The moment the heavy stage door clicked shut behind them, the sound of the applause was severed, replaced by the sudden, ringing silence of the backstage corridor.
Do-hyun, still oblivious to the latest media developments, laid his violin in its case on the table before leaning back heavily against the wall, sweat dampening his shirt. A wide, euphoric grin split his face, the kind of smile Jaemin hadn't seen in weeks.
"We did it," Do-hyun laughed breathlessly. "Did you hear the silence in the second movement? They were holding their breath."
He reached out, grabbing Jaemin by the waist and pulling him into a fierce, celebratory hug. The cedar scent pouring off him was pure joy—warm, vibrant, and unburdened.
"You were perfect," Do-hyun murmured into Jaemin's hair. "We showed him, Jaemin. We won't let him get a hold over us."
Jaemin clung to him, squeezing his eyes shut. For a second, he let himself believe it. The concert was over. The sponsors were back. The reviews would be glowing, he knew. Maybe Choi Seungcheol had been bluffing. Maybe the threat was empty.
"Concertmaster-nim. Conductor-nim."
A voice cut through the moment, low and heavy.
They pulled apart to find Manager Park standing a few feet away.
He wasn't smiling. He wasn't celebrating. He looked like a man who had aged ten years in the last hour. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, holding his phone like it was a loaded gun.
"Manager Park?" Do-hyun asked, his smile faltering slightly. "What's wrong? Is it the sponsors? Did they leave early?"
Manager Park didn't answer immediately. He looked at Do-hyun with an expression of profound, aching pity.
"I'm sorry," the older man said, his voice rough. "I wanted to let you have tonight. You deserved the win."
"Have the… What?" Do-hyun frowned, the adrenaline crash starting to set in, leaving him cold. "What happened?"
"Don't look at your phone," Jaemin said instinctively, a surge of nausea rolling in his gut. He didn't know what it could be, but he recognized the look on Manager Park's face. It was the same look his father had worn when he came back from Vienna. "Do-hyun, don't."
"What is going on?" Do-hyun demanded, his voice sharpening. He moved toward his phone, which lay on the table.
"Do-hyun-ah," Manager Park said, stepping forward as if to block him. "Please. Let me explain first."
"Explain what?" Do-hyun sidestepped him, grabbing his phone. "Why is everyone looking at me like someone died?"
He turned the phone on.
Once on, it didn't just ping. It erupted. The device vibrated so violently in his hand it sounded like an angry hornet. A cascade of notifications flooded the screen—missed calls from his mother, texts from the family firm's legal team, alerts from every major news outlet in Seoul.
Do-hyun stared at the screen. His thumb hovered, trembling slightly, before scrolling through the notifications.
A slew of headlines stared back at him, shouting their news in bold and black.
THE KANG DYNASTY LIE: LEAKED RECORDS REVEAL CONCERTMASTER'S FATHER WAS A HIDDEN OMEGA.
MEDICAL DOCUMENTS EXPOSE DECADES OF FRAUD AND ILLEGAL HORMONE THERAPY IN PRESTIGIOUS MUSIC FAMILY.
HWANG JI-YOUNG IMPLICATED: DID THE KANG MATRIARCH BREAK THE LAW TO HIDE HUSBAND'S TRUE NATURE?
As he scanned the barrage of notifications, Do-hyun didn't scream. He didn't rage. He simply stopped breathing.
He tapped into a notification and swiped across the screen. There it was. His father's handwriting. The prescriptions. The dates. The secret shame his mother had guarded for decades, plastered across the internet for millions to see.
"It's out," he whispered. The sound was small, shattered. "It's all... It's all there."
"Do-hyun," Jaemin choked out, reaching for him.
His mate recoiled from him violently, knocking into the table. His violin case slid to the floor with a heavy thud, the priceless Guarneri inside landing with a jarring, discordant clang that no musician would ever allow. But Do-hyun didn't even seem to notice it.
"My mother," he rasped, his eyes wide and unseeing. "She's at the Yangpyeong house. My sister's there too for the holiday. They're on their own." He looked at Jaemin. "The reporters will tear the house apart to get a comment."
Jaemin flinched. The warmth was gone from his eyes, replaced by a dawning horror. It felt like the alpha wasn't looking at his mate anymore; he was looking at the ruin of his family's legacy.
"I have to get to them," Do-hyun said, his voice rising in panic.
"Do-hyun, wait," Jaemin stepped forward. "You can't go out there—"
"I can't wait!" Do-hyun shouted, the roar tearing out of his chest. "If I don't leave now, they'll be overrun!"
He grabbed his car keys from the table, ignoring his coat, ignoring his violin lying on the floor.
"Manager Park, take Jaemin home," Do-hyun commanded, his voice shaking. "Get him inside and lock the doors. Don't let anyone in."
Pale-faced, Manager Park promised, "I will."
Do-hyun looked at Jaemin one last time, eyes filled with desperate apology and terror. "I'll call you. Stay safe. Please, just stay safe."
Then he turned and ran.
The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small room. Manager Park slumped against the wall, covering his face with his hands.
"I'm sorry," he muttered into his palms. "I'm so sorry."
"Go," Jaemin whispered to him. "Go help him. Help him get through the traffic going out of here."
"But—"
"I'm fine," Jaemin lied, numbness creeping over him. "Security is here. I'll be fine. Go."
Manager Park hesitated, glancing at the abandoned violin, then nodded and ran after Do-hyun.
Jaemin stood alone in the center of the dressing room. He felt like he was suffocating in the scent of distress, both Do-hyun's and his own. He didn't need to know what was on the media. He only needed to know that it had shot straight at the heart of Do-hyun's family.
When the curtain falls, remember that you chose this.
Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with numb fingers.
Unknown Number: Congratulations, Jaemin-ah. Did you enjoy the applause?
Jaemin stared at the screen, the realization crashing down on him like the roof of the world.
You chose to break him.
He hadn't called Choi Seungcheol's bluff. He had provoked it. He had goaded Choi Seungcheol into striking Do-hyun in a place that would make him go wild with worry; the people dearest to him, his family.
Jaemin sank down, the phone slipping from his hand to clatter loudly on the floor of the empty room.
He hadn't saved Do-hyun. He had destroyed him.