Mine to Break Chapter 2.1 - Miscarriage

Pacing anxiously around the office, Park Changseong snapped his head toward the sound of the door opening. Choi Youngki, gripping Yoonjo’s forearm, was forcefully shoving his limp body through the gap of the open door. As Yoonjo, pushed in without resistance, settled inside the office, Choi Youngki, with a face that said his job was done, closed the door without hesitation.

Now alone with Yoonjo, Park Changseong rushed over and grabbed Yoonjo’s forearm again. The thin, bony arm, with little flesh attached, fit easily in one hand, and handprints quickly formed on the skin.

Even as Park Changseong roughly shook him, Yoonjo showed no sign of pain and reflexively bowed his head in greeting. In truth, it was merely a lowering of his eyelids, but it conveyed submission.

“Did you get caught?”

At the hastily spat-out question, Yoonjo raised his eyelids and looked at Park Changseong calmly.

“Did you get caught losing the kid, you bastard?”

This was a stark contrast to the carefree attitude Park Changseong had displayed before. His voice, which had boasted that there was no need to worry, that no alpha would dislike an omega, and that the guy would go crazy once he got a taste, still seemed to echo in Yoonjo’s ears. Perhaps it was the strong painkillers he had taken during the car ride, but Yoonjo, blinking a couple of times to clear his increasingly blurry vision, shook his head.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“What did I expect from a dumbass like you, you idiot?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, my ass. Get over there and bend over.”

Without asking why, Yoonjo placed both hands on the spot Park Changseong pointed to and bent over. The low table meant for the sofa naturally forced his hips to stick up high.

“Fuck, the smell of cum.”

Pinching his nose and cursing, Park Changseong pulled down Yoonjo’s pants. Yoonjo wasn’t particularly hurt by his behavior. He was used to it, and even he thought he smelled bad.

“You filthy bastard. Can’t you spread your legs?”

Park Changseong, complaining that Yoonjo had been doing this for years and still couldn’t get it right, kicked Yoonjo’s thighs and buttocks with his shoe. Staggering to one side from the impact but managing to regain his posture, Yoonjo spread his legs wider. The hole that Sahyeok had been in and out of was still not fully closed. Every time Yoonjo moved even slightly or breathed, the twitching folds leaked murky semen. Seeing this, Park Changseong’s face lit up.

“Our boss didn’t use a condom, huh?”

Whether it was caught or not, fuck it, it was a clean pass.

Those damn alphas, always obsessed with looks.

The anxiety that had driven him to pester Choi Youngki every minute after pushing Song Yoonjo in now felt pointless.

That bastard. I knew it. An alpha acting like a beta, what a joke. If he managed to stick with him for half a year, he’s practically a main wife. Kicking him out just because he manifested as an omega? What a prick. He should be grateful he’s not lamenting his recessive genes.

“Song Yoonjo, with your hole so damn loose. I don’t know what trick you used to charm that beast, but you did a hell of a job!”

Slap, slap—with a pleased expression, Park Changseong lightly smacked Yoonjo’s buttocks and even helped him stand up, saying there was no need to hurt his back.

“I’m the one who set it up, but damn—pretty impressive, huh?”

Watching Yoonjo pull up the pants hanging around his thighs, Park Changseong tilted his head as if observing a strange object.

“It’s not like you clench your hole that well. You don’t have any charm, your tongue isn’t smooth, and you don’t even fuck that great. All you’ve got is this face.”

Suddenly grabbing Yoonjo’s chin and turning it this way and that, Park Changseong noticed the handprints on his slender neck and chuckled.

“That perverted bastard’s nasty tastes—are you catering to them well, our Song Yoonjo?”

No matter what he asked, Yoonjo only mumbled that he didn’t know, giving useless answers. Park Changseong let go of Yoonjo’s chin and rummaged through his jacket pocket. Pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, he returned to his seat and plopped down, exuding a newfound sense of ease.

“Ha—that prick. Acting all shy and shit.”

The guys Song Yoonjo serviced were all perverts, with no sense of propriety. They’d even prop Park Changseong up and do outrageous things to Song Yoonjo’s loosened hole without hesitation, but Geum Sahyeok was different.

