I don’t know what it feels like to lose someone precious. My grandparents passed away when I was a child, but they were little more than strangers I knew only by face. I remember patting Minjae’s back while he ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) wept uncontrollably, unable to cry with him.

“...I shouldn’t have said that.”

Kwon Yido let out a faint laugh and clasped the hand resting on his knee. His eyes didn’t tremble this time, but I couldn’t forget what I had seen a moment ago. Slowly, I reached out and placed my hand lightly over his.

“......”

He didn’t pull away, only turned toward me. The coldness of his skin seeped into my palm. I didn’t have the courage to offer words of comfort, and a clumsy attempt at empathy would only make things worse. All I could do was carefully stroke the back of his hand.

The warmth where we touched lingered without breaking. Like the day we became engaged, he looked down at our joined hands with eyes full of ripples. His expression seemed close to collapse, and it didn’t feel like it was only because of Chairman Kwon Byung-wook’s death.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. The coldness of his skin gradually grew lukewarm. At last, Kwon Yido turned his hand and gently laced his fingers through mine.

“Jung Sejin-ssi.”

His large hand closed tightly around mine. Despite its elegant shape, his knuckles were thick and the veins stood out across the back. My hands weren’t small, but when held against his, they seemed fragile.

“Please, go on.”

I answered readily, brushing my thumb across the back of his hand. Just from holding his hand, it felt as if a pulse was beating at my fingertips. An engagement ring sat on his fourth finger, but mine was bare. That fact, somehow, made me feel embarrassed, so I hid my left hand out of sight.

“We live in the same house, sometimes have sex, and now we’re holding hands like this.”

He spoke in his graceful tone, measured and steady. Sometimes? I wondered if that was really the case. As that question crossed my mind, Yido’s gaze fell to our entwined fingers. Then he looked up at me directly.

“What do you call this kind of relationship?”

I wasn’t weighed down like yesterday. He really seemed not to know, eyes clear with uncertainty. Why is someone so clever lacking in something like this? Even as I thought it, the answer slipped out.

“Most would call it lovers...”

His grip tightened. Yido still looked at me in silence. I let out a small laugh and added:

“Our order is a little strange, though.”

We got engaged the first time we met, kissed before confirming our feelings, slept together, even displayed open jealousy. Yet there was still no word to define what we were. Everything felt jumbled.

“Then...”

Yido began slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth. His lips curved upward, and his dark eyes softened. It was clearly a smile, yet it didn’t look like one.

“Should we do it too, then? That.”

That? Instead of asking, I tilted my head. His next words came out in a voice barely audible.

“Lovers.”

“......”

My eyes widened. It wasn’t a difficult word, yet it took time to process. Yido stroked my hand softly and murmured like he was speaking to himself.

“The truth is... I don’t really know.”

Don’t know? What does that mean? It didn’t make me happy—it left me unsettled. Yido’s expression was too lonely. He was the one asking to be my lover, yet his eyes lowered with no certainty.

“I don’t know how much I’m allowed to want from you, Jung Sejin-ssi...”

“......”

“I can’t quite measure it.”

The self-deprecating tone sank in my chest like a weight. My heart tightened painfully, leaving me unable to reply. By then, the car arrived at the funeral hall and came to a stop in a secluded corner of the parking lot.

“I wasn’t asking for an answer.”

Leaving a trace of regret, he released my hand and stepped out first. My fingers twitched belatedly, but he was already closing the door. Walking around the car, he opened my side and nodded.

“Let’s go up.”

***

Chairman Kwon Byung-wook’s funeral was to be held quietly among family. Reporters were strictly barred, and security was stationed inside and out. Even close relatives weren’t called, so I could imagine how quiet it would be.

When I said I could wait in the car, Yido told me it was fine and urged me to come up. I had dressed in black just in case, but I still wasn’t sure if it was right for me to join the family. Fortunately, when I followed him inside, his family showed no particular doubt at my presence.

<Late Kwon Byung-wook>

From the hallway, wreaths lined the walls, and condolence banners stood tall. The names on them stretched from the President to assembly members and countless business leaders. Though there were no mourners, the abundance of flowers honored his passing.

