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Ji steps up close and says into my ear, “She’s scolding her son, demanding to know why he’s here especially when Yeong has guests.” I nod, and Ji continues. “Lyric’s father says he came to see how she’s doing. But now he knows what he has to do—whatever that means.” Joon points to us and Ji explains further. “He says that allowing Yeong to stay here to help her was an incorrect judgement on his part. He will allow Yeong to stay for one more week and then Halmeoni will have to move to Seoul with him.”

Lyric’s eyes widen before he shoots back at his father. Joon bullets back at Lyric with unsympathetic intensity. His tone is deep and guttural as though he’s verbally slapping his son. I wager he is, since Lyric winces slightly at a certain punch in Joon’s voice.

I glance at Ji, but his eyes go wide and he shakes his head slightly. I take that to mean he will explain later and return my gaze to Lyric. I don’t have to understand what they are saying to get the meaning behind their tones.

If Lyric is getting blamed for us being here, I need to enlighten his father that it was my idea for coming. Lyric didn’t know anything.

“It’s not Lyric’s fault that we’re here,” I blurt out as I approach Lyric’s father with my hand extended. “Let’s start over. I’m Rafe D’Angelo and that’s Fig—my bodyguard, and Ji—my driver. I didn’t mean to…” My words stall in my throat as he glares at me in derision.

He studies my hand like it is diseased and doesn’t make a move to shake it. “I don’t care who you are. I want you out of this house.”

“Joon,” Halmeoni says with less hostility than before.

When Halmeoni continues, Ji translates. “She’s telling Lyric’s father that this is her house and she decides who stays and who goes, and if he doesn’t like it, he can leave.”

“Father,” Lyric starts in English. I hear a slight panic his tone.

The man shoots a glare at his son. “No, Yeong. It was a mistake bringing you back here.” The deep groove between Joon’s brows could split his face in half. His dark brown eyes are just as lethal—they are pointed at Lyric like honed knives. Then suddenly, his face straightens into indifference while he smooths his hand down the front of his black suit jacket. “I thought you had learned some respect in the States, but I see I was wrong. You are still a disappointment, Yeong.”

“Now wait a damn minute. If you’re pissed that we’re here, then we’ll leave. But you don’t need to be an asshole to Lyric,” I defend.

Joon sneers. “Lyric.” The name as he says it reeks of disdain. He then refocuses on his son. “I hated that name when you first picked it for the band,” he scoffs and continues. “I’m not surprised you took it for an American name.”

“It’s not to spite you, Father.” Lyric says flatly. Though, the spark in his dark eyes tells me that is a lie. He did use that name for a rebellious reason.

A corner of Joon’s lip curls up. “Enjoy your time with your grandmother. You are leaving by the end of the week, back to the United States, where you belong.” Joon then storms out of the house, leaving the door wide open and letting some of the rain inside the house.

“Halmeoni,” Lyric utters softly, walking to her. His voice isn’t filled with tears, but there’s a note of fear in it as he wraps his arms around her.

I don’t understand why Lyric’s afraid, or why his father was being a total bastard to Lyric and his grandmother, but I can’t let anyone be treated that way, especially in front of me.

Without hesitation, I stride past the two. Lyric tries to stop me, but I’m too focused on making this right for him and his grandmother. Fig and Ji both call out my name, but I ignore them also.

I quickly slip on my shoes and rush outside in the rain to confront Lyric’s father. At least the rain has finally let up.

“Hey, Joon is it?” I take long strides to reach the man.

He pauses mid-step, but doesn’t turn around, a solid insult in my eyes.

“I don’t know you, but man, the way you treated Lyric, like he’s a piece of shit under your shoes… I won’t have it.”

Joon slowly turns around and faces me with even more apparent disgust than before. “Is that right?” He releases a quiet chuckle. “You don’t know me, Mr. D’Angelo. You don’t know my family. So you’re not worth my valuable time. Leave, before I call the police.”

It occurs to me that, at this point, I should probably take heed of his warning, but instead, I laugh. And as the wind whips around us, the sound of my laughter seems amplified and it stops him from climbing into his vehicle. When he pauses, I explain. “You know that’s funny. Because the last time I heard that, it was from a producer who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”

He then turns and really looks at me, studies me like I’m a pinned bug under a microscope. He probably wishes that I were.

“Who are you?” Joon finally asks, eyeing me up and down, his tone less ruffled.

“I told you, I’m Rafe D’Angelo.”

“Who are you to Yeong?”

For a second I debate telling him truth. But with this man, I am sure that won’t go down well, so partial truth is what I give him. “Lyric works for my band as our medical consultant.” Lyric’s father doesn’t need to know the details of how he and I know each other personally. Granted, I’d love to see his face if he ever finds out what I like to do, and what I have done, to Lyric.

“What do you mean band? What band?” His eyes narrow into thin slits.

“Warrior Black,” I say with confidence.