Jihan’s POV
None of us said it out loud, but we all knew.
Chansoo would contact us eventually.
That belief—fragile and unspoken—was the only thing holding our house together.
Without it, I think we would’ve collapsed under the weight of our own fear.
At first, Abeoji called him every hour.
I could hear the vibration of his phone from across the room, see the way his shoulders stiffened every time it rang back unanswered.
After two days, it became every few hours.
By the end of the week, only once a day—like he was afraid that trying too hard might somehow push Chansoo farther away.
Like love could be measured in restraint.
Appa prayed at night.
He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands folded so tightly his knuckles turned white, head bowed, whispering my brother’s name over and over.
Not full prayers.
Just fragments.
Please.
Safe.
Come home.
Like if he said it enough times, the universe would listen.
I pretended not to hear.
I didn’t cry.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because if I did, everything would spill out all at once—the fear, the guilt, the crushing realization that my little brother had run away because of me.
Or maybe because some selfish, shameful part of me was relieved.
Relieved that he had chosen himself.
That he had done what I was too afraid to do.
That thought sat in my chest like a betrayal I couldn’t confess to anyone.
Our parents reached out to everyone Chansoo might have trusted.
Friends.
Training partners.
Schoolmates.
Alphas he sparred with
Omegas he laughed with like the world wasn’t cruel.
Every answer was the same.
They didn’t know.
Or at least… that’s what they said.
I watched Abeoji nod politely through every call, thank them, apologize for bothering them.
I watched Appa thank people even when they had nothing to offer.
I didn’t interrupt.
I didn’t press.
Because deep down, I knew.
Chansoo had planned this.
He wouldn’t leave loose ends.
He wouldn’t tell anyone enough to be traced.
He’d always been careful like that—always smarter than people gave him credit for.
Quietly observant.
Always three steps ahead.
He hadn’t run away in panic.
He’d left with intention.
That realization hurt almost as much as his absence.
________________
The knock came early the next morning.
Loud.
Sharp.
Commanding.
It cut through the house like a blade.
Abeoji barely flinched when he stood and opened the door.
I was already on my feet, heart hammering, a sick instinct curling in my gut.
Standing there was my grandmother.
My other grandmother.
She looked composed.
Impeccably so.
Hair pinned neatly in place, coat pressed, expression calm—too calm for someone whose grandson had disappeared overnight.
Too calm for someone who had just lost control of the situation.
That was when my stomach began to churn.
“Pack your bags, Jihan-ah,” she said smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
“You’re coming with me.”
My breath caught.
Of all the scenarios I’d imagined—threats, shouting, punishment, guilt—this had been one of them.
And somehow, that made it worse.
“I—” I swallowed hard.
“Why?”
She didn’t even look at my parents.
“Since your brother is gone, you’ll be taking responsibility,” she continued, voice even.
“I’ll teach you how to be a proper omega. How to serve your alpha well.”
The words struck like blows, one after another.
I turned instinctively toward my parents.
Abeoji’s jaw was clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack.
His scent spiked—sharp, furious, barely restrained.
Appa looked like he was holding himself together by sheer will, chest rising and falling unevenly, hands trembling at his sides.
“I’m not running away,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake.
“Do I really have to stay with you?”
She finally looked at me then.
Her gaze swept over me, assessing, measuring, calculating—like I was something to be refined, corrected, repurposed.
She nodded.
Firm.
Final.
“You’ll only bring what’s necessary,” she said.
“I’ll buy you clothes more fitting for your role.”
Something inside me went cold.
Abeoji finally snapped.
“Mother,” he said, voice dangerously low.
“If anything happens to my son—”
She cut him off with a raised hand.
“Of all people, you should know me best,” she said coolly.
“If anyone lays a hand on my grandchild without permission, they won’t live long enough to regret it. And you know very well Hansoo’s parents would make sure of that too.”
I didn’t understand what she meant.
But my parents did.
I saw it in the way their shoulders eased—just a fraction.
The way Abeoji’s anger didn’t vanish, but sharpened into something controlled.
Calculated.
They were afraid.
But they weren’t helpless.
Soon after, they helped me pack.
Appa folded my clothes slowly, carefully, slipping small things into my bag when he thought I wasn’t looking—my favorite hoodie, a USB filled with unfinished tracks, my headphones.
Pieces of me.
Proof that I existed beyond what she wanted me to be.
Abeoji hugged me longer than usual, arms tight, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Be careful,” he whispered.
“And call us.
Always.”
“I will,” I promised.
I meant it.
I just didn’t know then how much of myself I would have to leave behind in that house.
