juh👀n

You dropped to your knees on the rug, clutching your hands tightly to your chest as you looked up at the ceiling. "Please, God," you whispered, your voice cracking with terror. " Just let me survive until the sirens get here." Rising to your feet, you slipped your bedroom door open and stepped out into the silent corridor. You peered over the grand lower floor. The house was unnaturally quiet, but a faint, rhythmic chopping sound echoed.

You peeked into the kitchen area Margaret was completely occupied, her back turned as she prepared breakfast, her painted fingers holding a large silver knife.This was your only chance. You sprinted silently across the master wing straight to Margaret’s bedroom. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you burst inside, darting directly to her wardrobe. Your hands shook violently as you slid the panel open, reached past the silk scarves, and snatched Eleanor’s personal diary.Clutching it desperately to your chest, you bolted back down the corridor, slipped into your own room, and slammed the deadbolt into place. Breathless and trembling, you collapsed onto the edge of your mattress and yanked the cover open, your eyes scanning the faded, elegant handwriting.

The early pages were filled with heartfelt, beautiful entries about Jungkook. She wrote about his deep, quiet warmth, how fiercely he protected her, and how much they loved each other. It made your chest ache with that familiar, stinging wave of jealousy, but you forced your eyes to keep reading.Next, she wrote about Margaret. Eleanor described how they had become incredibly close friends. She wrote about Margaret’s calm demeanor, her sweet smiles. There were even a few lines about Cecilia how loud, bitter, and difficult she was, but fundamentally harmless.

But as you flipped the pages toward the final week of Eleanor's life, the handwriting became erratic, shaky, and smudged with dried tears. The tone of the diary shifted into a living nightmare.

{October 14th. Margaret found out about the baby today. I thought she would be happy for us, but the look in her eyes made my blood run cold. She didn't shout. She just smiled, that horrifying, empty smile and touched my stomach. Later, I found my bedroom door locked from the outside. She is restricting my movements. She keeps telling me a broken womb cannot allow a whole one to thrive in this house. She thinks if I am gone, Jungkook will belong only to her forever. I tried to tell Kook, but he thinks Margaret is just being protective of my health. He doesn't see the venom behind her calm face. If anyone finds this diary, please know that if I don't survive the week, it was Margaret who shut the lights out.}

The book nearly slipped from your trembling fingers. You turned the page of the diary one last time. What you read blew your mind in sheer, unadulterated terror. Eleanor had written that Margaret wasn't acting alone she had a history of staging accidents in the house, and she had already prepared a quiet burial spot under the old oak tree in the garden.

Bam! Before the horror could even settle into your bones, your bedroom door was violently kicked open. Margaret lunged into the room like a feral animal With a terrifying shriek, she snatched the diary right out of your hands, and she delivered a brutal, stinging slap across your face that knocked you hard onto the floorboards.

"You meddling little bitch!" Margaret hissed, She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a heavy black gun. She click and aimed it directly between your eyes, her hand remarkably steady. "You think you're clever? I know all about it! I knew you saw the diary last day and just like Eleanor, you won't survive the week!"

Meanwhile, the iron gates of the Jeon mansion were violently rammed open. Jungkook had just landed back . Your final, desperate words over the telephone—“Come back when I'll die !”—had completely broken him. He had abandoned his vital European negotiations, boarded the fastest private transit across the Channel, and rushed home. As his black motorcar screeched to a halt on the gravel driveway, he saw a police cars already parked outside, blue lights flashing against the grey brick. Armed officers were already running inside.

"Y/N!" Jungkook roared, throwing his car door open and sprinting past the guards into his own mansion, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

Upstairs in the bedroom, you were on your knees, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at the barrel of the gun. "Margaret, please! Don't do this, I beg of you!" you sobbed, raising your hands in terror.Margaret’s face was stone. "Goodbye, darling."

BANG! The deafening gunshot shattered the air. But you didn't feel the bullet. In a split second of pure, selfless bravery, Cecilia burst through the doorway, sprinting across she lunged directly in front of you, using her own body to block the path of the bullet. The heavy lead projectile tore directly into Cecilia’s chest, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her blood instantly stained her silk nightgown.

The police force flooded the room, their weapons drawn. Before Margaret could aim the gun a second time, three officers tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms behind her back and yanking the revolver from her. Cecilia’s weak, bloodied body began to tilt, about to collapse heavily onto the hardwood floor. But before she could hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. His briefcase dropped, and he caught her securely in his large arms, pulling her tightly against his chest as he dropped to his knees.

"Cece! Cece, look at me!" Jungkook choked out, his chest heaving as his hands instantly became covered in her blood.Cecilia’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze glassy but locking onto his face with a sudden, heartbreaking warmth. A soft, breathless smile touched her lips.

"Handsome..." she whispered, "You're back. I love you, honey. I love you a lot."

"No, no, no," Jungkook sobbed, hot tears finally bursting from his dark eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he held her closer. He had never shown this much vulnerability to anyone since Eleanor, but seeing Cecilia bleeding out for his family completely broke him. "Don't talk like that. Nothing will happen to you, I promise you, Cece. Just stay with me!"

Cecilia shook her head slightly against his shoulder, her breathing turning shallow and ragged. She reached up with a trembling hand to his cheek one last time before looking over at you. "Take care of Y/N... and your child," she whispered, still completely believing the pregnancy lie. She looked back at Jungkook, her voice fading into a final, possessive purr.

"In the next life....I will again become your wife and only me, Koo. Not anyone else."Her hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply onto the carpet. "Cecilia! No!" Jungkook roared in pure agony.Refusing to let her go, he gathered her heavy, pliant body into his arms and lifted her up. He sprinted out of the bedroom, his long coat billowing behind him as he rushed down the grand corridor toward the stairs, entirely bypassing the police and the horrified staff.

You ran right behind him, your heart lodged in your throat. "Cece, wake up, darling!" Jungkook pleaded frantically as he rushed down the grand, sweeping staircase, his voice cracking with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "See, I brought everything you asked for! I have the emerald bracelet! I have the lists! Just don't leave me, please, Cece!"

But halfway down the grand stairs, the final, faint breath escaped Cecilia's lips. Her head lulled heavily against his shoulder, her body completely losing its remaining tension. The sharp, vibrant, and fiercely protective woman who had ruled this house for years was gone.Jungkook froze on the mid-stair landing, the crushing silence of the mansion settling over him his throat as he rocked her back and forth, clutching her body to his chest.

You rushed down the steps and threw yourself over him, wrapping your arms securely around his broad, shaking shoulders, holding him tightly as his tears soaked into your clothes. The mansion felt hollow, haunted by the sudden silence of the woman who had just died to keep you alive.

In the police station Margaret sat behind the iron bars of a dim holding cell. Jungkook stood outside the cell, his tall frame rigid and tense, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He refused to look her in the eyes, staring blankly at the stone floor as if looking at her would cause him to lose his mind entirely. You stood beside him, clutching your arms around your frame, staring at Margaret with an unexplainable expression ,a suffocating mix of horror, betrayal, and deep, aching sorrow.

"Why?" you finally broke the silence. "Why, Margaret? How could you do all of this?"

Margaret looked up, her expression melting into that same serene, terrifyingly gentle smile she had always given you. She gripped the cold iron bars, "I never faked anything, darling," Margaret murmured, "The love, the maternal care I gave you... it was completely real. I truly loved you, darling. But I love my husband more. I simply couldn't bear to see him with anyone else."

Jungkook’s hand balled into a tight fist at his side, but he still didn't look at her."Eleanor was so good to me," Margaret continued, "She was my dearest friend. Truly, my best friend. But things between her and Jungkook weren't really good back then. Yet, the moment she became pregnant, I knew everything would change. I thought Jungkook would only look after her forever, that I would be cast aside. So....I finished her. I took her out of the equation so he would belong only to me."

She tilted her head, her gaze shifting down to your stomach, her eyes widening. "And then the exact same thing happened with you. You said you were pregnant. The panic came back. I wanted to finish you too, just like I did to Eleanor, to protect my place with him."

Jungkook froze. The words finally pierced through his grief, a sudden, sharp realization slamming into his chest. His dark eyes snapped open as his head whipped around to look at you, his face completely pale.

"What?" Jungkook murmured, his voice dropping as he stared directly at you. "What did she just say? You....you're pregnant?"

Panic seized your throat, "I'll explain everything, Jungkook, I swear," you stammered breathlessly, your heart hammering. "Just not here."

"Are you pregnant, Y/N?" Jungkook demanded, his hands catching your shoulders, his grip tight and desperate as his protective worry flared back to life. He looked down at your flat stomach, his mind spinning with the terrifying parallel to Eleanor's murder. "Is it true?"

You couldn't breathe under his intense, heavy gaze you pulled back slightly, your eyes wide with a desperate plea."Can we go out from here, please?" you whispered, tears welling in your eyes as you tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Jungkook. Let's just leave this place."

The rain lashed violently against the windscreen of the motorcar as the doors slammed shut, sealing you and Jungkook inside a suffocating, freezing silence. The guards stood outside in the downpour, leaving the two of you entirely alone.Jungkook gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white, his chest heaving with a terrifying, raw fury. The air in the vehicle was thick with his explosive anger, a storm ready to break at any second.You couldn't carry the crushing weight of the lie for another moment.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands trembling violently in your lap. "I faked my pregnancy," you whispered.Jungkook’s head whipped around instantly, his dark eyes flashing with a cold rage that made your breath hitch.

"WHY?!" he shouted, "Why on earth would you play a sick, disgusting game like that?!"

Through frantic, choked sobs, you poured out everything. You explained the trap, how Eleanor had been murdered the exact week she fell pregnant, and how you had used Daphne’s forged report as live bait to force the killer into making a clumsy mistake. You told him how both wives wore the red nail polish, and how you had been desperate to smoke the monster out of the shadows.But your explanation only stoked the flames of his fury. Jungkook slammed his fist hard against the steering wheel, a broken, angry growl escaping his throat. You flinched.

"Why you did that?!" he roared. "Look at what your brilliant little game has cost us! Because of your reckless lies, I have just lost one more wife! Cecilia is dead because she threw herself in front of a bullet meant for a fake baby!" The mention of Cecilia’s sacrifice pierced straight through your heart, a sharp wave of guilt crashing over you. Tears poured freely down your cheeks.

"I am guilty for Cecilia, Jungkook!" you wept openly, your voice trembling with your deep, profound love for him. "I will carry the weight of her death for the rest of my bloody life! But please...you have to look at what I was facing! Everyone in this county, every rumor in that house, said you were the one who murdered Eleanor! I was trapped in a house with a killer, and I was trying to find the truth to clear your name because I love you! If you were thinking your husband was a killer when it was actually Margaret all along...please, Jungkook, just keep yourself in my shoes!" The words hung heavily in the damp, freezing air of the car, the silence that followed stretching out like a tight wire as Jungkook stared at you, his rage suddenly colliding with the shocking realization of why you had risked your life in the first place.

The endless, suffocating night had finally passed. Jungkookgave divorce to Margaret, stripping her of the Jeon name forever Margaret confess each things she did. Earlier that morning, the bleak sky had wept a steady drizzle over Cecilia’s funeral. Jungkook had stood like a statue as she was laid to rest, his jaw clenched, his dark eyes hollow with an unreadable grief.

Now, the heavy front doors of the mansion swung open. You walked into the cold, grand, flanked by your parents, who had rushed to the estate. Jungkook walk slightly ahead, his back completely rigid as he refused to look behind him. As you stepped onto the marble threshold, you paused and turned your head toward the garden . Mrs. Whitmore was standing there the old maid was dressed in her vintage uniform, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was staring directly at you, her face completely pale, carrying that same knowing, ancient expression from the day she first told you about Jungkook and Eleanor's tragic past.

"Mrs. Whitmore..." you breathed you took a step towards her , but your mother’s hand snapped around your wrist, pulling you back with a firm, worried grip.

"Y/N, sweetie, where are you going?" your mother asked, her voice laced with deep concern as she looked at your pale face. "We need to get you inside."

"There," you whispered, pointing a trembling finger. "Look. It's Mrs. Whitmore. The old maid. I need to speak to her." Your mother turned her head, squinting through the grey, before turning back to you with a deeply unsettled expression.

"Sweetheart... what are you talking about? There is no one out there. The garden is completely empty." Panic seized your chest. You violently whipped your head back around to look at the tree.The lawn was entirely bare. There was no old woman, and no footsteps in the mud. Before you could scream or protest, your mother tightly pulled your freezing hand, guiding you inside.

In master bedroom Jungkook sat back against the headboard, He looked entirely hollowed out by the grief of losing Cecilia and the horrific betrayal of Margaret. You moved slowly across the mattress, sliding your thighs beside his hip, and gently reached out to take his hand. His skin was freezing. He didn't pull away, but he didn't squeeze back either. After a long, agonizing silence, his deep, raspy voice broke the quiet.

"Who told you about Eleanor, y/n ?"You leaned in closer, you raised your hands and gently cupped his cold face, your palms resting against his sharp jawline. "Mrs. Whitmore," you whispered softly, your eyes locking onto his with absolute honesty. "The old maid. She’s the one who found me in the house, Jungkook. She guided me through each step. She told me about how much you loved Eleanor, she told me about the master wing... she even told me where to look for the keys."

The moment the name left your lips, Jungkook’s entire body went completely rigid beneath your touch. He stared at you, his pupils dilating as the color completely drained from his cheeks. His breath hitched sharply, his hands coming up to grip your wrists, his fingers turning white with sheer panic.

"What did you just say?" Jungkook choked out, his voice a terrified, breathless whisper that made the hairs on your arms stand up. "Who did you say spoke to you?"

"Mrs. Whitmore..." you stammered, cold panic in your chest. "The old woman, the servant, Jungkook, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jungkook’s hands shook violently against your wrists as he looked into your eyes, his chest heaving with a heavy, frantic rhythm.

"Mrs. Whitmore died twenty years ago," he whispered, a tear of pure horror spilling over his lashes. "She was the head housekeeper when I was a boy. She passed away long before I ever met Eleanor....long before I ever brought any of you into this house." The words slammed into your brain like a physical blow.The entire bedroom seemed to tilt wildly on its axis. Your vision blurred at the edges, and your lungs suddenly felt completely crushed, refusing to take in any air. Twenty years ago. The woman who had touched your shoulder, the woman who had whispered secrets to you, the woman you had just seen standing beneath the old tree—she had been dead for two decades.

A sharp, suffocating gasp escaped your throat. Your hands tore away from his face, clutching frantically at your own chest as your breathing turned into rapid, shallow, erratic pants.

Jungkook immediately yanked you into his lap, wrapping his massive, powerful arms around your trembling frame and burying his face in your hair. He held you so tightly it felt as if he were physically trying to keep your soul from breaking apart.

"Breathe,Just breathe. I’ve got you," he commanded, his deep, raspy voice vibrating against your chest as he rocked you back and forth on the mattress. "Look at me. Focus on my voice. You are safe. I am right here. I am not letting anything touch you."

You clutched the heavy wool of his shirt, your fingernails digging into his chest as you sobbed."I don't want to live here!" you wailed, hot, desperate tears soaking straight into his collar as your chest heaved in gasps. "Please, Jungkook... please, can we leave this mansion? I can't breathe in this house anymore! Every corner is haunted, every shadow is a nightmare! Please, if you love me, just take me away from here!"

Jungkook closed his eyes, a heavy exhale escaping his lips as he tightened his grip around your waist. He looked past your shoulder toward the dark, empty corners of the master bedroom He leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering protective kiss against your temple, his hands smoothing down your back to anchor your shaking body.

"We are leaving," Jungkook whispered, "Tonight. I will have the guards pack a single car, and we are turning our backs on this place forever. I don't care about the estate, and I don't care about the family name. You are my only priority now. We are never coming back."

The midnight air was freezing as the final leather suitcases were loaded into the boot of the sleek black motorcar. The rain had completely stopped, leaving the grand Jeon mansion slick, wet, under the pale moonlight .

You stood by the open passenger door, your hand trembling slightly as you turned around to look back at the massive brick structure one last time. Nine months of your life were woven into those walls. The memories pooled in your chest all at once—the midnight seduction in your emerald satin robe, the terrifying layout of Eleanor's room, the explosive arguments with Cecilia, and the genuine, warm laughter you had shared with Margaret before the mask shattered. It was a beautiful.

As your eyes drifted upward, tracking the grand stone staircase visible through the massive glass windows of the foyer, your breath hitched.

Standing right at the top of the stairs was Mrs. Whitmore, dressed in her pristine housekeeper's uniform. But she wasn't alone anymore. Standing right beside her, bathed in a soft, ethereal silver glow, was a young, beautiful woman with dark, flowing hair and a gentle smile. It was Eleanor , the two women stood shoulder-to-shoulder, looking down at you with an overwhelming sense of peace. Slowly, gracefully, they lifted their hands and offered you a soft, lingering wave. They weren't there to haunt you. They were saying goodbye.

You didn't cry out in terror. The fear that had paralyzed you all evening suddenly melted into a quiet, profound understanding.Instead, you reached out and clutched Jungkook’s broad arm hard. Jungkook felt the sudden tension in your grip and looked down at you, his dark eyes fiercely protective as he wrapped his large hand over yours, grounding you completely. He didn't look back at the mansion. He only looked at you.

"Ready, sweetheart?" he murmured, his deep, raspy voice an absolute anchor in the dark. "Ready," you whispered softly.You stepped into the car, and Jungkook slid in right beside you, closing the heavy door and shutting out the chilling silence of the estate forever. As the motorcar roared to life and accelerated down the long, winding driveway, the grand iron gates groaned closed behind you. You leaned your head against Jungkook's shoulder, your fingers locked tightly with his he kiss your head, finally leaving the haunted mansion and its secrets buried deep in the past as you sped away into the quiet night.

CONTINUE IN NEXT PART

❛ 119 ❜

First thing you learned about jeon jungkook was that he lied with his hands before he lied with his mouth. His mouth could get him out of almost anything.

By then, deception had became part of this routine. It told his wife he was working late, it told his friends he was exhausted, it even told himself he was only stopping by to see you just to say "hello".

But it seemed his hands failed to get the memo.

They trembled extravagantly when he was angry. They lingered when he should've let go. Every time he reached for your waist, there was that split second where his grip tightened first, like he'd forgotten himself.

You knew better than to think about that.

“You shouldn't be here,” you say. It's a weak protest when you're already gripping the front of his coat and pulling him closer. Jungkook exhales through his nose. It almost sounds like a laugh, except neither of you found anything funny about this anymore.

“'Was just stopping by…”

You roll your eyes. "You said that last time, jungkook.”

“Yeah.” His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before finding your eyes again. “I know.”

Which was somehow worse. Before you can think of another argument, his lips were on yours. No apology, no overcompensating explanation, no asking if he’s allowed to come back into your life and put his hands on you like the last few months didn’t happen.

Just his mouth against yours, soft and gentle at first, then unbearable, those long fingers firm beneath your chin like he could tilt the answer out of you.

You mean to bite him.

You almost do.

Then his knee nudges between your thighs, and the sound that leaves you is humiliatingly soft.

You hear his breath catch.

No, you feel it more than hear it, the hitch in his chest when your hands slips beneath his coat and find his waist through the thin fabric of his shirt. Thin enough that you could feel the rigid tension of him underneath when your fingers moved lightly over his abdomen.

Your nails dig in, and he groans as if you may have genuinely hurt him, and you know what, maybe you wanted to.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, mouth dragging from your lips to the corner of your jaw and back again, greedy and unsteady.

“I drove past your place twice before I came up."

His voice goes quieter.

“'Missed you.”

Damn him.

You hate how quickly it lands.

And you hate that some part of you has been waiting to hear it. It annoys you, how little time jungkook needed to undo you.

You had a whole speech prepared. Something about boundaries. About the way he keeps showing up soaked through like that was his excuse. About your floor and how you’re still the one wiping it up afterwards, asshole.

It made sense when you were alone with it, turning it over in your head.

Now he’s standing here, dripping onto your brand new ergonomic mat like nothing you said had ever really stuck to begin with, and the speech starts to feel a lot less important than the fact that you’re still letting him in.

You get as far as his last name.

“Jeon—”

He presses his lips against yours in a slow, tantalizing peck before you could even finish. like he was desperately waiting for that sound, just so he could steal it from you.

And he did. For one pathetic second, you let yourself melt into it.

But then you remembered. You were upset.

You caught his lip between your teeth.

He exhales under his, a curse slipping through your lips in korean.

It landed closer than it should've.

His palm slapped against the wall beside your shoulder, and the sound made you flinch before you could pretend it didn’t. Rain from last hour's heavy shower dripped from his hair and onto your cheek.

It was ridiculous. The kind of thing that would've made you laugh.

Instead, you were distracted by the weight of him standing so close. His coat drenched and cool against your hands, but his skin underneath proved to be the exact opposite. His fingers found bare skin under your sweater. The rough edge of a callus.

The cool press of his ring.

Every thought you’d had a second ago had vanished.

But it should've brought you back to yourself.

It should've been enough to make you shove him away and tell him to go home to the woman whose name lived in his phone with a heart beside it, while your name had settled for being ‘119’.

Korea’s emergency services—very innovative, jungkook.

And your breath stumbled anyway.

Of course he caught it.

His thumb dragged lightly over your side before he tipped his forehead against yours.

“Don’t,” you say softly.

A crease forms between his brows.

“Don’t what?” His voice softening, “Talk to me.”

That was the problem with jungkook.

He always said things like that as if talking had ever saved either of you. As if words didn’t make everything worse, didn’t crawl into the quiet afterward and sit there with their knees pulled to their chests, staring at you until morning.

So you don’t talk.

You put both hands on his chest and shoved him back.

Not hard enough to send him away. Hard enough to make him understand that if he’s going to stand in your hallway with rain in his hair, a ring on his finger, and another woman’s life clinging to him like cologne, he doesn’t get to be tender about it.

His back hits the opposite wall with a dull thud. For one charged second, he just looks at you, chest rising beneath your palms, lips parted, eyes gone darker than the hallway should allow.

