Chapter Eight
Sunday night I’m in the middle of making myself dinner, standing at the stove in sweatpants and a tank top, stirring a pot of what I hope will turn out to be a decent chicken and vegetable soup.
The apartment is quiet except for the low bubble of the broth and the occasional click of dog nails on the hardwood as Machete shifts her position in the hallway entrance where she and Kal have stationed themselves to supervise my cooking.
I’ve been furiously hungry no matter how much I eat the last few days.
Consuming meals that would make my gym clients weep and then rummaging through the pantry an hour later looking for more, standing in front of the open fridge at midnight shoving leftover rice into my mouth with my bare hands like some kind of feral animal.
Though I’d die before admitting it to anyone, especially Hyunwoo, I found this particular recipe on a social media page called “What to Expect When You’re an Expecting Omega” and it sounded good—iron-rich broth with leafy greens and lean protein, supposedly ideal for first-trimester nutrition.
I’d scrolled through the page for an embarrassingly long time, lying on my stomach in bed with the brightness turned all the way down, reading posts from other pregnant omegas about their cravings and symptoms and saving recipes to a private folder on my phone that I’ve triple-password protected.
If Hyunwoo ever found that folder I would have to fake my own death and move to another country.
I lift the wooden spoon and taste the broth.
It’s not bad, actually. A little undersalted.
I reach for the salt shaker and shake some in, then stir again, watching the chunks of chicken and spinach swirl in the amber liquid.
I lean back slightly to avoid the heat on my face.
My stomach growls impatiently, loud enough that Kal lifts his head from the hallway floor and looks at me with his ears pricked forward like he’s trying to determine if the sound came from a threat.
“It’s just me, buddy,” I mutter. “Your dad’s growing a human and apparently that requires the caloric intake of a small horse.”
Kal puts his head back down, unimpressed.
The front door lock sounds abruptly—the electronic beep followed by the click of the deadbolt turning over.
Both dogs leap up from their drowsy positions and bound for the entryway, tails whipping, nails scrabbling on the hardwood.
They’d been content and sleepy after I took them on a light afternoon jog along the river path, but the sound of the door activates them like someone flipped a switch.
I hear Hyunwoo’s voice in the hallway, greeting the dogs with the low, affectionate murmur he reserves for them, and then his footsteps approaching the kitchen with Machete and Kal circling his legs.
I turn all the way around to look at him, wooden spoon still in hand, and freeze.
Hyunwoo looks like he’s been through a war.
His tie is loosened and crooked, pulled away from his collar like he yanked at it in the car.
His hair, which was styled perfectly when he left this morning, is pushed back in every direction like he’s been running his hands through it over and over.
His jaw is set in a tight clench—the one where the muscle in the side of his face twitches and his eyes go flat and hard.
He went to tell his parents and grandmother about the pregnancy today.
He’d taken the ultrasound printout and the clinic paperwork in a folder, dressed in his best suit, and left the apartment looking confident and prepared.
He does not look confident and prepared now.
I feel unease settle heavy in my stomach, displacing the hunger.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully.
Hyunwoo sighs, seeming to deflate by two inches, and tosses his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair rather than hanging it up in the closet by the door.
That alone tells me more about his mood than any words could.
Hyunwoo is meticulous. He hangs everything up, smooths out wrinkles, treats his wardrobe like it’s a museum collection.
The jacket lands crumpled over the chair back and he doesn’t even glance at it.
“My family,” he says, dropping into the chair beside the jacket and loosening his tie further until it hangs in a limp loop around his neck, “is being difficult.”
I set the spoon down on the counter and turn fully, leaning my hip against the edge of the stove. Machete trots back to me and sits at my feet, pressing her warm flank against my calf. “Difficult how?”
Hyunwoo rubs the space between his brows with his thumb and forefinger, pressing hard, like a headache is forming behind his eyes. “Apparently,” he says, his voice tight with barely contained frustration, “the pregnancy alone is not enough to satisfy their requirements for the inheritance.”
