The night felt heavy as the black limousine glided through the Moscow streets, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across Miso’s face. Her heart drummed in her chest, a steady beat of nerves and dread that seemed to echo off the tinted windows. She smoothed her dress—a sleek, raven-black gown that shimmered under the soft lights of the limo. Her father had chosen it, of course. A symbol, he’d said, of her new life. Her union with Taehyung.

But to Miso, the dress felt like armor, constricting her movements, weighing her down as though it were made of iron. She took a shaky breath, her fingers nervously fiddling with the delicate lace on her gloves. The cityscape blurred outside as they approached the grand venue, an old Russian estate renovated into a palace of modern opulence. The sight of it made her stomach twist, each passing second drawing her closer to a future she desperately wanted to escape.

"Miss Miso," the chauffeur's voice was steady, breaking the silence. "We’re here."

The door opened, and the sound of cameras clicking immediately invaded the limo. Reporters and photographers lined both sides of the red carpet, their voices merging into a chaotic chorus of shouts and flashes. Miso hesitated, feeling as though the world outside was ready to consume her whole.

"Miso!"

The familiar voice anchored her, and she turned to see Yoongi standing at the end of the carpet, dressed in a tailored black suit that gave him an aura of unyielding strength. His gaze softened as he saw her hesitation, a flicker of something gentle breaking through his otherwise stoic expression. Taking a deep breath, Miso gathered herself, stepping out of the car and onto the carpet, feeling as though she were stepping onto a stage—an unwilling actress in a play she wanted no part in.

The reporters surged forward, their cameras flashing relentlessly, and questions were hurled at her from all directions.

“Miss Miso, is there a motive about today's party?”

“Can we expect a announcement today ?”

“Is the Cosa Nostra merging with the Bratva?”

The voices blurred together, each question hitting her like a fresh wave of pressure. She swallowed, her throat dry, as she struggled to keep a neutral expression. Her nerves were clawing at her insides, threatening to unravel the composure she’d worked so hard to maintain.

Yoongi moved toward her, his expression hardening as he positioned himself between her and the reporters, a subtle shield from the prying eyes. He extended a hand, a silent offer of support, and Miso took it gratefully, feeling a faint sense of relief as his steady grip grounded her.

"Ignore them," he murmured, leaning close enough that his voice was only for her ears. "They’re vultures. You don’t owe them anything."

His words were a balm, a reminder that there was at least one person on her side tonight. She nodded, forcing herself to keep her head high as he escorted her up the red carpet, shielding her from the barrage of questions and the endless, blinding flashes of the cameras.

The grand doors opened, swallowing them into the opulent glow of the ballroom. The lights were soft and golden, casting a warm sheen over the marble floors and crystal chandeliers that glittered like stars. Lavish floral arrangements adorned every table, and guests in designer attire mingled, their voices hushed but watchful, their gazes already shifting toward her.

Once inside, Yoongi released her hand, his eyes scanning the room as if assessing potential threats. For a moment, Miso felt a pang of sadness—how had their lives become so entangled in fear and strategy? But before she could dwell on it, a familiar voice called her name.

"Miso!"

She turned to see Mo-eum, her sister, gliding over with a warm smile that barely masked the tension in her eyes. Mo-eum’s dress was a vibrant shade of emerald, a stark contrast against Miso’s somber black. Her sister's hand wrapped around hers, a silent gesture of comfort as she took Miso's arm and led her toward the family table.

"Miso, you look... beautiful," Mo-eum whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "I wish this were under different circumstances."

"Thank you," Miso managed, her voice a soft murmur as they wove through the throngs of guests. "I wish that too."

They reached the family table, a grand affair placed strategically in the center of the room, where Miso’s father sat with Taehyung’s father, both men engaged in hushed, intense conversation. Her father glanced up briefly, his gaze stern but approving as he took in her appearance, a slight nod indicating his satisfaction. It felt hollow to Miso, like being praised for wearing a mask well.

Taehyung wasn’t seated yet, but she knew he’d arrive soon. The thought made her feel as if a chill had entered the room, a sense of foreboding that settled in her bones.

Mo-eum tightened her grip on Miso’s hand, leaning in close. "Stay strong," she whispered, her tone filled with quiet urgency. "Remember, whatever happens tonight, you’re not alone."

Miso nodded, a faint flicker of resolve rising within her. She looked around the room, taking in the sea of faces—all watching, all waiting. This was her life now, a life filled with unspoken rules and deadly alliances, with cold stares and even colder expectations.

And soon, she would be bound to Taehyung, a man whose mere presence made her blood run cold.

The doors opened once more, and she felt a prickle of awareness sweep over her. Taehyung had arrived.

☆

The city lights blurred outside the tinted windows of the limo, painting streaks of neon across the glass. Kim Taehyung leaned back against the plush leather seat, his gaze unfocused, lost in thought as he prepared himself for the night ahead. He still remembered the conversation with his father—how his father’s words had sliced through him like the edge of a cold, sharp blade, leaving him with little choice but to agree to this marriage.