After exchanging a glance with Yido, I approached the altar where incense burned. The chairman’s photo was surrounded by chrysanthemums. Without offering incense, I bowed and then turned to face the family. Unsurprisingly, Kwon Ijeong wasn’t there.

“Thank you for coming. It’s been a while.”

Yido’s mother, wearing a mourning armband, extended her hand. Had he contacted her beforehand? Kwon Sangmi seemed to know I would come. I clasped her hand respectfully with both of mine and bowed deeply.

“I apologize for arriving so suddenly. My condolences for your loss.”

The death of her father and the disappearance of her son—yet even burdened with both, Sangmi smiled gently and embraced my shoulder. She faced the grief calmly, quietly. I had always seen her dazzlingly dressed, but even in plain clothing her composed charisma showed.

“Since you’ve come all this way, at least stay for a meal. We can greet each other properly later.”

Was she this kind even on the day of the engagement? She seemed softer now. Outwardly, she looked like someone completely unaware of what had happened in Haesin. Of course, that couldn’t be true, but it was impossible to guess what she was thinking.

“Where’s Hye-yul?”

“She’s resting with Shin.”

At Yido’s question, Kwon Ikyung gestured toward another side. Likely in the funeral hall’s dining area with her father. I greeted the other family members with a nod and followed Yido toward the dining room.

The route was sealed off perfectly; no crowds in sight. Only a few funeral staff bowed as we passed. Yido ignored every greeting, eyes fixed ahead.

In the dining hall, Kwon Hye-yul sat with Shin Dae-woong. White ribbons also hung along the walls, crowded with condolence flowers. Her hair was neatly tied back, black clothes in place, and when she spotted us, her eyes widened.

“Uncle!”

She ran to Yido, who lifted her into his arms naturally. She always struck me as mature, but moments like this revealed her to be just a child.

“Did you go pick up Oppa?”

Clinging to Yido’s neck, she turned her eyes to me. Her delicate features strongly resembled his. Rising to his feet, Shin Dae-woong approached.

“Hye-yul, greet first.”

Realizing her slip, she bowed her head. “Hello.” I returned with, “Hi.” Thanks to our previous encounter, she wasn’t shy with me this time.

“It’s been a while. Thank you for coming.”

“No, I should apologize for arriving without notice.”

While I exchanged greetings with Dae-woong, Yido spoke gently with Hye-yul, asking if she’d eaten, if her clothes were uncomfortable, what she and her father had been doing.

“Uncle, are we really staying here three days?”

“Yes, we’re here to see Great-Grandfather off.”

At seven, she must already grasp the concept of death. Yet she didn’t seem especially sad. As I studied her, Dae-woong explained softly:

“It’s been over five years since Father was bedridden.”

“...Ah.”

That would be before the news spread publicly. Hye-yul had been too young to remember. She probably had little memory of him.

“Children forget quickly.”

The look in Dae-woong’s eyes was bitter. Those who forget remain unburdened, but those who remember suffer.

“...It must be hard for you.”

I offered cautiously. He smiled with maturity. I recalled Hye-yul once said her father’s pheromones smelled like paint. The faint alpha pheromones mingled with the scent of paint around him, tinged blue.

“Will Oppa be here three days too?”

Still nestled in Yido’s arms, she asked me. The unchanged title left me feeling awkward. Avoiding Dae-woong’s gaze, I winked at her.

“Not Oppa, Uncle, Hye-yul.”

“You should say Uncle Sejin.”

When Yido added, she frowned, her expression resembling her mother. Dae-woong waved it off.

“Let it be, brother-in-law. Her mother and I corrected her, but she won’t listen. Maybe because Sejin-ssi looks too young.”

He sided with her, saying she could change slowly. I worried about her slipping up elsewhere, but there really wasn’t an “elsewhere.” Besides, I wouldn’t be seeing her often enough for gradual correction anyway.

“So Oppa’s here three days too?”