Then he smiles, barely.

It pisses you off.

“You think this is funny?”

“No,” he answers, and his hand closes around your wrist, not to stop you, only to feel you there. “I think you missed me too.”

Your jaw tightens.

Jungkook sees the answer before you give it to him. His smile fades first. Then his expression shifts into something hungrier, rougher around the edges, and you hate that he knows you well enough to read the shame before you can hide it.

“I hate when you do that,” you say.

“What?”

“Act like missing me gives you the right.”

He holds your gaze, his thumb moving once over the inside of your wrist. “It doesn’t.”

“But you still use it.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

The honesty lands like a slap.

It should make you step back. Instead, it pulls something mean out of you. You reach for his left hand and lift it between you, turning it until the gold band catches the thin hallway light.

His fingers flex.

You feel the resistance travel through him. A small, private panic.

“Take it off.”

He clicks his tongue before his eyes flick to yours. “Aish, don't start that.”

“I said take it off."

His mouth presses together, and for a moment the whole apartment seems to shrink around the two of you: the wet shoes by your door, the unopened mail on the console, the neighbor’s television murmuring through the wall, the damp heat of him so close that every breath you take has him in it.

“You think that changes anything?” he asks.

“No.” You look at the ring, then at him. “I just don’t want her touching me.”

The words go through him cleanly. You see it in the way his shoulders lose their shape, in the tiny twitch near his mouth, in the guilt that arrives exactly when it’s least useful.

He shouldn’t look hurt. He has no right.

Still, his hand lowers.

The ring slides over his knuckle with a faint scrape, stubborn for half a second before it gives. He holds it in his palm like it weighs more than it should, then places it on the narrow table beside your keys.

The little sound it makes against the wood is obscene.

“다 된,” he says, voice low. Done.

You stare at the bare strip of skin on his finger.

It’s worse, somehow. Without it, he looks almost available.

Jungkook reaches for you again, and this time you let him. His palms settle on your waist, warmer now, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of your sides under your sweater. He doesn’t kiss you right away. He watches your face first, as if he’s waiting for the moment you decide to punish him or forgive him, as if he hasn’t figured out by now that you usually do both.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs.

Your laugh comes out thin. “Is that what you want?”

He shakes his head no before dragging out a soft, “아니요.” No.

“Then don’t put this on me.”

His eyes close briefly.

Good.

You’re glad he feels it. You’re glad there are still places in him that bruise.

When he opens them again, whatever patience he had left is gone. He pulls you in by the waist and kisses you like the argument was only foreplay neither of you had the dignity to name. His mouth is hot, urgent, tasting faintly of mint and the rain. You wrap your arms around his nape, dragging him closer while he backs you out of the hallway and toward the bedroom by memory, like he belongs here, like he hasn’t learned the geography of your apartment through betrayal.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

You sit down hard, and jungkook follows, bending over you, one hand cupping the side of your neck as his mouth moves down your jaw. He kisses the place beneath your ear that he learned too early. Your hands push his coat off his shoulders.

It lands heavily on the floor, wet fabric folding over itself.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” you mutter.

His laugh is breathless against your skin. “I’ll clean it.”

“You never clean anything.”

“I’ll buy you a new mat.”

“You said that last time too.”

He lifts his head, eyes bright with something almost boyish, almost cruel in how familiar it is. “Didn't you force me to buy you a new one?"

“It's the new one you’re ruining, genius.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up again, but the smile doesn’t last. It never does anymore. Not when his gaze drops to your mouth. Not when your fingers skim the waistband of his trousers. Not when the space between you starts making demands neither of you can dress up as anything else.

He sinks to his knees.

Your breath catches before he even touches you.

The sight of him there should feel powerful. Sometimes it does. Tonight, it feels dangerous. Jungkook on his knees between yours, hair damp and falling into his eyes, hands resting on your thighs with that careful pressure he uses when he’s pretending he’s not already losing control.

He looks up at you.

“You’re mad,” he says.

“Brilliant observation.”

His thumbs move slowly over your knees. “You can be mad.”

“I wasn’t waiting for permission?”

“Right.” His mouth brushes the inside of your thigh over the thin fabric of your shorts. “I mean it. Be mad.”

Your fingers tighten in the sheets. “Don’t try to make this noble.”

“I’m not.”

“Here you go. making it sound like if we’re honest enough about being awful, it becomes something else.”

He stills for a second.

Then his lips press to your thigh again, softer this time. “Does it?”

You look down at him, at the wet lashes, the mouth that has lied to everyone and still somehow makes you believe the worst truths.

“No.”

The answer hangs there.

He looks up at you like he’s waiting for an order, but his hands are already sliding up your thighs, already greedy under the hem of your sweater.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“I’m cold.”

“Liar.”

You lean down and catch his jaw in your hand, squeezing just enough to make his eyes darken. “You don’t get to narrate me tonight either, okay?"

His tongue touches the inside of his cheek. “Then tell me what to do.”

The obedience in his voice is fake. The hunger isn’t.

You lift your hips, and he hooks his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down your legs with none of the patience he usually uses to torture you. Your underwear goes with them, damp and sticky already, and you hate the way his gaze drops between your thighs and turns feverish.

“예수,” he says under his breath. Jesus.

You snap your knees wider, daring him to look away. “Don’t pray now.”

A laugh breaks out of him, low and wrecked, and then his mouth was on your thigh again. He kisses high, open-mouthed and wet, teeth grazing skin as his hands shove your sweater up over your hips. His lips move closer to where you’re aching, slow enough to make you furious.

“Jungkook.”

“Mm?”

“If you continue to tease me, I’ll make you regret coming tonight.”

He looks up from between your legs, mouth hovering too close, eyes too bright. “You already do that every time.”

Then he licks you.

Your stomach jumps. A sound catches in your throat before you can kill it, and jungkook groans like your pussy hits him harder than anything you said in the hallway. He spreads you with his thumbs and drags his tongue through your slit again, slower, filthier, collecting the slick heat of you with a kind of shameless hunger that makes your hands fly to his hair.

“Fuck—” You tug hard. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

He answers by closing his lips around your clit.

Your hips buck.

The room blurs at the edges as he sucks, soft at first, then harder when your thighs tense around his head. He eats you out like he’s starving and resentful about it, tongue flattening against you, then flicking quick, then dragging slow enough to make you let out a soft whine.

The wet sounds were obscene, slick and hot and intimate, his mouth working between your thighs while rain taps the glass like impatient fingers.

“Unh— shit, kook.”

His hands clamp around your thighs, holding you open when you try to close them around his ears. He pulls back just enough for his breath to spill over your pussy, warm and uneven.

“Mm, there you go,” he mutters. “Let me hear how much you fucking hate me.”

You yank his hair until his head tilts back. His lips shine. His chin is wet with you. The sight makes something ugly and needy twist in your chest.

His expression flickers.

He kisses your inner thigh once, almost gently, and slides two fingers into you.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your body takes him in, the stretch sudden and deep. He curls his fingers, searching, and finds exactly where you’re weak. You gasp so sharply it hurts.

“Yeah, right there?" he asks, voice rough.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He grins and does it again.

Your head falls back, a moan spilling out before you can stop it. “Oh— fuck, there.”

Jungkook’s mouth returns to your clit, then there’s nothing polite left in the room. His fingers pump into you with a wet, steady rhythm, knuckles slick, palm grinding against your entrance while his tongue circles and sucks your clit until your thighs start trembling around his shoulders. He moans into your cunt, and the vibration rolls through you so hard your spine arches.

You try to hold on to anger.

He makes it difficult when his mouth is this dirty, when he’s licking you like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live under your pulse. He knows how to make you break in layers. Knows how to make you curse at him, then beg without using the word. Knows how to keep his fingers deep and his tongue ruthless until every nerve in your body is pulled tight.

“Don’t come yet,” he says mouth full of you.

You laugh breathlessly, furious. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“'Want to be inside you when you do.”

The words send heat tearing through you.

He feels the way you clench around his fingers and looks up, smugness softened by raw need.

You hate him for that most of all.

You push at his shoulder, and he pulls away at once, fingers slipping out of you with a wet sound that makes your face burn. His mouth is a mess. Your arousal shines on his lips, his chin, the edges of that devastating smirk.

“Take your clothes off,” you tell him.

Jungkook rises like his knees don’t work properly. He strips fast, shirt first, the damp fabric peeling away from his torso and landing on the floor. His tattoos shift over his arm as he fumbles with his belt. The buckle clinks. His trousers drop. His briefs follow, and then he’s standing there hard and flushed and breathing like he’s already been fucked half out of his mind.

Your eyes drag over him.

He notices.

“Still mad?” he asks.

You reach for the nightstand and grab a condom, tossing it at his chest. “Still married?”

His mouth snaps shut.

He rips the foil open with his teeth.

There’s something deeply satisfying about watching his hands shake as he rolls it on. He tries to hide it, but you see everything. The tightness in his jaw, the flex in his stomach, the way his cock twitches when your legs spread wider on the bed.

He crawls over you like he means to pin you down.

But you press your foot to his chest and stop him.

His eyes lift.

“Ah ah,” you say. “Lie back.”

A muscle jumps in his cheek.

For a second, you think he might argue. Then he swallows, nods once, and shifts onto the bed, sitting against the pillows with his back braced against the headboard. His cock stands hard against his stomach, condom slick in the low light, his thighs spread, his chest moving too fast.

You climb over him slowly.

His hands reach for your hips immediately.

You slap them away.

“No.”

He freezes, eyes blown wide.

“You don’t get to touch,” you say, settling over his lap without taking him in yet. Your pussy brushes the length of him, and both of you suck in a breath. “You touch when I say you can.”

Jungkook’s fingers curl against the sheets. “Fuck, you're trying to kill me."

“You’ll live.”

“Yeah?”

You lower yourself enough to drag your slick heat along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. His head tips back against the headboard with a dull thump, throat exposed, mouth falling open.

“Mmh,” he groans. “Don’t do that if you don’t want me to come fast."

“I want you to.” You grind down again, coating him, feeling him twitch beneath you. “I want you stupid. I want you ruined. I want you walking out of here remembering exactly whose bed you were in.”

His eyes snap open, dark and dangerous. “I never forget.”

You throw his words back at him. “Liar.”

He reaches for you again on instinct, and you catch his wrist, pinning it beside his head.

The position changes something.

His breath catches. Your body hovers over his, your knees braced on either side of his hips, your wet pussy sliding over his cock without letting him inside. He looks up at you with naked frustration, lips parted, hair damp against his forehead.

He could overpower you easily. He doesn’t. That restraint makes the moment dirtier than force ever could.

“Ask,” you whisper.

His brows draw together. “For what?”

“For permission.”

His laugh comes out strained. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You lean down until your mouth brushes his. “Ask, jungkook.”

The sound he makes is almost a growl, but his hips stay still under you. “Can I touch you?”

“Where?”

His eyes drop to your chest, your waist, the place where you’re making a slick mess of him. “Everywhere.”

“Too vague.”

His jaw flexes, and the humiliation of wanting makes his voice rougher. “Your hips. Your thighs. ‘Want to hold you while you ride me.”

A pulse of pleasure goes through you so sharp you almost give in too quickly.

Almost.

“Good,” you murmur, and sink down on him.

The stretch steals the next breath from both of you.

You take him slowly, inch by thick inch, your hands braced on his shoulders, your knees pressing into the mattress. Jungkook’s face twists, eyes squeezing shut as you slide down until he’s buried all the way inside you. The fullness is brutal after his fingers and mouth, deep enough to make your thighs shake before you even move.

His hands hover at your sides, waiting.

The obedience nearly breaks you.

“Touch me,” you say.

He grabs your hips like the words snap a leash.

His fingers dig into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks, and his head drops back again as you lift yourself halfway and sink down. A ragged groan tears out of him. You do it again, slower, letting yourself feel every inch of him drag against your walls.

“Oh— fuck yes,” you breathe.

Jungkook stares up at you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see. “You feel insane.”

You tighten around him on purpose.

His hips jerk. “Shit— don’t—”

“Don’t what?” You roll your hips, grinding down until your clit catches against him. “Don’t make you feel good? Isn’t that why you came here?”

His fingers flex on your hips. “I came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

“You came here because you’re selfish.”

“Mmh— yes,” he says, and the bluntness knocks something loose between you. His voice drops, stripped bare and ugly. “I am. I’m selfish, ‘wanted you, ‘thought about this all night until I couldn’t breathe.”

Your rhythm falters for half a second.

He feels it.

His grip tightens, helping you move now, guiding you up and down on his cock as his eyes burn into yours. “‘Thought about your mouth. Your hands. Your pussy. ‘Thought about how wet that pussy gets when you’re mad at me. ‘Thought about you telling me I’m a bastard while you come all over me.”

A moan slips out of you, broken and unwilling.

His mouth curves, but there’s pain in it.

“Like that,” he says. “Do it again.”

You ride him harder to shut him up.

The bed begins to creak under the rhythm, deep and steady, your body lifting and dropping on him while his cock fills you over and over.

Jungkook’s hands drag over your thighs, your waist, up under your sweater to bare skin. He pushes the fabric higher, impatient, and you yank it over your head for him, tossing it aside.

His gaze drops to your perky breasts.

The hunger on his face is immediate.

He sits up suddenly, still inside you, making you gasp as the angle shifts. His arms wrap around your back while his mouth closes over one nipple, hot and wet, sucking hard enough to send pleasure straight between your legs.

You grab his hair, grinding down on him as he licks and bites at your breast like he can’t decide where he wants his mouth most.

“Mmm, kook—”

He groans against your skin. “Say my name like that again.”

“No.”

He thrusts up into you.

The movement punches a cry from your throat, louder than you expected, and he does it again, using his grip on your hips to drag you down while he drives up. The clean control of your riding fractures into something rougher, wetter, more desperate. You’re bouncing on his cock now, taking him deep with each downward roll, slick sounds filling the room every time your bodies meet.

“Look at you,” he rasps, mouth against your chest. “‘Act like you’re punishing me, but your pussy’s squeezing me like you missed me.”

You slap him.

Not hard enough to hurt badly. Hard enough to turn his face slightly and leave the room stunned.

Jungkook goes still inside you.

Your palm tingles.

Slowly, he turns back.

His eyes are black with want.

“Again,” he says.

Your cunt clenches around him before you can stop it. He feels it, and his smile is wrecked, filthy, triumphant in a way that makes you furious enough to ride him harder. You plant both hands on his chest and shove him back against the pillows, taking control of the pace again. His hands fly to your hips, and this time you let him hold on as you fuck yourself on him, using him for friction, for fullness, for the terrible satisfaction of watching him fall apart beneath you.

His phone lights up on the nightstand.

The glow cuts across the dark room like a blade.

You don’t look at first.

Jungkook does.

His face changes before you see the screen, and that tells you enough.

The phone buzzes.

Bzzzt.

Your gaze shifts.

Sowon.

The name sits there with a tiny heart beside it, bright and domestic and nauseating.

Bzzzt.

Jungkook’s cock was still inside you. His hands still on your hips. Your cunt still wet around him.

You stop moving.

His breathing is ragged, chest rising beneath your palms.

“Answer it,” you say.

His eyes snap to yours. “No.”

“Answer your wife.”

“Don't.”

You grind down once, slow and cruel, and he chokes on the sound that comes out of him.

Bzzzt.

“Answer it,” you tell him. “Tell her where you are.”

His fingers dig into you. “Stop.”

“Why?” You lean closer, your mouth near his ear, your body clamped around him so tightly his hips twitch. “Afraid she’ll hear how hard you are?”

A rough curse leaves him.

The phone keeps vibrating.

You reach for it.

Jungkook catches your wrist before your fingers touch the screen.

For one suspended second, neither of you breathes.

Then the call ends.

Sowon ❤️

3 Missed calls now

The screen goes dark, and the room becomes yours again, except it isn’t. It has her in it now. Her name, his ring in the hallway, the ghost of whatever bed he left to come here.

Something mean rises in you, hot and sharp.

You lift yourself almost off him, then slam back down.

Jungkook’s head hits the pillow, a broken groan tearing from his throat. “Unh—”

“And you don’t get to look guilty while you’re still inside me.”

His hands seize your hips. “I am guilty.”

“Then act like it.”

His eyes sharpened.

You ride him harder.

The rhythm turns filthy fast, all slick friction and blunt impact, your thighs burning as you bounce on his cock, your nails raking down his chest while he stares up at you like he’s being punished and blessed at the same time. His hips thrust up to meet you, rough little snaps that shove him deeper and make your voice break into helpless sounds you can’t dress up as anything else.

“Ah— fuck, jungkook—”

“Mm, yeah? Right there?” he grits out, sweat and rain still shining at his temples. “Use me. Fucking use me if that’s what you need.”

“You’d like that too much.”

“I like anything that keeps you on me.”

The honesty was disgusting.

But it made you wetter.

You hate that he can feel it, hate the way his mouth opens on a silent groan when your body slicks around him, taking him easier, louder. He reaches between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your hips stutter. Pleasure sparks through you so suddenly your pace falters.

“No,” he says, voice raw. “Don’t stop.”

“You don’t get to tell me—”

“I know. I know, baby, I know.”

The word hits like a hand around your throat.

You freeze.

His face drains the instant he realizes.

The room fills with both of you breathing too hard.

“I told you,” you say, each word low and trembling, “not to call me that.”

His hand leaves your clit, but his thumb remains slick against your skin. “It slipped.

“I doubt that.”

His eyes hold yours, guilty and stubborn. “Fine. I meant it.”

The confession lands with unbearable softness in the dirtiest possible place. You straddling him, full of him, your thighs spread over his hips while another woman’s missed call sits between you like a witness.

You should climb off.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean down and bite his neck.

Jungkook groans, loud and ruined, his hands locking around your waist as his hips buck up into you. You bite harder, then soothe it with your tongue, and his whole body shudders beneath you.

“No soft names,” you whisper against his skin. “No playing a facade. No making this pretty because you can’t stand what it is.”

His voice comes out uneven. “Then what do you want me to call you?”

You lift your head, holding his gaze as you start moving again, slow at first, grinding every inch of him into you.

“Nothing,” you say. “I want you too fucked out to speak.”

His pupils blow wide.

Then you give him exactly that.

You ride him with both hands planted on his chest, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles before lifting and dropping again. He tries to talk at first, little fragments of curses and your name, but the harder you move, the less language he has. His mouth falls open. His brows pinch. His hands slide to your ass in a tight grip, helping you take him, pulling you down each time his hips thrust up.

The sound was obscene.

Wet skin. Creaking mattress. Your breath breaking. His low, strangled grunts. The slick slap of your body meeting his. Every noise tells the truth neither of you can survive saying cleanly.

You feel your orgasm building again, thicker this time, fed by anger and shame and the relentless pressure of him inside you. His thumb returns to your clit without permission, and you’re too far gone to stop him. The circles are messy now, desperate, but they’re exactly right. Your thighs tremble around his hips.

Jungkook watches you start to fall apart.

“Yeah, come on,” he rasps. “Let me feel it."

You shake your head, even as your body tightens. “You don’t even deserve it.”

“No,” he agrees, breathless. “I don’t.”

That should not be what does it.

It does.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you with a force that makes your rhythm collapse. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clamping down around him in pulsing waves while jungkook swears beneath you, hands squeezing your ass as he fucks up into the tightness.

“Fuck— fuck, you’re so tight—”

Your body shakes over his, pleasure turning your anger molten, spreading through every nerve until all you can do is take the rough upward thrusts he gives you. His control is shredded now. You can see it in his face, hear it in the low, broken sounds spilling out of him.

He sits up again, arms locking around you, burying his face against your throat as he drives into you from below.

“I’m so close,” he whines.

“Then come.”

His grip tightens. “Say my name.”

You laugh breathlessly, cruel even now. “No.”

His hips stutter.

You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping his jaw in both hands. His eyes are glossy, desperate, fixed on you with a devotion that makes your chest hurt.

“Look at me while you do it,” you whisper. “Look at what you came here for.”

That ruins him.

Jungkook comes with a broken, guttural moan, hips slamming up one last time as his body locks beneath yours. His hands clutch you so hard it almost hurts, his face twisting with pleasure and guilt and something far more dangerous than either. You feel him pulse inside the condom, feel the tremors roll through him as he buries himself as deep as he can and shakes apart under you.

For several seconds, neither of you moves.

His forehead rests against your collarbone. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair. The room smelled like rain, sex, sweat, and the bitter aftermath of a choice made again.

Then his phone lights up once more.

A message this time.

The glow spills across the sheets.

Jungkook sees it over your shoulder.

His body still inside yours when his expression breaks.

You don’t turn to read it.

You don’t need to.

When you finally slip off of him, neither of you says anything.

It doesn't take jungkook long before he gets up to get dressed in his briefs and pants, then deals with the condom in your bathroom. You listen to the faucet run. You listen to him wash his hands like water can do anything for either of you. Your body still hums with aftershocks, damp and oversensitive, but the ache settling in your chest is sharper than anything between your legs.

When he comes back, he doesn’t get back into bed.

He stands near the doorway, naked from the waist up, trousers low on his hips, looking around the room as if he’s only just realized where he is.

You pull the sheet over yourself.

“She might call again,” you say.

His eyes drop to the nightstand.

“I know.”

“You should answer next time.”

He looks at you then. “Stop.”

The plea in his voice irritates you. “You don't get to sound wounded.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You are. You always do. You look at me like I’m hurting you by pointing at the knife in your hand.”

His face goes pale in the low light.

For once, he has nothing to say.

Good.

Let there be a silence he can’t kiss his way through.

Jungkook turns away first. He finds his shirt on the floor and pulls it on, the fabric sticking slightly to his damp skin. You watch him dress because not watching feels too much like mercy. He buckles his belt. Checks his phone. The blue glow hollows out his face.

There it is.

That shift.

The man who had just fallen apart inside you disappears behind the man who knows what to type.

His thumbs move quickly.

“What are you saying?” you ask.

He keeps looking at the screen, the blue light catching the tired slope of his mouth. “'Missed her call because I went out for air.”

You stare at him.