He never showed anything. Like he was hoarding the good stuff for himself. Even trying to plant a hidden camera didn’t work—he was too careful. Choi Youngki, sent as both a watchdog and a scout, always got turned away at the door, dragging out an unconscious Song Yoonjo with no results to show.

If Song Yoonjo was passing out every time he dealt with Geum Sahyeok, it definitely wasn’t gentle. Tsk. Getting crushed under that guy’s size, it’d be normal to lose your mind just from taking his dick.

If he got pregnant, it’d be a hassle, so a beta. Even decent pros would come out with their legs torn apart after one night, so a young, sturdy guy. Geum Sahyeok’s demands were clear and straightforward.

“Don’t—don’t mess up the sofa.”

Seeing Yoonjo subtly leaning toward the sofa, as if standing was too hard, Park Changseong flicked his cigarette butt at him. He pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. The butt hit Yoonjo’s chest and fell to the office floor. The shirt, singed by the still-glowing ember, was only slightly scorched, but it was enough to snap Yoonjo out of his exhaustion.

“That guy, does he go crazy eating up an omega?”

Was that how it was? It was as painful and overwhelming as usual.

As Yoonjo started to shake his head, saying he didn’t know, an ashtray came flying at his head. It narrowly missed, hitting the wall with a thud and shattering. If Yoonjo had even tried to dodge, it would’ve been his head, not the ashtray, that broke.

“Fuck, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your mouth shut if you don’t know shit?”

Knowing Park Changseong would throw a fit whether he answered or not, Yoonjo quietly closed his mouth and lowered his gaze. Satisfied with this, Park Changseong puffed on his cigarette and smirked.

“Anyway, congrats, Song Yoonjo. You think only alphas go crazy for omegas? You bastard. Your path’s paved with flowers now. When it comes to tasting a rare omega, recessive or dominant, who cares? Put you on the market, and they’ll be clamoring to snatch you up. A worn-out rag like you, manifesting as an omega boosted your market value. And now you’ve got something to rub up against Geum Sahyeok.”

Blowing smoke rings, Park Changseong chuckled.

“Hey, Song Yoonjo! Why don’t you pop out another kid this time? A dominant alpha’s kid is guaranteed to be a dominant alpha, right? In the sperm market, what stud sells better than a dominant alpha? Fuck, it’s worth a fortune. Don’t screw it up and miscarry this time. If you have a kid behind Geum Sahyeok’s back, that’s a golden goose right there! If you want to fix your life, you gotta fight for it! Don’t you want to retire before you’re stuck changing diapers?”

He probably wouldn’t have another kid. Even if he did, miscarriage was inevitable, and even if by some miracle he gave birth, Geum Sahyeok wouldn’t let it slide.

Instead of foolishly revealing his thoughts, Yoonjo chose silence. Perhaps because things were going better than expected, Park Changseong, radiating glee, seemed to already be lining up sponsors in his head.

“That little punk. He never opened his mouth about an exclusive contract, no matter where he was dragged off to, and now he’s screwed!”

Half a year ago, offering Song Yoonjo to Geum Sahyeok was Park Changseong’s trump card. Song Yoonjo, the top-grade item in his arsenal, was naturally meant for exclusive use. But Geum Sahyeok didn’t even mention the word “exclusive.” He didn’t care who else Song Yoonjo met or how many legs he spread, as long as he showed up on time. Park Changseong chalked it up to money. Stingy bastard.

“Now, if he comes begging for an exclusive, I’m not handing you over. No way I’m letting you go cheap, fuck.”

Song Yoonjo was good enough for public use, but not quite worth the price for exclusive use—that was the problem. Blaming everyone but himself for not passing him off as new, Park Changseong glared at Song Yoonjo for no reason.

That stiff bastard. Even after rolling around for five years, he never softened up. If Park Changseong’s mood had been even slightly worse, he would’ve scrapped him long ago.

Having watched Song Yoonjo get used by sponsors up close, Park Changseong made a retching gesture and beckoned with his finger.

Yoonjo, barely holding his sagging body upright, picked up the ashtray from the sofa table and approached Park Changseong.

“Ah… argh…!”

