The past two months felt like a blur—an unstoppable rush toward a future I never asked for. Every day seemed to slip through my fingers, a relentless countdown to the marriage that loomed over my life like a dark cloud. What started as months turned into weeks, and now, with only few days left, I found myself sitting in the back of the limo, Luca and Yoongi beside me, silent as ever, as we headed toward the airport.

My gaze drifted out the window, taking in the cityscape one last time, feeling the weight of my new life pressing down on me. The last two months had passed in a rush of fittings, meetings, and endless preparations. And in all that time, I’d grown used to the presence of Luca.

Luca had started as just another figure in the background, one of Taehyung’s men assigned to guard me. He’d been strict at first, hardly speaking to me outside of formalities, his expression constantly impassive. I’d tried to keep my distance, too, knowing that he was here on Taehyung’s orders. But over time, I saw cracks in his rigid demeanor—small glimpses of someone beneath that stoic exterior. And little by little, something changed.

I remembered one morning, about a month ago. I’d been sitting on the balcony, reading quietly, and accidentally spilled my tea. I’d sighed, half-expecting him to scold me or complain about the mess. But instead, he’d silently handed me a napkin, his gaze softening just a fraction as he muttered, “Be careful next time, Miss Min.”

Since then, he’d spoken to me more, sometimes even cracking a small smile at my jokes. My persistent attempts to lighten the mood, to break the silence, finally seemed to wear down his walls. Now, he almost felt like a strange kind of friend, a calm presence that I didn’t mind having around.

“You seem lost in thought,” Yoongi’s voice broke through my reverie. I glanced at him, his ever-present frown softened slightly, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. He and I had always been close—my cousin, my protector, the one who understood me best in this chaotic world. And while Yoongi remained as silent and serious as ever, I could sense his worry, even if he’d never voice it.

“I’m just… trying to understand how we ended up here,” I admitted softly, barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder would make the reality hit harder. Yoongi’s hand reached out, a reassuring grip on my shoulder, but he said nothing. No words were needed; he knew.

As we arrived at the airport, I saw the sleek, private jet waiting on the tarmac, gleaming under the afternoon sun. The car came to a stop, and Luca opened my door, extending his hand with a practiced, respectful nod. I took it, a small smile finding its way to my lips as I glanced up at him. “Thank you, Luca,” I murmured.

He met my gaze, a slight warmth in his eyes. “Of course, Miss Min.”

We boarded, settling into the plush seats. I watched Luca as he checked over the arrangements, ensuring everything was perfect before taking a seat across from me. Once we were in the air, I couldn’t resist asking, “Do you know when Taehyung will be arriving?”

Luca's gaze flickered to mine, thoughtful, almost cautious. “He’ll be there by evening,” he replied, his tone as composed as ever. “But you should rest, Miss Min. It’ll be a long flight.”

I nodded, leaning back in my seat, trying to find some sense of calm. But the thought of the impending marriage, of being bound to a man I barely knew, gnawed at me, pulling me into a restless sleep.

________________________

The private island was breathtaking. The mansion sat atop , overlooking the endless stretch of the ocean, its architecture both opulent and imposing. But beneath the beauty lay a trap—one I could never escape from.

As I settled into my assigned room, a familiar figure entered, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Miso!” Mo-eum, my younger sister, hurried over, pulling me into a tight hug. Her enthusiasm was like a breath of fresh air in the tense atmosphere, reminding me of happier days when our worries were limited to silly things.

“Mo-eum,” I greeted, forcing a smile to hide the turmoil inside me. She stepped back, studying me with that same concern I’d seen so often in Yoongi’s gaze.

“Come, let’s talk,” she said, guiding me to a secluded spot on the balcony, away from the watchful eyes of the others. She turned to me, her eyes serious, almost pleading. “Miso… how do you feel about all this? About the marriage?”

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “What’s there to feel, Mo-eum?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Everything’s been decided for me. I just… have to go through with it, like Father wants.”

Her eyes filled with sadness, and she took my hand in hers. “Let’s run away, Miso. We can leave this place. Just the two of us—no one would ever know.”

My heart ached at her words, at her desperation to save me. But I shook my head, knowing that escape was nothing more than a beautiful fantasy. “Running away isn’t an option, Mo-eum. Taehyung… he’ll punish everyone I leave behind. I can’t let my family suffer because of my choices.”

She sat beside me, her shoulders slumping in defeat, a solemn expression on her face. For a moment, we sat in silence, staring out at the horizon, two sisters trapped in a world neither of us could escape.

Yoongi entered the room then, quietly observing us, and Mo-eum shot him a pleading look, as if he held the answers we both sought. But he only gave a small nod, his gaze softening as he looked at me.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a promise—a promise that no matter what, he would be by my side.

And in that moment, surrounded by the people I loved most, I felt a strange sense of peace. It didn’t change my fate, but it reminded me that, even in this prison, I wasn’t entirely alone. And maybe that was enough to give me the strength to face the week ahead, to stand before the altar with Taehyung and accept a life I hadn’t chosen.

But deep down, I knew this was only the beginning. A storm was brewing, and soon, I would have to confront it

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The sun had set, casting the mansion in a soft glow, as I made my way to dinner. My footsteps echoed down the quiet hallway, the weight of expectations pressing down on me as I descended the stairs. As soon as I reached the top step, I caught a glimpse of the dining room, a blend of polished wood and elegant chandeliers reflecting the golden light onto the long table below. And seated there, with a quiet confidence, was Taehyung.