“Marriage isn’t just a union, Taehyung. It’s a declaration. It’s a commitment that commands respect, power. Without it, you’ll never be able to maintain your place as boss. You know in Famiglia marriage is significant”

His father’s voice had been resolute, leaving no room for argument. Taehyung had tried to resist, to argue that he didn’t need a marriage to solidify his authority in the Cosa Nostra. He was capable, ruthless when necessary, and had already proven himself time and again. But his father had only given him that calculating look, one that Taehyung knew too well.

“Refuse, and I’ll ensure that power goes to someone else. Someone with the sense to strengthen our alliances.”

Taehyung clenched his fists at the memory, the quiet fury simmering beneath his composed exterior. He’d never wanted this life handed to him on the basis of a marriage arrangement. If he was to be Capo dei Capi, he wanted it to be on his own terms, not as a pawn in his father’s power games. But here he was, on his way to an announcement party that symbolized everything he’d once sworn he’d never allow himself to be controlled by.

The limo pulled up to the grand venue, and the sounds of reporters outside grew louder. Taehyung’s attention shifted to the event at hand, and his thoughts turned to Miso. He had only seen her briefly, a fleeting encounter that had barely scratched the surface of who she was. She had looked… obedient, sitting at the dining table with her head down, soft-spoken and sweet in a way that made her seem docile. But there had been something in her eyes, a spark that he had noticed when she thought no one was looking.

She wasn’t just soft, he realized. She had a fire simmering beneath that quiet demeanor—a fire she hid with practiced ease. It intrigued him, that contrast between submission and strength. And he couldn’t deny the way his gaze had lingered on her, appreciating the delicate features that only enhanced the fierceness she kept hidden. The way her lips pressed together, the softness of her cheeks, the slight curve of her neck—it was a beauty that commanded attention, even if she didn’t realize it.

The door opened, and the chaos of flashing cameras and voices poured into the car.

“Mr. Kim, can we expect a marriage or a business arrangement?”

“Are you getting  engaged to the President Min's daughter?”

“Is this alliance your idea, or your father’s?”

He ignored them, his expression unchanging as he stepped onto the red carpet. The questions were nothing but noise, irrelevant to him. He moved through the sea of reporters with a quiet, commanding presence, his eyes fixed on the entrance ahead. The world could speculate all they wanted; he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

Once inside, the opulence of the venue did little to ease the tension coiled in his chest. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the gathered guests. The entire room was a testament to the wealth and power of the families present, a reminder of the stakes involved in this marriage.

He barely had a moment to settle in before he saw Miso approaching, flanked by Min Hwan-seok, her father. She was breathtaking, even under the harsh light of scrutiny from both families. Her dress clung to her in all the right ways, a dark, elegant contrast that made her look like something rare, untouchable. But as she got closer, he saw the hint of nervousness in her eyes, the way her fingers subtly clutched at the fabric of her dress.

"Taehyung," Min Hwan-seok said, his voice smooth, an underlying note of pride as he presented his daughter. "Shall we?"

Taehyung offered a polite nod, stepping forward as Miso’s father led them toward the stage. The weight of expectations felt heavy around him, but he maintained his calm, unreadable expression. They stopped just before the stage, waiting as his father took the microphone, his voice carrying across the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Kim Do-hwan began, his tone filled with the authority of a man who knew he held everyone’s attention. "It brings me great pride to announce the union between our families. The Cosa Nostra and the Bratva will be united, stronger than ever."

Applause erupted, the room filling with murmurs of approval and admiration. Taehyung felt every eye on them as he stood beside Miso, the spotlight illuminating their faces. He placed a hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer, feeling the way her body tensed under his touch. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, one he didn’t miss.

A surge of satisfaction filled him, a dark pleasure at the way she reacted to him. She was sensitive, vulnerable to his touch, and he couldn’t deny the thrill that came with it. This was the woman who would stand by his side, the woman everyone would see as his. It was a powerful feeling, one he intended to explore.

Miso kept her gaze forward, her face carefully neutral, but he could see the faint tension in her posture, the way her chest rose and fell just a little quicker. She was playing the part well, but Taehyung had always been able to read people. She was anything but calm.

As his father continued his speech, Taehyung leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur that only she could hear. "Nervous, are we?" he whispered, a hint of amusement and mock lacing his tone.

Miso’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering to him for the briefest of moments. "Not at all," she replied softly, her voice steady despite the way her pulse raced beneath his hand.

"Good," he murmured, letting his hand linger just a little longer on her back, pressing slightly as if to remind her who held the power here. "Because this is just the beginning."

When his father finally finished speaking, the applause resumed, louder this time. Taehyung stepped back, releasing Miso but not before letting his fingers trail off her spine, watching the way her shoulders subtly stiffened at his touch.

The night had only begun, and he could already tell—this marriage was going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated.

_______________________

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.

Don't be a silent reader, if you enjoy it please do like and comment.

Love,
lavendermiso <333

 ⁠♡♡ ⁠♡♡