A/N: This part of the story solely and mainly focuses on the 'secrets' of the plot or in my words 'the truths'. And does not have any romance in it! Do not skip, or you would not understand anything about the plot.

•Promised romance in the upcoming chapters.

•T/W: Homophobic themes.

-•☆•-

Golden spires stretching towards the sky, intricate archways, pillars, and massive, glistening doors that welcomed guests inside. The exterior was made of the finest marble, providing a mirror-like finish that glimmered in the sunlight. The surrounding gardens were adorned with exotic flowers, sculptures, and fountains, all adding to the impressive display. 

The shimmering pools, waterways, and bridges, with intricate carvings and gilded filigree, were an engineering marvel in themselves, a true testament to the ingenuity of its designers. It was impossible to deny the air of sophistication, indulgence, and luxury that emanated from every facet of the building.

With each clanging step of her stiletto heels on the pavement, the uncertainty within her manifested to her wavering hands, searching for the calling bell once more— The creak of the bell broke the silence, and the truth.

"This… this is where I met the old lady last night," Sehun's heart leaping to his throat, incongruously he muttered, "What the hell is going on?"

A woman appeared from the threshold, her eyes a striking shade of grey and with creases that told of her lengthy existence. "Yes?" At the sight befallen, her face contorted into a smirk, epitomising the enigma, "Hyojoo."

"Sooya," Hyojoo strode forward. "You know precisely why I am here, don't you?"

Sooya's laughter reverberated thoroughly, a manic sound that chilled the air. "Hyojoo, your son," she said, wiping away a tear of mirth, "has grown up so much." 

The words were innocuous, but the way in which they were delivered carried a sinister connotation. 

In the pit of Sehun's stomach, as if a warning had just been issued— he dared even to bat an eye. 

"Sooya…"

Sooya's expression was easy, carefree, as if nothing was amiss. "Have you finally decided to acknowledge the truth, Hyojoo?"

Sehun knew then that his fears were not unfounded. Something terrible was coming, and he was ill-prepared to face it. 

Hyojoo squared her shoulders, "I want you to know the truth, too," her gaze head on.

The twisted smile etched onto the woman's face, then, began to loosen; slowly, but surely giving way to an aura of ominous darkness that bespoke of a deeper malevolence. Her voice was low, and menacing, "You really are determined for the truth, aren't you?"

"Yes. I am," Hyojoo's words no less firm than her resolve, "In fact, I fear that time is no longer on our side."

For a moment, no one spoke, felt captive by the moment— but amid, Sehun had balanced that this was not a woman to be trifled with, her power and will coiling in every fibre of her being. Those who dared to test her, to cross her, were doomed to face the consequences of her wrath, for she was a forced to be reckoned with, a master of the artistry of manipulation. 

Both of the women's words hung heavy like a pall, suffocating all who were present. 

Sooya drew in another breath, "Then, I will tell you, what it was like for a mother to hand over the deceased body of her son to somebody else," her voice was measured, careful, nearly like navigating a minefield of emotions— a glimmer of dark humour bordered on the edge of madness, "It was the month of June," and then she pointed a finger forward, "It all happened there. Right across the alley, the apartment which looks so lavish now!"

—Flashbacks—

Sooya found herself amidst a sea of onlookers, their collective gaze transfixed upon the unfinished structure towering above, strained to make out a figure who had just plummeted from the highest level— her son.

Summoning every ounce of her strength, Sooya rose to the occasion, and took charge of the situation with an indomitable spirit, bellowing with a voice, within trembling masses. "My husband is an ex-military man!" Her tone became commanding, unwavering in its authority. "Empty this place. Right now!" 

Sooya's presence alone was enough to quell the pandemonium that had overtaken. "That is my son! And no police involved please!! Let my son rest in peace now! If I find anyone trying to involve the cops, I will take necessary measures against them!"

She was absolute, her sternness undeniable. In that moment, Sooya proved to be the very paragon of a guardian angel, fiercely protecting her loved ones from harm and standing tall amidst the heartbreak, tragedy, and chaos that threatened to consume them all— "Leave!"

The crowd slowly began to disperse, weighed down by a mother's imposing presence. 

Sooya knelt, cradling the lifeless son in her arms. The blood, seeping from his still body, stained her motherly embrace. With a deep sigh of succumb, Sooya rose to her feet. Notwithstanding her desperate commands for everyone to leave, one figure remained; a defiant Lee Wooshik.

She outstretched her arms towards a reticent Wooshik, willing him to take the lifeless body from her grasp. "Wooshik, bury him, bury your best friend now," her voice tinged with urgency. "You know exactly where. The land which is his, right there. Bury him right there." 

