Seojun recoiled from Yolan's touch as if burned, his expression twisting into a mask of disdain. He rolled his eyes, a gesture dripping with contempt.
"Yeah, you aren't the one who almost died twice," he sneered, the words laced with a venomous sarcasm that cut through the opulent hotel room. The blatant disregard for his suffering, the casual dismissal of near-death experiences – it was the final straw.
He then turned sharply and walked away, leaving behind the wreckage of a relationship and the simmering resentment that had finally boiled over. The scene wasn't about anger anymore; it was about liberation. He was shedding the weight of obligation, the shackles of familial pressure, and the burden of a love that had always been conditional.
Seojun emerged from the hotel, the polished façade of the building reflecting the city lights. He wasn't radiating anger, despite the tumultuous scene he'd just left behind. Instead, a quiet sense of detachment settled over him, a calm resolve that belied the emotional upheaval he'd just experienced.
He adjusted his sunglasses, shielding his eyes from the glare and creating an even more impenetrable barrier around his expression. It was a practiced move, a way to maintain control and project an air of indifference, even when his inner world was churning.
Peter was waiting outside, leaning against Seojun's car with a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The casual posture and easygoing demeanor were a stark contrast to the intensity Seojun had been carrying just moments before.
Peter's wave was almost mocking, a silent acknowledgment of the drama Seojun had likely just endured. Seojun let out a sigh, a sound that held more relief than frustration. It was the exhale of someone releasing a long-held burden.
"I broke up with Angelina," he stated matter-of-factly, the words devoid of any lingering emotion. It wasn't a declaration of heartbreak or regret; it was simply a statement of fact, a closed chapter.
"That is good, I will tell you this maybe try man, you know me I am your best friend and I am into men," Peter said, his usual playful energy bubbling over. He punctuated the statement with an exaggerated wink and a flourish of his hand. The comment was delivered with the breezy confidence only a close friend could get away with.
Seojun's reaction was surprisingly measured. He didn't scoff, didn't recoil, didn't even raise an eyebrow. Instead, he simply nodded, accepting the information with the same detached neutrality he applied to most things.
"No more dating for me," Seojun said without a second thought, his voice flat and resolute. He didn't elaborate, didn't offer a lengthy explanation or a dramatic justification. It was a simple declaration of intent, a firm line drawn in the sand. The weariness in his eyes suggested this decision wasn't born from the recent breakup alone, but from a deeper disillusionment with relationships in general.
He didn't care about it. If one day he fell in love with a man or a woman, he wouldn't care; he would love them for what they are like. Like how he wouldn't judge anyone's sexuality – it was their problem, not anyone else's.
The statement revealed a core tenet of Seojun's philosophy, a quiet rebellion against the societal pressures and expectations that had shaped so much of his life. He'd spent years navigating complex family dynamics, enduring betrayals and manipulations based on lineage and power. As a result, he'd developed a profound respect for individuality and a fierce intolerance for judgment based on superficial characteristics.
It wasn't about advocating for any particular lifestyle; it was about recognizing the inherent right of each person to define their own identity without fear of prejudice or condemnation.
The fluorescent lights of the motorcycle dealership hummed, reflecting off the polished chrome of the gleaming bikes. Seojun, a stark contrast to the usual clientele, moved through the aisles with a quiet intensity. His arms were crossed, a sleek black ponytail emphasizing the sharp angles of his face. He exuded an air of detached observation, a predator assessing his surroundings. He was a study in controlled stillness amidst the energetic buzz of potential buyers and enthusiastic salespeople.
Then he saw them. Phoenix and Taylor, instantly recognizable despite the casual clothes they wore. The sight triggered a familiar tightening in his chest, a low thrum of irritation that quickly escalated into something colder and more calculating. Taylor's voice, sharp and demanding, cut through the ambient noise.
"Seojun, are you working here! Come and help us." The implicit command, the expectation of servitude, was what truly ignited Seojun's simmering resentment. It was a relic of the past he'd been desperately trying to shed – the ingrained expectation that he was obligated to cater to the whims of his family, regardless of their behavior.
Without a word, Seojun moved with a swiftness that belied his seemingly languid posture. He strode over to a nearby water cooler, filled a disposable cup to the brim, and then, with deliberate precision, splashed the icy liquid directly into Taylor's face. The sudden shock momentarily silenced her tirade, leaving her sputtering and drenched.
The water cascaded down Taylor's face, plastering her carefully styled hair to her forehead and dripping onto her designer clothes. Her eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fury, her face contorting into a mask of indignant rage.
"Am I your servant?" Seojun asked, his voice low and dangerously calm. The question wasn't rhetorical; it was a direct challenge, a declaration of independence from the suffocating expectations of his family. He held her gaze, his ice-ocean eyes unwavering, devoid of any apology or remorse. It was a clear message: the old dynamic had ended.
"Youuu! Youuu! Seojun! You bastard!" Taylor shrieked, her composure completely shattered. The outburst drew the attention of several nearby customers, who paused their browsing to stare at the unfolding scene.
Before Taylor could launch into another tirade, a smoother, more calculated voice intervened. Phoenix, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, attempting to diffuse the situation with practiced ease.
"Brother, cousin don't fight, I know that…" Phoenix began, his tone conciliatory and his expression carefully neutral. He subtly positioned himself between Taylor and Seojun, attempting to create a buffer and de-escalate the conflict. However, his words lacked genuine warmth; they were a performance designed to maintain appearances and avoid further disruption.
Seojun's lips curled into a sardonic sneer.
"Who is your brother?" he asked, his voice dripping with thinly veiled contempt. It was a pointed question designed to expose the artifice of Phoenix's diplomacy and highlight the strained relationships within the Duan family.
Seojun didn't wait for Phoenix to answer. Instead, he moved with unsettling speed, ignoring Phoenix's attempt to interpose himself. He reached out, his hand clamping firmly onto Phoenix's chin, his thumb applying pressure just below the jawline. It wasn't a violent grip, but it was undeniably possessive and controlling, designed to assert dominance and silence the carefully crafted facade of innocence Phoenix so readily adopted. The gesture was calculated to be both uncomfortable and humiliating.
His ice-blue eyes bored into Phoenix's, radiating an intensity that seemed to pierce through the carefully constructed mask of serenity.
"This green tea," Seojun drawled, his voice laced with disdain.
"Always knows how to play an innocent role." He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a poisonous cloud.