Jihan’s POV
I woke up with my phone clutched in my hand, fingers cramped around it like I’d been afraid it might disappear if I let go.
My head throbbed dully as I blinked against the dim light filtering through the curtains—soft, unfamiliar, not my room.
For a few seconds, I didn’t know where I was.
Then I heard the sigh.
“Wow. Finally awake.”
I turned my head slowly and found Yunjoo standing near the bed, arms crossed, that knowing smirk already carved into his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“My gosh, Kim Jihan,” he said, clicking his tongue.
“Can you please get up now? We need to leave Jisung-ssi would be here any minute now.”
Reality came crashing back all at once.
I groaned and rolled onto my back, pressing my palms to my eyes.
“Oh jeez… my head hurts. And we didn’t even drink anything.” I squinted at him.
“What time is it?”
Yunjoo glanced at his watch far too calmly.
“Two in the afternoon.”
I bolted upright.
“Two?” My stomach dropped so fast I felt nauseous.
“Oh shit… Grandma’s going to kill me. She’s actually going to kill me.”
Yunjoo sat down on the edge of the bed, completely unbothered.
“Relax. If she wanted you dead, you’d already be on your way to a family lecture.” He smirked.
“She called me this morning.”
I froze.
“She did what?”
He leaned back on his hands.
“She sounded… pleased. Said you were doing well. Said you’d managed to ‘stir your alpha’ nicely.”
My blood ran cold.
“…What?”
Before he could say anything else, my phone buzzed weakly in my hand.
I didn’t even remember falling asleep holding it.
With trembling fingers, I unlocked the screen.
A new message.
Unknown number.
Hey, I hope you don’t go out on your own again.
It’s really dangerous.
I’m not trying to control you, but I’m worried about you—especially since you’ll be part of our family soon.
—Wonbin
I stared at the screen, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape my chest.
Then I buried my face in my hands and groaned.
“Oh my god,” I muttered miserably.
“Hyung. Please tell me I didn’t actually talk to Kim Wonbin last night.”
Yunjoo’s laugh was immediate.
Loud.
Cruel.
“You did.”
I slapped my phone against my forehead.
“I was half-asleep!
Why would you let me answer it?!”
“You answered before I even realized who it was,” he said, grinning.
“You sounded adorable, by the way. Very defensive. Very ‘I don’t need you but thank you for worrying about me.’”
I whimpered.
“I hate myself.”
But even as embarrassment burned through me, another feeling curled underneath it—warm, confusing, dangerously soft.
Wonbin worried about me.
I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the thought.
“Wait,” I said suddenly, looking around again.
“Why am I here? I was at Chansoo-hyung’s place.”
Yunjoo’s expression softened, just a little.
“Yeah. You were.”
The memories came back slowly, like pieces fitting together.
Chansoo’s apartment had smelled like detergent and instant ramen.
We’d changed into old clothes, sprawled across the couch, binge-watching stupid movies we’d already seen a hundred times.
He’d ordered too much takeout like always—fried chicken, tteokbokki, convenience store snacks we didn’t need but wanted anyway.
We’d laughed until our stomachs hurt.
Until the tension melted out of my shoulders.
Until I almost forgot everything waiting for me outside those walls.
Almost.
It had been past midnight when Chansoo finally went quiet, eyes drifting to the clock for the third time.
“You can’t stay,” he’d said softly, guilt heavy in his voice.
I knew why.
We both did.
If Grandma traced me to him—if she realized where he was hiding—it wouldn’t just be me paying the price.
Chansoo would be dragged back.
Cornered.
Forced.
So he drove me himself, hood pulled low, car lights dimmed, taking side roads like we were committing some kind of crime.
He didn’t say much when we stopped in front of Yunjoo’s place.
“Be careful,” he’d murmured.
“For both of us.”
Now, sitting on Yunjoo’s bed, the weight of it all pressed back down on me.
“It was safer,” Yunjoo said gently, reading my silence.
“If you didn’t stay with him. If you stayed with someone… less traceable.”
I nodded, throat tight.
“I know.”
I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere between Chansoo dropping me off and collapsing onto this bed, I’d taken Wonbin’s call.
Somewhere in that haze, I’d let my guard slip just enough for him to hear me as I really was—tired, overwhelmed, pulled in a direction I didn’t want to admit.
And the worst part?
Even now, with my head pounding and my pride bruised, my heart wouldn’t stop fluttering.
Because a familiar alpha had noticed my absence.
Because he’d looked for me.
Because no matter how hard I tried to run—
Some part of me was already turning back.
__________________
A week had passed since that night, and on the surface, everything had returned to normal.
Too normal.
My days were filled to the brim—classes in the morning, lessons from Grandma in the afternoon about the family business and how an omega like me was expected to carry himself, self-defense training that left my muscles aching in unfamiliar ways, firearm practice that made my hands tremble long after I’d put the weapon down.
Every hour accounted for.
Every movement monitored.
My bodyguards never strayed far.
Always a few steps behind.
Always watching.
I knew why.