Persistent, she asked again, still refusing to change the address. I couldn’t dislike her stubbornness and only smiled warmly.

“Well... I’m not sure.”

I had come along, but in a family funeral, my presence was an intrusion. I wasn’t family, nor close. To Seonho Group’s family, I was just Yido’s contract partner and a ruined omega.

“Stay as you like. You can leave early if you want.”

Yido spoke generously, as if to ease my burden. Dae-woong also nodded. It seemed I was the only one bothered.

“Have you two eaten?”

“No. He needs to eat.”

Adjusting Hye-yul in his arms, Yido walked to a table. I protested that I was fine, but Dae-woong insisted I eat something before slipping away. Yido sat down, pulling out the chair beside him for me. Reluctantly, I joined him, under Hye-yul’s watchful eyes.

“...With family here, isn’t my being here a bit much?”

“If that mattered, I wouldn’t have brought you.”

A clear answer, but I couldn’t stop worrying. This wasn’t a trip—it was mourning the family’s elder.

“Oppa.”

Hye-yul called softly, shifting in Yido’s lap. She nestled comfortably in his wide chest, clearly used to sitting like that.

“You can sleep in there.”

“Hm?”

“You can sleep inside, and eat here.”

Her childlike voice explained gently, pointing here and there with her free hand. The bathroom was over there, drinks this way.

“Oh... really?”

She’s sharp. That was all I thought as I nodded. She must have already memorized the hall’s layout. Watching us, Yido chuckled.

“Oppa doesn’t get it, Hye-yul.”

“......”

I glanced at him. He smoothed her hair and translated.

“She’s saying she doesn’t want you to leave.”

Hye-yul nodded, her clear eyes fixed on me. Was it simply because her needs were provided for here? Feeling troubled, I shifted my gaze, but Yido added:

“I’d like you to stay too, Jung Sejin-ssi.”

“...What?”

I asked belatedly. He frowned slightly, speaking slowly.

“I feel... off.”

“......”

“I need you, Jung Sejin-ssi.”

The same look from the car crossed his face—the expression of someone for whom losing a loved one was no easy matter. His lashes lowered, making him seem uncharacteristically fragile.

“If it’s too much, I’ll send you back at dawn. But stay for now.”

“......”

There was no way to refuse that gentle plea. I nodded, and both he and Hye-yul smiled at once. The way they exchanged a glance and laughed together lingered strangely in my mind.

***

After the meal prepared by staff, Dae-woong left Hye-yul with us and returned to the hall. She still sat in Yido’s arms, chattering away. When the topic shifted to the water lilies at the Orangerie Museum, I found myself coughing.

“Do you want those lilies?”

“Yes, but Mom said no. Uncle, can’t you buy them and hang them on the third floor?”

She stated her wish clearly. Yido listened with indulgence, as though ready to grant anything. As I glanced between them, Hye-yul blurted out:

“When I asked Oppa, he said we should hear what Uncle thinks.”

“...Is that so?”

Yido looked at me, as if it were my question to answer. Embarrassed, I smiled weakly, and he exhaled like air escaping.

“If it’s at Uncle’s house, you won’t see it every day.”

“But I’ll see it more than if it stays in Paris.”

“Better not. When you live on your own someday, Uncle will hang it there. If you still want it then, let’s talk again.”

“Hmm...”

Hye-yul furrowed her brow, seriously considering. Yido waited with a faint smile. He supposedly disliked children, yet he adored his niece.

“Promise?”

“Yes, promise.”

He extended his pinky. Her tiny finger hooked around his, and she even stamped it with her thumb. Watching, I remembered when Yido once gave me his car.

‘Shall we hook pinkies?’

“......”

Why had he done that silly thing? He must have been teasing me the way he did his niece. And I, not knowing, had quickly hooked mine in return.

“Oppa is the witness, okay?”

“...Alright, I’ll remember.”

I shouldn’t lie to children. By the time she lived alone, at least thirteen years would have passed. There was no way I’d be around to play witness then. Though it was likely she wouldn’t even remember, guilt still pricked my conscience.