The lie sounds so ordinary that it takes a second for the ugliness to catch up.

“Do you ever get tired?” You tilt your head.

Jungkook’s thumbs pause over the keyboard, eyebrow raised. “Of what?”

“Splitting yourself in half.”

His face doesn’t change much, but something in his eyes does. A small shift. A shutter pulled down too late.

He locks the phone and lets it hang at his side.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

The room still smells like him. Rain, sweat, the faint trace of his cologne clinging stubbornly to the sheets. Your skin cooling now, and the cold reaches you in places his hands had been warm minutes ago. You pull the sheet higher over your chest, more out of reflex than modesty.

Jungkook watches the movement.

The silence stretches long enough to make the air feel crowded.

Then he exhales and looks toward the hallway. “I should go before she calls again.”

Of course.

There it is, the inevitable shape of the night. The part where he turns from body back into husband. The part where you sit in your own bed and watch him collect himself piece by piece like he didn’t just leave parts of himself inside the room.

You don’t answer.

Jungkook checks his phone again. His jaw tenses, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you notice everything now. You have become fluent in the smallest failures of him.

“Go, then,” you say.

It comes out flatter than you expect.

He looks over.

You don’t meet his eyes. You trace a wrinkle in the sheet with your thumb, smoothing it down, then watching it rise again. Useless. Like everything else.

He says your name softly.

You hate that he can still make it sound careful.

“I’m not doing the doorway thing tonight,” you say.

“The doorway thing?”

“You standing there looking guilty until I say something that makes you feel less awful.”

His mouth parts slightly, then closes. He looks tired in a way sleep will not fix.

“That’s fair,” he says after a moment.

You laugh under your breath, almost soundless. “Great. Glad we landed on fair.”

He flinches at that, but doesn’t argue.

He leaves the bedroom to find the rest of his things. You hear him in the hallway, hear the wet drag of his coat being lifted from where it had fallen near the entrance, hear him step around the small puddle he left on your floor. The apartment settles around his movements with humiliating familiarity. He knows where his shoes are. He knows which hook snags his sleeve. He knows that the floorboard near the console creaks if he puts his weight on it.

He knows too much about a place he has no right to know.

On the narrow table by the door, his wedding ring sits beside your keys.

He had taken it off earlier with that grim little look on his face, as if the act cost him something noble. You’d watched him place it there. You’d watched the band catch the hallway light.

Now you wait for the sound of him picking it up.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he comes back into the bedroom doorway with his coat on and his phone in his hand, his hair half-dry, his lips still faintly swollen from your mouth. His left hand hangs loosely at his side.

Bare.

The strip of paler skin around his finger is visible even in the dim room.

You notice immediately.

He doesn’t.

For some reason, that makes your throat tighten.

It’s ridiculous. It’s just a ring. A circle of metal. A promise he has already dragged through enough mud to bury it. Still, the sight of his empty hand hits you harder than expected. Without the ring, he looks less anchored to the life he is about to return to. More like the man who kissed you in your hallway. More like the man who had buried his face against your neck after coming and held on too tight.

You wish you hadn’t seen it.

Jungkook steps into the room, but not far. “I’ll text when I get back.”

You nod once.

He waits.

You can feel him trying to read you, trying to decide whether your quiet is anger, exhaustion, or the kind of hurt he should be afraid of. He has always been better with your anger. Anger gives him edges to hold. This quiet has no handle.

“Hey,” he says, softer now.

You keep your gaze on the sheet. “What?”

“What's wrong?"

That almost makes you smile, but it misses. “Nothing, jungkook."

“Still lying?”

You hate that he knew.

A few seconds pass before the mattress dips beside you. You look up despite yourself. Jungkook came back to the bed, one knee pressing into the sheets, his coat still on like he meant to leave and lost the thread halfway through.

His eyes move over your face, searching, and the concern there lands in the worst possible place.

“Don’t do that,” you say, but there’s no bite in it.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I’m something you can fix before you go home.”

He swallows. His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles carefully against your cheek.

You should turn away.

You don’t.

His palm is warm. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, not wiping anything away because you aren’t crying. That somehow makes the gesture worse. Tenderness without evidence. Comfort offered to a wound neither of you will name.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he says. “I just don’t like leaving you like this."

Your laugh comes out thin. “You leave me like this all the time.”

“I leave you pissed off,” he says quietly. “This is different.”

That shuts you up.

He’s right, and you resent him for it.

When you’re angry, you can throw words at him until he bleeds enough to satisfy you. When you’re angry, he can take it, nod through it, let your cruelty balance the scale for a few minutes. Tonight, the anger has burned down to something quieter and heavier. You feel hollowed out, scraped clean by pleasure and shame and the sound of his wife’s name lighting up your room.

Jungkook sits fully on the edge of the bed.

His coat rustles. Rainwater darkens the fabric at his shoulders. He looks absurdly out of place and painfully familiar.

“Come here,” he says.

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“You’re literally about to go.”

“I haven’t left yet.”

“That’s not romantic, jungkook.”

“'Wasn't aiming for romantic.”

“Then what?”

He looks at you for a long second, and when he answers, his voice is low enough that it feels pulled from somewhere private. “I wanted to hold you for a minute without pretending it’s nothing.”

The sentence lands with no decoration, which makes it harder to dismiss.

You look away first.

“That’s selfish.”

“Probably.”

“At least you’re branching out from excuses.”

His mouth curves faintly, but the expression doesn’t last. “Yeah. I’m trying new ways to be terrible.”

It should not make warmth flicker in your chest.

You let out a breath, annoyed with him, annoyed with yourself, and then you shift closer before you can think better of it.

Jungkook’s arms come around you immediately.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Just firm.

He pulls you against his chest, coat and all, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other settles between your shoulder blades. For a second, you stay stiff in his arms, sheet gathered awkwardly between your bodies, your cheek pressed to the damp collar of his coat. He smells like outside air and skin and the rain he brought in with him.

Then your body betrays you in a new way.

You relax.

It happens slowly, then all at once. Your forehead drops against his shoulder. Your fingers curl loosely into the front of his shirt beneath the open coat. He exhales above you, and you feel it move through his ribs.

Neither of you speaks.

This affection is worse than the sex in some ways. Sex can be made ugly enough to survive. Sex can be blamed on impulse, loneliness, the body’s talent for ruining common sense. This is harder to excuse. His hand smoothing over your hair. His mouth pressing once to your temple. The way he holds you like he has done it in dreams and is trying to memorize the real weight.

“You should go,” you murmur, though you make no effort to move.

“I will.”

“Soon.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still holding me.”

“I noticed.”

You close your eyes. “Asshole.”

His chest moves with a quiet laugh. “A little.”

“A lot.”

"I deserved that."

His fingers slide slowly through your hair, separating strands with a gentleness that makes something under your ribs ache. He kisses your temple again, then the side of your head, his lips lingering longer the second time.

“You always this quiet after?” he asks.

You think about lying.

“No.”

His hand stills for half a second.

Then he resumes the slow stroke over your hair. “Is it because of the call?”

“It’s because of all of it.”

He nods against you, a small movement.

You feel his throat shift as he swallows. “I hate that I’m the reason you feel like that.”

You pull back just enough to see him. “Then stop being the reason.”

He doesn’t answer.

There is the truth, sitting between you without needing to be dressed up. He can feel bad. He can hold you. He can kiss your forehead in your dark bedroom with his coat still wet from the rain. None of that means he will make the choice that would cost him the life waiting elsewhere.

Your gaze drops to his hand on the sheet.

Bare.

The sight punches through the moment again.

He follows your eyes, but before he can look properly, his phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

Both of you freeze.

The buzz is short and sharp against his chest, trapped between you. Jungkook’s arms loosen around you, and the spell breaks so quickly it is almost embarrassing.

He takes the phone out and glances at it.

His face changes.

Not dramatically. Just enough.

You already know.

“What's she saying?” you ask.

He looks torn for a second, then sighs. “She’s asking where I am.”

You move out of his arms.

This time he lets you.

The room cools instantly.

Jungkook types with one hand, slower now, as if every letter weighs something. You sit beside him wrapped in the sheet and watch the pale indentation on his ring finger while he lies to his wife.

The absurdity almost makes you laugh.

When he finishes, he pockets the phone and stands.

“I have to go.”

You nod.

Ultimately, there was nothing else to do.

He leans down as if to kiss your mouth, then stops himself.

You notice that too.

Something bitter sparks in you. “You can fuck me, but goodbye is where you find religion?”

His eyes sharpen with hurt, then soften into something ashamed. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He looks at your mouth.

For one second, he seems like he might give in. Instead, he bends and presses a kiss to your forehead. It is warm, brief, and devastatingly careful.

“I don’t kiss you goodbye because if I do, I won’t leave when I’m supposed to,” he says against your skin.

Your breath catches despite every effort to stop it.

He straightens before you can respond.

Coward.

Maybe both of you.

You follow him to the front door, still wrapped in the sheet. The apartment is dim, the hallway light casting everything in weak gold. His wet footprints have dulled on the floor. Your ergonomic mat is bent at one corner from where he kicked it earlier.

The ring sits on the narrow table beside your keys.

You see it.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook shoves one foot into his shoe, then the other, distracted by another buzz from his phone. He checks the screen, tension pulling through his shoulders.

“똥,” he mutters. Shit.

You lean against the wall. “Trouble?”

“She’s asking if I took the car.”

“Did you?”

He looks up at you. “Obviously.”

“Hm, you're not very good at this.”

“I’m better when you’re not staring at me.”

“That was almost sweet.”

“It really wasn’t meant to be.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches.

He sees it, and for a second the expression on his face changes so quickly it hurts. Relief. Affection. Want. All of it there and gone before he can protect either of you from it.

He steps closer.

You think he might touch you again. He doesn’t, at first. He only looks at you, really looks, as if the quiet from earlier still bothers him.

Then he reaches out and tucks the sheet more securely around your shoulder where it had slipped.

The gesture is small.

Too domestic.

Your heart reacts like an idiot.

“You’re cold,” he says.

“I’ll live.”

“I know you will.” His thumb brushes the edge of the sheet near your collarbone. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You stare at him, thrown by the plainness of it.

He seems thrown too.

For a second, there is no affair in the room. No wife. No emergency contact name. No wet floor, no missed call, no ring in plain sight. Just Jungkook looking at you like leaving is taking effort.

Then his phone buzzes again.

Reality returns with terrible timing.

He closes his eyes for half a second. “Gotta go.”

“Fourth time, goodbye jungkook.”

He chuckles under his breath before he opens the door, cold hallway air slipping in around him.

Before he steps out, he turns back. “Thursday?”

The question is quieter than usual.

You could still say no. You could point to the table and say take your ring, take your guilt, take whatever you think this is, and don’t come back. The words are all there, lined up and ready.

Instead, your gaze flicks to his bare hand.

He notices the movement this time, but he misunderstands it. His fingers flex, and he looks down briefly, distracted, not long enough to register what’s missing. Then his attention returns to you.

You say, “Don’t come if you’re only going to feel bad about it afterwards.”

His mouth tightens. “That rules out most nights.”

“Then maybe sit with that.”

A quiet, pained laugh leaves him. “You’re mean when you’re sad.”

“Imagine how charming I’ll be when I’m happy.”

His eyes soften.

He reaches out, touches your cheek once, and this time you let the tenderness happen without pretending it doesn’t matter. His thumb moves along your skin, slow and careful.

“I’ll see you thursday,” he says, but it sounds less like confidence and more like a confession of weakness.

You don’t answer.

He leaves.

The door closes with a soft click.

You stand there for several seconds, listening to his footsteps move down the hall. The elevator dings. The doors open. Close. The building swallows him the way it always does.

Only then do you turn toward the table.

His wedding ring gleams beside your keys.

Forgotten.

For a while, you just simply stare at it.

It looks wrong in your apartment. Too bright. Too official. A little circle of proof sitting among your ordinary things. Keys, lip balm, a receipt from the convenience store, the tiny ceramic dish where you keep loose coins. It should be on his hand, catching light when he grips the steering wheel on the way back to her. It should be in his house, beside her toothbrush, beneath the roof where his lies have somewhere to land.

Instead, it's here.

With you.

Your stomach twists.

You pick it up.

The band is heavier than you expect, warm from the room or from memory. You turn it between your fingers, studying the smooth gold, the faint scratches along the outside. Marriage leaves marks even on metal.

Your phone lights up in the bedroom.

For a second, you don’t move.

Then you carry the ring with you, crossing the cold floor back into the wreck of your room. The screen glows against the twisted sheets.

Jungcuck

just got to the car

Another message comes through before the screen dims.

Jungcuck

hope you don't hate me

You stare at it, the ring pressed into your palm. Then another.

Jungcuck

don't like leaving you like this

Your throat tightens.

The affection at the end should make it easier. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing more unbearable. Cruelty has clean edges. Tenderness seeps.

You sit on the edge of the bed.

The ring rests in your open palm, innocent and damning.

You type slowly.

You

you forgot something

The reply doesn’t come right away.

You imagine him in the driver’s seat, phone in one hand, rain streaking the windshield, his other hand maybe reaching automatically for the gear shift. Maybe he glances down then. Maybe his thumb brushes the bare place on his finger.

When his message appears, it is only one word.

Jungcuck

fuck

Jungcuck

my ring?

You look at the gold band in your hand.

You

yeah

A pause.

Long enough for him to swear out loud, maybe. Long enough for him to understand that the thing he uses to return to his life is sitting in your bedroom after he held you too sweetly and left too fast.

Jungcuck

I’ll come back

You breathe out a laugh with no humor in it.

You

she’s awake jungkook

Jungcuck

I’ll figure it out

You stare at that.

That was jungkook in four words. Not a plan. Not a promise. Just impulse dressed as certainty.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You could tell him no. You could tell him to explain the missing ring. You could keep it until Thursday. You could drop it into the little ceramic dish by the door and let it sit there among coins and spare keys like any other misplaced thing.

Instead, you set the ring on your nightstand.

Exactly where his phone had lit up earlier. It sits there beneath the lamp, bright and silent.

You type back.

You

not tonight

The typing bubbles appear almost immediately.

Disappear.

Appear again.

Jungcuck

please don't do this rn

Your chest aches at the word “please”.

You

I’m not doing anything. You left it.

Jungcuck

I was distracted

You

clearly

A longer pause follows.

Jungcuck

were you going to tell me?

You look toward the hallway, toward the table where it had been sitting in plain view while he touched your cheek and asked about Thursday. You think of his bare hand. His tired eyes. The way he noticed your quiet but not the missing weight on his finger.

You answer honestly.

You

I have to remind a married man he's married?

The message sends.

Rain taps gently at the window. The apartment feels too still now, as if it is waiting to see what kind of person you become with his marriage on your nightstand.

Jungkook doesn’t respond for almost a full minute.

Then your phone lights again.

Jungcuck

touché

You hate that reply.

You hate it because it gives you nowhere to put the anger. No argument to throw yourself against. No denial to tear apart.

Another message follows.

Jungcuck

I’ll get it thursday if you’ll keep it safe for me

The phrase makes something bitter rise in your throat.

"Keep it safe."

As if safety is a thing either of you knows how to offer.

You look at the ring.

Then at the message.

You

fine

His reply comes fast.

Jungcuck

thank you

You don’t answer but he does a few seconds later.

Jungcuck

and for what it’s worth, I meant what I said before I left

You don’t ask which part.

You already knew.

That he didn’t like leaving you quiet. That he wanted to hold you without pretending it was nothing. That if he kissed you goodbye, he might not leave.

All of it. None of it enough.

You put the phone face down.

The room is quiet except for the rain and the slow settling of your own breath. Your sheets are a mess. Your skin still carries him. Your hallway floor is marked by the water he tracked in and the absence he left behind.

On the nightstand, his wedding ring catches the lamplight.

It looks almost pretty there.

And that felt like the worst part.

𐔌 ՞26 © all rights reserved @ imnoomin 𐦯 do not copy, translate, or repost my works without permission.

Themes : emotionally unavailable! Jungkook , unlabeled relationship, friends with benefits(kind of), fear of commitment, one-sided devotion, accidental pregnancy, absent father (he doesn’t know), girl dad! Jungkook, second chances, yearning, found family, angst with happy ending

⤷ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

The Life She Built

Y/N settled into her new life quickly. She worked as a teacher at the kindergarten that had opened a few months ago, just down the road from her parents’ house.

Her parents didn't think the job was necessary, but she insisted. She told them it was because one day she'd have to take care of a child of her own and though she hated to admit it, she took it partly because she didn't want to think about him, she needed to keep her mind busy, her hands full, her heart distracted.

But somehow, after a few weeks of keeping herself occupied whenever she could, she found herself thinking about him anyway. About Jungkook. Not in the quiet moments, but in the crowded ones. Surrounded by people she enjoyed, buried in work, laughing at something a kid said, he'd slip in between the cracks, sharper and more often than in silence.

Jungkook would love this kid.

If Jungkook were here, he'd have laughed his ass off.

Jungkook would call this his new favourite dish.

The nights were worse. Alone in bed, Y/N would gently rub her belly and whisper to her child about little things, big things, everything. Her childhood, her day, how she almost threw up at the word ‘fart’, just the word itself. Pregnancy was terrifying, and spending every day around children didn't help. When the kids first noticed she was pregnant, one little girl stood up proudly, reciting with absolute "Mama told me babies are made out of love." Y/N smiled at the time. She cried when she got home, souldn't stop and cried herself to sleep. Once, during lunch, the sound of children chewing sent her running to the bathroom.

She whispered to her baby about Jungkook too. "Jungkook is your dad, but nobody has to know. We don't want an asshole like him in our lives." And then, quieter "Do you think he would've loved me differently if he knew about you? Do you think there was ever a moment, even a small one, when he actually loved me?"

_____

Jiho and Y/N talked every day. Jiho came over every weekend.

"How is everyone else doing?" Y/N asked one evening, making an americano for herself and Jiho. Jiho had been a lifeline. She took care of Y/N, looked after her, even bought her an espresso machine just so she didn't have to survive on instant coffee.

"They're okay. Same as always. We miss you so much. Mingyu suggested a surprise visit and I had to come up with so many lame excuses I've lost count." Jiho's voice carried a weight she couldn't hide. "I don't think we can keep this quiet much longer."

She felt guilty, keeping something this big from their friends, lying by omission every single day. But it was for Y/N. There were close calls, like that one time she'd mentioned Y/N's cravings and someone asked what cravings, and she'd covered it up with a quick "period cravings." The lie sat sour in her stomach every time.

Y/N felt it too. Eunwoo and Mingyu checked on her constantly, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the boys found out. She could only hope they'd understand. "I know," Y/N said, her voice quiet, threadbare. "I feel awful too. But you know I have to do this."

Jiho nodded. She knew Y/N's decision was the only one that made sense right now. Still, every time she saw Jungkook, she had to fight the urge to kick him square in the balls. And sometimes, when the weight of it all pressed down on her chest , she wanted to cry. Because her best friend was carrying his child and they were hiding it from him.

________

Jungkook had asked Jiho about Y/N once. Just once. She'd given him nothing, a shrug, a vague she's fine and he hadn't had the courage to ask again. But he felt the emptiness more than he'd expected to. He missed her. Her presence. Her jokes that weren't even funny. Her laugh. Her scent. He started dating again, hoping someone new could fill the space she'd left. It didn't last.

One night, in the middle of it all, while his girlfriend was on top of him, breath heavy, moving, he moaned a name that wasn't hers.

Y/N.

Her hips stopped. His eyes shot open. She slapped him so hard his jaw throbbed until the next morning. Without a word, she got up, pulled her clothes on, and walked out. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled. Jungkook fell back onto the bed, both hands covering his face. "I need therapy," he whispered to the ceiling.

That was the last time he tried. No more girlfriends. No more hookups. No more pretending someone else could be her.

________

It was late — the kind of late where the city dims and the only sounds are the hum of streetlamps and the distant bark of a dog. Jiho had been home, already in her sleep clothes, when her phone buzzed with Mingyu's name on the screen. He needed help packing the delivery orders. She sighed, changed, and went. The shop was warm when she stepped inside, the overhead lights casting a tired yellow glow over scattered piles of folded clothes. Boxes sat half open on the floor, a roll of tape had rolled under the table. It was normal Messy. Chaotic. The kind of chaos she'd grown used to being around.

Jiho grabbed the list and began checking items one by one, crossing off names with a pen she found tucked behind her ear. Jungkook worked beside her, folding, matching, stacking in silence. Mingyu and Jaehyun had been out delivering since evening, their van cutting through streets Jiho knew by heart. Eunwoo sat in the corner, phone pressed to his ear, handling calls and messages in a low, tired voice. The air was thick with routine. And then Jungkook spoke, "Are you visiting Y/N soon?"

Jiho's hand froze mid check. The pen hovered over the paper. It caught her off guard, not because the question was strange, but because it was him asking it. Jungkook hadn't said Y/N's name since she left. Not once. He carried her absence like a bruise he never touched, never acknowledged, never let anyone see. And now, standing among folded shirts and half taped boxes, he'd finally broken the silence. Jiho forced her voice steady. "Mmhm. I'm actually visiting her tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded. A small stiff motion. His hands kept folding a pair of jeans, then a sweater, but his fingers moved slower now, like his mind was elsewhere, swimming through waters he'd been avoiding.

"Tell her I said Hi."

The words came out quiet. Casual. Almost throwaway but beneath them, buried in the space between his syllables, there was a whole universe of things he didn't say.

He wanted to tell Jiho to tell Y/N that he was sorry. That he woke up some mornings reaching for a side of the bed that was cold. That her laugh played on a loop in his head at night when he couldn't sleep. That he saw her face in crowds, in the reflection of shop windows, in the pause before he fell asleep. That he missed her, not the idea of her, but her. The weight of her. The warmth. The way she'd scrunch her nose when she laughed at her own bad jokes.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. That he'd always loved her. That the reason he pushed her away, let her go, didn't fight for her was because he was terrified. Not of her, but of what she made him feel. Of how deeply she'd carved herself into him. Of the kind of love that asks you to be vulnerable, to be seen, to trust that someone won't leave even when they know every broken piece of you. He wanted to say all of it.

