Minho

Right now, they were driving in total isolation. Jisung sat in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the window as his split lip throbbed with a dull ache. He was fully expecting this unflappable man to escort him straight to his father's office and, with a stone face, report every single word that had been said tonight. Jisung was prepared for anything – anything except the heavy, stifling weight hanging in the air between them.

A few hours earlier, Jisung had demanded to be taken to a bar, and Minho had complied without a word; his job was to protect, not to argue. The young heir’s irritation had grown by the minute as his bodyguard sat right beside him, sipping water, entirely unfazed by the loud crowd. When Minho dryly asked him to slow down on the drinks, Jisung had snapped. He spat out a harsh remark, making it clear that Minho was nothing but hired help, his tone laced with deliberate humiliation. Jisung hadn't even seen him move. Minho had reacted faster than his brain could process: a swift grip on his collar, and the sudden blow to his lip felt more like a forced reality check than a punch. The car pulled up to the estate. The heavy automatic gates swung open, and the vehicle rolled smoothly onto the gravel driveway.

— Aren't you afraid you'll get fired? Jisung asked, his voice sounding strained, trying to maintain a steady front but failing. — I'll personally make sure of it.

Minho slowly turned his head. His gaze was calm, but incredibly heavy, devoid of a single trace of doubt.

— My job is your safety, Minho said evenly, as if discussing the weather. — Your upbringing is your father's business. I'm not your babysitter. But if you ever pull something like that with me again, you will apologize. Even if I have to put you on your knees to make you do it.

Minho stepped out of the car, walked around to open Jisung’s door, and stood there, calmly waiting for him to get out.