Dirty Switch

Maybe it’s for the best. Joo Taehyun wore a crooked smile that didn’t suit him. His gaze, angled to the side, landed on the hospital linens embroidered with alternating logos of Donghwa Hospital and DH Group.
"I didn’t exactly have a plan. Not really. Not seriously, anyway."
Even though he’d loudly declared he would raise the child, it hadn’t been something he’d fully braced himself for. Maybe… part of him had just wanted to defy his brother.
"Not that I ever had time to think it over in the first place."
It didn’t seem like he was trying to bait Baekhan. He wasn’t even trying to make him feel guilty. Taehyun was simply stating things plainly, as they were. And maybe this was the first time Baekhan had ever seen him so unfiltered—no pretense, no polish, just raw honesty.
"…How do you feel? Dizzy? Still under the anesthesia? Any nausea?"
He knew it wasn’t the time for that kind of question.
He wanted to scold him—ask why he was talking like that, tell him not to. But somehow, it felt wrong to treat him like usual. Right now, Taehyun looked like a sandcastle on the verge of collapse, ready to fall apart with a single touch.
"I’m fine. But… did you see it?"
Taehyun had been quietly bowing his head, tracing the logo on the blanket with his eyes. After a long silence, he cautiously spoke.
"I mean, during the surgery…"
"During the surgery?"
"They… show it to the guardian afterward, right?"
Ah. Baekhan only just realized what he meant. Taehyun had hesitated because he didn’t know what to call that tiny lump with no eyes, no nose, no mouth.
"…Yeah. I saw it."
He gently picked up where Taehyun trailed off. In response, Taehyun just gave a short nod.
That seemed to be all he had to say about the child.
It wasn’t that Baekhan had wanted to see him devastated. But somehow, this broken, malfunctioning version of him—so quiet, so empty—was even worse than if he’d cried or raged.
"I’m going to follow Dr. Woo’s instructions to the letter. So if you think it’s necessary, please come by often while I’m still in Seoul."
"…Are you serious? Are you sure you’re okay?"
"What wouldn’t be okay? I just need to recover first."
The imprint reading dipped sharply, then rose again. Then it happened again. Fluctuating.
It only lasted a second, but Baekhan couldn’t suppress the wave of unease that suddenly gripped him. He stared daggers at the monitor panel as if it were to blame.
A fluctuating imprint wasn’t necessarily bad. If it broke naturally, without medical interference, that could be a good thing. But still… why had he been so anxious? As if he were hoping it would hold strong.
"Now that I think about it… imprinting really is strange."
Baekhan had been silently watching the shifting graph when he felt Taehyun’s murky gaze settle on his cheek and looked up.
"Hm?"

"You seem fine. Like it doesn’t bother you at all."
Ah—so he must’ve overheard the commotion outside the room.
"…Oh. I’m fine."
He had honestly forgotten about getting slapped earlier. He hadn’t cared that much to begin with, but if Taehyun was bringing it up, maybe he was already starting to return to himself.
"I can feel it. My body changing, moment to moment."
"Yeah? That means you're getting better, right?"
"Yeah."
"That’s good to hear."
Baekhan felt his nerves gradually start to settle as he watched the unstable numbers slowly smooth out. Maybe it was because it proved that Taehyun wasn’t the only one being dragged around by their cursed traits. The fact that his pheromones were still affecting him… brought a pathetic sense of satisfaction.
But then Taehyun fell silent, as if he had nothing else to say. Most people would’ve been curious about the beeping medical devices or how they were doing—but Taehyun didn’t seem to care at all.
"Are you thirsty? Want me to get you some water?"
"……"
"Well, you’ll be able to eat porridge in a few hours at least. I’ll pick up something to help with your appetite before that. You can’t drink it right away, but I could get orange juice or—"
"Hyung."
Eyes closed tight, brushing his bangs away, Taehyun called to him in a drained voice.
"I can’t drink orange juice."
"Orange juice? Why not?"
"It’s not severe, but I have a mild allergy."
What? Allergy?
That was the first Baekhan had ever heard of it.
Strange. No matter how little attention he’d paid, an allergy should’ve been something he remembered. He dug through every memory he had of Taehyun’s basic habits, but no, that detail wasn’t there.
