To someone unaware of the circumstances, it would read like an email from a shameless, disrespectful niece. And in truth, Jiyeon really was unusually rude. Even back when Yoon Siron had been riding high as an actor and singlehandedly keeping a no-name talent agency afloat, Jiyeon had never once tried to stay on his good side.
Maybe it was because she couldn’t stand seeing her own father, the CEO, constantly groveling before some young, upstart actor. Or maybe she’d already sensed that this actor would eventually be the cause of her father’s downfall. Whatever the reason, she had never treated Siron with any warmth.
Siron had been a contracted actor under Grim Company—a company that had started as an acting workshop and evolved into a management agency. Its CEO, Kim Seungchan, had once been the manager of a top actor and, later in life, briefly acted in supporting roles during his 40s. He was now a responsible, middle-aged man in his late 50s. Most of Grim’s talents were extras, so it functioned less like a classic management agency and more like a small-scale manpower agency supplying background actors to fit program needs.
That rickety business, somehow surviving on scraps, one day struck gold when Yoon Siron rolled in like a winning lottery ticket. Just two months after signing with the agency, Siron landed a sizable supporting role in a major cable drama. As soon as filming wrapped, he was cast in a near-lead role in a primetime network drama. From there, his rise was unstoppable.
CEO Kim believed Siron’s popularity came from his diligence and acting skill. But that wasn’t the whole story. Siron had backing—even Kim himself didn’t know. A sponsor: a chaebol family’s youngest son named Baek Kyung.
But no secret lasts forever. Just four years after debuting, the “Yoon Siron Scandal” broke—still considered one of the most humiliating in entertainment history. Not only was his comeback ruled out, but he ended up inflicting massive financial damage on ongoing dramas, completed films, and ad campaigns. He owed nearly 20 billion won in breach-of-contract penalties. Even after Kim shared liability by renegotiating the damages, Grim Company still [N O V E L I G H T] went bankrupt.
Now past sixty, CEO Kim was buried in debt and had no means to recover. After being separated from his only daughter, he drifted between odd jobs on the street. Siron last heard that Kim had undergone surgery for a slipped disc—then all contact ceased.
After returning to the U.S. and getting a job, Siron eventually got back in touch with Jiyeon, now eighteen. He’d stupidly promised to cover her tuition and part of her living expenses until she got a job. It was a foolish pledge born from guilt—not that it would fix what he’d done to destroy Kim’s life, but he wanted to at least remain, in some bitter corner of himself, a bastard with some decency left.
“No matter how much she hates me... this kid’s fucking shameless.”
Jiyeon’s email, listing her demands without so much as a greeting, felt completely devoid of warmth. Siron pouted and checked his bank account. Even with the second clinical trial payment, it wasn’t enough to cover tuition.
---
Jiyeon, how have you been?
Uncle’s doing his best over here, haha.
Can’t believe it’s already the second semester.
Deadline’s August 20, huh?
Luckily, Uncle’s been saving up just for this\~ lol
I’ll send the living expenses today, and tuition by August 17!
Even though I’m far away, I’m always thinking of you.
Stay healthy, okay? No getting sick.
Study hard!
Bye for now\~ (´ε｀)♡
---
Even though it was past 1 a.m. in Korea—fourteen hours ahead—Jiyeon opened the email almost instantly. He’d racked his brain crafting it to sound sweet and friendly, but as always, no reply came.
Well... it made sense. He was basically the villain in her life story. When Siron thought of CEO Kim and Jiyeon, left ruined and buried in debt overnight, his chest tightened and a dark fog of guilt rolled in.
If only I’d swallowed my pride and just laid low back then.
Every time he sent Jiyeon an email, a face he tried so hard to forget resurfaced like clockwork. That smug bastard with the smug money and the smug mouth. Baek Kyung. All that talk about having nothing but money—and when Siron went down in flames, he didn’t use a single fucking won to help him. Just stood by and watched him burn.
Baek Kyung.