I frown. “What does that mean? The whole point was producing an heir. You said your grandmother wanted a great-grandchild. We made a great-grandchild. It’s in there.” I gesture vaguely at my midsection. “What more do they want?”
Hyunwoo drops his hand from his face and looks at me, the expression in his eyes makes my frown deepen. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks tired, and underneath the tiredness the gears are already turning behind his eyes as he works through whatever problem his family has thrown at him.
“They want the pregnancy to be legitimate,” he says.
“It is legitimate. We have clinic documentation and an ultrasound and—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Legitimate as in—they want me to formally claim the omega carrying my child. In order for the baby to be recognized as a legitimate Seo family heir with full legal standing.” He pauses, letting that sink in.
“An unclaimed omega’s child, no matter who the father is, doesn’t carry the same legal credibility.
My grandmother was immovable on this point. No claim, no inheritance.”
I feel the color drain from my face. My hand finds the edge of the counter behind me and grips it.
“But they can’t—” I start, and then stop, because of course they can. They’re the Seo family. They can set whatever conditions they want on their own money. I swallow and try again. “Didn’t your family see my name on the medical papers? They know who I am? And they want you to claim me?”
Hyunwoo nods slowly. “Yes. They saw your name and they know exactly who you are.” He spreads his hands, palms up, a gesture of helplessness that looks wrong on him.
“And they don’t care. All they care about is the Seo family legacy and their reputation.
My grandmother said in no uncertain terms that I will not receive my inheritance until I have a healthy living child from an omega I have legally claimed in full.
” He taps his fingers anxiously. “A proper bond. Official documentation. The whole thing.”
I gape at him. My mouth opens and closes and opens again. Then I shake my head and step back from the counter, putting physical distance between myself and the idea, as if backing away from Hyunwoo will somehow make the words less real.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” I say, and my voice comes out hard. “The pregnancy was the only thing I promised. Carry the baby, hand it over, walk away. That’s what we agreed to, Hyunwoo. You can’t claim me.”
“Yugyeom—”
“A claim would make me legally your property.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.
I know the laws. Every omega knows the laws, even the ones like me who’ve spent their whole lives pretending the laws don’t apply to them.
“It would strip me of my autonomy. I couldn’t own property, couldn’t live independently, couldn’t make decisions about my own life without your permission.
I’d be tied to you permanently. That’s not what I signed up for. ”
Hyunwoo holds his hands up in a calming gesture, rising from the chair and crossing the kitchen toward me. “I know,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, steady register he uses when he’s trying to talk me down from something. “I know, Yugyeom. Breathe.”
He puts both hands on my shoulders, his palms warm and heavy through the thin fabric of my tank top, and steadies me.
His eyes find mine and hold them, and I can see him working to project calm even though I can feel the faint tension in his fingers where they grip my shoulders.
He’s stressed too. He’s just better at hiding it.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve already thought it through. I’ll take care of it.”
I frown, my heart still hammering against my ribs. “How?”
And there it is—that grin. The one that means Hyunwoo has a scheme, the one that makes his eyes gleam with mischief and pulls his mouth into a sharp, crooked curve.
It’s the grin that preceded every terrible idea he’s ever had, from the time he convinced me to climb onto the roof of the groundskeeper’s shed when we were eight to the time he talked me into sneaking into a nightclub with fake IDs at sixteen.
It’s the grin that says trust me, I’ve got this, and historically the results have been mixed at best.
“I happen to know a guy,” he says, “who can produce some very legitimate-looking claim paperwork.”
I stare at him.
“We sign it,” he continues, warming to his own plan, his hands leaving my shoulders as he starts to gesture, “have it fake-notarized with an official seal, and I take those documents to show my parents and grandmother. As far as the family knows, the claim is real and legally binding.” He snaps his fingers. “Problem solved.”
“Will that really work?” I ask, because it sounds too simple, and in my experience things that sound too simple usually are.