Yoonjo dropped the ashtray and screamed. The shattered ashtray rolled at his feet as he clutched his left hand. Park Changseong, who had pressed the cigarette butt into Yoonjo’s palm to put it out, cackled as if it were amusing.

“You whiny bastard. Who got those cigarette burns removed for you? Remember the two billion it cost? Fuck, five hundred million for one burn, those money-grubbing bastards.”

Just money? They’re obsessed with holes too.

Song Yoonjo’s buttocks, perineum, and inner thighs had over thirty cigarette burns. Even after spending two billion to clean up those scars, they’d drag him out of hospital operating rooms or wards whenever they got the chance, shoving their dicks in.

“Goddamn, you’re high-maintenance, Song Yoonjo.”

Yoonjo’s breathing grew more ragged as he clutched his burned hand. The smell of his own flesh burning was always nauseating. Cold sweat beaded on Yoonjo’s forehead as his vision went white. The burn site was already red and swollen, blistered, and glistening with blood. His head throbbed. To stay conscious, Yoonjo bit the inside of his cheek.

“You’re gonna be busier from now on, so take care of yourself. Act smart, got it?”

Blinking rapidly to clear his aching eyes, Yoonjo nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get out. Ha Sangmin’s probably losing his mind waiting.”

So President Geum wasn’t the last one today.

Realizing there was more on the schedule, Yoonjo forgot to keep biting his cheek and looked up.

“What’re you staring at, bastard? Is this your first day?”

Still, they’d never called him up this quickly before.

Ha Sangmin had been a sponsor for half a year. To be exact, it started a month after he began servicing Geum Sahyeok.

Thirty years old. A thug who got rich overnight riding the crypto wave. No social skills, no connections, no talent—a current unemployed bum. He bragged about being a “successful investor,” but in reality, he was a new industry fool, hooked on drugs and gambling.

That was Ha Sangmin’s profile, as recited by Park Changseong. After servicing Geum Sahyeok, Ha Sangmin always called for Yoonjo and did worse things. If his cheeks were swollen, he’d hit until his lips burst. If there were handprints on his stomach, he’d punch until it bruised.

It was usually like that, so Yoonjo found Ha Sangmin’s calls uncomfortable. And today, Park Changseong had added a cigarette burn on top of it. Who knew what he’d do? Even for Yoonjo, known for attracting perverts, Ha Sangmin was unpredictable.

Probably because he was always high.

Knowing that saying no would lead to worse than a cigarette burn, Yoonjo quietly left the office. Ha Sangmin or Park Changseong—it didn’t matter. Among all the sponsors, Yoonjo preferred Geum Sahyeok. The cruelest, but the strongest.

As the door closed, Park Changseong’s triumphant voice, talking to someone on the phone, cut off. Raising his head, Yoonjo met Choi Youngki’s scowl. From age twenty until now, Choi Youngki had been Yoonjo’s manager, unchanged.

“Fuck, not a single quiet day.”

Choi Youngki, who supposedly got in through Park Changseong’s connections, was untouchable even within Lucid Entertainment. Whether he smoked in the hallway or spat on the floor, he was treated like Voldemort. Extinguishing his cigarette butt on the floor and spitting, he noticed the burn on Yoonjo’s hand, sneered that it was just more nonsense, and led the way.

ᢉ𐭩

Lucid Entertainment, a small company with five employees including the CEO, rented an entire second floor of an old five-story building. Exiting the alley lined with personal boutiques, showrooms, quaint shops, and salons, they reached an open eight-lane road.

“Don’t whine about pain and take your meds first.”

Shoving Yoonjo into the backseat, Choi Youngki roughly turned the wheel and floored the gas. Looking down at his increasingly painful palm, Yoonjo took painkillers from the glovebox. The bottle, full ten days ago, was now half-empty.

One pill wasn’t enough for Yoonjo, who’d gone through half the bottle. He swallowed two more, drank water, and leaned back. Trying to rest his eyes during the ride, the pain in his lower hole made him shift his hips slightly and relax.

His whole body ached. It was exactly like the saying “every bone hurts.” Days after dealing with Geum Sahyeok, who seemed to have endless stamina, felt especially exhausting. The shorter the session, the worse it was—Geum Sahyeok would push even harder in less time.

“My kid in your belly?”

Did he really not know?