Or how long it would take before I realized I was already being reshaped the moment I stepped through her doors.
__________________
I learned more in a few days than I had in my entire life.
And I hated how real it all was.
Not theory.
Not suggestions.
Rules.
Table manners came first.
Where to place my hands.
How to hold my utensils delicately, wrists relaxed, movements economical.
How to eat slowly—not because I wasn’t hungry, but because restraint was attractive.
Posture followed.
Shoulders back, spine straight, chin lifted just enough to appear confident but never challenging.
They corrected everything.
The angle of my chin when I walked.
The length of my steps.
The way my eyes lingered—or didn’t—when someone spoke to me.
How to smile—not too wide, not too bright.
Never toothy.
How to speak softly without sounding unsure.
How to agree without appearing eager.
How to accept attention without encouraging it.
They taught me how to be beautiful.
I hated that part the most.
And, shamefully, I loved it too.
The clothes were stunning.
Soft fabrics that skimmed my skin like they were made for me alone.
Tailored pieces that emphasized my waist, the slope of my shoulders, the long lines of my legs.
Colors chosen to make my complexion glow, to draw attention without screaming for it.
I’d always liked fashion.
Always enjoyed expressing myself through what I wore—mixing textures, moods, pieces that felt like me.
But this wasn’t self-expression.
This was preparation.
Each fitting felt less like dressing and more like being assembled.
Like every thread, every seam, was meant to guide the way I moved, the way I was perceived.
There were days I wanted to run.
To grab my bag, shove my essentials inside, and disappear like Chansoo had.
To choose myself the way he had.
But then he contacted me.
At first, it was just a short message.
I’m okay.
Are you safe?
Then calls.
Long ones.
Whispered conversations late at night when the house finally went quiet and I curled up in bed, phone pressed to my ear, staring at the ceiling like it might answer questions I was too afraid to ask.
“You okay?” he’d ask, voice low, careful.
“I’m fine,” I’d lie easily.
I never told him about the lessons.
About the way they drilled it into me—over and over—that an omega’s duty was to follow his alpha.
Only his.
That obedience wasn’t submission, it was devotion.
That surrender was beautiful.
Sacred.
They said it like a kindness.
The thought made my stomach twist.
What if he was cruel?
What if he only wanted me for my body, my scent, my compliance?
What if love was just something alphas claimed and omegas endured?
Would I have to submit?
Would my body betray me even if my heart didn’t?
I hated myself for thinking like that.
For doubting something I hadn’t even faced yet.
Yunjoo got the ugly thoughts instead.
The anger.
The fear.
The quiet disgust that made my voice shake when I finally let it out.
He never interrupted.
Never judged.
Just listened, jaw tight, eyes dark.
What I missed most wasn’t even my parents.
It was freedom.
Being able to leave the house without asking.
Wandering aimlessly with music in my ears, losing myself in sound until the world blurred at the edges.
Now, every outing was planned.
Approved.
Structured.
Parties.
Dinners.
Faces I didn’t know but was expected to charm.
At least Yunjoo could come with me.
That day, we were lounging in the garden when I sensed her approaching—her presence always announced before she spoke.
“Jihan-ah,” my grandmother said smoothly.
“Get dressed. We’re having dinner outside.”
Her smile turned toward Yunjoo, polite and immovable.
“Your friend will stay here.”
I nodded.
Arguing never worked.
As we walked back inside, Yunjoo leaned closer, voice barely audible.
“I think today’s the day,” he whispered.
I scoffed softly.
“I doubt it.”
“Still,” he grinned, eyes sharp with concern beneath the humor.
“First impressions matter.”
I let him fuss over me.
Straighten my collar.
Adjust my sleeves.
Smooth my hair.
Just in case.
__________________
The restaurant was luxurious.
Crystal lights scattered softly overhead, refracting gold and white across polished wood.
The kind of place where voices stayed low and eyes lingered just a little too long, where everything was curated to feel exclusive.
I kept my awe carefully hidden.
The alpha escort assigned to me walked too close.
His glances came often—quick, assessing, lingering half a second longer than necessary.
Measuring.
I pretended not to notice, keeping my expression neutral, my scent tucked tightly under control.
When the private room door opened, the scent hit me like a wall.
Three male alphas.
One female omega.
Strong.
Overwhelming.
My instincts screamed.
My knees threatened to buckle, breath catching painfully as my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
Heat bloomed low in my abdomen, terror curling sharp and immediate.
I forced myself upright.
Graceful.
Controlled.
And then—
I saw him.
The alpha standing beside the omega.
Something about him felt wrong in a way that had nothing to do with danger.
Familiar.
Not comforting—recognizable.
