I was just about to head out for the dress fitting, mentally preparing myself for yet another tedious task in this forced engagement, when one of the house staff knocked on my door. “Miss Miso, your father wishes to see you in his office.”

I sighed, annoyance bubbling in my chest. What now? As if preparing for this ridiculous marriage wasn’t enough. I took a steadying breath, smoothing down my dress, and made my way to my father’s office.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and I stepped inside. My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, looking more like a king on a throne than a man about to ruin his daughter’s life. His cold, calculating gaze lifted when he saw me, and the tension in the room grew thicker with every passing second.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though irritation seeped into my words.

He didn’t waste time. “Taehyung is coming to Russia.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. Taehyung? Coming here? My immediate reaction was confusion, followed by a swift wave of dread. What the hell was he coming here for?

“What?” I snapped, my brow furrowing. “So? Why is that related to me? What do I have to do with that piece of information?”

My father’s eyes narrowed, his expression as cold as ice. “Don’t be foolish, Miso. Taehyung is the son of the Capo dei Capi of New York. Don’t you understand what that means? His presence here has significance. People know why he’s coming.”

I crossed my arms defensively, feeling my patience wearing thin. “So what? What does that have to do with me? You’ve already made it clear I have to marry him, but that doesn’t mean I have to care where he is or what he’s doing.”

My father’s lips pressed into a thin line, his stare hardening. “You can’t go outside now.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There are too many threats around us. Now that people know why Taehyung is here, you’re a target,” he said coldly, his tone dismissive as though this was just a minor inconvenience. “You’re not leaving this estate. It’s too dangerous.”

I scoffed, anger flaring up inside me. “What about my fitting? I have to go.”

“You’re not leaving,” my father repeated, his voice firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “The dressmakers will come here. Everything will be handled. You are not stepping foot outside this house until the engagement is formalized. Do I make myself clear?”

I gritted my teeth, my frustration threatening to boil over. Of course, he didn’t care about what I wanted or how I felt. My entire life had been reduced to a business transaction, a pawn in a game played by men with too much power and too little humanity.

“And what if I refuse?” I challenged, though I already knew the answer. My father didn’t deal in refusals.

His gaze was steely, unmoving. “You won’t.”

The finality in his tone made my stomach churn. I clenched my fists, biting back the urge to scream. He was right. I wouldn’t refuse. Not because I didn’t want to, but because if I did, Mo-eum would pay the price. The very reason I had agreed to this farce in the first place. My sister’s safety was more important than my freedom.

With a cold nod, I turned on my heel, walking out of his office without another word. The door slammed shut behind me, echoing through the hallway as if marking the end of my already-limited control over my own life.

As I headed back to my room, my mind raced with a mix of fury and helplessness. Taehyung was coming here. To Russia. To this estate. My pulse quickened at the thought of meeting him before the engagement—before I had the chance to escape. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to face him until it was too late, until I was far away with Yoongi and Mo-eum. But now… it seemed like fate had other plans.

And none of them were in my favor.

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I sat on the edge of my bed, hands trembling, my tears falling silently onto the silk fabric of my dress. My vision was blurred as I stared down at my lap, my chest tightening with each shaky breath. The walls of my room, once a place of comfort, now felt like a prison, closing in on me. The plan was ruined. Everything was ruined.

Taehyung was coming here. To Russia. To this house. And my father had made it perfectly clear—I wasn’t going anywhere. The small sliver of hope I had clung to was now slipping through my fingers like sand. My escape with Yoongi and Mo-eum... the one desperate chance I had to get out of this nightmare was gone.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I quickly wiped my tears, but it was pointless. I knew who it was. Yoongi. He always had a way of knowing when something was wrong with me, long before I ever said a word.

“Miso?” Yoongi’s voice was soft but concerned as he opened the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him. His presence, usually so calming, only made my chest tighten further. He looked at me for a moment, taking in the sight of my tear-streaked face. “Why are you crying? What happened?”

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. My hands shook as I wiped my face, turning my gaze away from him. But Yoongi wasn’t the type to let me hide from him. He crossed the room in a few steps, kneeling in front of me, gently tilting my chin up so that I was forced to meet his gaze. His dark eyes softened as he looked at me, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Miso,” he said gently, his voice full of concern. “Talk to me. What happened?”

I took a deep, shaky breath, my mind racing with everything that had transpired in my father’s office. The realization of how trapped I truly was hit me all over again, and I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out once more.

“He’s coming,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Taehyung... He’s coming here.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened for a brief moment, his jaw clenching before he quickly composed himself. “What do you mean, he’s coming here?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice trembling as I explained. “My father... he said Taehyung is on his way to Russia. To this house. He said I can’t leave... that it’s too dangerous. There are threats everywhere now that people know why Taehyung is here.” I laughed bitterly, though it was void of any real humor. “I can’t even go to my fitting. They’re bringing everything here because I’m a ‘target.’”

Yoongi’s eyes darkened with anger, but his hands remained gentle as they rested on mine, grounding me. “That bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “He knew this would happen. He’s locking you in, trapping you with Taehyung before you have a chance to escape.”

