Even after that, Hye-yul chattered on for a long while. About when and where she might live alone someday, and where she would hang the water lilies then. At this rate, she might really ask to have them bought for her later. Kwon Yido only nodded without the slightest concern.

I don’t know how long she went on, but her excited voice gradually slowed. Her clear eyes blinked drowsily before she let her head sink against Yido’s chest. Her heavy lids looked ready to fall into sleep any moment.

“So... I’m going to build an art gallery on the third floor.”

“Mm, that’ll be pretty.”

He adjusted her in his arms with practiced ease, stroking her small back gently. Each pat made her breath grow more even. I tilted my head, studying her face.

“...Is she asleep?”

I whispered. He nodded, not stopping the motion of his hand.

“Hye-yul woke up early today. No wonder she’s tired.”

He looked entirely used to putting a child to bed. Do children usually fall asleep this quickly? Her peaceful face in sleep was striking. Her steady breaths soothed me as well.

For a while, I simply watched, as if appreciating a painting. Kwon Yido as portrayed in the media was never like this. He had never worn such a gentle expression, never handled anything with such delicate care.

For someone like him, wouldn’t he make an excellent father? Parent or uncle, it shouldn’t change how one treated a child. Toward those inside his circle, he was fundamentally kind.

“It’ll be better to lay her down.”

Still holding her, Yido stood and led us to the lounge. The spacious room had blankets and cushions prepared. While I arranged the bedding, he loosened Hye-yul’s tied hair.

The small blanket was plenty for a seven-year-old. I worried her clothes might be uncomfortable, but fortunately nothing seemed to bother her. Yido made sure everything was in place and then gestured toward the door.

“Let’s step outside.”

Since we had arrived at the funeral hall in the evening, night had already fallen. Unless something unusual happened, Hye-yul would sleep soundly until morning. For a child, this must have been an exhausting day.

“Would you like something to drink? There isn’t much, though.”

The dining hall was half-dark. He stood before the refrigerator, scanning the drinks inside. Soda and soju—whatever was stocked by the funeral home—didn’t suit him at all.

“No, I’m fine... But shouldn’t you go back to your family?”

Even after I refused, he pulled out a bottle of soju, green with bamboo printed on the label. So he meant to offer alcohol, not soda? With two paper cups in hand, he carried them to the table.

“They’ll call me if they need me. Sit.”

There were no mourners anyway, so it wasn’t as if he needed to return. Someone could relieve him if required. But was passing the time with liquor really appropriate?

“You drink soju?”

The idea seemed unbelievable, even while I watched it with my own eyes. His father had never glanced at such a drink. Maybe Yido had simpler tastes than I thought.

“No, I usually don’t.”

He said it casually as he opened the cap. Tilting the bottle to the rim of the paper cup, he poured as if it were wine. He offered me a cup as well, and I accepted politely with both hands.

“...You’re just going to drink it like that?”

His hand froze briefly as he lifted his cup. The table held only the bottle and two paper cups. He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head.

“Why not?”

His eyes dropped to the bottle, turning it to read the label. He narrowed his gaze and murmured:

“It’s weaker than whiskey.”

“...”

So he really meant to drink it straight. Out of a paper cup, no less. I didn’t like soju either, but even I knew it was too much without food.

“But you usually take whiskey on the rocks...”

And he never drank whiskey without ice. When I’d asked why, he had only said it was habit. You couldn’t put ice in soju, but still—drinking it like this seemed excessive.

“You should at least have something to eat with it...”

“......”

“...What is it?”

His dark gaze fixed on me, unblinking. He stared as if dazed, then moved his lips slowly.

“How do you know I drink it on the rocks?”

“......”

For a moment, I wore the same expression as he did. We had never once shared a drink, and I had never seen him drink. Then why—what was I thinking just now?

“......”

“......”

The air chilled instantly. He waited for my answer, face set coldly. He even seemed angry, though I couldn’t imagine why.

“...I just thought you would.”

“......”

“It just seemed like you would, that’s all.”

It was the best I could say. Even I didn’t know why, so what else could I tell him? He stared for a long moment, as if trying to read me.

“...I see.”

Finally, his eyes moved away. A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slipped out. Turning aside, he drained the cup in a single gulp.

“......”

I told you not to drink like that.

But this wasn’t the moment to stop him. I sipped at my own cup instead. The soju tasted just as unpleasant as I remembered, bitter alcohol with a faint trace of sweetness.

Without a word, he poured again. With cups that large, three fills emptied the bottle. He rose, then returned with three more bottles from the fridge. His face showed no pleasure in it, yet he opened another with ease.

“Kwon Yido-ssi.”

This time, I couldn’t leave it. One bottle was tolerable, but four was too much. He could hold his liquor, but ruining his health was another matter.

“Jung Sejin-ssi, you’re...”

He set the bottle down slowly. The engagement ring gleamed on his left hand gripping the cup. Lifting it to his lips, he gave a short laugh.

“...like a nagging husband.”

“......”

Before I could reply, he tilted the cup. His throat moved with heavy swallows, finishing it all in one breath. Then he asked:

“Aren’t you going to call me honey this time?”

Brazen words, almost teasing. So I simply repeated his own.

“...You’re not my husband yet, Kwon Yido-ssi.”

He raised a brow, lips curling in a lazy smile. Not angry, though there was something empty in his look. It seemed he might press further, but his audacity stopped there.

“......”

“......”