Like a half-remembered melody that made my chest ache without explanation.
I didn’t know why.
But something deep inside me stirred—sharp, instinctive, urgent.
And a voice I had never learned to ignore whispered only one word:
Run.
The word echoed loudly in my skull even as my feet refused to move.
My body betrayed me first.
Before I could step back, before I could even summon a polite smile, something in me leaned forward—subtle, unconscious, like a compass needle twitching toward north no matter how hard I tried to force it still.
I hated that.
The other alphas were overwhelming—heat, pressure, dominance pressing into my senses until my head felt light.
But his scent was different.
Controlled.
Layered.
Familiar in a way that made my chest tighten painfully.
Like I had breathed it in before.
Like my body remembered him even if my mind didn’t.
My grandmother’s hand settled against my back.
Light.
Firm.
Ownership disguised as guidance.
“Come,” she said softly.
Not a request.
I moved because I had been trained to.
Each step toward the table felt wrong, like walking closer to the edge of something I couldn’t see.
The pull intensified with every heartbeat, an invisible thread tugging beneath my ribs, tightening until breathing felt difficult.
Don’t.
I kept my gaze lowered, posture perfect.
Beautiful.
Composed.
Everything they had molded me into.
But I could feel his eyes on me.
Not greedy.
Not dismissive.
Focused.
As if he were trying to understand something he couldn’t name either.
“Say hello, Jihan-ah.”
My grandmother’s voice was smooth, practiced.
As if this were nothing more than a pleasant family dinner and not the quiet dismantling of my future.
“They are the other Kim family,” she continued, guiding me forward.
“Soon, there will only be one Kim family once we unite.”
Once we unite.
The words echoed far too loudly in my head.
I bowed deeply.
Every movement precise.
Chin lowered just enough.
Hands folded neatly.
No trembling.
No hesitation.
“Good evening,” I said softly.
“Oh, Mrs. Kim,” a young alpha chuckled lightly.
“You know these are just formalities.”
I lifted my gaze.
That was when it hit me.
That’s why he’s familiar.
I’d seen him before—not in person, but in passing.
Screens.
Photos.
Articles.
The name surfaced slowly, unwillingly.
Wonbin.
The younger Kim alpha.
Beside him sat another alpha—older, composed, with kind eyes and a steady presence.
Jaehyun.
And between them, a female omega whose scent was warm and sweet, honeyed with citrus.
My grandmother smiled.
“This is my grandson, Kim Jihan. He’s staying with me for now. He’s been taking very good care of me.”
The lie tasted bitter.
“And,” she added, gaze sharp and deliberate, “I’m hoping you’d welcome him into your family. After all, you have two alphas.”
My heart stuttered.
All I could do was smile.
Sweet.
Polite.
Trained.
“I think I’m going to like your grandson very much,” the omega said warmly.
“Why don’t you come shopping with me next time?”
Shopping.
As if this was already decided.
“Ah—sure,” I said.
“I’m free anytime.”
“Call me Aunt Mihyun,” she laughed softly.
“No need for formalities when you’ll be family soon.”
Family.
The word settled uncomfortably in my chest.
When we sat down, I finally allowed myself to breathe—just a little.
My gaze drifted back to the alphas.
Jaehyun was attentive, warm, asking gentle questions.
His scent was calm.
Safe.
Wonbin leaned back, disinterested, gaze wandering like he wanted to be anywhere else.
And yet—
His scent tugged at me relentlessly.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Grounding.
My omega stirred, traitorous.
I wanted to bolt.
At the same time—I wanted him closer.
The contradiction made my chest ache.
Then a presence brushed too close.
The escort’s hand grazed my wrist.
I stiffened.
Again—along my back.
My stomach lurched.
I stayed quiet.
Controlled.
I didn’t want attention.
“Hey.”
Wonbin’s voice cut sharp through the air.
“Can you hurry up and get out?”
The alpha retreated, scowling.
I realized I’d been holding my breath.
Later, when drinks arrived, Wonbin switched our glasses without a word.
“I haven’t touched it,” he murmured.
My chest tightened painfully.
When he stood to leave, he looked at me.
Just once.
Long enough to make my pulse stutter.
“I like that one,” my grandmother said once he was gone.
Aunt Mihyun laughed.
“Good thing Jaehyun’s already courting someone.”
My grandmother turned to me.
“What do you think, Jihan-ah?”
My omega hummed beneath my skin.
Run, my instincts screamed.
But my body leaned forward.
“Yes,” something inside me whispered.
“Well then,” my grandmother said calmly.
“We have a deal.”
And I knew—
Whatever was pulling me toward that alpha…
Running might no longer be an option.