But he didn't.

Because deep down, even if he couldnt fully accept it, even if it sat like a stone in his chest every single day he knew. Y/N was better off without him. She was happier. Or at least, she was learning to be. And he had no right to disturb that peace, no matter how much his own world felt like it was crumbling without her.

So he just folded another shirt and said nothing more.

_________

If you asked Jungkook what love was, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Not in words. Not in definitions or poetry or songs. He'd fumble, shake his head, change the subject.

But he knew it through Y/N.

He knew it in the way she kissed him, slow and deliberate, he knew it when she chose him over and over again. He knew from the way she pulled him close while their bodies are pressed together, swallowing each other’s words and moans, their souls intertwined.

_______

Y/N's pregnancy went better than anyone had expected. Her body adjusted in ways she hadn't dared to hope for, the morning sickness faded after the first trimester, the exhaustion settled into something manageable, and the wild swings of emotion became quieter, like waves that had learned to recede instead of crash. Her life, strangely, began to piece itself together.

She woke up in the mornings without that familiar weight pressing down on her chest. She went to work, came home, cooked meals she actually ate, slept through the night more often than not. There was a rhythm to it. A soft, gentle hum that hadn't existed when he was still in her life.

Sometimes, when Jungkook wandered into her mind uninvited, in the middle of grading a child's drawing or while stirring soup on the stove, she would curse him. Call him a stain on her timeline, a curse she had to break. Because look at her now. Look at how everything had fallen into place the moment she walked away. Her life felt safer. Calmer. Like she could finally breathe without splinters in her lungs.

See? she'd tell herself. It was him. He was the problem.

But she never believed it. Not really.

Because beneath the bitterness, beneath the anger she clung to like armor, Y/N had never stopped loving Jungkook. She didn't know when it would end. Didn't know if it would end. It was stubborn, rooted deep in places she couldn't reach to pull it out.

And how could she forget him, when she carried a part of him with her everywhere she went? When she felt his heartbeat under her own ribs? When she talked to her belly at night and heard echoes of his voice in hers?

She didn't know how to stop loving someone who had become a part of her blood.

Maybe she never would.

________

Everything went well. Better than well, like the universe had decided to give her this one thing without a fight.

Her water didn't break on the way to the hospital. There were no complications, no sudden panic, no moment where the world tilted off its axis. The pregnancy hadn't been as bad as she'd feared, she'd handled it, somehow, handled it well. And when the time came, her body knew what to do. Ten hours. That was all it took. Ten hours of labor, with Jiho's hand in hers the entire time, never letting go.

When Y/N first heard her baby cry, everything around her went mute. The machines, the voices, the distant bustle of the hospital, all of it disappeared, swallowed by a single sound. That cry. Raw and new and so impossibly alive. Tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them, streaming silently down her temples as she lay there, breathless.The nurse lifted the baby, wiped her clean, and placed her on Y/N's chest with a warm smile.

"It's a girl."

The world stopped.

Y/N looked down at the tiny body resting against her, skin to skin, warm and damp and trembling with each small breath. She was so small, so impossibly small. Her fingers curled into fists no bigger than the tip of Y/N's thumb. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt like the most important sound in the universe.

My babygirl.

She didn't realize she'd whispered it until she heard her own voice, soft, cracked, full of something she couldn't name.

The nurse draped a cloth over the baby's back, drying her gently while she lay on Y/N's chest, then covered them both with a warm blanket. The baby nuzzled instinctively, searching for warmth she already knew, and within minutes, she was asleep. Peaceful. Curled up like she'd never left the safety of Y/N's belly.

The doctor stepped out to update her parents that the mother and baby were healthy. No complications, a perfect delivery.

But Y/N barely heard any of it. She couldn't take her eyes off the baby. "She's so tiny," she whispered, over and over, like a prayer she couldn't stop saying. She studied every inch of her. Her skin, still flushed red, softening into pink. Her tiny hands, faintly blue at the fingertips. The way she slept with her face turned slightly toward Y/N's heartbeat, as if she still recognized it. As if she knew she was home. Y/N lay there, her arms wrapped around her daughter, and let the silence settle around them like a second blanket.

She didn't think about Jungkook. Not yet. For now, there was only this, her babygirl, warm and safe sleeping on her chest like she'd always belonged there.

Jiho started staying over more often after the birth, showing up with groceries, taking over night feeds so Y/N could sleep, holding Jiyeon while Y/N showered. Y/N's mother took leave from work until she was fully recovered, and her father made sure they never wanted for anything. He showed up with bags of food, medicine, vitamins and a few weeks after they got home from the hospital, he started bringing toys too. A plush bunny. A rattle shaped like a star. A tiny dress that Y/N cried over before Jiyeon even grew into it.

There wasn't a single moment when Y/N felt like she needed Jungkook by her side. Not one. She was happy. Safe and loved. Surrounded by people who showed up without being asked, who held her when she cried, who celebrated every small milestone like it was their own.

Her mother had suggested the name. Jiyeon. She'll grow up to be a beautiful woman, she'd said, full of wisdom and grace. Just like her mother.

Y/N had smiled, cheeks wet, and agreed. She felt it all, the happiness, the excitement, the overwhelming swell of emotion every time she thought about raising a daughter.

A mini her

But she was oh so wrong.

Time passed quickly, the way it always does when you're too busy living to notice. Jiyeon grew up faster than Y/N had ever prepared herself for.

The first time she stood up on her own, Y/N was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. She turned around and there she was, tiny hands gripping the edge of the coffee table, legs wobbling, face scrunched in concentration. And then she let go. One second. Two. Standing on her own two feet like she'd been doing it her whole life. Y/N burst into tears. Right there, mug in hand, crying like a child herself. Because it felt like just yesterday she'd held her for the first time, that warm, tiny weight against her chest, still pink, still learning how to breathe. And now she was standing. Leaving the newborn days behind whether Y/N was ready or not. It all felt like a dream. A beautiful, blurry, heartbreaking dream.

And the fact that Jiyeon looked exactly like Jungkook didn't help.

It was uncanny, really. The same eyes, dark, deep, and huge. The kind that crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The same nose, the same lips, the same smile that could light up an entire room and break your heart in the same breath. She was his replica. A tiny, walking, breathing copy of the man Y/N had spent years trying to forget.

Y/N sometimes hated it. Hated that her daughter took so little from her. She'd search Jiyeon's face for something that was undeniably hers, and all she could find was her hair. The same shade, the same texture. Everything else, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her ears, the way she tilted her head when she was curious, all Jungkook.

As Jiyeon grew, her personality followed the same path. She was stubborn in a way that felt familiar. Loud when she wanted attention, quiet when she was observing. She loved certain foods and hated others with a passion that made no sense for a child her age. She tapped her fingers on tables when she was bored. She bit her lip when she was thinking. She laughed with her whole body, throwing her head back like the world was the funniest place to be with her bunny teeth showing.

All of it. Every single habit. Every like, every dislike, every little quirk.

Him.

"At least her first word wasn't 'Dada,'" Y/N would mutter to herself on the hard days, when Jiyeon looked at her with those eyes and she felt her chest crack open. She said it like a prayer, like a small victory she could hold onto. A tiny comfort. She said 'Mama' first. That's mine. That one thing is mine.

And yet, Y/N looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully, her face a perfect copy of a man she once loved, maybe still loved and she felt it. That fullness in her chest. That warmth that spread through her like sunlight.

Everything in her life was complete. Everything she had dreamed of, everything she had ever wished for, was right here in front of her.

Even if it came wrapped in a face that reminded her, every single day, of what she'd left behind.

_________

Two years passed within a blink.

Just like that. Two whole years, gone like smoke through open fingers.

Within those two years, Y/N learned more than she had in the decade before. She learned how to survive on three hours of sleep and still function. She learned that love doesn't always look like what the movies show, sometimes it looks like vomit on your favorite shirt at 2 a.m., like rocking a screaming baby for hours until your arms go numb, like crying in the bathroom because you're so tired you can't remember the last time you felt like yourself.

She learned that you can leave someone you thought you couldn't live without. That the world doesn't stop turning. That your heart keeps beating, even when you're sure it's broken beyond repair and she learned that sometimes, when you lose one kind of love, the universe blesses you with another.

Two years passed so quickly, with so much happening, that Y/N sometimes couldn't tell the difference between her dreams and actual moments that happened. Was that a real memory, Jiyeon's first laugh, bubbling up from her tiny chest like honey or had she imagined it so many times that it felt real? She didn't know anymore. The days blurred together, soft and warm and exhausting, and she let them.

She never spoke of Jungkook anymore. Not to Jiho, not to her mother, not to anyone. His name sat in her throat like a stone she'd learned to swallow. But that didn't mean she thought about him less.

If anything, she thought about him more.

He was there in every little moment from the moment she held Jiyeon in her arms alone for the first time. In every big one. The day Jiyeon laughed for the first time. The day Jiyeon took her first steps, wobbling, determined, arms outstretched, Y/N watched and thought of him. The day she said her first word. Mama. Y/N cried and laughed and held her close, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard his voice. When Jiyeon started feeding herself, smearing food across her face like war paint, Y/N laughed until her stomach hurt. And then she thought of him.

He was everywhere. In the curve of Jiyeon's smile, in the stubborn set of her jaw, in the way she hummed when she was focused on a toy. He was in the air she breathed, in the silence before sleep, in the spaces between heartbeats.

Y/N had stopped speaking his name. But she had never stopped carrying him with her. She had just learned how to live with the weight.

_______

Jungkook knew the feeling of losing a loved one well. He had learned it young, learned it deeply, learned it in ways that carved themselves into his bones and never quite healed.

And he knew, better than most, that death wasn't the only thing that could come between people.

The first time he felt it, he was just a boy.

His parents sold his dog, his best friend, his shadow, the only living thing that greeted him with pure, uninhibited joy at the end of every school day. He came home one afternoon and the house was quieter. No barking. No scratching at the door. Too much trouble, they said. Distracting you from your studies. He didn't cry in front of them. He waited until he was in his room, face buried in his pillow, and let the tears soak through until there was nothing left. He never asked for another dog. He never asked for anything again.

The second time was when they moved to Seoul, leaving his grandmother behind in Busan.

She had been his everything. She was the one who cleaned the scratches on his knees when he fell off his bike, humming an old tune as she dabbed alcohol on the wound. She was the one who tucked him in at night, smoothing the blanket over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead like he was the most precious thing in the world. She was the one who held him when he cried, who never told him to stop, who let him fall apart in her arms and put him back together with nothing but her presence.

She was the only person who ever made him feel like his existence mattered.

And then they took her away from him. Not through death, through distance. Through a move he had no say in. Through weekend phone calls that grew shorter and fewer until they stopped altogether. He visited her sometimes, but it was never the same. The warmth was still there, but the miles between them had stretched it thin, like elastic that had lost its snap.

The third time happened when he was in high school.

By then, Jungkook had already learned to keep most of himself hidden. He didn't ask for things anymore. Didn't expect much from the people around him. He had learned, early on, that wanting things only led to disappointment, so he stopped wanting. Or at least, he stopped showing it.

But music and art—those found him anyway. It started small. A melody he couldn't get out of his head, scribbled on the margin of a textbook. A drawing of the view from his window, done in ballpoint pen because he didn't have proper pencils. Slowly, it became the only thing that made sense. When the world felt too loud, too heavy, too suffocating, he picked up his guitar. He let his fingers move across the strings until the noise in his head quieted down. He drew until his hand cramped, filling page after page with shapes and shadows that didn't need words.

It was his escape. His way of breathing. His way of saying everything he couldn't say out loud. His father never understood it. To his father, music was a distraction. Art was a waste of time. Everything that didn't lead to a stable job, a stable future, a stable life, it was useless. And Jungkook, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had never been given the space to try let the distance grow between them like cracks in dry soil.

Until one night. The night that broke whatever was left. He couldn't remember what started the fight. Maybe it was about his grades. Maybe it was about the hours he spent locked in his room. Maybe it was about nothing at all, just two people who had never learned how to talk to each other, finally reaching the end of a very short rope.

But he remembered the end. He remembered his father's hand wrapping around the neck of his guitar. The one he had saved up months of allowance to buy. The one he had stayed up late practicing on, fingers raw and blistered, because it was the only thing that made him feel alive. He remembered the way his father's arm swung up, the guitar suspended in the air for a split second and then the sickening crack as it came down against the floor. The wood splintered. The strings snapped, curling in on themselves like wounded things, pieces of the body scattered across the floor, and Jungkook just stood there, staring at the wreckage of the only thing that had ever felt like his.

He didn't scream. Didn't cry. Didn't say a word. He simply turned around and walked out.

Jungkook didn't remember driving to her place that night. He remembered walking out of his house, the front door slamming behind him, the cold air hitting his face, the splintered remains of his guitar still scattered across the living room floor. He remembered getting into his car, his hands were shaking, his chest felt like it was caving in. He didn't know where he was going until he was already there.

Her house.

The only place his heart had ever learned to point itself toward.

He knocked. Then he knocked again. And when she opened the door, sleepy, confused, hair messy. He didn’t say a word and stepped forward immediately. His face buried into her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist, tight, desperate, like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. Y/N didn't question him. Didn't push him away. She just held him tighter, her arms circling his back, one hand running up and down his spine in long, soothing strokes.

She didn't ask what happened. She didn't need to. She just held him, let him shake, let him breathe, let him fall apart in the safety of her arms. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. Then her voice came, soft and warm, spoken into his hair like a secret. "Jungkook, let's go to my room, okay? My aunt's home tonight."

He pulled away slowly. His eyes were red, glassy, still holding back a flood he hadn't let himself release yet. He looked at her and nodded. "Okay."

She took his hand and led him inside.

That night, Jungkook cried in front of someone for the first time since he was fourteen years old. Since his grandmother's funeral, where he had sat in the corner of a crowded room, silent and hollow, tears streaming down his face while no one noticed.

Y/N had slipped past his walls before he even realized they were down.

He cried the whole night. Great, heaving sobs that tore through his chest like something had been clawing to get out for years. He cried for his dog, for his grandmother, for the guitar his father destroyed. For every moment he had been made to feel like he wasn't enough. For every time he had swallowed his pain and smiled through it. And through all of it, Y/N held him. She didn't tell him to stop. Didn't tell him it was okay when it clearly wasn't. She just wrapped herself around him and whispered, soft, gentle and grounding into his ear. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe.

For the first time in a very long time, Jungkook felt loved. Genuinely, completely, unconditionally loved.

And then he lost her too.

But this time, he had no one to blame except himself.

_________

Two years. Twenty four months. Seven hundred and thirty days.

Jungkook hadn't been the same since.

He lost interest in everything that used to fill his time. Women came and went, but he didn't notice them anymore, he didn't care to notice them. They blurred into the background of a life that had lost its color. His motivation dried up like a river in drought. He went through the motions, worked, ate, slept, repeated but there was no spark behind it. Just the hollow echo of a person going through the mechanics of living without actually being alive.

Outside, he looked perfectly still. Like the same old Jungkook. Same face. Same walk. But his friends noticed.

He didn't speak much anymore. The easy chatter that used to spill out of him was gone, replaced by long silences and one word answers. His smug personality, that playful, cocky grin that used to annoy and charm everyone in equal measure had completely disappeared. He didn't attend parties. Didn't go out unless he had to. Jaehyun watched him sometimes from across the room. And though a small part of him felt a pang of pity for the state Jungkook was in, there was another part, a deeper, quieter part that felt something else. Something close to satisfaction. the part that whispered. Let him feel a fraction of what he put her through.

Mingyu tried his best to keep Jungkook composed. He'd clap him on the shoulder, drag him out for coffee, force conversations that went nowhere. He didn't know the full story, none of them did, not really, but he knew enough. He knew Jungkook had broken something precious. And he knew some things couldn't be fixed by coffee and good intentions.

And then there was Eunwoo. Jungkook's unofficial therapist. The one person who didn't tiptoe around him, didn't sugarcoat, didn't cover up the truth to spare his feelings. Eunwoo said things exactly as they were, exactly as he saw them. No filters. No pity. Just blunt, honest words that cut through the fog.

"You're wasting away. Is this what she'd want?"

"You let her go. That was your choice. Now live with it."

Harsh. But true. And Jungkook needed that, needed someone to tell him the things he was too afraid to admit to himself.

Jiho felt something different around Jungkook now. Strange. Awkward. And underneath it all, a creeping sense of guilt that she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried. She would catch herself staring at him sometimes, lost in deep thought. She'd watch his hands as he worked, the curve of his jaw when he was focused, the way his eyes dimmed when he thought no one was looking. And she'd wonder. What would he do if he found out?

What would he do if he knew he had a two year old daughter? A little girl with his eyes, his nose, his smile, a perfect replica of him running around, laughing, growing up without ever knowing his name.

Would he crumble? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real? Would he step up, finally become the man Y/N deserved, the father that little girl deserved? Or would the weight of it all crush whatever was left of him?

She didn't know. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold.

What if things had been different? she'd think, staring at him across the room. What if he had known from the start? Would he have changed? Would he have been better? Or would he have just hurt her all over again?

Jiho never found the answers. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

__________

Mingyu wasn't expecting anything interesting that day.

It was supposed to be simple. A quick trip to Suwon to meet up with a work friend, discuss a potential collaboration, maybe grab lunch, then head back.

But his car was in the shop. Again.

Because fucking Jeon Jungkook had crashed it.

Mingyu had been stupid enough to let him borrow it a few weeks back. Jungkook said he needed to clear his head, said he'd be careful, said he just needed to drive for a while. And Mingyu, trusting, hopeful, always giving people the benefit of the doubt had handed over the keys.

Big mistake.

Jungkook had shown up at the shop at 2 a.m., drunk out of his mind, the front bumper hanging off, the passenger side door dented beyond repair. He'd swerved off the road and into a guardrail. Lucky he didn't kill himself. Lucky he didn't kill someone else. Mingyu had to take a deep breath before he said anything that night, had to remind himself that Jungkook was hurting, that he wasn't himself, that pushing him away would only make things worse.

But damn it.

He blamed himself a little. He should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Jungkook had been spiraling for two years, and Mingyu had handed him a car and a full tank of gas like it was a solution. Stupid, he thought. So stupid.

So now he had to take the train.

Mingyu came across the place by chance.

He was walking through a quiet street in Suwon, phone in hand, checking the time until his train, when a warm glow caught his eye. Yellow light spilled through wide windows, soft and inviting. He slowed down, then stopped altogether.

Shelves of books lined the walls inside. Cozy armchairs. A counter with a coffee machine. And a small wooden sign hanging above the door that read:

The Brewed Book Café

Mingyu smiled to himself. Cute name. He figured he had time for a coffee before heading back, so he pushed the door open. A small bell chimed overhead, and the smell hit him immediately, fresh coffee and old paper. Well, he thought, it's a book café after all.

The space wasn't big, but it wasn't cramped either. A few tables and chairs were scattered thoughtfully around. Bookshelves lined every wall, packed with novels, poetry collections, and old hardcovers that looked like they'd been loved for years. It felt warm. Intentional. Like someone had poured their heart into every corner.

And then his eyes landed on her.

Y/N.

She was standing on a small wooden ladder, reaching up to arrange books on a high shelf. Her hair was longer now, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands falling free. She wore a simple cream sweater, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her forearms as she carefully slid a book into place. She looked calm. Different. In all the right ways.

For a moment, Mingyu just stood there, frozen, like he was seeing a ghost.

"Y/N?"

She turned.

Her eyes widened. "Mingyu?"

They stared at each other, suspended in that strange space between shock and recognition. Two years. Two whole years, and here they were, standing in a tiny book café in Suwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then Y/N laughed, light, surprised and climbed down from the ladder. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Mingyu said, still trying to process. He looked around the café, at the books, the warm lighting, the little details that felt so her. "This is yours?"

She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. I opened it a month ago."

Mingyu let out a low whistle. "Damn. I'm impressed." A genuine smile spread across his face. "It's so good seeing you."

Y/N smiled back, a little shy. "It's great seeing you too. My parents helped me a lot."

"They're such angels. You staying with them, or…?"

"Not anymore. I live right upstairs." She gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "It's easier for me. Closer to the café, less commuting."

Mingyu nodded. For a moment, it felt almost like old times. Like none of the pain had ever happened.

And then something small bumped into Y/N's leg.

Mingyu looked down.

A tiny girl, maybe two, maybe three, stood there, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs. She clutched Y/N's sweater with both hands and hid behind her, peeking out with wide, curious eyes. Mingyu said nothing. He just stared.

Y/N bent down immediately and scooped her up. "What is it, baby?" she asked softly. The little girl pointed toward the counter. “sweet."

Her voice was soft, barely understandable, that sweet, slurred baby talk that made everything sound a hundred times more precious.

Y/N smiled and carried her to the counter, reaching into a small jar and pulling out a cookie. "Only one," she said gently. The little girl took it with both hands and giggled, shoving it into her mouth with uncoordinated glee.

Mingyu's brain had stopped working. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Finally, he managed to ask, "…Yours?"

Y/N nodded casually, like it was the most normal question in the world. "Yeah."

Mingyu's mouth opened slightly. A thousand questions swirled in his head. Whose? When? How? He bit his lip, forcing himself not to say anything stupid. "What's her name?" he asked after a long pause.

Y/N looked down at the little girl in her arms, her expression softening. She kissed the top of her head. "Jiyeon."

Mingyu whispered the name under his breath. "Jiyeon." He looked at the child, at her dark hair, her big eyes, her tiny nose. Something in his chest tightened. "That's a beautiful name."

He reached out gently and patted the top of her head. Jiyeon stared at him with wide, curious eyes, clutching her cookie like a treasure. Mingyu studied her face carefully, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her little brow furrowed when she was trying to figure him out.

He suddenly felt like he couldnt breathe. "Well… uh…I..um…" His voice came out awkward, stilted. "I'll see you around."

Y/N nodded, a small smile on her face. "Yeah. Come by again."