"Aunt Sooya…"

Sooya's gaze levelled uncompromisingly on Wooshik, "If, however, you persist in denying your best friend this last act of dignity, I shall have no choice but to investigate the circumstances surrounding his death," her determination clear. 

And so, Wooshik lifted the lifeless body of his best friend from the embrace of a mother, "I will pay tribute to him…"

—End of Flashbacks—

"Your son's untimely demise was... all… all my fault," she declared with a vulnerable gesture, her palm striking the nakedness of her chest. Agony pierced her expression, yet a scoff of coldness quickly overtook her countenance. "Or maybe," she concluded with a ruthless tone, lifting an eyebrow, absolving herself of any wrongdoing, "It was in his destiny all along."

—Flashbacks—

"Woah!" Hyojoo stood transfixed, her eyes fixed on the expansive skyline below. The thirteenth floor of a towering building, still under construction, held an unparalleled view— a sweeping panoramic vista that seemed to stretch on for eternity. Hyojoo's son had waxed lyrical about this marvel of engineering, extolling its breathtaking beauty with every retelling. 

And now, as she stood suspended high above the world, Hyojoo finally understood why.

"Indeed," she murmured, as if to herself. "I do not regret my decision to pay a visit here and witness the splendour of this view for myself." The words were quiet, spoken more to the windswept air than to any human ear. For in this moment, Hyojoo felt something that transcended words— a sense of wonder, a flame of joy, a spark of inspiration that burned bright within her soul.

"It is. Isn't it?"

Hyojoo was caught off-guard by her friend's words, causing her to pause mid-motion and shift her attention to the speaker. "Youngwon? What brings you here?" she asked with a warm smile. However, any sense of familiarity was quickly dashed— Youngwon did not reciprocate her friendly salutation. 

Any joy she may have shown was met only with disappointment, when Youngwon remained unmoved, his lips twisted in a pained expression and his arms crossed, that performed a telltale defence. "I am just so disappointed," he lamented, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Disappointed in my best friend."

Hyojoo's laughter was the only response to Youngwon's obvious displeasure. She assumed that it was yet another one of their petty disagreements. "Surely, you are mistaken," Hyojoo mused. "My son, though obstinate at times, he never disappoints."

"He is gay!" Youngwon's disapproval made it clear he had found the revelation utterly intolerable. "A freaking gay!!"

As though struck by lightning, all traces of mirth vanished from Hyojoo's countenance, if any, with such suddenness that one could scarcely believe once a jovial amusement had ever been present. The tone of her voice was clipped, business-like, bereft of any hint of levity or playfulness. Emanating a sense of cool, detached efficiency, she posed the question,"Yes. And?"

"That's disgusting," Youngwon's expression twisted with a feigned sense of nausea,  "You know why exactly I became friends with Wooshik? Because he was kind, he stood by me everytime I needed someone to put my shoulder on. He was there, always there. We vibed a lot! A real lot!" 

But Hyojoo was having none of it,  "Then pray tell, how does Wooshik's sexuality change anything about him? Is he not kind anymore just because he is gay? Will he not stand by you anymore only because you have found out about his sexuality now, huh? How exactly his sexuality is proportional to him as an individual. Besides, it has nothing to do with you, Youngwon."

Her words rang with a sharpness, puncturing through Youngwon's flimsy defence like a hot knife through butter.

Youngwon's face contorted, like one pained rat trying to claw its way out rattrap, "It matters. It matters so much," he rasped,  "It's like a girl sitting completely alone with a girl, or a boy with a girl, and feeling the tension crackle between you. That's how I feel now. I can't help but see everything differently. All those moments we shared, every laugh and every tear, now feel like nothing more than him trying to prey on me!" The words tumbled out of Youngwon's mouth like bitter pills, "Every moment feels like him trying to take advantage of me, my naivety."

Hyojoo stood there, her composure a fragile facade barely containing the tumultuous emotions roiling within. "Youngwon," she began, her voice steady but trembling, "I believe it would be best if we put an end to this conversation here and now. No one needs to change anyone's opinion here. But, right now, one of us needs to leave this place, and the choice is yours to make."

The two locked eyes— a silent battle played out between them, each weighing the gravity of the situation and the potential ramifications of their next move. In that moment, the hush that descended upon their surroundings was almost deafening, as if the universe itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

The words dripped with vitriol, each syllable heavy with disbelief,

"Wooshik had gone to watch the pride parade," Youngwon spat to Wooshik's mother. "My mind could not process it. He had been hiding it from me all along! That was something he had always wanted to witness."

"Youngwon—"

"I will… I will leave this place," he confessed, lending a sense of gravity to his words. "But before I do, I just wanted to visit this place one last time. This was the place where I would come to when I needed to calm down, to find some peace. And now, it will be the last time I ever see it again."

