CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 23: DISGUSTING OLD BASTARD

That was the last straw.

Min-jae’s fist cracked across Veynar’s jaw with a sound like breaking stone. The man staggered back, cursing, blood spattering on his lips.

"You disgusting old bastard.." Min-jae spat, his chest heaving. "You think you can touch me? You think I’ll ever bow to filth like you?"

Veynar lunged again, but this time Min-jae was ready. He drove his knee into his uncle’s gut, slammed his elbow into the back of his neck and sent him sprawling across the desk. Papers scattered like startled birds, ink spilling black across the wood.

Veynar groaned, clutching his ribs, his face twisted in fury and pain.

Min-jae stood over him, trembling not from fear, but from rage. His voice cutting like glass.

"Try it again and I’ll put you in the ground myself."

The study rang with silence,broken only by Veynar’s ragged breath.

Min-jae turned, yanked the door open, and walked out without a backward glance.

Min-jae’s chest still heaved as he strode through the corridors, his knuckles sore from the blow he’d dealt. Every step carried the phantom echo of Veynar’s touch, and he wanted nothing more than to scrub his skin raw.

But anger sharpened into purpose. He wasn’t here just to endure this bullshit. He needed to find Kaizar’s diary and get out of this sick place.

The familiar door loomed at the end of the hall. He pushed it open.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and old parchment, untouched but not unlived-in. Shelves lined with books, a desk too neat to belong to someone carefree, and a bed that looked far too stiff to be inviting. Min-jae’s lips thinned. So this was Kaizar’s cage.

He went straight for the desk, pulling drawers open, rifling through papers, searching for a journal, a ledger...something.

"Looking for ghosts, are we?"

The voice was smooth, clipped, and so perfectly enunciated that it felt like silk laced with knives. Min-jae spun around.

An older man leaned against the doorframe, his silver hair immaculate, his suit pressed to perfection despite the odd jobs he had done earlier. He carried himself not like a servant but like a gentleman who had chosen servitude as a stage. His accent was refined, aristocratic, each syllable honed to precision.

"My lord.." Robert said with a respectful bow. "I trust the family council was... enlightening?"

Min-jae straightened, masking his thoughts. "...You could say that."

Robert’s lips quirked faintly, as though he knew better than to pry. "I thought as much. That is why I bring you news instead. You will find it more useful than their noise."

He stepped inside further, lowering his voice. "Your uncle met last week with Lord Harrand in secret. The subject was your... marriage. They consider it a stain, yes, but one that might be polished into advantage if maneuvered properly. They will try to use it."

Min-jae’s jaw tightened. "Of course they will." Lord Harrand was the Duke of Whechester. He’d have to get some information on that man.

Robert adjusted his gloves delicately, his eyes flicking to the desk where Min-jae had been rifling.

He didn’t comment, only continued in his calm, informative tone. "Your cousins, too. One has written to the king’s envoy, whispering of family discord. Another..." His voice dipped, almost contemptuous. "Another sells your reputation in the gambling dens."

Min-jae let out a slow, controlled breath. Every word was another dagger thrown into his back by blood he hadn’t chosen.

Robert inclined his head. "Shall I continue digging, my lord? Or would you rather I clip certain tongues before they wag too far?"

Min-jae nodded, since he was no longer living here no one would suspect his relationship with Robert.

Robert bowed, lips pressed into a polite line. "Very good, my lord. I will begin at once. I’ll send word when I have more." He hesitated the barest second, an expression of something like worry tucked behind his composed mask then retreated down the corridor, the soft crunch of his polished boots fading away.

Min-jae let out a breath that felt more like a small animal escaping a trap.

Robert had barely slipped out the door when it opened again. Min-jae’s head snapped up, startled, but this time it wasn’t Robert.

"Dorian.." he muttered, his shoulders tensing when he saw the person.

[[Warning: some disturbing scenes ahead ]]

Before he could take a step back, Dorian closed the distance, grabbing him by the chin and crushing his lips in a forceful kiss.

Min-jae eyes widened as he shoved at his chest, struggling, but Dorian only used his greater strength to haul him bodily toward the bed. The door slammed shut behind them, the lock clicking into place.

"Let go of me!" Min-jae’s voice rose, his pulse hammering in his throat as Dorian threw him onto the mattress. His wrists were pinned before he could rise, the weight of his cousin pressing down on him.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" Min-jae spat, his chest heaving. "Why are you all so obsessed with forcing yourselves on me?!"

Dorian’s grip tightened, his eyes burning with something between desperation and madness. He leaned closer, his breath hot against Min-jae’s ear.

"If you can take a man.." he hissed "why not me? Why him? Why Meical? Because he’s governor? Because he’s powerful? You should’ve chosen me. You should’ve loved me.."

Min-jae froze, then let out a sharp laugh, it was bitter, cutting and scathing. His expression hardened into something colder than ice.

"Love you?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disgust. "You dare talk about love when all you’ve ever given me is pain? You force yourself on me, you sneer at me, you look down on me. And now you come here whining because I didn’t choose you?"

His eyes blazed with fury, his voice rising with each word.

"You don’t want my love, Dorian. You only want the thrill of violating your cousin. That’s all this is to you. And I hate you. I hate this entire damn family. Every one of you makes me sick."

Dorian’s face twisted, but before he could answer, Min-jae bucked hard against him, his voice a raw snarl.

"If you don’t get off me this instant, I swear to God — by tomorrow, you’ll be a dead man.."