Mingyu turned and walked out of the café. The bell chimed behind him. The door clicked shut. And the moment he was outside, he started running. Straight toward the train platform. His heart was pounding, his mind racing, a single thought repeating over and over like a broken record.

________

Jiho was sitting lazily, leaning back in her chair, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram without really paying attention. It had been a slow day at the shop, the kind of slow that made time feel sticky and endless. Jaehyun was behind the counter, wiping down already clean glass shelves just to have something to do.

Until the door slammed open.

Jiho jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone. The bell above the door rattled violently, swinging on its hinge like it had been attacked. And there, in the doorway, stood Mingyu, chest heaving, face pale, eyes wide like he had seen something he couldn't quite believe. “You— I need to talk to you.” He say breathless pointing at Jiho. “Okay…” Jiho trailed off exchanging goances with Jaehyun who was sitting behind the counter.

Mingyu walked inside the storage room, Jiho following close behind. The moment the door clicked shut, he spun around to face her, his voice already spilling out in a small, panicky rush. "I went to Suwon."

Jiho raised an eyebrow. "I know."

"I walked into a café to grab coffee."

"Okay?"

"I saw Y/N." He paused, swallowing hard. "She had a little girl. Her name is Jiyeon. The baby looked at me." Each word came out like it was haunting him, dragging itself out of his chest with visible effort. Jiho sighed, a heavy, knowing sound. She had always known this day was coming. She had just hoped it would be later. Or never.

"Mingyu—"

"No, I'm not done." He held up a hand, his breathing uneven. "The baby looked at me. I looked back at her. And I saw her—no." He shook his head, correcting himself. "I saw him. I saw Jungkook in her. She looks exactly like fucking Jeon Jungkook. What the fuck!"

He grabbed at his hair, pacing in a tight circle, taking huge, ragged breaths like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "I came running home. I didn't even buy my damn coffee." He let out a hysterical laugh. "My coffee, Jiho. I left without my coffee."

Jiho gave him a moment. Let him pace. Let him breathe. Let the information settle into his bones, even if it made him rattle. Then Mingyu suddenly let out a gasp, freezing mid step. He whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at her. "Damn it. You knew everything." His voice dropped, but the weight of it doubled. "You told me nothing. You said nothing."

He looked haunted now. Shocked. Betrayed. All of it flickering across his face like a storm passing through. Jiho met his gaze steadily, keeping her voice calm and soothing. "Mingyu, let me explain everything. But first, you need to calm down." She took a small step closer. "Take a breath. Let's go out, and we'll talk about it, okay? I promise I'll tell you everything."

Mingyu stared at her for a long moment, chest still heaving. Then slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "...Okay."

Jiho, Mingyu, and Jaehyun sat in the middle if the shop. Jiho's voice was steady as she finally told them everything.

The two guys listened without speaking a word. Jaehyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. Mingyu stared at the floor, running his hands over his thighs like he needed something to ground him.

When Jiho finished, she let out a slow breath. "Any questions?"

Mingyu's hand shot up almost immediately. "So— you knew she was pregnant before she left?" Jiho blinked. She had literally said that three times already. "Mingyu, I just—" But before she could finish, a voice cut through the air from the front of the shop, sharp and curious.

"Who's pregnant?"

All three heads snapped toward the entrance. Standing at the door, keys still in hand, was Eunwoo. And right beside him, hands buried in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable, stood Jungkook.

Jiho's heart dropped into her stomach.

"My friend—" Jiho started.

"Y/N," Mingyu finished at the same time.

Jaehyun's head whipped toward Mingyu so fast his neck cracked. He stared at him in pure, undisguised disbelief, but Mingyu completely oblivious, kept talking. "But she already had the baby, so she's not pregnant right now. But she was."

A sharp kick landed on his shin under the table. Mingyu yelped, clutching his leg, wincing in pain as he rubbed his foot. Jiho's death glare bore into the side of his head, but the damage was already done.

Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. Nobody spoke. Jiho, Eunwoo, and Jaehyun exchanged frantic glances, telepathically begging each other to say something, anything to fill the void, to redirect, to undo what had just been said.

Jungkook beat them to it.

"Good for her."

His voice was low. Casual. Almost unconcerned. Like someone commenting on the weather, or a sports score they barely cared about. But every single person in that room knew it was far from that. The words hung in the air, deceptively light, carrying a weight none of them dared to touch. Jungkook didn't move. Didn't react. Just stood there, hands still in his pockets, face carefully blank. And for a long, painful moment, no one said a word.

After the shop closed, Jungkook drove Eunwoo home.

It was a quiet drive. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, pressing down on both of them from the inside of the car. Streetlights flickered past in golden streaks, illuminating Jungkook's face in brief, fragmented flashes. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

Eunwoo watched him for a long moment before finally breaking the silence. "Kook. You okay?"

Jungkook's answer came too fast, too flat. "Why wouldn't I be?"

But his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His eyes were fixed on the road, but he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was somewhere else entirely spinning, spiraling, stuck on a name he hadn't heard in two years.

Eunwoo let out a short, annoyed breath. "Man, stop pretending for once." He turned in his seat, fixing Jungkook with a stare. "You know you can be real with me. For fuck's sake, you cried on my shoulder last week because you smelled her perfume on some random woman at the convenience store."

Jungkook's jaw tightened. "Stop bringing that up. Also, I was drunk."

"Right." Eunwoo snorted, a dry, humorless laugh. "Drunk. Sure."

Silence filled the car again. The hum of the engine. The soft thrum of tires against asphalt. Eunwoo thought that was the end of it, that Jungkook would retreat back into his shell and they'd finish the drive in silence.

But then Jungkook spoke again. His voice came out quieter this time, almost fragile. "Do you think she's married?" Eunwoo blinked.

"Or maybe engaged at least," Jungkook continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I mean, she's gotta have a man to have a baby, right? Will we get invited to her wedding? Do you think she'll invite me? What would she—"

"Jungkook." Eunwoo reached over and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Speed down. One question at a time, please."

Jungkook let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. "Okay… okay."

"We'll talk when we reach my house, alright?" Eunwoo's voice softened. "Don't think about that right now. Just focus on driving."

Jungkook didn't answer. But he nodded, slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax, forcing his eyes back on the road ahead. The car carried on into the night, quiet once more but this time, it felt less like silence and more like a held breath, waiting to be released.

Jungkook couldn't sleep.

He had been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind running in endless, exhausting circles. He couldn't eat either, the thought of food made his stomach turn. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. And then he saw the little girl. Y/N's daughter. Her baby.

A kid. Y/N has a kid.

He let out a laugh, short, hollow, utterly devoid of humor. It wasn't funny. Nothing about this was funny. But the sound escaped him anyway, like his body didn't know how else to process the information. It felt like a dagger right through the heart. Cold and sharp, leaving a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

His hand moved on its own, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He unlocked it. Opened his contacts. And there it was, her name. Still saved. Still unchanged after all this time. He had never been able to delete it. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.

He needed to hear it from her. Needed to hear her voice, needed confirmation that it was real, that he hadn't imagined Mingyu's panicked words. Or better, he needed to see it. Needed to see her. Needed to see the baby. Needed to know if she was happy, if she was okay, if she had found someone better than him.

But he couldn't do it.

His thumb wouldn't move. His throat closed up. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, voice cracking.

His vision blurred. His breathing turned ragged, uneven, each inhale a battle. And then, before he knew what he was doing, he hurled his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack and clattered to the floor, screen shattered. "FUCK!" The scream tore out of him, raw and broken.

He fell back onto his bed, both hands dragging down his face before tangling into his hair, pulling at the roots like the physical pain might distract him from whatever was tearing through his chest.

He didn't know what this feeling was.

Fear? Anger? Sadness? Guilt? Regret?

Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. Maybe something that didn't even have a name, something that only existed because of her. Because of what he did. Because of what he lost.

All he knew was that it was crushing him. And for the first time in two years, he had no idea how to survive it.

Jiho had already informed Y/N that the boys needed extra help at the shop, so she wouldn't be able to visit or text as often. Y/N understood.

Y/N had known this day would come the moment she decided to stay in Suwon, close enough to be found but far enough to build a life of her own. She had always known that someone would eventually figure it out. Mingyu was sharp, and Jiho carried guilt like a second skin. It was only a matter of time before the pieces fell into place. She was prepared for it. She had prepared for it a thousand times over in her head, what she would say, how she would explain, how she would protect her daughter from the fallout.

But there was one thing she couldn't stop thinking about.

Will they tell Jungkook?

And if they did, what would he think?

Would he be angry? Indifferent? Would he feel relieved that she had moved on? Would he feel nothing at all? Would he want to see Jiyeon? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real?

Y/N didn't have the answers. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone she couldn't swallow.

She looked down at the bed, where Jiyeon was fast asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her lips were slightly parted, one chubby hand curled loosely around the edge of her blanket. She looked so peaceful. So innocent. So completely unaware of the storm that was brewing somewhere out there, threatening to find its way to her.

Y/N reached out and gently caressed her cheek, her fingers brushing over the soft, warm skin. A smile immediately formed on her lips. It didn't matter what Jungkook thought. It didn't matter what anyone thought. She had her daughter. She had this little life that depended on her, trusted her, loved her unconditionally. Jiyeon was her world now, her anchor, her reason, her everything.

No matter what happened next, as long as she had her baby beside her, she was happy.

And that was all that mattered.

Y/N leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jiyeon's forehead, lingering for just a moment.

"Sleep well, my love," she whispered. "Mommy's got you."

Then she turned off the lamp, curled up beside her daughter, and let the quiet hum of the night wrap around them both.

_________

Jungkook locked himself in his house.

Three days. Three days of staring at the same walls, the same ceiling, the same cracks in the plaster that he had memorized months ago. He didn't answer his phone. Didn't open the curtains. Didn't eat anything that could be called a proper meal. He just existed, sprawled on his couch, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching smoke curl toward the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Nobody called. Nobody knocked. It was like they all knew, knew that he needed to sit with it himself, to wrestle with it alone until he either made peace with it or let it destroy him. They knew better than to bother him.

On the third day, he heard loud pounding in his door. Jungkook didn't move. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, staring blankly at the door.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Louder this time. More insistent. Then the door burst open. The lock gave way with a splintering crack, and a figure stormed inside like a force of nature.

Mingyu.

Jungkook said nothing. Didn't even spare him a glance. He stayed exactly where he was, half sprawled on the couch, smoke drifting lazily from his lips.

Mingyu crossed the room in three furious strides. He snatched the cigarette from Jungkook's fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray with more force than necessary. Then he grabbed Jungkook by the arm, hauled him upright, and forced him to sit properly. Mingyu dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

"I hate seeing you like this."

Silence.

"You're going to find out one way or another, so I thought I better tell you everything now." Mingyu's voice wavered slightly. "So you'll feel better. Or maybe worse. I don't know anymore."

Jungkook finally turned his head, staring at his friend with confusion flickering behind his exhausted eyes. But no words left his mouth. He just waited.

Mingyu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He stared at the floor like it held the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. "Yes, it's true. Y/N was pregnant. Well, is pregnant. I mean, she was. She has a kid now." He let out a frustrated breath. "A girl. Her name is Jiyeon. And she's cute as fuck, but that's not the point." He looked up at Jungkook, his eyes searching. "The baby, Kook. The kid. Her eyes, they were exactly like yours. Her nose, her lips, her cheeks. Everything." He paused. "Well, except her hair."

He waited for a reaction. For a breakdown. For screaming, crying, throwing something, anything. But Jungkook just sat there, staring at him with an expression that Mingyu couldn't read. "Don't you get it?" Mingyu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook opened his mouth. His lips moved. But no sound came out. And for the first time in three days, something flickered behind his eyes. Dawning realization.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N's kid, her baby, it's yours. She was pregnant with your baby. She knew she was pregnant, and that's why she moved to her parents' house in Suwon. That's why she left."

The words hung in the air like a grenade.

Jungkook let out a laugh. A scoff, really. Short. Bitter. Disbelieving. Mingyu stared at him, confusion bleeding into disbelief. "What?"

"I don't believe you."

Mingyu's mouth fell open. "What are you—"

"She would've told me." Jungkook's voice turned cold, his expression snapping into something sharp and serious. "If whatever you just said was true, she would've told me. I refuse to believe it. It's not true. Not possible." His hand came down hard on the coffee table, a loud SLAM that made Mingyu jump. Jungkook stood up abruptly, walked to his bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

Mingyu sat alone in the living room, staring at the closed door, unsure if he should follow or leave.

Inside the bedroom, Jungkook pressed his back against the door and slid down to the floor.

His chest heaved. His hands trembled.

Deep down, he knew.

He knew she wouldn't have told him. He knew she had every reason to keep it from him. He knew he had given her no reason to trust him, no reason to believe he would stay.

And deep down, so deep it hurt to admit he wished it was true. He wished he could turn back time. He wished he had been better. He wished he had been the man she deserved instead of the man who drove her away.

Jungkook finally understood what had been clawing at his chest for the past three days.

Fear. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Regret.

___________

Across town, Y/N closed the café for the night.

She flipped the sign on the door, locked the deadbolt, and let out a long, tired breath. The warm glow of the café lights reflected off the wooden floors as she wiped down the counters one last time. Behind her, Jiyeon sat on the counter, swinging her little legs back and forth, humming a nonsensical tune only she understood.

"Mama."

Y/N turned, a soft smile already forming on her lips. "Yes, baby?"

"Story?"

Y/N's heart melted, as it did every single time. She dried her hands on a towel and walked over, scooping Jiyeon up into her arms. The little girl's small hands immediately found their way to Y/N's neck, hugging her tight.

"Of course. Let's go upstairs."

She carried her up to their small apartment above the café. It wasn't much, a cozy living area, a tiny kitchen, one bedroom that held both their hearts. But it was theirs.

Y/N tucked Jiyeon into bed, pulling the soft pink blanket up to her chin. She picked up the worn storybook from the nightstand, the one with the dog eared pages and the creased spine and began to read in a soft, gentle voice. By the time she reached the last page, Jiyeon's breathing had slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed, her tiny chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Y/N set the book aside and gently brushed her daughter's hair away from her forehead, fingers lingering on the soft strands and Y/N whispered into the silence, so softly it was almost a secret. "You'll never have to wonder if someone will ever choose you."

She pressed a kiss to Jiyeon's forehead.

Because Y/N knew exactly what that felt like. She had spent years wondering, hoping, waiting, aching for someone to choose her. To stay. To prove that she was worth holding onto.

And she had learned, the hard way, that some people just wouldn't.

But Jiyeon would never know that pain. Not if Y/N could help it. She would grow up knowing she was loved, wanted, chosen every single day.

_________

Jungkook didn't go the next day.

Or the day after that.

But he passed the street three times. Each time, he slowed down near the café. Each time, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Each time, he told himself he would go in. And each time, he kept driving. He said he needed to hear it from her. Needed Y/N to look him in the eye and confirm it herself. Needed to see her face when she told him the truth, whatever that truth was.

But every time he got close, his throat closed up, his chest tightened, and his foot found the gas pedal instead of the brake.

Mingyu finally lost patience.

He found Jungkook leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, staring blankly at the street ahead. Mingyu walked up to him and didn't bother with pleasantries. "You're acting like a coward." Jungkook didn't react. "You think ignoring it will make it disappear?" Mingyu pressed. "She's not going anywhere, Kook. She has a café. She has a life. She has your daughter. She's not a ghost you can just drive past."

Jungkook let out a long, heavy sigh. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly." Mingyu's voice softened, just a little. "You're scared she'll say yes. That it's true. That you have a kid you weren't there for."

He paused.

"And you're even more scared she'll say no."

Jungkook's jaw tightened. His hands, still buried in his pockets, curled into fists.

"That it's not yours. That she moved on. That you really meant nothing."

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

Jungkook swallowed hard because Mingyu was right. That was exactly it. He was terrified of both possibilities. Terrified of the truth, no matter which direction it leaned.

_________

Jungkook finally stepped inside one evening.

He told himself he was just walking past. Just taking an evening stroll to clear his head. His feet just happened to carry him here. It meant nothing.

The moment he pushed the door open, the smell of roasted coffee beans hit him, warm, rich, inviting. He looked around, taking in the space. The soft yellow lighting, the shelves lined with books, the cozy armchairs scattered around. It felt warm. Comfortable.

Like Y/N.

His eyes scanned the room almost involuntarily, searching for something he wasn't sure he was ready to find. And then they stopped.

In the corner of the café, on a small sofa slightly too big for her, sat a little girl. A book was spread open between her legs, her tiny fingers tracing the pages with intense concentration. Her hair fell softly around her face as she mumbled the words to herself, barely audible.

Jungkook didn't move closer. He didn't look away. And then the little girl looked up.

Their eyes met.

Jungkook's breath hitched. His heart started beating so fast, so loud in his ears, that for a moment he thought it had stopped altogether. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare into those eyes, eyes that looked exactly like his own.

He turned toward the door and stormed out.

The cool evening air hit his face as he burst outside, but he didn't stop. He kept walking, then jogging, then running until he was far enough from the café that he could breathe again. He finally stopped, doubling over, one hand pressed against his chest as he tried to steady his heartbeat and his ragged breathing. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He cursed over and over, sinking down to sit on the edge of the street. Passersby gave him strange looks as they walked past, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His mind was a storm. His heart was a wreck.

After a few minutes or maybe an hour, he couldn't tell, he managed to pick himself up and stumbled to the nearest bench. He sat there as the evening turned to night, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Time slipped away from him. Minutes felt like seconds. Hours felt like nothing.

Finally, he pulled out his phone and called Mingyu. Mingyu answered on the first ring.

"I saw her." Jungkook's voice tumbled out, raw and shaky. "She stared at me. She looked at me with her eyes — her eyes that looked — she looked—"

"Jungkook." Mingyu's voice was firm but gentle. "I know. We know. Relax, okay? Where are you? I'll come to you."

Jungkook barely managed an okay. He tried to tell Mingyu where he was, only to realize he didn't really know. He had been walking in a haze, not paying attention to street names or landmarks.

When Mingyu finally found him, Jungkook tried to speak, tried to say more, tried to thank him for coming but his words caught in his throat. His eyes burned. Tears threatened to fall, and he couldn't stop them.

“Let’s go home first,” Mingyu said softly.

Jungkook nodded silently and walked toward the car.

Seeing Jungkook lose himself was rare. Seeing him cry was even rarer. But seeing him completely break down, that was something that had never happened before. Jungkook kept telling himself this was his fault. The consequences of his own actions. The price he had to pay for the choices he made two years ago.

But the aching in his chest never lessened.

It was raw. Brutal. And so, so empty.

Taglist is closed! Im sorry:((

A/N : I just want to say that I am so happy that I have people who appreciate my work. When i posted my first fanfic I mentioned that my works are pre written, I would read the stories I write to my friend and she recommended me to turn them into fanfictions and post them, and yea here am I. I edit my stories to match the characters of my fanfiction and add more details according to the characters I use. I have been writing stories and poems ever since I was a kid and it has always been a dream to share them with other people. I would suddenly get ideas and inspirations when I am listening to songs, or go to a particular place or even when I’m just laying in my bed.I’m still learning and I know I make mistakes a lot and it’s not perfect, but I write my stories with love and passion and I hope you all can respect my work and not call it ai generated. My friend actually found it very funny when I told her someone asked me to delete my work because it’s ‘ai generated’ because i’ve always been that friend who encourages others to stop using ai lol.

If you actually read my work I always try my best to explain and let the readers feel every moment, and I always want them to be able to picture every scene. If you don’t like my work please block me or ignore my posts and not threaten me or tell me to delete it because I put my heart into every sentence and every word.

I appreciate everyone who read my work and I never imagine reaching this far, it’s like a dream come true for me. All your support, your likes, comments and requests got me giggling and kicking my feet in the air. I love you all🤍🫂

My favourite chapter ever. It was originally 7.8k words but i added a few more lines haha. I almost went crazy.

The days following Jungkook’s sudden departure for Europe dragged through the grand estate.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the afternoon lights , but the atmosphere inside the grand living room was colder than the weather outside. You sat on the edge of the plush armchair . Across from you, Cecilia sat swirling a cup of tea. Margaret stood gracefully near the fireplace. The heavydoors open, and Jungkook stepped into the room. He didn't sit down. Instead, he stood before his three wives, his imposing frame commanding the space.

Margaret offered a soft, welcoming smile. "Love , you called all of us down here together. Is everything alright?"

Jungkook looked at each of you in turn, his dark eyes lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others. "I am going out of the country," he announced. "Business in Europe requires my immediate attention. I am leaving tonight , and I will be gone for two weeks. While I am away, I want you all to stay good. No fights, no arguments. Am I understood?"

"Of course, darling," Margaret murmured smoothly, "You needn't worry about a thing."

Cecilia merely gave a sharp, tight nod, though her eyes flicked toward you with a venomous glint the moment Jungkook looked away.

Margaret moved gracefully around the bed, folding Jungkook’s pressed white shirts and placing them neatly into his leather suitcase. Her movements were calm, practiced, and entirely domestic. The door opened, and Jungkook walked into the room, adjusting his gold pocket watch. He glanced toward the dresser.

"Dear, check the files twice before, " he instructed, Margaret stood up from the bed, smoothing down her elegant dress. She glided into his space, her hands resting flat against his chest. She tilted her chin up, her voice drop

"Can I kiss you before you leave, m'love?"Before their lips could meet, the bedroom door was violently swung back.

Cecilia stood at the threshold, holding a tightly folded piece of paper in her hand. "Oh, for God's sake, bloody brilliant," she hissed, cursing under her breath as she took in the private scene. She didn't wait a single second. She marched right past Margaret, inserting herself directly between them.

She placed the folded note firmly into Jungkook’s front shirt pocket. "Bring all of these back with you from Paris, You know what I expect." she demanded.

Jungkook let out a heavy, tired sigh, his chest rising and falling. "I am going on a business trip, Cecilia. I will be busy."

"So what?" She stepped closer, attempting to dominate his attention and ignore Margaret’s presence entirely. "You can make time for these errands."

Margaret crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I am literally standing right here, Cecilia," Margaret snapped.

