Jihan’s POV
“Hyung. It’s me.”
The moment I hear his voice, something inside me loosens so suddenly it almost hurts.
I turn—and there he is.
Chansoo stands near the café entrance, cap pulled low, mask tucked under his chin, eyes sharp and scanning the room like he’s already memorized every exit.
He looks thinner.
Tired.
But he’s still him.
Still my brother.
Before I can even say his name, he jerks his head toward the door.
“Follow me.”
I don’t question it.
I never have when it comes to him.
We leave the café together, the bell chiming softly behind us, and the cool night air wraps around my skin.
The city feels quieter here, like it’s holding its breath.
I walk half a step behind him out of habit, eyes glued to his back as if he might disappear if I let myself look away for even a second.
People probably think Chansoo ran away because he was scared.
But that’s never been the truth.
Chansoo ran away because we had already decided.
Long before he packed his bag.
Long before the note on the table.
Long before my grandmother’s footsteps echoed through our house again.
We talked about it late at night—voices low, shoulders pressed together like when we were kids hiding from thunderstorms.
The moment Grandma started pushing, the moment marriage stopped being something distant and became urgent, we knew.
It was never supposed to be me.
It was supposed to be Chansoo.
And I couldn’t accept that.
Yes, he’s an alpha—stronger, safer in this world—but he’s also my baby brother.
The one who laughs too loudly.
Who dreams too brightly.
Who wants to court someone slowly and properly, not be handed over like a bargaining chip.
So I told him I’d take his place.
I told him I was already an omega.
Already presented.
Already being looked at like something that needed to be placed.
I told him it would hurt less if it was me.
And Chansoo refused.
He said if anyone was going to be sacrificed, it shouldn’t be me.
We fought for days.
Whispered arguments.
Long silences.
Stares where neither of us wanted to blink first.
In the end, we chose something that broke both of us.
He would run.
And I would stay.
Chansoo running away wasn’t cowardice—it was strategy.
If he was gone, if he couldn’t be found, then the family would have no choice but to turn to me.
That way, no one could force him.
That way, it would be my choice.
That’s why, when I stood in my grandmother’s living room, when she told me to pack my bags, when she said I would “learn how to be a proper omega,” I didn’t scream or cry.
Because this was the consequence we had already accepted.
Because Chansoo didn’t abandon me—he trusted me.
And I trusted him enough to let him go.
We stop in front of a tall building—clean, modern, discreet.
It looks like a hotel at first glance, but the faint scuff marks near the entrance and the warm glow behind some windows make it feel lived in.
“I live here,” Chansoo says as he pulls the door open.
“I asked Dad to buy me a place I could remember. He said buying would take too long, so he just gave me the money instead.”
I blink.
“You really just… ran away and got your own place.”
He shrugs like he didn’t leave his entire life behind for me.
“Temporary.”
The elevator ride up is quiet, filled only by the soft hum and the climb of numbers.
I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall—tired eyes, shoulders too tense.
Chansoo leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“So,” he says, far too casually.
“How’d you escape tonight?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Actually… the elder brother of my fiancé helped me.”
That gets his full attention.
“He did?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly.
“We were at a party. You know how I hate parties. Too many people. Too many scents. I felt like I was suffocating.”
He hums.
“Sounds about right.”
“So I left through the back door,” I continue.
“So the bodyguards wouldn’t see me.”
Chansoo smiles faintly.
“Still sneaky.”
The elevator dings.
We step into the hallway, and the moment his door opens, his scent wraps around me—familiar, grounding, safe.
I kick off my shoes without thinking.
He turns to face me fully.
“So,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“Is your fiancé good to you?”
The question lands heavier than I expect.
“Well…” I hesitate.
“It’s complicated.”
His brow furrows.
“What happened?”
“He’s kind of… ignoring me,” I admit.
“At the party, at least.”
Chansoo frowns.
“Ignoring you?”
“But,” I rush to add, “when we first met, he helped me.”
His posture sharpens immediately.
“How.”
“There was an alpha waiter,” I say quietly.
“He kept touching me. I tried to ignore it, but… Wonbin noticed. He told him to leave. After that, the waiter didn’t come back.”
Chansoo’s jaw tightens.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Because you’d lose your mind.”
“I would not—”
“You absolutely would.”
He exhales, rubbing his temple.
“I don’t like anyone touching you.”
“I know,” I say softly.
“But he stopped it. Right away.”
There’s a beat.
“…You like him.”
“What?” I squeak.
“No—!”
“You do,” Chansoo says flatly.
“I don’t,” I insist, failing immediately.
“I just think he’s… decent. And responsible. And maybe a little too intense. And okay, fine, his scent is—”
He stares at me.
I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“I’m trying to be lowkey.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I barely know him!”
“And yet here we are.”
The rest of the night unfolds easily.
Comfortably.
We change into old clothes, sit on the floor with snacks, argue over games, laugh too loud.
Eventually, we curl up on the couch, my head against his shoulder, his arm around me like it’s always been.
“I missed you,” I murmur.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“I missed you too.”
That night, for the first time in weeks, I sleep without nightmares.
And even as Wonbin lingers somewhere in the back of my mind—unanswered, unresolved—I know this much is true:
As long as I have my brother, I won’t disappear.
And maybe… just maybe, that’s enough to survive what’s coming.
__________________
Wonbin’s POV
I noticed him before I meant to.
Before the music settled into my bones, before the scent of champagne and cologne blurred together, before anyone called my name or clapped my shoulder or pulled me into conversation.
