’ve handed him something precious instead of two stupid words.
When the food arrives, the smell hits me before I even see the bowl.
Pepper—sharp, biting, overwhelming.
My stomach turns immediately, a low, traitorous growl following right after.
I freeze.
“Jihan, are you okay?” Aunt Mihyun asks at the same time Wonbin does.
I nod quickly.
“Yeah. I just… don’t like pepper. The smell makes me sick.”
Wonbin frowns, glancing at the table.
“You can smell that out of everything here?”
I nod again, embarrassed, eyes flicking toward Aunt Mihyun.
“But it’s okay. I can eat it. I don’t want to waste food.”
I lift the spoon even though my body protests.
I’ve learned how to endure things quietly.
How to swallow discomfort along with expectations.
Before I can take a bite, Aunt Mihyun’s hand is on my wrist.
“No, dear. You can’t eat that. We’ll make you another serving. Do you want something else while you wait?”
I hesitate, then pout slightly as I think.
“Do you have… garlic chips?”
Wonbin makes a sound—half laugh, half strangled breath—and I look up just in time to see him bite his lip, eyes dark, shoulders tense like he’s physically restraining himself from doing something reckless.
“Of course! I craved garlic when I was pregnant with Wonbin, you know. I always keep some around.”
I glance between them, warmth blooming in my chest.
“Really?”
“But he doesn’t like them,” she adds teasingly.
Wonbin groans.
“I can eat pepper just fine. Just don’t make me eat too much garlic.”
I roll my eyes.
“Even for me, hyung?”
The word slips out before I can stop it.
The reaction is instant.
Wonbin nearly chokes.
His ears go red.
Aunt Mihyun bursts into laughter, covering her mouth as she looks between us with far too much knowing amusement.
And Wonbin—God—Wonbin looks wrecked.
“P-Please?” I add softly, leaning closer, tilting my head just enough.
I hate how easily I do this.
Hate how natural it feels to coax him.
Hate how much power I have over him—and how much more he has over me.
He exhales sharply, then opens his mouth without another word.
I feed him the garlic chips.
My fingers brush his lips, just barely.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
His gaze lifts to mine, pupils blown wide, control slipping through the cracks in real time.
For a second—just one—I see it.
The hurt.
The want.
The restraint.
And it thrills me in the worst way.
“It’s good, right?” I ask quietly.
He nods, swallowing.
“Yeah. It’s… not that bad.”
I smile, sweet and victorious, even as my chest aches.
Because I know this smile hurts him too.
I never thought I could feel this happy again.
The past weeks have been heavy—doctor visits, long nights alone, memories I can’t outrun.
But here, sitting at his table, laughing at his reactions, watching him soften without realizing it… I feel light.
Almost normal.
And that scares me.
After the late lunch, we decided to stay on their garden for a fresh air.
Being here with him, I never thought happiness could feel this fragile.
The sound feels foreign in my own ears, like it belongs to someone else, someone who isn’t constantly counting breaths or weighing consequences.
For a moment, I forget the heaviness that’s been sitting in my chest, forget the sleepless nights and the sterile smell of hospital corridors.
For a moment, I’m just… here.
With him.
And that’s what scares me.
Because he’s right in front of me, close enough that I can see the tiny crease between his brows when he’s thinking, close enough that his scent wraps around me like something familiar and dangerous—and yet I miss him.
I miss a version of him I’ve never really had.
I miss what he could be if he’d just let himself fall.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asks casually, like this is just another ordinary day and not something that feels suspended in time for me.
I shake my head.
“Maybe juice. Or milk.”
He smiles, soft and approving.
“Trying to be healthier?”
I nod, and I have to look away because my hand wants to drift to my stomach, instinctive and protective.
I stop myself just in time.
I don’t want him to notice.
I don’t want him to ask questions I’m not ready to answer.
I don’t want to give him another way to hurt me without even trying.
Then his tone changes.
“Jihan-ah… I wanted to apologize for that night.”
My heart drops.
Just like that.
One sentence, and suddenly I’m bracing myself, every good feeling folding in on itself.
He keeps going, words tumbling out like he’s been holding them in for too long.
He talks about being drunk, about being an asshole, about not asking if I was okay.
He sounds sincere—he always does—and that’s the cruelest part.
Because sincerity doesn’t mean safety.
It doesn’t mean he’ll choose me.
“You didn’t know it was me?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
“It’s okay if it was another omega. But since it’s me, you feel guilty?”
Even as I say it, I hate myself for how much I want him to deny it.
For how much power his answer has over me.
“No,” he says quickly.
“Of course not.”
But the damage is already done.
My chest aches, tight and hot.
“So it would’ve been okay if I wasn’t in heat?”
The question hangs between us, ugly and raw.
I can hear my own pulse in my ears.
Part of me wants to take it back.
The other part wants to dig deeper, wants to bleed if that’s what it takes to get the truth.