Cecilia snapped her head around, throwing a defiant glare over her shoulder. "Oh, do be quiet, Margaret! Let the man focus on someone who actually knows how to keep things interesting around here."

Margaret’s hands balled into tight fists at her sides "How dare you speak to me with such disrespect, Cecilia?"

Cecilia let out a sharp, mocking laugh, taking a step closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Oh, do grow up, Margaret. Don't pretend you hold all the cards here!" The insult cut deep, before she could launch herself at Cecilia, a thundering roar shattered the air.

"SILENCE!"Jungkook’s voice boomed. His face was a mask of cold, his dark eyes burned into both of his senior wives."I am standing right here, and you bicker like common street harlots," Jungkook hissed, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "I am leaving this country in some hours to secure our family's fortune, and I will not have my house turned into a circus before I even reach the docks."

Cecilia’s aggressive posture melted instantly, her lower lip trembling as her dark eyes grew glossy with sudden tears. "You always scold me," she choked out, "No matter what happens, I am always the one you yell at."

Margaret crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Oh, give it a rest, Cecilia," Margaret snapped, "She doesn't care about you yelling, Jungkook. She just wants attention."

Jungkook let out a long, heavy breath, his eyes slowly softening as he ran a hand over his face. He looked at Cecilia, whose eyes were still swimming with tears, and then at Margaret, whose rigid posture betrayed her lingering anger.

"Enough, both of you," Jungkook said, his voice drop. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. He placed a firm, reassuring hand on Margaret’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Margaret, you run this household brilliantly. I need you to keep the peace while I am away across the channel. No more bickering."

He then turned to Cecilia, his expression softening as he reached out and gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "And Cecilia, I am not picking on you. I am simply stressed with this European venture. I will look at your list on my way, alright? But you must promise to stop provoking Margaret."

He looked between his two senior wives, his presence anchoring the room. "I will be gone for two full weeks. It is a long time, and I cannot have my mind occupied by worries of what is happening under my own roof. I need you both to cooperate"

Margaret swallowed her pride, nodding "Of course, darling. For your sake, the house will remain quiet." Cecilia sniffled, a small, triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her lips now that she had received his personal affection. "Fine"

You stood by the tall glass window of your bedroom, watching the rain. Your mind was racing, entirely consumed by the dangerous reality that Eleanor's diary had been stolen right back from you. You needed to get those keys back from the grand wardrobe, but with Jungkook leaving, the house was about to become an absolute trap.

"You didn't come to say goodbye." The deep, familiar voice broke the silence. You turned around to see Jungkook stepping into the room. You forced a soft, quiet expression onto your face.

"I came, Jungkook," you murmured, looking down at your hands. "But you were so busy with them. I didn't want to interrupt." Jungkook’s expression softened. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until he stood right in front of you. He reached out, his large, warm hand resting gently on top of your head, his thumb smoothing over your hair.

"Study well while I am away," he said softly. "Your exams are coming near, and I want you focused." You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face against the heavy wool of his coat.

"I'll miss you, old man," you whispered, holding onto him tightly. Jungkook let out a low, amused huff, his hands settling over your shoulders. "It is only two weeks, sweetheart."

You pulled back just enough to look up into his dark eyes, the golden opportunity finally presenting itself. You needed a way into that master wing. "While you are gone... who will keep the household keys?"

Jungkook’s brow furrowed, a sudden frown marring his features as the heavy question disrupted the soft mood. "They will obviously remain with Margaret. She manages the estate."

"Can I keep them, please?" you requested, keeping your voice small, putting on the most innocent, pleading face you could muster. "Just while you're across the channel?"

Jungkook shook his head. "No. Margaret always keeps them. She is far older and more mature than both you and Cecilia. Why on earth do you suddenly want such a heavy responsibility, Y/N?"

You pulled out your ultimate weapon once more, You pouted, sulking openly as you turned your gaze away from him toward the window."Fine," you mumbled "I just wanted to sleep in your bedroom to feel close to you while you were gone. It’s a massive house, and it gets dreadfully lonely. I can’t exactly keep asking Margaret for permission to sleep in my own husband’s room, can I? It's embarrassing."

Jungkook completely froze. He looked down at your pouting face, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of surprise, intense affection, and a sudden, heavy wave of guilt. Hearing that his youngest, wife simply wanted to comfort herself while he was across the channel completely caught him off guard.

He reached out, his large hands catching your waist to gently pull you back against his chest."You want to sleep in my room?" he murmured. "I did," you whispered, keeping your eyes down.

Jungkook reach out his pocket and pressed the heavy keys firmly into your palm, his fingers closing your hand over the cold metal. "Take it," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "But you keep it safe, I am only doing this because you want to stay in my room."

A sudden rush of pure happiness flooded your chest. You didn't even have to fake the bright, genuine smile that broke across your face. You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Jungkook," you whispered against his shoulder, your heart racing

Jungkook let out a low huff of amusement, patted your back. "Come along then. The motorcar is waiting." The two of you walked down the grand, sweeping staircase together. Armed bodyguards in matching tweed coats stood ready near the entrance, holding Jungkook's heavy suitcases. Margaret and Cecilia were waiting by the front doors, standing side-by-side .Jungkook stepped to the center

"I am leaving now. Remember my words. Keep the peace while I am away."Margaret stepped forward "Of course,honey. Safe travels. Oh, and honey... you forgot to give me the household keys before you depart."

Jungkook didn't even reach into his pockets. He looked directly at Margaret. "I gave them to y/n ," he stated firmly. "She will be keeping them while I am across the channel." Margaret’s face dropped instantly. A deep, ugly frown marred her elegant features, her composure completely slipping for a split second but seeing Jungkook's eyes narrow at her reaction, she quickly forced her expression to soften.

She let out a gentle laugh "Oh... I see. But darling, she is so young, isn't she? She goes to the university and stays out nearly all day. How will she handle the heavy responsibilities of managing this entire estate?"

Cecilia let out a sharp, mocking scoff from her corner. "Oh, for heaven's sake, why are you fighting so desperately for a responsibility, Margaret? Let the child have her keychain if it keeps her amused. Heaven knows she needs a distraction from her work."

Margaret didn't rise to Cecilia's bitter bait. Instead, she kept her posture perfectly relaxed and elegant. She turned to Cecilia, her voice remaining remarkably soft "It is not only about responsibility, Cecilia, but you wouldn't understand. It is my duty. I am his first wife, and my only concern is making sure the estate runs smoothly so Jungkook doesn't have to worry while he is away. I only want what is best and easiest for Y/N"

You stepped forward on the staircase, clutching the keys tightly inside your pocket, your voice firm but polite. "I am not irresponsible, Margaret," you said, looking between her and Jungkook. "I will keep them safe, I promise."

Margaret looked up at you, her expression remaining entirely gentle and understanding. She gave a soft, maternal nod "Of course, sweetheart. If that is what you and Jungkook want, I won't say another word."

Jungkook looked at his watch one last time as the motorcar horn sounded again from the damp gravel driveway outside. "Okay," he announced "I am leaving."

The heavy front doors were open by the guards. Cecilia stepped forward first, a sharp, possessive smile on her lips "Safe travels." Margaret followed with her she stepped close, offering a smile as she gently patted his arms. "Do take care of yourself, darling. The house will be perfectly fine under our care," she said

You stayed exactly where you were on the stairs, locking eyes with him. You gave him a quiet, lingering nod, your hand still resting on the heavy master key in your pocket. Jungkook offered you one final, intensely protective look, a silent reminder to stay out of trouble before he turned on his heel. He strode out , stepping into the back of his waiting motorcar.The heavy doors slammed shut behind him.

The next morning, grey light wash over the university campus You hurried bypassing lecture hall. Your only focus was the quiet corner behind the library where Daphne was already waiting.The moment she saw you, Daphne reached , she handed you the reports with a serious, worried look. You grabbed the envelope, throwing your arms around her neck in a breathless hug, and planted a quick, grateful kiss on Daphne’s cheek.

"You're a lifesaver, Daph! You have no idea what this means to me." Daphne pulled back slightly, her hands resting on your shoulders as her expression darkened.

"Listen to me," she said. "I’ve been thinking about what you told me. I think Margaret is the one doing all this. Don't you see her behaviour? It’s always the quiet, sweet ones you have to watch out for. She’s completely blind-sided you."

A sudden anger rushed through you. Margaret was the only person who had made you feel truly safe and welcome in that massive, terrifying mansion since day one. She treated you with genuine kindness, and hearing Daphne attack her character felt like a proper betrayal.

You snapped. "Oh, do shut up, Daphne! You’re just completely jealous because someone else is close to me now! You’ve hated her from the moment I stepped into that house just because she looks after me. You’re making up these vile, disgusting lies because you can't stand that I don't need you for everything anymore!"

The words hung heavily Daphne froze, her jaw tightening as if she had just been struck. For a long, she just stared at you, her eyes rapidly filling with thick tears. The hurt on her face made your stomach twist Daphne swallowed hard, a single tear spilling over her lashes as she took a step back from you, clutching her coat tightly around herself.

"Fine," she choked out, her voice trembling violently with heartbreak. "If that’s what you truly think of me....fine. I won't interrupt your perfect life again."

The moment Daphne turned her back on you to walk away, the harsh anger in your chest turned into cold panic. The thought of loosing her was too much to bear. You loved Daphne so deeply; she was the one person who truly knew your soul, and you hadn't meant a single word , before she could walk away you lunged forward and threw your arms completely around her from behind. You held her locking your hands tight over her waist to stop her from slipping away.

"I’m sorry, Daph, I’m so sorry," you cried out, your voice breaking as you rubbed your face against her shoulder and the warm curve of her neck. You pressed your forehead against her coat, your tears instantly soaking into the heavy fabric. "Please, don't leave. I didn't mean it. I swear on my life I didn't mean a single word of it."

Daphne’s entire body went completely rigid in your arms. She didn't pull away, but she didn't hug you back either. "I'm just so scared, Daphne," you whispered, your grip tightening as you pleaded with her from behind. "My head is completely spinning with everything happening at the house, and I took it out on you. You're my best friend. I love you. Please don't do this."

Daphne let out a long, shaky exhale, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. She was still deeply hurt, but she slowly reached up and placed her hands over yours.

"It’s okay," Daphne murmured, wiping a stray tear from her own cheek with the back of her glove. "I just—"

"No, it's not fucking okay," you interrupted fiercely, grabbing her hands and looking up at her with pure eyes. "I was an absolute monster to you just now. Punish me, please. Do whatever you want, but don't stay mad at me."

Daphne froze, then a slow shift took over her face. A smirk curled the corners of her lips, her eyes with pure mischief. "Really?" she asked, her voice dropping into a teasing, playful register as she raised an eyebrow at you.

You blinked, realizing exactly what kind of chaotic ideas were suddenly racing through your best friend's mind. The realization of what you had just offered hit you instantly, and you let out a dramatic groan, tossing your head back."Oh, God," you muttered, a breathless laugh escaping your lips despite the lingering anxiety in your chest. "What have I just walked into?"

Daphne laughed softly, she gave your hands a firm, affectionate squeeze. "You brought this on yourself, love. But let's fix your mess at the mansion first. Then I'll think of a proper punishment for you."

The final lectures of the day ended but the moment the bell rang, you practically bolted out of the classroom with Daphne, as the two of you stepped out of the university building you adjusted your coat and looked at her. "Daph, let’s go somewhere," you suggested, "Anywhere but that house."

Daphne paused on the stone steps, "Don’t you want to go home, babe ?"

You let out a heavy sigh, rolling your eyes slightly. "I’ll be bored anyway." A knowing, teasing smirk instantly crawled on Daphne’s face. She nudged your shoulder with her elbow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oooh, I see. Jungkook is not here, and the house is suddenly empty. I understand completely, love."

"No, it’s not about him at all!" you protested instantly, your cheeks burning, you looked away, crossing your arms defensively.

"Of course, of course," Daphne chirped back, her voice dripping with thick sarcasm as she linked her arm through yours, thoroughly enjoying your sudden embarrassment. "You don’t love him right? Not even a little bit."

"Daphne, I swear to God—" you stammered.

"No, tell me," she pressed, she looked right into your eyes. "Do you love him, Y/N ? Really?" You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

"I..." you stammered, looking down at your boots before looking back up at your best friend. "It’s complicated, Daph. You know what that house is like. You know the rumors about Eleanor."

"I'm not asking about the house or the rumors," Daphne countered gently, squeezing your arm. "I'm asking about him. The way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Do you love him?"A helpless, honest sigh escaped your lips.

"God, I think I do," you whispered. "He's infuriating, but... when he holds me... I’ve never felt so protected in my entire life. I don't want anything to happen to him, Daphne and it terrifies me."

Daphne stared at you for a long moment, the sarcasm completely gone from her face, replaced by a quiet, protective worry for her best friend. She knew that by carrying a fake pregnancy report to catch a killer, you weren't just fighting for the truth anymore you were fighting for the man you loved.

Daphne’s expression shifted. "Do you get jealous?" she asked softly. She held up her hands quickly, adding, "I mean, don't go scolding me again, please. But it’s obvious, isn't it? No girl wants her husband to have other women in his life."

You opened your mouth to give a quick, defensive reply, but the words caught tightly in your throat.Daphne stepped closer, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "And you said it yourself... Jungkook loved Eleanor a lot. More than anyone else, from what the old maid told you doesn't that hurt?"

The question cut straight through your defenses Your eyes instantly filled with thick, hot tears, You blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, but a single tear slipped down your cold cheek. The truth was suffocating. Every time you walked past the locked door of Eleanor's room, every time you saw the grand wardrobe, and every time you looked at Margaret and Cecilia, you were reminded of the vast, complicated history Jungkook shared with these women long before you ever arrived.You were his youngest wife, brought into a house already haunted by the memory of a woman he had deeply loved—a woman who had died carrying his child. You did get jealous. You got fiercely, painfully jealous of the past you could never change, and the ghost you were constantly fighting against for a place in his heart.

"It hurts like hell, Daph," you whispered, your voice cracking completely as you wiped the tear away with your sleeve. "It hurts every single day."

Daphne immediately pulled you into a tight, fierce hug, wrapping her arms securely around your trembling shoulders.

"Oh, God, Daphne," you choked out, the tears poured freely down your cheeks. "I love him a lot. I really do. I just... I just realized it. He’s absolutely everything to me." The realization hit you like a physical blow, vibrating through your entire chest. You weren't just a girl trapped in a Gothic mystery anymore, and you weren't just playing a game of cat-and-mouse. You were completely, undeniably in love with Jungkook. Every firm touch, every rare, soft smile he gave you, and the intense way he protected you it all rushed back to your mind at once. He is your husband, your protector, and your entire world.

Daphne rubbed your back gently, letting you let it all out. "I know, love," she whispered softly into your hair. "I know you do."You pulled back just a fraction, wiping your face with shaking hands.

The dining room was quiet. The long table was set with silver and fine china, reflecting the dim glow of the crystal chandelier. You sat at one end, while Margaret and Cecilia occupied their usual spots.You looked down at your plate, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently you were certain they could hear it. Inside your dress pocket, the medical report felt heavy, like a loaded weapon. You set your silver fork down. "Maggie, Cece," you said.Both women paused. Cecilia’s sharp eyes flicked up instantly. Margaret looked across the table at you, her gentle face turning toward you.

"I have something to say," you continued, holding your breath for a split second as you locked eyes with them. "I went to the doctor today for a checkup. My periods were quite late, you see. I didn't want to bother either of you with it, so I simply went to the clinic alone after my university classes." You paused, leaning back slightly, letting your hand rest naturally and protectively over your stomach. "The doctor gave me the results," you whispered, the words hanging heavily in the cold air of the dining room. "I’m pregnant."

As the words left your mouth both Margaret and Cecilia froze instantly, turning completely to stone. Neither of them blinked, neither of them breathed. They just stared at you, absolute shock locking their faces. Then, the silence shattered.Cecilia’s eyes brimmed with thick rapid tears. She shoved her chair back violently, throwing her sharp heels clicked messy rhythm as she fled up the grand staircase. Across the table, Margaret still didn't say a single word. She sat perfectly rigid, her face completely blank. You ran up the stairs behind Cecilia as Cecilia slammed her bedroom door shut. You didn't hesitate. You twisted the handle and burst inside before she could turn the lock.

"Go away, you bitch!" Cecilia shrieked, backing away toward her vanity, her hands shaking violently. "Get out of my room! Just leave me bloody alone!"

You didn’t listen, you marched straight into her space and threw your arms tightly around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. Cecilia violently struggling against you for a brief second, pushing at your chest. But you held on, refusing to let her go she completely broke down, her hands clutching at your dress as she sobbed against your shoulder.

"Why?" Cecilia wept, her voice cracking with a lifetime of hidden agony. "Why you? I’m sure you trapped him. You must have. You know Margaret can't be a mumma... and I also can't! Not because I’m not capable! Not because my body is broken! But because Jungkook never wanted it! Every single time I asked, every time I begged for a child, he always denied it. He would shout, he would panic, he would push me away! He locked his heart after Eleanor....so why you? How did you get him to give you what he denied us for years?"

You looked at Cecilia, your own heart aching at the vulnerability of the woman who had done nothing but torment you since day one. You reached up, gently but firmly cupping her face so she had no choice but to lock eyes with you.

"Cecilia, look at me," you said, your voice soft, Cecilia blinked as she forced her gaze up to meet yours. As she looked closely at your face, seeing the genuine empathy and lack of malice in your eyes, her breathing suddenly hitched. The raw panic in her expression slowly froze, replaced by a sudden wave of deep embarrassment and regret. She pulled back just an inch.

"I’m sorry," Cecilia choked out"You're pregnant.... it's a massive thing for this family and I went and reacted like a bloody lunatic. I am truly sorry, Y/N ." Before you could even utter a word of comfort, Cecilia reached around the back of her neck with shaking hands. She unclasped a heavy, gold neckchain that she wore every single day.

She grabbed your hand and pressed the cold, heavy metal firmly into your palm, forcing your fingers to close over it. "Take it," she murmured, a solitary, final tear escaping her eye and tracking down her cheek. "Congratulations. On the baby. But don't go thinking we're best friends now," she added, "I still hate you a lot, Now get out of my room before I change my mind."

A small, emotional smile broke across your face as you looked at the heavy gold chain resting in your palm you stepped forward before she could pull away completely, leaned in, and planted a quick, affectionate kiss on Cecilia’s cheek. Cecilia froze instantly, her eyes widening in utter disbelief.

"Eww!" she gasped, wrinkling her nose dramatically and shaking her head as she took a giant step back from you. "Get away from me, you absolutely mental girl! What do you think you’re doing? I told you I hate you!"

A soft laugh escaped your lip. You clutched the gold necklace tightly in your hand, stepping backward toward the door. "Goodnight, Cece,"

"Out! Get out this instant!" she huffed, pointing a finger aggressively toward the hallway. You went out of her room.

The soft sound of footsteps on the carpet made you stop. Margaret was there , before you could say a word, she rushed forward. She threw her arms completely around you, pulling you into a tight hug. A heavy, choked sob broke from her throat, and you felt her warm tears.

"Oh, congratulations, sweetheart," Margaret wept, her voice trembling violently."And thank you... oh, thank you so much." She pulled back just an inch, her eyes swimming with thick, happy tears as she looked down at your face, her hands gently cupping your cheeks."I can finally be a mumma through you," Margaret whispered, a breathtaking, radiant smile breaking through her tears. "I never thought I would see a child running through these dreadful halls. I love you so much. You’ve given this family the greatest miracle."

She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, "Tell me what you want, darling. Anything at all?"

Maggie, I want you and Cecilia not to tell Jungkook about my pregnancy just yet," you said softly. "I mean, he is already so stressed over there with his business I don't want to overwhelm him. I'll tell him myself the very moment he comes back home."Margaret blinked, surprised by the request, but her expression quickly softened into an understanding smile. She patted your shoulder gently. "Of course, sweetheart. If that is what you think is best for him, our lips are sealed. You must rest now."

Four days had bled away since Jungkook’s departure. You hadn't dared step foot near Eleanor’s long-locked door because the mansion was crawling with staff and armed bodyguards who seemed to stay awake at all hours. You couldn't tell who was a protector and who was a monster in disguise, so you didn't trust a single soul.

Late that evening, Cecilia was sitting at her bed when her heavy telephone receiver suddenly rang out. She picked it up. It was Jungkook, calling all the way from his hotel in Europe, his voice thick with the heavy warmth of alcohol.

"Cecilia," he murmured. "I’ve just come back from the boutiques. I bought whatever you wrote down in that list of yours. Only... the specific lipstick shade you wrote at the bottom... the shopkeepers couldn't get it. It was completely sold out."

Cecilia’s voice dropping into a sharp, demanding purr. "Oh, is that so? Then you'll just have to pay for it right now, won't you, love?"

Jungkook let out a low, chuckle. "And how exactly does my demanding wife expect me to pay for a missing lipstick from across the Channel, hmm?"

"Use your imagination, Jeon," Cecilia whispered, her voice drop as she twirled the telephone cord around her finger. "Tell me more. I want to know how much you're actually missing me, darling."

"I miss you more than I care to admit, Cece," Jungkook rasped, his deep voice making her chest tighten with affection. "This hotel room feels entirely too massive without you tangled up in the sheets next to me."

Cecilia’s hand slipped past the silk of her nightgown, touching herself to the rhythm of his low chuckles as she imagined his heavy chest pressing down against her.

"I am your husband, Cece, I have every right to remind you exactly who you belong to," Jungkook murmured.

"Is it, Kook?" Cecilia whispered back, her voice thick with desire. "I want you to hold me tight, kiss me proper, and make me forget about every lonely night."

"It's an absolute guarantee, sweetheart," Jungkook replied, his voice softening with a heavy, drunken tenderness. "Now close your eyes and pretend my arms are around your waist—"

Click.

The bedroom door handle twisted, and the heavy door swung wide open. You stood at the threshold with a glass of water, Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of Cecilia flushed, breathless, with her hand tucked deep inside her silk nightgown. You froze to stone, your face turning a bright, burning crimson.