Kim Jihan stood near the edge of the room, hands folded loosely in front of him, posture careful in the way omegas learn early—how to take up less space without disappearing entirely.
The lights caught on his hair when he moved, soft and unassuming, and I felt something in my chest shift, slow, then tighten.
My eyes stayed on him longer than was polite.
He didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
He was too busy scanning the room like he was looking for an exit, shoulders tense, scent restrained so tightly it almost hurt to breathe it in.
Nervous.
Overstimulated.
Out of place.
And somehow still impossibly beautiful.
I told myself it was instinct.
Curiosity.
Responsibility, maybe—after all, he was engaged into my family, even if the engagement itself was still… complicated.
Undefined.
A political thing more than anything real.
But the longer I watched him, the more excuses unraveled.
I watched the way his fingers flexed when an alpha laughed too loudly nearby.
The way he flinched when someone brushed past him.
The way his gaze kept drifting back to the bar like he needed something solid to anchor himself.
When his eyes finally met mine, it felt like getting caught doing something dangerous.
He startled, just slightly.
Recovered quickly.
Gave a polite, distant smile.
That was when I decided.
I’d get him a drink.
Something light.
Something grounding.
Then I’d finally walk up to him properly—say his name, hear him say mine, give him a reason to relax.
It took less than five minutes.
Five minutes at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish flirting with someone else.
Five minutes of turning my head just once to glance back toward where Jihan had been—
And he was gone.
At first, I told myself I was overreacting.
Crowded party.
People moving constantly.
He probably shifted spots, found someone he knew, stepped outside for air.
Jihan didn’t feel like someone who stayed still for long in places like this.
Still, my body didn’t accept the explanation.
My alpha instincts surged sharp and immediate, a low static under my skin.
My gaze swept the room once.
Twice.
Slower the second time.
Nothing.
No familiar lavender-soft scent.
No flash of pale fabric.
No small omega hovering on the edges.
My grip tightened around the glass in my hand.
That was when I saw my brother.
Jaehyung—laughing, loose, distracted—dancing far too comfortably with someone who wasn’t Jihan.
The sight hit me wrong.
I frowned, jaw tightening.
Why was my brother dancing with someone else?
And where was Jihan?
I tried to shake it off, told myself it wasn’t my place.
It wasn’t like I owned him.
It wasn’t like I had any right to feel this—
—but my body didn’t care about logic.
Every instinct I had was screaming to find him.
To know where he was.
To make sure he was safe.
I couldn’t hear the music anymore.
Couldn’t focus on the chatter or the lights or the hands brushing past me.
My world narrowed until there was only one absence that mattered.
I excused myself without explanation, ignoring the curious looks, moving straight toward my brother.
“Hyung,” I said, keeping my tone casual even as tension bled through it.
“Where’s Jihan?”
Jaehyung blinked, clearly surprised.
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know. We talked earlier, then I left him.”
Something cold slid down my spine.
“You left him?” I repeated.
Sharper now.
“You just left him?”
He lifted his hands defensively.
“Wonbin-ah, what did you want me to do? Follow him around all night? I’m with my date. He came alone—maybe he already went home.”
My chest tightened painfully.
It wasn’t just that he’d left Jihan.
It was how easily he could say it.
How casually he could assume Jihan would be fine.
“And if something happened to him?” I snapped quietly.
“Do you think anyone would notice if he disappeared?”
Jaehyung hesitated.
“He’s probably fine.
Maybe he’s with someone he knows—”
“Maybe?” My patience broke.
“Or maybe someone takes advantage of him while everyone else is too busy enjoying themselves to care!”
I didn’t wait for his answer.
I couldn’t.
I turned away, pulse roaring in my ears, panic sharp and unfamiliar in my chest.
I didn’t even have his number.
That realization hit harder than it should have.
My omega—no, not mine, I corrected myself bitterly—this omega who had somehow lodged himself under my skin, and I couldn’t even call him directly.
I found one of the bodyguards quickly.
“Who’s in charge?” I demanded.
He pointed to someone on the phone.
I approached without hesitation.
“Do you have Kim Jihan-ssi’s number?”
The guard hesitated.
I already knew the answer before he spoke.
“Sir… he requested that we don’t give it out. Especially to alphas. His grandmother agreed.”
Of course he did.
Careful.
Thoughtful.
Always protecting himself, even from me.
I took a slow breath.
“I understand. But I’m Kim Wonbin. He needs to know someone is looking for him.”
The guard studied me, then sighed and handed me the phone.
My hands shook slightly as I dialed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nothing.
By the fifth ring, my chest hurt.
Then—
“Hello?”
His voice was soft.
Sleepy.
Real.
Relief hit me so hard I nearly laughed.
“Kim Jihan-ssi?” I said carefully.
“Yes… this is me.
What do you need?”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“You disappeared. This is Kim Wonbin.”
A pause.
Then a soft, incredulous chuckle.
“Is this a prank?
Why would Kim Wonbin look for me?
You ignored me earlier.”
“I didn’t,” I said automatically.
“I was coming back.”
Silence.
Then—“I’m fine. I’m with my best friend. You don’t have to worry.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, jaw tight, heart still racing.
Infuriating.
Endearing.
Dangerously so.
I handed the phone back, exhaling slowly.
He was safe.
That was all that mattered.
For now.
As I walked back toward the building, my thoughts circled him relentlessly.
His careful distance.
His quiet defiance.
The way he vanished without warning and still managed to pull me after him.
Jihan didn’t know it yet.
But the moment he disappeared—
I’d already chosen him.
And I wasn’t letting go.