When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 54

Cheonga’s POV

I stand in front of the penthouse door, fingers curled into fists at my sides. 

This is it. 

I have thought about it all night. Over and over. The words. The consequences. The fear pressing against my ribs. But in the end, it all comes back to the same thing— 

Han Wool is right. 

No one is coming to help me. No one is going to step in and fight my battles. 

If I want to protect what is mine, I have to stand up for myself. 

I inhale deeply, steadying my heartbeat. Then, before hesitation can creep in, I push the door open. 

The soft clink of a teacup meeting a saucer is the first thing I hear. 

Harin is sitting on the couch, unhurried as she lifts the cup to her lips. The scent of yujacha lingers in the air—a citrusy Korean tea my mother used to make in the winter. But the warmth of the memory doesn’t reach me. 

Because Harin is looking at me. 

Not surprised. Not annoyed. 

Amused. 

Her lips curl slowly, deliberately, as she sets the teacup down and tilts her head. “I knew you’d come.” 

Something simmers in my chest. I press it down. Don’t react.

Before I can respond, movement catches my eye. 

My father, no my foster father- that how I want to mention them from now on, steps into view, hands tucked into his suit pockets, his expression unreadable. A moment later, my foster mother appears beside him, poised, elegant, and unreadable as always. 

The three of them stand there, watching me. 

As if they were expecting this. As if they planned it. 

I don’t let the thought shake me. 

Instead, I step further inside, closing the door behind me. 

Silence stretches, thick and heavy. Then— 

“You’re finally speaking up.” His voice is measured, but there’s a sharpness beneath it. “Took you long enough.” 

My fingers tighten. “I’m here to make things clear.” 

“Clear?” Harin echoes, her voice light. “You mean, about the penthouse?” 

I exhale slowly. “I don’t care what you think. Grandfather entrusted it to me, and I’ll protect it.” 

A soft chuckle escapes Harin. “Protect it?” She leans back against the couch, crossing her legs. “And what makes you think you deserve it?” 

“I don’t need to deserve it,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Grandfather’s word is enough.” 

His lips press into a thin line. “How many times have we told you? You are not family. You don’t belong here.” 

The words strike, but I don’t flinch. I’ve heard them too many times before. 

“It doesn’t matter.” My voice doesn’t shake. “I’m following what Grandfather wanted.” 

My foster mother finally speaks, her voice smooth and controlled. “Now you have the courage to talk back to us?” Her gaze sharpens. “Where was this willingness all these years?”