"Oh, for God's sake, you bloody little bitch!" Cecilia shrieked, instantly ripping her hand out of her nightgown. Her face contorted into a mask of pure rage. "Have you no decency? Knocking is a proper concept in this country, you upstart!"

"Who is that? Who's there?" Jungkook’s deep voice suddenly boomed through the receiver, his drunken haze completely vanishing. "Cecilia, who entered your room?"

"Who else, Jungkook?!" Cecilia snapped "Your precious little schoolgirl just barged straight into my private quarters!"

"Don't shout at her, Cecilia!" Jungkook said "Give her the phone."

You looked at the receiver in Cecilia's hand "Tell him to call on my telephone," you said quietly. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and rushed down the dark corridor, slipping back into your own bedroom. You collapsed onto the edge of the bed, a stray tear finally spilling over your lashes. You felt completely heartbroken. You loved him a lot, and that was exactly why this hurt like hell. Yet, a painful wave of maturity hit you. Jungkook wasn't doing anything wrong. After all, Cecilia was his wife too. She deserved his affection just as much as anyone else.

Ring... Ring...

You scrambled across the mattress, your fingers locking around the heavy plastic receiver. "Jungkook?" you whispered."Y/N?" Jungkook’s deep voice came through a soft, low murmur. "Are you alright, sweetheart? How are you doing over there?"

"I miss you," you whispered, a tear tracking down your cheek. "Please, Jungkook... I can't stay like this."The line went quiet for a long second. You could hear his heavy, steady breathing on the other end, shifting as he absorbed your unexpected vulnerability.

"Y/N,What is it, love? Did someone say something to you? Is it your head?"

"No," you choked out, desperately trying to swallow down the suffocating jealousy. "It’s just... the house is too big. It’s too cold without you. Why were you talking to Cecilia like that?" Over the line, you heard Jungkook let out a slow, heavy breath. "She is my wife too,Y/N ," he said softly, his deep voice carrying a calm but firm weight. "She has been here for years. I owe her my time and my attention just as I owe it to you."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You knew he was right, but it didn't stop the sharp sting in your chest. "I know," you whispered. "You're jealous, aren't you, sweetheart?" Jungkook murmured, a hint of tender amusement mixing with the protective worry in his voice. "My girl is sitting over there turning green."

"I am not," you lied breathlessly."......Do you love me?"

The words spilled from your lips before your mind could even attempt to pull them back.The silence that followe You knew you shouldn't have asked that. You knew for a fact that Jungkook had never once uttered the words I love you to Margaret or Cecilia in all their years of marriage. He had locked his heart away in a dark casket the day Eleanor died.

"Y/N" Jungkook finally murmured, "You are my wife. I am already planning to come early because you told me you were lonely. Don't go asking questions you already know the weight of. Now go into my room, use the master key I gave you, and get some sleep. I will handle you properly when I return."

You step out of your room and make a way toward Jungkook's room, you found the entire mansion unnaturally quiet. The house felt dead.You march towards Eleanor’s locked room. Since you had the master key, you didn't need to struggle with the grand wardrobe this time. You pushed Eleanor's door open, stepping back into the chilling, dust-covered horror of her private quarters. Your hands trembled with anticipation. You yanked open the top drawer, your eyes scanning the faded yellow papers where you had found that night.It was completely empty.Panic flared in your chest. You began frantically tearing through the other drawers, pulling out old lace handkerchiefs, empty perfume vials, and tangled jewelry, but the leather-bound book was gone. You checked under the mattress of the dust-covered bed, ran your fingers along the dark bookshelves, and searched every hollow corner of the wardrobe.

Eleanor's personal diary was gone. Someone had cleaned up the crime scene perfectly after knocking you unconscious. They had taken the diary, and now, your only real piece of evidence against the killer had completely vanished into thin air.

You stumbled back out of her room, you locked it tightly and turned toward Jungkook's room. The room still smelled faintly of his expensive tobacco and rich leather cologne. Needing to feel safe, needing to feel close to the only man you loved, you crawled onto his mattress and lay down, pulling his heavy blanket up to your chin.For a couple of hours, you lay there in the dark, your mind racing. The house was too quiet, the absence of the bodyguards’ footsteps echoing like an unspoken warning in your head.

Restless and unable to sleep, you finally sat up. You swung your legs out of the bed and walked over to the grand window to look out at the garden below. Your breath hitched, freezing instantly in your throat. Down in the shadows of the old tree, completely exposed by the silver moonlight, stood a tall, dark silhouette.

The shadow was motionless, standing perfectly rigid in the pouring rain, its head tilted upward, looking directly up at the master bedroom window. Looking directly at you. Panic seized your entire body, turning your blood to ice.

A loud, terrified shriek tore from your throat. "NO!" you screamed, tears of pure horror bursting from your eyes as you lunged forward. Your hands scrambled frantically against the window, your fingers shaking so violently you could barely get a grip. You slammed the heavy glass panes shut.You stumbled backward onto the floor, clutching your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs as you stared at the glass, terrified that the shadow would move toward the house.

You threw the bedroom door open, sprinting blindly down the dark, You didn't stop until you reached Margaret’s room. You pounded on the heavy door until it swung open, revealing Margaret in her nightgown, her face a mask of sudden confusion.

"Darling, why are you awake?" Margaret asked. "It is so late." You didn't answer. You collapsed straight into her arms, sobbing as you buried your face against her shoulder. "There's someone... someone is standing in the backyard, Margaret!" you choked out. "They were looking right up at me!"

Margaret’s expression instantly turned serious. Holding your shaking shoulders, she guided you over to her own window. "Sweetheart, there is absolutely no one out there. It’s just the wind. Look for yourself."

"No! I know what I saw!" you snapped in pure panic. "I am not bloody mad, Margaret!"The harsh words hung in the quiet room. Realizing you had just yelled at the only woman who had been genuinely kind to you since day one, You looked down at your hands, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Maggie. I didn't mean to snap. I'm just... I'm so terrified."

Margaret’s expression melted into a look of deep, unconditional warmth. She reached out, gently wiping tear from your cheek."There is no need to apologize, darling. You are carrying a child, and your nerves are completely shot," Margaret murmured, her voice smooth, comforting, and entirely safe. "You can sleep with me tonight if you want. No one can get to you in here, I promise."

The morning light broke through the kitchen windows , you went to take a glass of water , The kitchen was nearly empty, save for one of the junior maids standing near the silver tea service. You froze, you saw her fingers trembling as she opened a small, folded piece of paper, carefully tapping a white, powdery substance directly into teacup.

You lunged forward, shoving the maid back violently against the marble counter. "What on earth do you think you’re doing?!" you shouted. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? Speak!"

The maid went completely pale, her eyes widening in pure panic. She dropped to her knees right there on the stone floor, her hands shaking as she begged you through sudden, frantic tears. "I’m sorry, madam! Please, I beg of you, it wasn't me! I didn't want to do it! I was asked to do this... I was threatened!"

"Who?!" you yelled, bending down to grip her shoulders, "Who bloody told you to do it?!"

Margaret strode into the room, She lunged forward and delivered a slap across the maid's face, the loud crack ringing through the kitchen. "You vile, disgusting creature!" Margaret hissed, "How dare you try to poison a child in this house? Get out of my sight! Guards! Take this pathetic wretch out of my mansion instant!" Two bodyguards rushed in, grabbing the weeping maid by her arms and dragging her roughly out the back doors.

You stood there, breathless and trembling, trying to process Margaret’s explosive defense of you. But as you turned around, you saw Cecilia standing perfectly still at the kitchen door. Her face was a mask of cold, unreadable calculation.

Without saying a single word, Cecilia marched right up to the silver tray. She picked up the teacup. In one smooth, violent motion, she threw the, poisoned tea directly into Margaret’s face.

"NO!" you shrieked, jumping back in absolute horror as the dark liquid splashed across Margaret's skin and elegant dress. You turned on Cecilia, your chest heaving with rage. "Are you completely mad, Cecilia?! What is wrong with you?!" Cecilia just gave a disgusting look at you and storm out of the kitchen .

Later that day you sat on the edge of her velvet stool, your hands resting nervously on your lap. Margaret stood right behind you, combing your hair "You must take things easy, darling," Margaret murmured, "I have an excellent book on pre-natal care. It was written by a top specialist. Wait here a moment, I’ll find it for you."

She stepped away, walking over to her grand, wardrobe in the corner of the room. She began sliding open the heavy wooden panels, searching.As the wardrobe door shifted fully, your sight followed her movements and your heart completely stopped.

There, tucked away in the deep shadows behind a row, was a familiar, old leather binding. It was slightly uncovered, a corner of the yellowed pages peeking out where someone had hastily shoved it into hiding. Eleanor's personal diary. Your entire world shattered in an absolute, suffocating heartbeat.

A wave of pure horror crashed through your veins, turning your blood to ice. You instantly forced your face away, staring blankly down at the floorboards, your knuckles turning white as your jaw shut to keep from screaming. You didn't react. You didn't let out a single gasp. You kept your face perfectly still, a mask of pure survival.But inside, the fear grew the blinding hurt that followed was unbearable.

Not Margaret, your mind wept in absolute agony. Anyone but her, all the love you had felt for this woman, all the moments she had comforted you, she said Eleanor was her bestfriend, she made you her bestfriend, the way she had cradled you against her chest, the way she had slapped the maid to defend you this morning it all crashed down at once like a house of cards. It had all been a lie. She was the one who had smashed the metal rod into your skull. Margaret was Eleanor's killer.

"Here we are, sweetheart," She handed you the book. She smiled down at you with nothing but pure adoration. "Read it thoroughly, okay darling? It will tell you absolutely everything you need to know about bringing a new life into this house."

You forced your legs to move, clutching the heavy pregnancy books to your chest like a shield as you excused yourself from Margaret’s bedroom. The moment the deadbolt clicked into place, the books tumbled to the floor, and you collapsed against the door, your entire body shaking as the horrifying reality of Margaret's betrayal fully sank in. Desperate for a lifeline, your hands scrambled for your bedside telephone. Your fingers trembled violently as you dialed the international operator, forcing the connection through to Europe.

"Hello?" Jungkook’s deep voice came through the crackling wire, "I am in the middle of a vital negotiation right now, sweetheart. I cannot talk at the moment."

"Please, honey... can you come back? Please," you begged your voice completely breaking as tears flooded your eyes. You needed him home. You needed the only man who could protect you from the monster sleeping just down the corridor.Jungkook let out a heavy, stressed sigh his focus entirely consumed by his business venture.

"What happened,Y/N? If it is about the house or your health, go to Margaret. Go talk to her, she will handle it. I told you she manages—"

"No!" you sobbed, a sharp, choked gasp escaping your throat as you cut him off. "No, Jungkook... I want you. Only you. Please, just come home."

"Y/N, listen to me," Jungkook’s voice dropped into a deep, strained murmur. "I understand you're upset, sweetheart. But you know I am trying to finish this as fast as I humanly can. I am doing this for our family." The word family hit you like a physical blow. He was thousands of miles away, completely blind to the fact that his trusted first wife was a cold-blooded murderer, and that you were currently trapped with her because of a fake pregnancy report.

"Fine! Stay there then!" you shouted, your voice echoing sharply against the cold walls of your bedroom. Tears of pure frustration and terror burned down your cheeks as your chest heaved. "Stay in Europe! Come back when I'll die ! Come back when it's too late!"

"Y/n—!"Before he could say, you violently slammed the heavy plastic receiver back onto its cradle, cutting him off completely.

You didn't wait to see if anyone had heard your scream. You ran blindly down the dimly lit corridor toward the only other person who might be safe. Cecilia. She was bitter, and she hated you, but she wasn't a killer. You reached her door, your hand stretching out to grasp the brass handle. But just as your fingers brushed the cold metal, you froze.

CRACK.

The sharp, echoing sound of a brutal slap rang out from inside the room, followed by a heavy thud. Your breath caught tightly in your throat. Before you could even think to turn and run, the door was violently flung wide open from the inside.Standing there Margaret.The moment she saw you standing there, a flash of absolute panic distorted her beautiful features.

"Baby!" Margaret gasped, "What are you doing out of bed? It is freezing out here. Come along, darling, let's go back to your room this instant." She immediately stepped into your space, her body blocking the doorway, but it was too late. You desperately tilted your head, your eyes darting past her shoulder into the dim light of the bedroom.Inside, Cecilia was standing near her vanity, her back turned completely toward the door. Her shoulders were hunched, and her entire frame was trembling violently as she breathed in hard. Margaret physically yanked you away from the threshold, pulling you back into the dark, empty corridor as she clicked Cecilia's door shut behind her.

The morning light broke through the heavy grey clouds. You hadn't slept a wink. The image of Cecilia trembling in her room and Margaret’s terrifyingly tight grip on your arm replayed in your mind on a loop. You were completely trapped in a house of horrors, and Jungkook was still across the Channel.Your fingers shook as you reached for the heavy plastic telephone receiver on your nightstand. You couldn't wait for Jungkook anymore. You couldn't play detective alone while a killer walked the halls. You needed to end this nightmare before Margaret came for you next.You lifted the receiver and aggressively dialed the emergency operator.The line crackled instantly, a sharp British voice cutting through the static.

"Emergency. Which service do you require?"

"Police," you whispered, your voice trembling but hardening with a sudden, fierce determination. "Connect me to the police immediately." There was a series of clicks before a stern officer answered the line.

"Constabulary headquarters. State your emergency."You gripped the receiver tightly against your ear, taking a deep breath as you made the biggest, most dangerous decision of your life. "My name is Jeon y/n," you stated firmly, using your official title as Jungkook's wife to command immediate authority.

"I need you to deploy your units to the Jeon Mansion as soon as possible. There is a severe threat to life inside this house. Please, hurry."

"Understood, Mrs. Jeon. Units are on their way. Stay in a secure location," the officer replied.You clacked the receiver back onto its cradle, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet room. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

CONTINUE IN NEXT PART

"Then, by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest's voice echoed through the chapel, a strange numbness settled over you.

The stained glass windows bathed the aisle in coloured light, painting shades of gold and crimson across the marble floor. Everything looked beautiful almost dreamlike. If only you felt the same.

"And now," the priest said with a smile, "you may kiss the bride."

A nervous flutter stirred in your stomach , the chapel fell silent. You slowly turned towards Jeon Jungkook. Up close, he was even more intimidating than the newspapers made him seem. Tall , Broad-shouldered , Dressed impeccably in black. There was something unsettling about how composed he remained while your own heart threatened to beat straight out of your chest. Not once throughout the ceremony had his expression changed , not when you exchanged vows , not when the rings were placed upon your fingers.

He stepped forward, you became painfully aware of every pair of eyes watching. Your parents , Margaret , Cecilia , The priest. The staff standing quietly at the back of the chapel. Jungkook's gaze lingered on your face, as though searching for something.

His hand lifted, resting lightly against your cheek. Then he leaned in his lip touches yours, Merely a formality carried out before witnesses. The sort of kiss exchanged by two strangers fulfilling an obligation rather than a promise. When he pulled away, the chapel erupted into polite applause.

Your attention remained fixed on the man standing before you. The man society whispered about. The man accused of murdering his first wife.

Six months ago, if someone had told you that you would become Jungkook's third wife, you would have laughed in their face. You had other plans, your world revolved around architecture. Endless sketches covered your desk, half-finished models occupied every spare corner of your room, and your greatest concern was whether your final project would impress your professors.

Marriage was nowhere on the list. Certainly not marriage to a man eleven years older than you. Yet one evening, your father sat you down and informed you that your future had already been decided. You were to marry Jeon Jungkook , you remembered staring at him in disbelief.

Everyone knew who Jungkook was. One of the most influential businessmen in the country. Owner of countless companies, estates, and investments. A man whose name appeared in newspapers almost weekly. A man who already had two wives and according to society, a dead one.

You refused at first you argued , pleaded , cried. None of it mattered. The agreement had already been made. In the end, you were left with no choice but to accept. That was how you found yourself standing in a chapel, exchanging vows with a man you barely knew.

His first wife, Margaret, was another matter entirely. Margaret Jeon was elegance personified. At thirty-five, she carried herself with a grace that made everyone around her feel slightly inadequate. Kind-hearted, patient, and endlessly composed, she possessed none of the bitterness one might expect from a woman sharing her husband with others.

Jungkook had married Margaret years ago not for love. Margaret's mother had been his own mother's closest friend. When she fell gravely ill, she had only one final wish , that her daughter would never be left alone in the world. Jungkook had honoured that wish and from what little you had observed, Margaret had never once regretted becoming Mrs. Jeon.

His second wife Cecilia was entirely different. Beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. At thirty, Cecilia possessed a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. Unlike Margaret, she made no effort to hide her displeasure regarding your presence.

Jungkook's marriage to Cecilia had been born from another arrangement. Her father, a powerful businessman whose health had rapidly deteriorated, had made a rather extraordinary declaration. Whichever man married his daughter would inherit everything. His companies ,estates , investments, fortune an empire worth billions. Many men had sought Cecilia's hand for precisely that reason. Jungkook had simply been the one chosen. Whether Cecilia had ever wanted the marriage was another question entirely.

And now there was you. The third wife the unwanted addition to an already complicated household.

The journey to the Jeon estate passed in near silence. You spent most of it staring out of the carriage window, watching the countryside blur past while a single thought repeated itself in your mind.

By the time the iron gates appeared, dusk had already begun to settle. Your breath caught the estate was enormous , not a house , not even a mansion. An estate.

Stone walls climbed towards the evening sky, ivy curling around ancient pillars. Tall windows reflected the fading sunlight, while perfectly trimmed gardens stretched farther than the eye could see. It looked less like a home and more like something from a novel.

The moment you stepped inside, that feeling only intensified. The entrance hall was magnificent. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead. Marble floors gleamed beneath your feet. Portraits lined the walls. You found yourself glancing around uneasily.

"Welcome home." Margaret's gentle voice broke the silence. Before you could respond, you felt another gaze. Cecilia , she stood a few steps away, arms folded across her chest. The look she gave you could have frozen a river. You quickly looked away. Jungkook removed his gloves before turning towards Margaret.

"Would you show her to her room?"

"Of course." Margaret smiled warmly. Then, as though struck by a thought, she added .

"Although, darling, shouldn't she be staying in your room tonight?"

You nearly choked. Jungkook's expression didn't change, but his eyes lifted towards Margaret. A warning glance. Margaret immediately looked amused.

A laugh escaped Cecilia "How considerate of you, Margaret."

Margaret sighed "Cecilia."

"No, please continue," Cecilia said sweetly. "You've always been so invested in Jungkook's marriages." The sweetness in her voice somehow made the remark worse.

Margaret rolled her eyes "You make everything sound scandalous."

"Only because everything here usually is."

You suddenly felt as though you had walked into the middle of a conversation that had been ongoing for years. One filled with private jokes and old grievances. Jungkook looked entirely unimpressed.

"Enough." The single word was calm. Yet both women immediately fell silent. An impressive achievement, considering Cecilia looked capable of arguing with a brick wall.

His gaze shifted towards you. For the first time since arriving, he seemed to notice how uncomfortable you were.

"You needn't worry." His voice was even. "There will be no expectations placed upon you tonight."

You wished the marble floor would swallow you whole. Across the room, Cecilia muttered something beneath her breath. Margaret elbowed her.

"What?" Cecilia complained.

"You are behaving terribly."

"I'm being honest."

"You're being insufferable."

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. You almost felt sorry for him.

"Margaret," he said, clearly choosing patience over murder, "please show her the room."

Margaret immediately brightened "Come along, dear." As you followed her towards the grand staircase, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Margaret's room was on the east wing. Yours, apparently, was not far from it. As the two of you walked through endless corridors, she pointed out various parts of the estate along the way.

"The library is downstairs." You nodded. "The conservatory is at the back." Another nod. "And if you ever get lost,which you absolutely will, just find a servant. I've lived here for years and still take wrong turns." A surprised laugh escaped you.

Margaret smiled, looking rather pleased with herself. The room she eventually led you to was beautiful. Far larger than your bedroom back home. Tall windows overlooked the gardens. A fireplace occupied one wall. Fresh flowers rested on a small table near the bed.

"It's lovely," you admitted quietly.

"I'm glad you think so." Margaret moved towards the wardrobe. "Would you like some help with those dreadful wedding layers?"

You laughed softly "Please."

Within minutes, she was helping you unfasten buttons and remove various pieces of your wedding attire. The atmosphere remained surprisingly comfortable. Not once did Margaret make you feel embarrassed. In fact, she seemed determined to avoid awkwardness altogether.

"So," she began casually, folding a piece of fabric, "architecture."

You glanced up "What about it?"

"I heard you're studying it."

A smile appeared before you could stop it "I am."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I love it." The answer came instantly. Margaret noticed of course she did.

For the next several minutes, she asked question after question. What buildings inspired you? What was your favourite project? How long had you wanted to become an architect? The conversation flowed so naturally that you almost forgot where you were. Almost forgot that only a few hours ago you had married her husband. Margaret listened attentively to every answer. By the time you finished changing into a comfortable nightdress, some of the tension had finally left your shoulders.

Margaret seemed to notice "Better?"

"A little."

"Good." The older woman smiled. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely peaceful. Then Margaret stepped closer. Before you could react, she gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture reminded you painfully of your mother. Something softened in her expression.

"You've had quite a day. That's one way to put it."

A small laugh escaped her. Then, unexpectedly, Margaret leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The gesture was entirely maternal. When she pulled back, her eyes were kind.

"So listen to me carefully. This house can be overwhelming at first." Her gaze drifted briefly towards the door. "And the people inside it can be even more overwhelming."

That earned a reluctant smile from you. Margaret smiled back. Then she took your hands in hers.

"This is your home now, alright?"

The words caught you off guard. Nobody had said them since you arrived nobody except her.

"If you ever need anything, come to me."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly "Anything?"

"Anything." There was no hesitation in her answer.