Park Changseong called him an ignorant thug every day, but Geum Sahyeok was meticulous and sharp. He might seem emotional on the surface, but he was more rational than anyone, and as a thug who didn’t hide his background, he was the scariest sponsor Yoonjo had ever dealt with.

“Why am I worrying about that shit?”

Even if he knew, it wouldn’t matter.

“Just get rid of it as soon as it happens.”

And yet, as if to punish him, Geum Sahyeok had turned Yoonjo into a rag today.

“Getting cocky.”

It was probably because he’d seen through the lie. He likely guessed that Yoonjo had realized his manifestation through the miscarriage. Yoonjo, who had gone along with Park Changseong’s scheme, was cocky and impudent. Knowing and keeping his mouth shut was shameless and offensive. So he threatened and intimidated him.

Unconsciously looking down at the still-tender area around his navel, Yoonjo closed his eyes again.

Estimated six weeks.

That was all Yoonjo knew about it.

“Song Yoonjo, you’re bleeding. What do we do?”

It was a day he’d been dragged to an after-party for a corporate event. He couldn’t remember how many people he’d serviced, the memory hazy. Around dawn, carried to the backseat of a car by Choi Youngki, Yoonjo vividly recalled the tearing pain in his lower abdomen.

“Fuck, are you brain-dead? Is this your first time? Take that bastard to Dr. Kim’s.”

Park Changseong’s angry voice blared through the Bluetooth call. At the time, even Park Changseong thought it was just anal tearing or internal damage causing the bleeding. Since that was usually the reason for bleeding down there, Yoonjo thought the same.

“Got a kid. Six weeks.”

During a regular check-up, where Yoonjo had to service Dr. Kim orally and anally, the doctor’s single sentence made Choi Youngki’s disgust plain.

“Our Yoonjo, always picking the pretty jobs. I was just craving some omega action.”

Dr. Kim’s whisper, as he tucked Yoonjo’s hair behind his ear while Yoonjo groaned in pain, slithered stickily into his ear. That was the last voice he heard before anesthesia.

Park Changseong arrived long after the surgery. Showing up disheveled, as if he’d been partying hard, he sat on the bed and slapped Yoonjo’s head. The force turned Yoonjo’s head and made his body sway, and Park Changseong’s first words roared out like a beast.

“You dropped that precious thing? You brainless, useless idiot! Can’t do a single thing right, you leech, you money-sucking worm!”

Whether he passed out from the blow or the surgery’s aftereffects, that was Yoonjo’s last memory from the hospital.

ᢉ𐭩

Yoonjo returned to the dorm at dawn the next day.

“Don’t mess around and go sleep.”

With that warning, Choi Youngki went into the master bedroom he used alone. Yoonjo dragged his exhausted body to the bathroom.

The debut team Yoonjo belonged to, called “Team B” without a proper group name, used the basement floor of the company building as their dorm. The 20-pyeong dorm had three rooms. The largest, the master bedroom, was for the manager, Choi Youngki. The second room was shared by six members, and the smallest was Yoonjo’s alone.

There was a reason Yoonjo got a private room in the cramped dorm. Officially, it was to treat Yoonjo, a perpetual debut team member from age seventeen to now twenty-five, as a senior. In reality, it was for convenience. To easily move Yoonjo in and out for calls, a private room was best.

“You’re back?”

Finishing his shower, Yoonjo quickly covered his neck with a towel and looked for the source of the voice. A faint light came from the sofa by the wall in the kitchen-living room. At 5 a.m., it was dark outside, and with blackout curtains drawn by the nocturnal members, the room was even darker. The faint light was from a phone. Someone sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, turned their head and stood up.

“Uh… you’re not asleep?”

As Yoonjo’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw Team B’s leader, Yujeong.

“I was waiting for you to come back. You’ve been gone since the night before last.”

“…Was I?”

“Yeah. Personal schedule?”

Yujeong, pocketing his phone, shrugged and looked at Yoonjo. Relieved the lights were off, Yoonjo subtly avoided his gaze.

“You don’t have to wait next time.”

“Well… the boss told me to.”

Yujeong’s persistent gaze suggested he had no choice. Before Yoonjo, anxious about being seen, could notice, Yujeong looked away and checked the time. Dawn was approaching, and the other members, still in high school, would soon wake up.