Siron, caught in an undertow he couldn’t resist, found himself typing his name into the search bar again. There were more results now than two months ago, when he last checked, but nothing of substance. After being discharged from the psychiatric hospital, Baek Kyung had reportedly moved to New York to work at VILE Group’s headquarters—but since then, there hadn’t been a single update. All he found were new landmines—fresh ridicule aimed at himself.
“FUCK! That goddamn urethral play!”
How many years had it been since the scandal broke? And yet people still connected Siron to urethral play as if it were his personal brand. Someday, when his death notice went up, people would still be in the comments talking about the perverted kink he supposedly loved.
Trembling with rage, Siron dove under the covers and screamed into his pillow.
Today, more than ever, he wanted to see that pretty-faced rotten bastard again. Just once. So he could smash that face with his foot and dump the broken pieces in a sewage tank. Then maybe, just maybe, he could die satisfied.
---
The garage was built into the slope between road and hill, dug into the ground like a cave. The translucent plastic siding let in soft, filtered light, giving the place the odd atmosphere of a sunlit cavern.
As a teenager, Lewis had spent hours in that space large enough to fit three cars side by side—rehearsing plays, playing film scores on guitar. With his sun-kissed skin, parted full lips, and athletic build, people often mistook him for a party boy. But he never touched sex, or drugs, or even cigarettes and alcohol.
Anna, on the other hand, had had car sex with her boyfriend, chain-smoked in the back seat, and done drugs on occasion. Then one day, she acted like she’d seen the light—like she was a new person, scrubbing her past clean. But it was all for show.
Now Anna was back in the garage—the same garage she used to indulge in—all but ruining what little peace she had on her day off. She’d been holed up inside her parked car for hours, chain-smoking. The car was choked with smoke, like someone attempting suicide by carbon monoxide. She hadn’t moved a muscle, not even as the rainy, dim sky sank into dusk.
Not until night fell did she finally step out of the vehicle. Her face was pale, heavy with exhaustion.
It had been one week since Lewis’s second rut. The rut cycle for alphas could last up to a full week—if they could just get through today, she might get her real brother back.
As a traffic cop, Anna had even rearranged her shifts to return home every twelve hours for four days straight, injecting Lewis with sedatives. But starting on the fifth day, she’d stopped. She was afraid that if the rut had ended, she might overdose him with another injection. Still, she hadn’t had the courage to stay in the same house with him. She’d spent the last few nights in a hotel, returning just now.
Anna climbed the stairs with dragging feet. Her steps quickened as she neared the landing—by the time she reached ground level, she was running. And when she saw the front door ajar, it felt like her heavy, cotton-stuffed head had been crushed in a vice.
“Lewis!”
Panicked, Anna sprinted inside.
The panic room door stood wide open. Its reinforced, triple-lock steel had been warped outward—bent like rebar under a relentless hammer. The safety latches were broken, barely hanging on. Inside, the ropes lay in pieces across the floor.
Semen from several days had dried and crusted white. Judging from the brittle state of it, Lewis must’ve escaped shortly after she’d left the house.
Her shock at Lewis’s inhuman strength was quickly eclipsed by the dizzying vertigo that followed. Stumbling forward along the wall in search of fresh air, she was hit by a sudden, sour stench of curry. And then, in her mind’s eye, flashes of her brother’s dried semen made her gag violently, again and again.
She’d let her guard down. She hadn’t wanted to face her brother, transformed into a beast—and now, someone innocent might be raped. Their life, Lewis’s, and her own would all be ruined.
Fumbling with shaking hands, Anna called Lewis’s phone—but the ringtone came from inside the house. His phone was still plugged into the charger on the table. His shoes were still by the door. Neither of them ever wore shoes indoors. Which meant he was either still inside... or had run out barefoot into the pouring rain.
Grabbing the tranquilizer gun, Anna forced herself to stay calm and began searching for traces of her brother. She combed the entire house. Everything was exactly as she’d left it—except for one spot.
The kitchen trash bin on the first floor had been knocked over. Lewis had rummaged through it, apparently looking for something. And something among the garbage caught her eye.
Disposable food containers. Sealed tightly in a delivery bag.
“...Curry?”
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