Margaret left your room only after making certain you had everything you needed. The corridors were quiet as she made her way towards Jungkook's . She wasn't surprised to find him there. He stood beside an open window, a cigarette between his fingers. The night air drifted through the room, carrying away the smoke.

"You really should stop doing that."

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder "Good evening to you too, Margaret."

Margaret rolled her eyes before walking over and taking the cigarette from his hand "You know the doctors keep saying the same thing."

"And yet here I am."

"Unfortunately." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Margaret moved closer, straightening the collar of his shirt before wrapping her arms around him from behind. It was an old habit. Neither thought much of it anymore.

"New bride is frightened."

Jungkook's expression softened slightly "I know."

"She's twenty-four, Jungkook."

His gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the window "I know."

Margaret rested her chin against his shoulder. "Please don't let anything happen to her. She wants to study. Let her finish."

Jungkook sighed "Margaret."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She frowned. He finally turned towards her. The door suddenly swung open. Cecilia entered carrying a bottle of wine. She stopped her eyes immediately landed on Margaret standing close to Jungkook. A flicker of irritation crossed her face.

"There you are." Without waiting for an invitation, she crossed the room and placed herself directly between them. Margaret sighed.

"Cecilia."

"What?"

"You've interrupted a conversation."

"You were hugging my husband."

"Our husband."

Cecilia ignored her. Jungkook looked exhausted already. Margaret immediately reached for the bottle "No."

Cecilia pulled it away . "Margaret."

The two women stared at one another. Jungkook looked as though he'd rather attend another board meeting. Margaret pointed towards the door.

"You should go and speak to her."

"Who?"

"The new bride."

Cecilia laughed "I would rather not."

"She's new here."

"Not my problem."

"She's alone."

Cecilia uncorked the bottle "Still not my problem." Margaret folded her arms "At least make an effort to know her." That earned a sharp look. Margaret opened her mouth. Cecilia continued before she could speak.

"Leave it alone. He doesn't love her."

The room went silent. For a brief moment, nobody spoke. Then Margaret tilted her head.

"Neither does he love you." The words landed with remarkable precision. Jungkook closed his eyes. Cecilia stared at Margaret in disbelief.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must the two of you do this every evening?"

The following morning, you woke earlier than expected. For several moments, you simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. There was little point attempting to fall back asleep. After getting dressed, you slipped from your room and wandered through the corridors. The house was surprisingly peaceful at this hour.

Eventually, a warm scent drifted through the air. Fresh bread , Tea, something sweet. Curious, you followed it. The scent led you towards the kitchens. You paused at the doorway.

Margaret stood at the centre of the room, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows. A servant was helping prepare ingredients nearby, but Margaret herself was occupied with a mixing bowl. She looked remarkably at home. As though she belonged there more than anywhere else. You couldn't help smiling.

"Good morning."

Margaret looked up immediately. A smile spread across her face "Good morning, darling."

You stepped inside "I didn't expect to find you here."

"Most people don't." She wiped her hands on a cloth. "Welcome to my kitchen."

You glanced around the enormous room. At least half a dozen servants were already moving about.

"My kitchen?"

Margaret looked thoroughly pleased with herself "Yes." You laughed softly "You're cooking?" She nodded.

"But there are so many servants."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it yourself?"

Margaret looked genuinely confused by the question "Because I enjoy it."

"As simple as that?"

"As simple as that."

She stirred something before continuing "The servants are wonderful, but I've always loved cooking." A fond smile appeared on her face. "And besides, I only cook for everyone."

Margaret poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup. Without warning, she held it out towards you. You blinked. She blinked back.

"...What's this?"

"Tea."

"I can see that."

"Excellent."

You narrowed your eyes. Margaret looked innocent. A dangerous sign.

"Margaret."

"Take it upstairs."

Your stomach sank "To whom?"

"Jungkook."

You stared at her. She smiled. You continued staring. Her smile widened.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come now." You lowered your voice. "I barely know him and it's awkward."

Margaret laughed "You're married."

"That doesn't make it less awkward. If anything, it makes it more awkward."

The older woman considered that "Fair point." You looked victorious. For approximately three seconds. Then Margaret placed the cup directly into your hands. The warm porcelain nearly made you drop it.

Balancing the cup of tea carefully, you followed Margaret's directions through what felt like an endless maze of corridors. The estate was far too large for any reasonable person. Eventually, you found the door.

You hesitated then knocked. You knocked again. Still nothing. After a moment's consideration, you carefully pushed the door open. The room beyond was surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the estate. A large bookshelf occupied one wall. Papers were neatly arranged across a desk near the window. Everything was orderly.

Your gaze drifted towards the bed and froze. He was asleep. You hadn't expected that. For a man who always seemed perfectly composed, there was something strangely human about seeing him asleep. The sharp edges of his expression had softened. You quietly crossed the room and placed the tea on the bedside table.

"Mr Jeon?"

No response. You tried again.

"Jungkook?"

Margaret had sent you all this way. You couldn't exactly return downstairs carrying the tea. But taking a breath, you stepped closer.

"Jungkook."

Just as you reached out to lightly touch his shoulder, your foot caught against the edge of the rug.

"Oh—" Your balance vanished instantly. Before you could stop yourself, you stumbled forward. A startled sound escaped you. The next thing you knew, you had landed against the mattress. Far closer to Jungkook than was remotely appropriate. His eyes opened immediately. Dark eyes meeting yours from only inches away. For a brief, mortifying second, neither of you moved. The world seemed to stop. You could hear your own heartbeat. Feel the warmth radiating from him. Feel the embarrassment rapidly taking years off your life.

Jungkook blinked once then twice. Clearly trying to understand why his newest wife was suddenly hovering above him at seven in the morning. Heat flooded your face. You scrambled backwards so quickly you nearly fell a second time.

"I—" Wonderful start "I brought tea." Excellent recovery. Your face burned. The corner of Jungkook's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"The tea attacked you?" You stared. He stared back. For the first time, you realised he was teasing you. Very subtly , Very rarely. But definitely teasing.

"It was the rug."

"Of course. The rug is dangerous. I'll inform the staff immediately."

You narrowed your eyes. Jungkook sat up, looking far too amused for a man who had just been awakened in such a ridiculous manner. Your gaze immediately darted towards the cup.

"The tea will get cold." he reached for the cup. "Thank you."

You awkwardly folded your hands behind your back. "Margaret made it."

"I know." Of course he knew. Something about that answer felt unexpectedly familiar.

You took a step towards the door then another.

"I should go."

Jungkook nodded.Yet as your hand reached the handle, his voice stopped you.

"Good morning." You glanced over your shoulder. He was holding the cup of tea, looking considerably more awake now.

"Good morning, Mrs Jeon."

An hour later the dining room was already prepared. The table seemed to stretch endlessly beneath a glittering chandelier. Silver cutlery gleamed beneath the morning light, while servants moved quietly around the room, placing dishes in their proper places.

Margaret was already seated. She smiled the moment she saw you. You took the seat beside her. A few moments later, Cecilia entered. Elegant as always not that she looked pleased to be there. Her eyes swept across the table before settling on Jungkook. Without hesitation, she pulled out the chair beside him and sat down.

"Good morning, Cecilia," you said politely. Cecilia looked up from pouring herself coffee. For a second, you wondered if she would ignore you entirely. Then she gave a short nod.

"Morning."

A servant began serving breakfast. For a while, the table remained quiet. Until Cecilia decided silence was unacceptable.

"Jungkook."

"Hm?"

"You're leaving for the office today?"

"After lunch."

Cecilia immediately brightened . To your surprise, Cecilia reached over and adjusted his tie. The action seemed completely natural. The sort of thing someone did after years of familiarity. Jungkook didn't even react clearly this was normal. You focused very hard on your breakfast.

Margaret, however, looked entertained. "You do realise he's capable of adjusting his own tie."

Cecilia didn't even glance at her. "He's capable of many things. That doesn't mean he'll do them properly."

Jungkook sighed "I am sitting right here."

Margaret nearly choked on her tea. You hid a smile. Cecilia noticed Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Something amusing?"

"No."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

Margaret laughed outright. Jungkook folded his newspaper.

"You've frightened her."

"She's still here, isn't she?"

You decided that was probably the closest thing to affection Cecilia was capable of expressing. Margaret leaned towards you slightly.

"That's Cecilia being friendly."

You blinked "Friendly?"

"Terrifying, isn't it?"

Breakfast eventually came to an end. The household seemed to move with practiced efficiency the moment Jungkook prepared to leave. You found yourself unsure whether you were expected to do anything at all.

Margaret, apparently, knew exactly what was expected. She approached Jungkook carrying his watch. "You forgot this."

Margaret looked entirely pleased with herself as she fastened the watch around his wrist. Cecilia appeared moments later. She stepped forward, adjusted his collar, and pressed a quick peck on his lip .

"Don't work too late."

"I'll try."

"You always say that."

"And yet you keep asking."

Cecilia huffed dramatically. You remained where you were. A few steps away. After all, what exactly were you supposed to do? You had known the man for barely a day.

Jungkook's gaze drifted across the hall. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours. Then they shifted towards Margaret. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Before you could think about it further, he turned towards the door. The massive front doors closed behind him.

Margaret immediately clapped her hands together. "Come along, darling." She linked her arm through yours before you could protest. "I shall show you the estate. Trust me, you'll need a tour."

Cecilia snorted. "She'll get lost within an hour."

Margaret shot her a look. "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Be nice."

Cecilia folded her arms. Then her gaze landed on you. You weren't entirely sure how a single person could communicate so much judgement without speaking. It was almost impressive. You found yourself pouting slightly.

Margaret looked at you. Then looked at Cecilia. Then back at you. The tiny pout on your face was so unexpectedly sulky that her heart nearly melted.

Margaret immediately reached over and patted your cheek. "There, there."

You looked scandalised "I am not upset."

"Of course not." Margaret smiled sweetly. Across the hall, Cecilia stared at the interaction. Then, for reasons known only to herself, looked even more annoyed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

With that, she turned sharply and marched away. The sound of her heels echoed through the corridor. You watched her disappear.

"Does she always do that?" Margaret considered the question. "Every day"

Then she tucked your arm through hers once more. "Come along."

"Where first?" A mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes. "The library." Your face immediately brightened. Margaret smiled.

For the next hour, Margaret guided you through what felt like half the estate. The west wing , the library , the conservatory. A music room nobody seemed to use anymore. Several drawing rooms you were fairly certain all looked identical. By the end of it, your feet hurt. Margaret looked perfectly fine. You suspected she possessed supernatural abilities.

"You'll get used to it eventually," she said.

"To walking five miles just to find breakfast?"

Margaret laughed "Precisely."

The two of you turned another corner before she suddenly stopped. A door stood at the end of the corridor. Unlike the others, it was locked. The brass handle gleamed untouched. Something about it felt different. You glanced at Margaret.

"What's in there?"

For the first time all morning, her smile faded. "That was Eleanor's room."

Your heart skipped. Eleanor The name seemed to linger in the air. You hesitated then curiosity got the better of you.

"I've heard about her. What was she like?"

A strange expression crossed Margaret's face. A little later, the two of you found yourselves seated on a garden bench overlooking the rose gardens. The morning breeze carried the scent of flowers through the air. For several moments, Margaret simply stared ahead. Then she spoke.

"Eleanor was beautiful. The sort of beautiful people write poems about." A faint smile touched her lips.

"When she entered a room, everyone noticed. She was kind too," Margaret continued. "Very kind." The smile on her face became genuine. "Most people assumed she'd hate me."

You frowned "Why?"

"Because I was another wife."

"Oh."

Margaret shrugged "Instead, she became my friend."

You blinked "A close friend?"

"My best friend."

The answer came without hesitation. A small ache settled in your chest. Margaret looked down at her hands.

"Eleanor never treated me like a rival. Nor Cecilia. Oh, Cecilia was impossible back then. She argued with everyone. I find that very difficult to believe."

Margaret gave you a look. You both burst out laughing. When the laughter faded, Margaret continued.

"Eleanor always knew how to handle her. She knew how to handle all of us."

You looked towards the estate. Towards the countless windows.

"You loved her."

Margaret's eyes grew suspiciously bright "Very much." Margaret's gaze drifted towards the gardens. Towards nothing at all.

"She loved Jungkook. So much that it was almost frightening."

Then Margaret's expression darkened. "The day she died..." Her voice trailed off.

You felt your stomach tighten "Margaret?"

She exhaled slowly "One day she was here and the next...We found her dead."

The words landed heavily between you. You didn't know what to say. What could anyone say? Margaret stared ahead. Lost somewhere in the past.

"I remember thinking the house had become too quiet and somehow it never stopped being quiet after that."

That evening, the estate felt quieter than usual. Jungkook had returned one look at him told you the day had been difficult. His tie had been loosened, his hair slightly dishevelled, and there was a weariness in his eyes that even his usual composure couldn't hide.

Margaret immediately stood "Long day?"

"The longest." His answer earned a sympathetic smile. Before either of you could say anything else, Cecilia appeared. As though she had been waiting.

"There you are."

Jungkook glanced at her. Cecilia took his coat from his shoulders before any servant could. Her arms travel on his chest she push her body closer to him , she took his hand place on her lower waist .

"Come upstairs."

"Cecilia—"

"No arguments." She put her index finger tip on his lip looking directly in his eyes in a seductive way .

Jungkook seemed too exhausted to argue. With a quiet sigh, he allowed Cecilia to lead him towards the staircase. The two disappeared upstairs.

Margaret lowered her gaze. For a brief moment, her expression looked unbearably sad. As though she were trying very hard not to feel something. Your heart squeezed. Without thinking, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around her. Margaret froze. Then slowly relaxed into the hug.

"Oh, darling." Her voice was soft. You rested your chin on her shoulder.

"Come to my room. We'll watch a film."

"A film?"

"Yes."

Margaret smiled despite herself "I believe that's your solution to everything."

"It usually works."

The older woman shook her head affectionately. "You are ridiculous."

"Maybe."

"But very sweet."

The film had been Margaret's choice. It was some impossibly romantic story involving stolen glances, handwritten letters, and a handsome gentleman who spent half the film staring longingly at the heroine.

You had spent most of the time making sarcastic remarks. Margaret had spent most of the time telling you to be quiet. By the end of it, neither of you were paying much attention to the screen. The two of you sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing biscuits and tea.

Margaret glanced at you "So. Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

You nearly choked on your tea. Margaret looked delighted. "Oh, there was someone."

You groaned "A very long time ago. I was practically a child."

"You still are."

You stared at her "Margaret. "I'm twenty-four."

"Exactly." She smiled sweetly "So what happened?"

You rolled your eyes "He moved away."

"Tragic."

"It wasn't tragic."

"Heartbreaking?."

"It really wasn't."

Margaret laughed. The sound filled the room. For a moment, you simply watched her. It struck you how easy it was to speak with her. As though you had known her far longer than a day. Margaret studied your face.

The following morning was unusually peaceful. You were curled up on one end of the drawing-room sofa, a book resting in your lap. Margaret sat nearby, carefully slicing fruit for breakfast. The estate was quiet. Then Cecilia entered. One glance at her face told you she was in an exceptionally good mood.

Which, somehow, was far more concerning. Margaret didn't even look up.

"Good morning, Cecilia."

"Good morning."

You lowered your book "Morning."

Cecilia sat down and helped herself to a strawberry. A smile lingered on her lips.

"Honestly husband didn’t let me sleep last night , he was so much in mood "

Margaret's knife paused briefly. You shifted uncomfortably.

"Cecilia." You snap "Maybe we don't need to discuss this."

The room went quiet. Cecilia slowly turned towards you. Her smile vanished.

"What did you say?"

You immediately realised your mistake "I just meant—"

"No."

She look so offended "What exactly did you mean?"

Margaret looked up "Cecilia."

But Cecilia wasn't listening anymore.

"You've been here for what? A few days? And suddenly you're telling me what I can and cannot talk about? You really are ill mannered."

You swallowed "I wasn't trying to—"

"OF COURSE YOU WERE." The words came sharper now. "You walk into this house and immediately start acting as though you belong here."

Margaret stood "Enough."

"No." Cecilia's voice cracked through the room. "No, I'm tired of pretending. You know what your problem is?"

You blinked rapidly "Cecilia..."

"You think being young makes you special." The words struck harder than they should have. "You're not the first wife. You're not even the second."

Margaret looked horrified "Cecilia!"

"But somebody should tell her."

The older woman stepped forward "Cecilia, stop." Yet Cecilia continued. As though every insecurity you'd carried into this marriage had suddenly been given a voice.

By the end of it, your vision had blurred. You hated that. Hated that tears had appeared at all. You looked away quickly. Margaret saw. Her expression immediately softened.

"Oh, darling..." At that exact moment, footsteps echoed through the hall. Everyone turned. It's Jungkook he stopped the moment he entered the room. His gaze moved from Margaret... to Cecilia...and finally to you. Your eyes were red and suddenly, every single person in it looked guilty.

Cecilia moved first as she always did. She crossed the room quickly and wrapped her arms around Jungkook. " Honey ." To your astonishment, her eyes were suddenly shining with tears.

"She disrespected me."

You stared. Margaret stared. Even Jungkook looked mildly unconvinced. Cecilia buried her face against his shoulder. "I was only talking and she told me to stop."

Margaret looked as though she wanted to throw a fruit bowl. Instead, she walked over to you. "Look at me."

You tried looking away. Margaret gently cupped your face. She wiped away a tear that had escaped despite your best efforts. Across the room, Cecilia continued her performance.

Slowly, his gaze shifted towards you. Your eyes were still red. Your book still lay abandoned on the sofa. For several seconds, he simply studied you. Then he stepped away from Cecilia. Jungkook stopped in front of you.

"Look at me." Reluctantly, you did "Did you disrespect her first?"

You shook your head "No."

His expression didn't change "Did you insult her?"

"No."

"Raise your voice?"

Another shake of your head "No."

Jungkook nodded once. Then his gaze moved towards Cecilia. A terrible sign Cecilia immediately straightened.

"What?"

"Did she?" The room became very interested in the answer. Cecilia opened her mouth. Margaret folded her arms. Finally, Cecilia huffed.

"No."

Jungkook sighed quietly "Cecilia."

"What?"

"Apologise."

Cecilia looked genuinely offended.

"To her?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"Cecilia."

She stared at him. Then at you. Then at Margaret.

"I'm...sorry."

The evening settled over the estate in uneasy stillness. You sat curled on the sofa with a newspaper. At first, you only skimmed it. Then your eyes caught the headline.

JEON HOUSEHOLD SHROUDED IN MYSTERY: FOURTH MARRIAGE, DEAD FIRST WIFE, AND WHISPERS OF CRIME

Your stomach tightened. The article went on and on exaggerations, rumours dressed up as facts, cruel speculation about Jungkook, about Eleanor, about you. You turned another page.

A sharp voice cut through the room.

“Don’t read that.”

You flinched. Jungkook stood near the doorway, tie loosened, expression unreadable but his tone wasn’t. “Don’t read that bullshit.”

Your fingers tightened around the paper. A question had been sitting inside you since the morning, growing heavier with every whispered rumour, every locked rooms . You lifted your gaze.

“…Did you really kill Eleanor?”

The air changed. Jungkook’s expression shifted not slowly, not subtly. It hardened his eyes darkened in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“What did you just say?”

Your throat tightened you stood up.

“I just—people say—” You didn’t get to finish.

In a single stride, he crossed the distance between you. The newspaper slipped from your hands. Your back hit the wall before you fully registered what was happening. Jungkook’s hand came up fast but it wasn’t around your throat. It was against the wall beside your head. The impact made your breath stutter. His other hand caught your cheek , not gently, but firmly enough to make you still.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, voice low and shaking with something dangerous, “take her name again.”

Your chest rose sharply. Fear spread through you before you could stop it “I didn’t mean—”

“Do you hear me?” His grip tightened slightly, not hurting you but close enough that your mind couldn’t tell the difference.

“Never. Say that. Again.”

Your eyes burned. You nodded quickly, breath uneven “Okay… okay…”

From the side of the room “JUNGKOOK.” Margaret’s voice. She had entered without you noticing. Her eyes moved from him… to you… to his hand still near your face.

“Let her go.”

Jungkook didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he stepped back. Like something inside him had snapped loose. You slid down the wall slightly, shaking. Margaret was there in an instant. She pulled you into her chest.

“It’s alright,” she murmured softly, stroking your hair. “You’re alright.”

You clung to her without thinking. Across the room, Jungkook stood very still. His breathing changed. His hand pressed against the edge of the table. His jaw tightened. Margaret noticed immediately.

“Jungkook…”

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at you. Or maybe through you. His breath became uneven like he couldn’t catch it properly.

“No…” he muttered under his breath. Margaret’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, don’t move.”

Jungkook took one step back. His hand went to his chest. He looked… lost. For the first time since you’d known him he panicked and then his breathing broke completely and then he fell. Hard. The sound of it snapped through the room.

“Jungkook!” Both you and Margaret moved at once. You reached him first, dropping to your knees beside him, your hands shaking as you tried to steady his shoulder.

“Hey hey, look at me,” you said quickly, though your voice trembled. “Breathe… just breathe.”

His eyes were unfocused, chest rising unevenly. Margaret was already there, grabbing a glass of water from the side table and splashing a little on her palm before pressing it gently near his face.

“Easy,” she murmured. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” Slowly, his breathing began to settle. The sharp panic in his eyes dulled still there, but no longer consuming him.

Only when his grip loosened did you realise how tightly you’d been holding him. Jungkook pushed himself upright, though unsteadily. The silence that followed was heavier than before. Then his gaze snapped to you. Something in him hardened again.

“Don’t ever mention her name like that again,” he said, voice low and rough. “Do you understand me?”

You flinched slightly. He continued before you could answer.

“If you do… you’ll see something you won’t like.” The words landed like ice. “Go to your room.”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t argue. You stood slowly, eyes lowered “…Okay.” And then you left.

Margaret stayed behind. Jungkook was still sitting on the floor, one hand pressed to his forehead, trying to steady himself.

“You scared her,” Margaret said softly. His jaw tightened. “She crossed a line.”

Margaret didn’t look away “Truth is always bitter.”