"It’s really not a big deal. It’s mild… as long as I don’t have too much, I’m okay."
"And you’re just now telling me this?"
It was obvious—Taehyun hadn’t wanted to seem picky or difficult, so he’d quietly avoided it on his own. That was just like him—always trying to adjust himself to match Baekhan, even in the smallest things.
Still, even so… how had he never said anything about a food allergy?
Baekhan’s tone turned almost chiding, but Taehyun finally opened his eyes and met his gaze.
"Everyone else seemed to know, even without me saying it."
There was no bitterness in his voice. No resentment. Even that faint, long-held yearning that always lingered ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) behind his eyes—was gone now. His expression was quiet, distant, as if he had no attachments left to life.
"Even the staff your father assigned knew. Maybe they didn’t know it was an allergy, but they knew I avoided oranges."
It had taken two years just to plan the wedding, and they’d been married for four. If Taehyun had never once touched an orange in all that time, there was no way Baekhan shouldn’t have noticed. No matter how indifferent he’d been, he couldn’t have missed something that specific.
He should’ve said that—should’ve pushed back.
But for some reason, he couldn’t.
Sure, the lower-ranked staff might not have noticed, but people like Chief Hwang or Secretary Nam? They definitely knew. Maybe… maybe he really had been the only one who hadn’t noticed.
"I’m not blaming you now. I always tried not to show it at public events. I didn’t tell you on purpose, either."
Still, the truth was that Baekhan hadn’t paid enough attention—not even to his own spouse’s food preferences.
The feeling was hard to describe.
To Seo Baekhan, Joo Taehyun had always been like an old book on a shelf—its place familiar, the angle and location memorized, but its contents long forgotten. He thought that just keeping it nearby, checking on it from time to time, counted as care. That it was his, by default.
"Hyung."
"……"
"I don’t want to drag this out with a lawsuit. If there’s anything you or your father want beyond what’s in the prenup, just say it."
There was something deeply off in Taehyun’s voice and expression as he said he’d be willing to give up all his shares if it came to that.
"If this goes to court, it’ll only hurt you. Politicians like your father or public figures like you care about public image and opinion. But I’m a corporate man—that doesn’t apply to me."
Over Taehyun’s detached face, Baekhan suddenly saw the younger version of him he’d once glimpsed in a photo Choi Yeonjun had shown him.
Cold, steely-eyed. The kind of look that warned people not to speak to him. He’d been shocked, back then, to learn Taehyun could even make such an expression in front of others.
Now, Taehyun was wearing that exact same face. Looking right at him.
As if saying, Seo Baekhan, you're nothing more than a stranger now.
"Even if people throw rocks or eggs at me over my private life, as long as I don’t sell out the country, I can protect my position just by managing the stock price."
Taehyun laid himself back down. Whether it was pheromones or whatever else, he made it clear—he no longer cared about Baekhan’s presence.
With the child gone, there was no excuse left to delay the divorce.
And when Taehyun pointed out that even the servants knew he didn’t eat oranges, Baekhan couldn’t say a word in return. He couldn’t even come up with a pathetic excuse.
It wasn’t that Taehyun’s words had been particularly cutting. Baekhan wasn’t weak enough to be wounded by a bit of sarcasm.
But being treated like a stranger—Taehyun’s icy gaze—that alone left Baekhan completely powerless, unable to say anything at all.
* * *
"Ugh, I hate people who talk like Joo Taehyun. Always skirting the real issue and going straight for emotional guilt-tripping."
In the lounge next to the private ward where Taehyun was admitted, Joo Kyunghan recited another handful of memorable comments.
"Assemblyman Seo said we should put out even the smallest sparks before they flare up, so he sent me—but honestly, we didn’t plan to monitor this closely on our side."
"Hyungnim."
"Reactions like this are a minority anyway—"
"I told you clearly I wanted to speak with your father and mother."
Only then did Kyunghan lift his gaze from the laptop. Despite his earlier flippant tone, there wasn’t a trace of warmth on his face.
"Was there some kind of misunderstanding?"
"No, I was told. But you’re not Taehyun’s husband anymore. You’re not a Minister, either. You’re just the Director of Jejungwon. Did you really think someone like you could summon the head of DH Group like some house pet?"