His gaze met mine, and I felt a chill run through me, my breath catching for a second. Those dark, unreadable eyes held me captive, the chocolate depths devoid of warmth. It was as though he saw right through me, into places I wanted hidden, guarded. But I forced myself to walk forward, down the stairs and into the dining room, never breaking his gaze, even as I felt a thousand emotions flicker through me.

“Miso!” Beomgyu’s voice broke the tension in the air as he beamed at me, patting the empty seat beside him. I managed a small smile and took my place, aware of Taehyung’s intense gaze from across the table. His father, Kim Do-hwan, sat at the head, his aura filling the room as if he commanded every breath taken within it. My own parents were further down, politely engaged in conversation, the strains of business discussions mingling with the soft clinking of silverware.

I tried to eat, but my appetite had long disappeared. I found myself picking at the food instead, cutting small pieces and arranging them without really tasting anything. Beomgyu noticed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in, voice low enough that only I could hear.

“You’re missing out, you know,” he teased, nudging my arm. “This chef is practically a legend. Just like you, Miso.”

I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips, but before I could respond, I felt the weight of Taehyung’s stare intensify. I glanced up, only to see his hand clenched around his fork, his knuckles white as he glared at Beomgyu, barely masking the irritation simmering beneath his cool facade.

And then, Kim Do-hwan spoke, his voice carrying an unspoken authority that made everyone at the table fall silent. “Is there something wrong with the food, Miso?” His question was innocent enough, but his gaze felt like a spotlight, scrutinizing, analyzing. My stomach twisted under his gaze.

Startled, I straightened in my seat and quickly shook my head. “No, it’s… it’s delicious, Mr. Kim.”

He held my gaze a moment longer, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips. “Good,” he said, finally looking away, a hint of something ominous lurking beneath his polite words. “I expect only good things from you, Miso.”

The underlying threat in his tone was unmistakable, a subtle reminder that failure was not an option. A shiver traced down my spine, and I forced myself to nod, my voice quiet. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of muted conversation and forced smiles, the tension so thick it was hard to breathe. When it finally ended, I excused myself, desperate for some air, for anything that didn’t make me feel like I was drowning.

Outside, the beach stretched endlessly, moonlight casting a silver glow on the sand and waves lapping softly at the shore. Yoongi walked beside me, a silent shadow, his presence comforting in its steadiness. I looped my arm through his, clinging to him as we strolled down the shoreline, the cold night breeze refreshing on my flushed skin.

We eventually settled down on the sand, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, grateful for the support. My emotions swirled within me, restless, raw, and vulnerable—the remnants of wine and tension clouding my thoughts.

“Yoongi,” I whispered, my voice barely above the sound of the waves. “Tell me something… anything. Just… talk to me.”

Yoongi glanced down at me, his usual stern expression softening. “What should I say?” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he paused, seemingly lost for words. After a moment, he cleared his throat, trying hard to sound lighthearted. “Well, did you know that last week I outdrank every single guard at the manor?”

I chuckled, a sound that felt foreign, as though I hadn’t laughed in ages. “Yoongi, you’re terrible at small talk.”

He let out a small huff, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I never said I was good at it,” he replied, his tone teasing as he tried again, launching into a story about his antics with some of the guards, his tone becoming animated as he recounted their fumbling attempts to keep up with him.

But still, my spirits remained low, and Yoongi’s smile began to fade, frustration crossing his features. And then, as if desperate, he tried something else. He glanced around, as though ensuring no one could see him, then turned back to me, his usual stoic mask slipping as he pulled a silly, exaggerated face, complete with his rarely-seen gummy smile.

The sight caught me off guard, a surprised laugh escaping me before I could stop it. I covered my mouth, but it was too late—I was laughing, really laughing, my chest lightening as the sound filled the night air. Yoongi, the man I’d always known to be strong, silent, and unyielding, had managed to break through the wall of anxiety surrounding me, if only for a moment.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” I said quietly once my laughter subsided, leaning back against him. “For being here.”

He shrugged, though his expression softened. “You know I always am.”

For a while, we sat in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves calming me as I gazed out over the water, grateful for this moment of peace. But suddenly, a prickling sensation ran down my spine—a feeling of being watched. Slowly, I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze drifting up toward the mansion.

There, standing on the balcony, was Taehyung.

His eyes were locked onto me, an unreadable expression on his face. Even from this distance, I could feel the intensity of his gaze, dark and focused, as if he were studying me, evaluating my every movement. His face was devoid of emotion, but there was something chilling in the way he watched me, as though I were a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together.

I couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling, couldn’t decipher the thoughts behind his eyes. Was it anger? Curiosity? I didn’t know. All I knew was that he was watching, and I couldn’t look away.

As the silence stretched between us, I felt a chill run through me, my mind spinning with unanswered questions. What did he want from me? Why did he look at me that way? And why did I feel as though, in that moment, he saw straight into my soul?

But before I could even begin to understand, Taehyung turned away, disappearing back into the mansion, leaving me with a strange, unsettling sense of foreboding.

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[ I was inspired from this pic ]

Author's Note:

Ah, the sweet aroma of tension, betrayal, and... tea spills? Miso’s life is spiraling faster than my Wi-Fi during a thunderstorm. 😎 From stoic guards to marriage doom, she’s collecting emotional baggage like it's a limited-edition set.

And let’s not forget Taehyung’s brooding balcony stare. Classic. It’s like he went to the “How to Be Mysterious and Scary 101” course. 👀

But hey, we’re just getting warmed up. Buckle up, buttercups, because         this ride has more twists than a   K-drama finale. Stay tuned for more awkward dinners, intense stares, and maybe, just maybe, another spilled cup of tea. ☕

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