“It’s late. You must be tired, so go rest.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Long-sleeve shirt, long pants. Even in the sweltering summer, Song Yoonjo never wore revealing clothes. Especially not at the dorm. Yujeong, watching Yoonjo turn and enter his room, frowned as the door closed.

“He knows everything and still asks?”

Yujeong recalled Choi Youngki’s vulgar gesture when asked what kind of work Yoonjo was doing—making a hole with his thumb and index finger and thrusting another finger through it.

So fucking gross.

“Your Yoonjo hyung’s too busy licking assholes.”

Telling him not to look for him, Choi Youngki snorted and ignored Yujeong, who had no desire to keep talking.

Fuck, it’s so shitty.

Yujeong had been a trainee for five years. He’d been in top agencies’ debut teams, only to be pushed out and end up at Lucid Entertainment.

“They’ve got a big client, so they’ll debut you within a year. You’re already twenty-one; you can’t delay any longer.”

Introduced by a rookie development team leader from his previous agency, Lucid Entertainment was worse than expected. But having switched agencies three times, Yujeong had nowhere else to go.

Who’d come to a shithole like this?

Within four months of joining, Yujeong was made debut team leader and figured out the situation in two days. The CEO, a thug who started the company with someone else’s money riding the K-pop wave, and Song Yoonjo, a founding member of Lucid Entertainment, made a side living selling himself.

“Meeting? He’s going there to make money. For retirement funds. At twenty-five, not even enlisted, his shelf life’s almost up. Wouldn’t you get greedy too?”

Manager An, handling planning, management, PR, and development, laughed it off too.

“No need to pity him. He’s not forced; he likes it. He’s been in the debut team for nine years just to get sponsors. Playing idol or actor wannabe jacks up his price, so he’s cosplaying as a trainee.”

There were people like that—rumors he’d heard but dismissed as exaggerated. In five years as a trainee, he’d never been offered such work or seen anyone doing it. To Yujeong, it was just something from a news exposé.

“Don’t worry, we won’t make you do that. We don’t force anyone. There are hundreds of kids lining up for it—why bother? It’d only cause trouble later.”

Lucid Entertainment had debut teams A through C. Team A had nine members, Team B had seven, and Team C had twelve. Trainees who never showed up at the cramped practice room, monthly evaluations, or showcases were part of that “hundreds.” That meant Team B, minus Song Yoonjo, was the only real debut team, actually handling a trainee schedule.

“Then why’s Yoonjo hyung on our team?”

“What, scared he’ll drag you down before you debut? Don’t worry. To him, the debut team’s just a business card. ‘I’m in a team about to debut, so pay me more’—it’s a bargaining chip.”

“It doesn’t have to be our team.”

“‘Our team’ after just four months? You’re attached already, huh? But Yoonjo’s an exception? Because he’s a filthy whore? Ouch—Yujeong, you’re drawing lines already. Song Yoonjo would be hurt. He’s out there sucking off old geezers he doesn’t need to, licking assholes, and offering his rear, thinking it’ll help the team.”

“He’s doing it for retirement funds, right?”

“Big shot from a major company, huh? Sharp tongue, our Yujeong.”

A knock interrupted the conversation with Manager An. At An’s irritable “Come in,” Song Yoonjo entered. Wearing a mask and cap indoors, he was almost unrecognizable, but his striking looks and lithe figure stood out. Top-tier appearance, even in this shithole.

Did he hear the conversation? It felt like he timed the knock deliberately.

Unable to figure out what Song Yoonjo was thinking, Yujeong still couldn’t shake the unease.

Doing it for us, meeting old geezers he doesn’t have to?

It was an absurd thing to say. It was obviously one of Manager An’s gaslighting tactics. Even if it were true, he was completely off the mark. The only way Song Yoonjo could help the team was by quietly switching to another team. Whether it was as an idol, actor, or model, the best thing he could do was join Team A or Team C, which were filled with kids who used their aspiring entertainer status as a business card to attract sponsors.

“Fuck.”