We drank in silence for a long while. Mostly it was him draining the cups, while I only sipped occasionally. The soju still tasted bad, but quietly watching him wasn’t unpleasant.

After some time, as he opened the fourth bottle, he spoke.

“The gun you saw—that was a gift from my grandfather.”

At the sudden subject, I sat ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) up straight. The word “gun” struck sharply. His voice was low, his eyes downcast.

“He was a rather eccentric man.”

Though the words were harsh, the tone carried affection. Mourning his death, his gaze was steeped in sorrow. So they were close after all. I focused on his words.

“I think it was on my twentieth birthday. He gave me a gun loaded with live rounds. Said if I wanted to inherit the business, I had to work like my life depended on it. That business needed boldness, so if I had the guts, I should display it at home.”

It could only be called eccentric. Giving firearms to grandchildren—if anyone knew, it would be a scandal. Perhaps to build a conglomerate from scratch required such recklessness.

“My sister got one when she turned twenty. Ijeong received his too, but lost it within a year.”

The way he spoke of Kwon Ikyung and Kwon Ijeong was very different. With his sister, the tone carried familiarity, but when naming Ijeong, his brow creased unconsciously.

“Eccentric, but wise. If Ijeong had kept it, he would’ve shot a subordinate or two by now.”

That reminded me—where had the missing Kwon Ijeong gone? I had almost forgotten, because Yido seemed so unaffected. No, not just him—his whole family looked the same. Their lack of concern made me wonder if the news had been a mistake.

“You look like you want to ask something.”

He regarded me curiously. I shook my head, brushing aside thoughts of Ijeong. To bring up the missing at a funeral—too discourteous.

“...Isn’t gun possession illegal?”

So I asked the safer question, lowering my voice. The hall was empty, but still. He pulled at his lips in a long line.

“Is that what matters?”

He frowned slightly. Of course, the legality wasn’t important. I’d only voiced a plausible question, expecting a predictable reply.

As expected, he answered flatly:

“There’s nothing money can’t buy.”

An unshakable truth. This was Seonho Group, after all. Yet he paused, and his smile faded. “No... there are things money can’t.” He muttered, and drank again.

“Anyway, I displayed it where I spent most of my time. On the wall of my study, no protection at all.”

But I remembered otherwise. I recalled him putting the black gun in a drawer, even locking it and checking twice.

“I shouldn’t have done that...”

His face was sober, but his words sounded like drunken regret. Perhaps this was how he leaned on alcohol. His grandfather’s death must have weighed heavily. The thought left me unsettled.

“Sometimes I wonder. If I hadn’t put it on display, would things have turned out differently?”

Every word he spoke carried regret. I didn’t know what had happened, or why he told me of it.

“One mistake is only a mistake. But repeat it, and it’s not a mistake anymore. Nothing is more foolish than repeating the same error.”

His voice was calm, refined, monotone. His eyes met mine as he spoke deliberately.

“So I threw the bullets away.”

Then he fell silent. He closed his eyes slowly, opened them again, and drained the rest of his cup. Should I ask? I rubbed the rim of my cup, frowning.

“If it was a mistake...”

I guessed there had been some incident. If he had thrown away live rounds, then either a shot had gone off—or nearly did.

“...Did something happen?”

That was what I meant. But he didn’t answer easily. He only replied with indifference, not looking at me.

“Well, I don’t really remember.”

A lie, obvious even in passing. His expression was too raw for someone without memory. His sunken eyes were not dulled by drink.

“Anyway... from then until now, my resolve has been the same.”

He tilted his head. His next words were firm enough to sound cold.

“To make the right choice.”

A strange light passed in his eyes. Each word came with precise articulation.

“Never ruin things. Never repeat mistakes. Act with reason, not emotion. Never compromise from the original plan.”

He made it sound simple, but it was impossibly hard. Breaking those vows took a second, keeping them a lifetime. It explained why he treated others so strictly. That was what I thought when he asked softly:

“But you know?”

His gaze lowered. His long lashes cast shadows that looked unbearably lonely. I didn’t answer, and he continued in a subdued voice.

“No matter how firm the resolve, there are moments when it wavers.”

“......”

He looked so sorrowful that I couldn’t ask him to explain further. I only stroked the rim of my cup with an uneasy face. After a long silence, he called me quietly.

“Jung Sejin-ssi.”

“...Yes.”

I nodded for him to go on. He forcibly erased the emotion from his face, returning to his usual composure, though his voice was still low.

“I hope the imprint between us doesn’t become a tool for you.”

So he had already sensed it. That my request for imprinting hadn’t been born simply from affection, but from desperation. A means to belong, to feel safe. One of the survival strategies I had clung to.

“To be clear, this engagement isn’t a contract between Seonho and Haesin. It’s our marriage.”

What did that mean? His words were hard to grasp immediately. Hadn’t he once said outright that our engagement was a contract? And now he was drawing a line between the two.

“The contract with Haesin no longer stands. You’re not bound by any obligation to it. You’re no longer Haesin’s heir, so there’s no reason to bind you within that framework.”

My heart dropped with a thud. I thought he meant to end things. That since I was useless, he wanted me gone. That we had no relationship.

But his next words came in a voice unbearably lonely.

“You’re not the lesser one, Jung Sejin-ssi.”

“......”

I never thought I would hear that from him. He denied, from the root, the belief I had always held. And then, meeting my eyes, he added:

“If the one who loves more is the lesser... then it’s not you. It’s me.”