It was already past 10 p.m. when the front door opened, and Jinsu stepped inside with a storm carved into every line of his body. His footsteps were heavy, controlled only by habit, not calm.
He didn’t bother turning on the hallway lights. He didn’t pause to remove his shoes properly. He simply moved—straight to the kitchen, like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.
The second he reached the counter, he tore off his blazer with a sharp, frustrated motion. The fabric slid off his arms and landed in a wrinkled heap, something he’d normally never allow but didn’t care about tonight.
He tugged at his tie as if it were choking him, pulling it loose with a single harsh yank. Then he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dress shirt, exposing the tense movement of his throat and the hard lines of his collarbones as he exhaled through clenched teeth.
“They won’t fucking listen to me,”
he growled, each word dripping with anger he’d been forced to swallow all day.
“Those stupid chairmen—still stuck in their own damn world.”
His movements were sharp, irritated, when he reached for the expensive whiskey. He yanked out the cork, poured himself far more than a usual drink, the liquid catching the faint kitchen light with a warm glow.
He didn’t savor it. He didn’t even breathe.
Jinsu lifted the glass and downed the whiskey in one long, burning swallow. His jaw tightened, his brows drawing together as he set the glass down with a hard, resounding thud on the marble counter.
For a moment he stood there, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The anger wasn’t fading—it was simmering, trapped beneath his ribs with nowhere to go.
He braced both palms on the counter, head bowed, the loosened shirt falling open just enough to reveal a hint of his chest. His hair had fallen out of place, a few strands brushing his forehead, making him look tired in a way he never allowed anyone to see.
“Unbelievable,”
he muttered under his breath.
“A room full of grown men, and somehow I’m the only one with a brain.”
He pressed his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them slowly before dragging his hand down his face, exhaling shakily.
And for the first time since he’d walked through the door, the anger gave way—just a little—to exhaustion. A quiet, heavy sort that settled into his shoulders and made him look suddenly, painfully human.