Either way, it felt like he’d been caught talking behind someone’s back, and Yujeong’s mood was thoroughly sour. Muttering a low curse, Yujeong headed to the kitchen. While preparing rice for the kids, who were in the peak of their appetites, he couldn’t help but keep glancing at Song Yoonjo’s tightly shut bedroom door. Even as the members woke up one by one and noisily got ready for school, the door, once closed, showed no sign of opening.

ᢉ𐭩

Yoonjo, drenched in cold sweat and wracked with pain, jolted awake with a twitch. He must have fallen asleep, because the clamor of the kids getting ready for school had subsided, and sunlight was streaming through the gap in the poorly closed blackout curtains.

What time is it?

The question crossed his mind, but he didn’t look for a clock. No, he couldn’t. Even moving his eyes felt exhausting.

“Seeing bastards like you struggle to survive is so damn entertaining and funny to me.”

His throat still ached. Ha Sangmin, spotting the handprints left by Geum Sahyeok, had untied the strap from a wine crate and strangled Yoonjo with it. Each time the thin, tough strap dug into his neck, Yoonjo’s vision flickered black. In those moments, the thought of wanting to die never came before the thought of wanting to live. He wanted to live. Yoonjo did. Somehow, even if just… even if only a little unhappily, he wanted to live.

Too weak to even turn over, Yoonjo, lying still, shifted onto his side. The pain from muscle aches and bruises surged through him. Letting out a small groan with a hot breath, Yoonjo grabbed the phone by his bedside.

Ignoring unimportant or unnecessary notifications, he opened the messaging app. There were twelve unread messages in the family group chat.

Mom, Dad, his twin younger siblings who were twelve years younger.

Mom:

Yoonjo, are you eating well?

Dad:

Don’t starve yourself just for a diet. Last time I saw you, you looked gaunt.

Youngest, Seungjo:

Hyung, Uncle made buchu pancakes.

Second, Yeonjo:

Seungjo cried while eating the pancakes, saying he missed you.

Youngest, Seungjo:

Noona cried too, saying she missed Mom and Dad.

A faint smile crept onto Yoonjo’s face at the photo of the buchu pancakes Yeonjo sent. Just lifting the corners of his mouth made him wince in pain, and Yoonjo started typing a message.

Be honest and say you cried because the pancakes were delicious.

I’m doing fine. The boss is treating me well.

I’ve been busy with schedules lately, so I might have lost some weight.

The team leader likes it, says I look prettier.

He hesitated while crafting the lies, and the screen went dark. Seeing his reflection in the blank screen, the faint smile vanished from Yoonjo’s lips.

With this face, I won’t be able to go anywhere for a while.

The thought of avoiding the members sharing the dorm already gave him a headache. Truthfully, their paths rarely crossed, making it hard to even run into them intentionally, but the kids kept hovering around Yoonjo. They’d wait up for him to return, getting scolded by the manager, or cautiously peek into his room when he said he was sick, only to quietly retreat.

It wasn’t out of morbid curiosity or malicious interest. That made it even harder for Yoonjo. Maybe because they were kids genuinely aiming to debut, they were so different from his previous team members. They wanted to get along with him, unaware that he might be a stumbling block for the team.

How long had the team been together? They didn’t even know when it might fall apart, turning them into less than strangers, yet they worried about Yoonjo like he was family. Between school, practice, and dealing with adults, they were busy enough with their own lives, yet they kept forming attachments to Yoonjo. Maybe because they were young, they were naive and defenseless. Just like Song Yoonjo used to be.

“…….”

Tap, tap. Yoonjo touched the screen to wake it and finished his message.

Mom, Dad, don’t overdo it and take care of your health.
Yeonjo, Seungjo, listen to Aunt and Uncle.

In the end, Yoonjo could only manage textbook responses. He stared blankly at the family photo on his mom’s profile. Before the notification number disappeared, he quickly turned off the screen and pulled the blanket over his head. Continuing the conversation would surely weaken his resolve. Then he’d talk too much, and talking too much would naturally lead to slip-ups.

A family drowning in a billion won of debt. Parents scattered, working any job to barely pay the interest, and thirteen-year-old twins living with their aunt, unblemished despite their circumstances—Yoonjo had to do his part too.

He couldn’t burden his family with the consequences of his foolish scam. It might ease his heart momentarily, but knowing there was no real solution, Yoonjo kept his mouth shut.