Hyojoo emitted an irony-free snort, her voice laced with the implication of incredulity. "Is it not a tragedy to bear witness to such a brittle friendship that can be shattered into fragments merely on account of my son's sexuality, which has absolutely nothing to do with you?" She directed her words at Youngwon, recognising the chasm that lay between them. "Is this what we refer to as best friends in the present day?"

Youngwon stood his ground, defending his position. "As I previously stated, it most certainly does. Wooshik was not seeking friendship with me. His intentions were nothing more than exploiting me for his own benefit. In other words, he was trying to take advantage of me!"

"You are too full of yourself, Youngwon," Hyojoo regarded him with a measure of concern, "Such a trait can only lead to self-destructive habits."

"Oh damn! In hell," Youngwon drawled, infusing the phrase with coarse language that bespoke of his disdain. "Never. Never for that fagg*t at least."

"YOUNGWON!" Hyojoo's voice reverberated, her arm lifted like a menacing sword, poised to strike a blow upon Youngwon's helpless form. 

The tension was inflated, she loomed over him, ready to deliver a punishing slap. In a desperate attempt to defend himself, the hapless Youngwon stumbled backwards, not realising he was already teetering dangerously on the edge of the 13th floor. And then, with a heart-stopping thud, he fell, his life snuffed out in an instant— the final ending. 

—End of Flashbacks—

A profound hush loomed over the scene, Hyojoo cautiously approaching Sooya, her voice hardly audible, "It was not an accident. It was not a murder. It was…destiny."

"It was Karma." Transfixing her gaze on Hyojoo's son, Sooya made sure not to miss Wooshik's lover flanking him. With eyes narrowed, she spoke with a firmness, "Wooshik, don't let anyone or anything come between you two," leaning in closer to him, she offered a whisper. "Remember, moles are to be eliminated without exception." 

Wooshik produced a blank cheque from the depths of his pocket, bearing his signature in bold strokes. 

"Please accept this as a rightful payment for Minnie's services," he addressed aunt Sooya. "In every sense of the word, Minnie proved himself invaluable, served me well, thanks to you. And yet departed without claiming what was rightfully his. Consequently, this overdue repayment of debt signifies the end of Minnie's contractual obligation with me." 

Sooya accepted the cheque from Wooshik with a gentle grasp, before tenderly caressing Sehun's youthful cheeks with utmost affection. "You have every reason to fall for this man," she whispered, her eyes glistening with concealed emotion. "We will definitely meet again," with one final gesture of paradox, the enigmatic woman vanished into the confines of her abode, drawing the door shut behind her, leaving the remaining trio to ponder the nature of her sudden departure.

"I don't understand!" Sehun trembled with uncertainty, raking everything— he had been silent too long, "What does any of it have to do with my mother??"

Hyojoo regarded Wooshik with a weak smile, bracing herself for his response, "Wooshik, you don't hate your mother now?" She asked tentatively. 

Hyojoo's son arched an eyebrow, a cunning expression crossing his features, "If I had to harbour a hatred against you, couldn't I have done that for all these years?"

"What— what do you mean?"

Sehun's head swirled, a flurry of truth thrown his way all too quickly. The world around him became hazy and disjointed as he struggled to grapple with the weight of it all. It was as if reality itself had become unhinged, and Sehun was left reeling in the aftermath— and still, he had no single idea about what the heck actually happened to his mother. 

"I know everything, ma. I knew everything."

—Flashbacks—

Hyojoo's breath caught in her chest, watching the young man stumble backwards, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief, before plummeting off the 13th floor to his death. She had been poised to slap him for his hateful homophobic remarks, but fate had somehow intervened. For a moment, she froze in shock, staring at the empty space where that young man had been only seconds before.

But the horror was short-lived. Hyojoo brushed nonexistent lint from her clothing, her face a mask of impassivity. It was as if nothing had happened. As if the young man's life was worth nothing. There was no pang of guilt, no remorse, no rue, for what had just occurred.

No CCTVs, no witnesses, no proof. Hyojoo walked away— as if nothing had happened. 

Unbeknownst to her, her son had returned from the pride parade for a while now and had witnessed…practically everything. 

Wooshik emerged silently, making sure his mother had no idea of his presence. He cast a glance at the rainbow-tinted band around his wrist, a symbol of pride and acceptance, before turning and walking away. Wooshik made no attempt to make himself known. He had seen everything he needed to see. 

—End of Flashbacks—

"Destiny really cannot be defined, huh?" Hyojoo heaved, pondering over its concept.

"Let us all pray for the closure that Youngwon had been seeking," Wooshik put forth, "I will drive to his memorial. Sehun, ma, let's go."

-•☆•-