They were still uneasy about Chansoo.
About how easily I’d slipped away that night.
About how quiet I’d been since.
And honestly… I couldn’t blame them.
Yunjoo had been officially appointed my assistant two days later—Grandma’s idea.
Someone to manage my schedule, keep me grounded, make sure I didn’t “wander.” He was efficient, sharp, infuriatingly perceptive.
He reminded me to eat, to sleep, to attend meetings, and he watched me with the knowing patience of someone who saw far too much.
Now, lying on my bed in the rare pocket of quiet between obligations, I stared at the ceiling and tried to rest.
Tried.
But my mind betrayed me like it always did.
Wonbin.
The name surfaced uninvited, settling deep in my chest like something unfinished.
We hadn’t spoken since that night.
Not really.
One message.
A half-dreamed phone call I still couldn’t think about without wanting to crawl into a hole.
And yet—
I missed him.
The realization came slow and devastating.
I missed someone I barely knew.
Someone whose voice I’d heard properly only once.
Someone whose presence I’d felt more than experienced.
And it hurt in this dull, embarrassing way—like an ache I couldn’t justify.
I rolled onto my side, reaching for my phone before I could stop myself.
I told myself I was just checking the time.
That was a lie.
My thumb hovered, then tapped instinctively, muscle memory already betraying my intentions.
I typed his name into the search bar—Kim Wonbin—and hesitated for half a second before pressing enter.
His profile loaded.
Of course it was private.
Of course.
Still, his profile picture was visible.
Just one photo.
Clean.
Simple.
Him in a black shirt, collar open, jaw sharp, eyes unreadable.
He wasn’t smiling.
He never seemed to be.
I stared longer than I should have.
Zoomed in a little.
My omega stirred faintly, a quiet warmth blooming under my ribs. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Familiar alpha.
Safe alpha.
The kind that made my instincts lean forward even when my mind screamed at me to step back.
I locked my phone and pressed it to my chest, embarrassed by myself.
We haven’t even interacted properly, I scolded silently.
You don’t get to feel like this yet.
But my body didn’t care.
I thought about the way he’d noticed me when others hadn’t.
The way he’d intervened without making a spectacle.
The way his worry had slipped through his words despite his restraint.
I wondered if he still thought about me.
If he regretted sending that message.
If he was annoyed.
Or worse—indifferent.
The thought hollowed me out.
I exhaled sharply and tossed the blanket aside, sitting up just as Yunjoo made a sound behind me.
“What?” I asked, already defensive.
He didn’t look up from his tablet, but I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“You have a scheduled shopping trip today.”
I frowned.
“Shopping?
Grandma didn’t say anything about that.” Then, more carefully, “I don’t have any parties, right?”
“No parties,” he said lightly.
“Just lunch with the Kims.”
My heart skipped painfully.
“Lunch?” I repeated.
“That’s not possible. My parents don’t need to schedule—”
Yunjoo finally looked at me then, grin widening.
“Not your parents.”
The dread settled instantly.
“…You mean Mrs. Kim?” I asked slowly.
“Wonbin’s mother?”
“And Mr. Kim,” he added cheerfully.
“Both of them.”
I collapsed backward onto the bed and groaned into my pillow.
“No. Absolutely not. I can’t do this. I can’t face him yet.”
Yunjoo laughed outright.
“Please.
You’ve been thinking about him all week.”
“That’s not true,” I muttered, muffled.
“You stalked his social media twice,” he said calmly.
I froze.
“…Once,” I corrected weakly.
“Sure,” he hummed.
“And you sighed his name in your sleep yesterday.”
I sat up, mortified.
“I did not—”
“You did,” he said gently.
“And you looked sad when you did.”
The room went quiet.
I hugged the pillow to my chest, voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t think it would happen this fast. I didn’t think I’d… feel like this over something so small.”
Yunjoo softened, just a little.
“He made you feel seen. That’s never small.”
I swallowed.
“What if I like him more than he likes me?”
“What if he doesn’t want this at all?”
“What if I’m already reaching for someone who’s walking the other way?”
Yunjoo didn’t tease me then.
“You won’t know unless you let him see you.”
I didn’t answer.
By the time the shopping trip began, my nerves were shot through with something dangerously close to anticipation.
The pampering helped—Mihyun’s warmth, the careful attention, the way she laughed with me as I tried on too many outfits and changed my mind too often.
For a few hours, I almost forgot.
Almost.
At the restaurant, Mihyun leaned closer, smiling knowingly.
“You’re glowing, Jihan-ah. Is it the shopping… or the lunch?”
My face burned instantly.
I couldn’t answer.
Because no matter how normal the day felt, no matter how carefully I tried to ground myself—
Every passing alpha made my heart stutter.
Every familiar scent had me looking up.
And all I could think was:
What if he walks in?
What if he doesn’t?
And why does it already feel like I’m waiting for someone I’ve barely begun to know?
The ache stayed with me, quiet but relentless.
Pulling me forward.
Even if I pretended I wasn’t already reaching back.