Above all, he didn’t have the courage to admit that he was selling his body to barely plug a leaking dam. To his parents and twin siblings, Yoonjo was a proud hope, not some worn-out whore dragged around by sponsors.

If Yoonjo’s true nature were exposed, even his aunt and uncle would no longer take in the twins. They hadn’t taken them in out of familial duty. It was a mix of slight guilt and a much larger expectation—the belief that Song Yoonjo, who would surely succeed one day, would repay them.

A sudden pain creeping up the back of his hand drained the color from Yoonjo’s face. Ha Sangmin had, as expected, targeted Yoonjo’s hand. Mistaking Park Changseong’s cigarette burn for Geum Sahyeok’s cruelty, he left over ten more burns. Covered with burn bandages, the ugly marks were hidden, but the pain grew worse.

Pressing his throbbing forehead into the pillow, cold sweat trickled down Yoonjo’s neck. Ha Sangmin’s violence was escalating. It wasn’t just cruel pranks anymore; it had reached the point of actually damaging Yoonjo’s body.

How long can I endure this?

Yoonjo instinctively clenched his trembling fingers, only to grit his teeth at the sharp pain.

How long can Ha Sangmin keep his sanity?

Park Changseong, Ha Sangmin, Geum Sahyeok—they all abused, violated, and exploited Yoonjo, no different in that regard. But there was a clear distinction.

Park Changseong, driven by greed, occasionally slapped him but generally avoided damaging Yoonjo, his commodity. Geum Sahyeok wielded violence without hesitation and treated Yoonjo as little more than a hole, but he’d never truly threatened his life.

Ha Sangmin was like many sponsors, including Geum Sahyeok, but different in essence. If Yoonjo showed up with a broken arm, Ha Sangmin’s dark desire—visible in his bloodshot eyes—might drive him to cut off the arm to leave a mark greater than anyone else’s. Chasing pleasure to the point of melting his frontal lobe, Ha Sangmin had no brakes. Yoonjo could clearly see the rapidly wearing brakes, at least when it came to himself.

“Our Yoonjo, always picking the pretty jobs. I was just craving some omega action.”

Staring at his throbbing hand, Yoonjo tightly closed his eyes. The moment Park Changseong saw the cigarette burns, he’d send Yoonjo to Dr. Kim. As agonizing as burn treatment was Dr. Kim’s perverse demands. The image of Dr. Kim, nostrils flaring with extreme excitement as an omega spread his legs, came to mind unbidden.

“I’d love to fuck you right now, but there’s such a thing as propriety. If President Park gives the okay, you’ll spread your legs wide for me, right? I saw during the procedure—you’re so wet. Not even a dominant, but damn, you were born for this, our Yoonjo.”

Park Changseong didn’t immediately hand Yoonjo’s omega status to Dr. Kim, who was eager to exploit him. Geum Sahyeok, whom he’d pinned hopes on again, still hadn’t offered an exclusive contract. Park Changseong, who wouldn’t stop business over one failed deal, would likely parade Yoonjo to sponsors obsessed with omegas like cockroaches before giving Dr. Kim a chance.

Yoonjo knew Dr. Kim wouldn’t complain. He loved a loose whore. He preferred a slack hole that swallowed anything he put in without resistance. Recalling the sensation of cold medical instruments roughly stirring his insides, Yoonjo shuddered slightly.

“That guy, does he go crazy eating up an omega?”

In truth, no one wanted that more than Song Yoonjo himself. Despite knowing Geum Sahyeok wasn’t into omegas, he couldn’t help but hope, however faintly. Maybe this time he’d take me exclusively? It wasn’t entirely absent. Since it was such a minuscule hope, it wasn’t devastating when it shattered. Geum Sahyeok hadn’t immediately discarded Yoonjo after he manifested as an omega, but he was surely looking for a replacement.

Should I beg? One more time…

Shaking his head inwardly, Yoonjo swallowed a sigh.

“You gotta fight to fix your life! Don’t you want to retire before you’re stuck changing diapers?”

Would I even be alive by then?

Pushing down the cynical thoughts, Yoonjo drifted into a faint sleep, his breathing growing slower.