I nodded, my heart heavy. “I don’t know what to do, Yoongi. I... I can’t marry him. I can’t be trapped with someone like him. But if I try to run, Mo-eum... she’ll be the one who pays for it.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, more protective. He was always protective, but in moments like this, I could see just how deeply he cared. He hated my father’s manipulation as much as I did, but there was only so much he could do.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said, his voice calm and steady, like he was trying to convince me as much as himself. “I’ll get you out of here, Miso. I swear.”

“But how?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “If we try again and fail, he’ll lock me up even more. There’ll be no chance for me, Yoongi. None.”

Yoongi’s thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, a comforting gesture, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the growing panic in my chest. “We need to think carefully. We can’t make any rash moves now. You’re right—if we fail, the consequences will be worse. But I won’t let him win. I won’t let you be trapped in a life you never wanted.”

His words brought a small flicker of hope back into my heart, but the reality of the situation weighed heavily on me. I couldn’t see a way out, not anymore. My father had thought of everything. He knew exactly how to control me, how to box me in, how to use my love for Mo-eum against me.

“I just wanted to leave,” I whispered, the sadness in my voice breaking through. “I wanted to take Mo-eum and go far away, where none of this would touch us. Where I wouldn’t be forced to marry a man who... who’s capable of so much darkness.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, I saw a flash of something—guilt, maybe, or regret—before he quickly masked it with determination. “You deserve better than this life, Miso. Better than what your father and Taehyung will give you.”

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from crying again. “But we don’t have time, Yoongi. He’s coming here. Taehyung will be here soon, and once he’s here... it’s over.”

Yoongi didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes locked on mine as he seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he leaned in closer, his voice low and urgent. “Then we’ll have to move quickly. We’ll find another way out, before it’s too late.”

I met his gaze, searching for any sign that this could work—that there was still a chance. But all I saw was the same determination that had always been in Yoongi’s eyes. The same fierce protectiveness that had been there since we were kids.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that he could get me out of this. But as I sat there, surrounded by the suffocating weight of my father’s control, all I could feel was the looming presence of Taehyung’s arrival, and the tightening noose around my freedom.

________________________

I walked through the long corridors of my father’s mansion, my heels clicking against the marble floor with every step. The sound echoed in the silence, growing louder in my ears, reminding me of every prison-like wall around me. The fitting for my engagement gown. The one my father chose. I had no say in it—just like I had no say in the engagement itself.

As I approached the grand sitting room, where the seamstresses and their team were waiting, my chest tightened with a mixture of rage and despair. I wanted to scream, to tear the whole mansion down brick by brick, but I couldn’t. I had to keep my composure, just like my father expected. Just like Taehyung would expect.

The door to the fitting room was slightly ajar, and as I stepped inside, the voices of the seamstresses filled the air, light and cheerful as if they were oblivious to the weight pressing down on me.

“Oh, the wedding will be such a grand affair,” one of them said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “The daughter of the Bratva leader marrying the son of the Capo dei Capi—this is history in the making!”

Another one chimed in, “And Mr. Kim... such a handsome groom, don’t you think? They’ll make quite the powerful couple.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react. Handsome? Powerful? The only thing I could feel when I thought of Taehyung was disgust and dread. He wasn’t my choice, and I certainly wasn’t his. We were pawns in our fathers’ games, and I was being forced into a marriage that felt more like a death sentence.

As they draped the fabric of the dress over me, the weight of it—both literal and emotional—made me feel like I was drowning. My throat tightened, and I fought back the tears threatening to spill. Crying wouldn’t change anything. Rage wouldn’t change anything. I was trapped, just like Yoongi had said.

I glanced at myself in the mirror as the seamstresses moved around me, pinning and adjusting the gown. It was breathtaking, I had to admit that. A strapless black dress, its fabric rich and luxurious, contrasting sharply with the stark white bow that cascaded down my back in a long, dramatic train. The dress itself was elegant, sophisticated—exactly what one would expect of the future wife of a mafia king. But to me, it was suffocating. A symbol of everything I had lost. My freedom. My choices. My future.

They fussed over the details, adjusting the way the gown hugged my waist and how the train fell perfectly down the stairs. It was the kind of dress any girl would dream of wearing on her wedding day, but to me, it was a nightmare.

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride, Miss Miso,” one of the seamstresses said, smiling at me as she stepped back to admire her work.

I couldn’t even force a smile. My reflection stared back at me, hollow, broken. This wasn’t my choice. This wasn’t my wedding. This wasn’t my life.

When they were done, I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the gown in the mirror. The white bow felt like a mockery of purity and innocence, two things that had been ripped away from me the moment my father had decided my fate. The black fabric felt heavy, like the weight of the mafia world that now rested on my shoulders, a world I was born into but never wanted to rule.

The seamstresses bustled around, packing up their things and talking amongst themselves about the upcoming wedding, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me. I felt like I was suffocating, trapped inside this beautiful, elaborate prison disguised as a wedding gown.

With one last glance in the mirror, I felt my heart sink deeper. There was no escape. No running. No fighting. I was about to marry Taehyung, and I had no choice.
  

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Dear Readers,

THANK YOU for picking up BENEATH HIS DESIRE. I hope you love and enjoy it as much as I did while writing it.

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lavendermiso <333