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Inho had told the recruiter to keep an eye on his younger brother so he wouldn’t try to come back here again. Every day, he received reports on how Junho was doing.
He trusted the recruiter enough to believe he was doing his job—yet lately, Inho had a strange, crawling feeling he couldn’t shake.
The reports were always almost the same: small changes, occasionally one odd detail. Inho didn’t expect the recruiter to know what his brother did inside his own home, but one line kept nagging at him.
Junho spent two hours in the park walking.
For hours. Voluntarily.
For what reason?
From what Inho remembered, Junho hated things like that. He’d always rather stay at home than waste time wandering outside for no reason.
So why now?
Was Junho trying again—trying to get to him?
As much as Inho knew his brother, he also knew he didn’t. Not entirely. Not where it mattered.
Inho called the recruiter and demanded a report that would be handed directly to him. That wasn’t the original goal of the call—not really—but something had started to gnaw at him, and he couldn’t ignore it.
While he was looking through the recruiter’s public information, he found something that stopped his breath.
The recruiter’s name was listed as:
Hwang Yoo.
That alone surprised him—Inho was almost certain that wasn’t the man’s real surname. But what made him fully, violently speechless was the line beneath it.
Hwang Yoo — married to Hwang Junho.
Junho.
His Junho.
The one Yoo was supposed to watch. Keep an eye on. Keep safe.
Not marry.
Not touch.
Wait—hadn’t Yoo taken a vacation a year ago? Said he was going to Australia for a week?
No. No, that couldn’t be—
And yet it could.
That fucking maniac hadn’t gone anywhere for just sight. He’d taken days off to marry Inho’s younger brother and then returned like nothing had happened. Inho didn’t even know Junho was married. Yoo had even had the nerve to tell him the vacation was lovely, that he “enjoyed it thoroughly.”
What was that supposed to be? A hint? A provocation?
Had “keep an eye on him” sounded like seduce him?
Inho was sure he’d been clear: no interaction. No talking. No contact.
So how the hell had this happened?
Now he couldn’t decide whether to let Yoo explain himself… or shoot him the second he walked in.
Just how dare he touch his brother?
Was this revenge?
Yoo was unstable—too far gone, too fucked up in his head—but Inho had never thought he’d be bold enough to do this.
And yet the reports had been written so diligently, so neatly, so professionally.
Hwang Junho left the apartment at 8:21, moving from ⬛️⬛️⬛️ Street, ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️, to ⬛️⬛️⬛️.
At 9:35, he answered a call—Inho couldn’t confirm who it was, but it was likely his mother. The call lasted eleven minutes.
At 10:00, he wandered through the city until an acquaintance from his previous job as a detective stopped him. They spoke for two minutes before Junho excused himself and continued walking.
Then he—
And then the report ended im his eyes as if nothing else mattered.
As if there wasn’t a time Yoo had somehow “forgotten” to mention. A time Inho could guess perfectly well.
Inho wasn’t stupid. He could put it together without being told.
They must have slept together.
And now they were married on paper, which made it worse—made it real.
That psychopath was married to his brother.
Technically that meant—
No. The word tasted disgusting even forming in his mind.
Where had he gone wrong?
How had trying to keep Junho safe turned into this?
He had trusted Yoo to watch from a distance, not to sink his hooks in.
And the worst part was that Inho hadn’t even seen it coming.
He’d been trying to protect his brother—
and somehow, that had been the mistake.
Or rather the person he chose to trust to do that job.
“Honey?” Yoo asked as he buttoned his suit. He’d showered earlier, using the same body wash Junho kept in the bathroom.
“What?” Junho sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his pants up.
“Do you think your brother already knows about us?” And do you think I’ll still be alive to come home? he didn’t say, but it sat right behind his teeth.
“Maybe. Put a bulletproof vest under your suit.” Junho pulled one from the closet and tossed it at him.
Yoo caught it with a soft grunt. “Ah—won’t a handsome police officer help me put it on?”
“No.”
“Love you too,” Yoo said anyway, cheerful as ever.
He wondered if he was going to make it back home in one piece. Guess he will have to make something up good.