"Ishq Mubarak, Dard Mubarak "

(Congratulations on love, congratulations on pain.)

________

"Yes, Mother," I reply. "I'll make sure to address everything."

"See that you do," she says with a smile. "You have to be perfect. Your appearance reflects on all of us. And remember, this is for your own good. Men like Jungkook need constant reminders of why they chose you. You don't want him to stray, do you?"

The idea that my worth is tied to my looks, that I must constantly prove myself to keep him from straying, feels like a nightmare. Will I ever be good enough?

I'm going to get to the bottom of this. It makes sense now why Jungkook never lets me into his home office; he apparently has some things to hide. I am going to find out if this is all in my head or if my whole life is truly a lie.

___

We return from the party, and I slip away quietly, heading to Jungkook's office, a place I've never dared to enter before. The door's left unlocked. The audacity. He's so certain of my obedience that he doesn't even feel the need to lock it. The thought makes my stomach twist—does he think I'm that predictable? That controllable? I clench my teeth, trying to suppress the anger rising in my chest, pushing the thought away.

I step inside, my heart hammering as I begin to search through the drawers. I feel the panic gnawing at me, crawling under my skin. Anxiety floods my mind, every second of silence like a whisper of dread. What if I'm wrong? What if I don't find anything? But no—no, I will find it. The truth has to be here somewhere. I sift through piles of contracts and business agreements, papers rustling, each file a reminder of just how little I really know. My hands tremble as I pull the contract out from the stack.

When my eyes scan the words, my breath hitches, the air thick with disbelief and something colder—fear. Our marriage... it's arranged.

The realization hits like a blow to the gut. My hands shake uncontrollably as I trace the ink of the contract, each letter a dagger, every word unraveling the perfect life I thought I had. My vision blurs, the paper in my hands becoming a mocking reflection of everything I believed was real. It's not real. None of it was.

I can't breathe. It feels like I'm dying inside. How could I have been so blind? How could I not have known?

I throw the contract onto the desk. The dull thud it makes when it lands in front of me is almost satisfying, as though it's some kind of answer, some kind of finality. But it doesn't stop the crushing weight in my chest. I stumble back, away from the papers like they are on fire, and catch my reflection in the mirror.

The woman staring back at me... she's a stranger. Her blond locks shimmer like gold, like a trophy. But now, they feel like chains. I touch my face, the perfectly sculpted nose that no longer feels like me, the lips designed to be sexy, to be wanted. But it was never for me, was it? It was for their desires.

Jungkook's little doll was manipulated into existence for some business transaction. I was never a person. I was a thing—an object sculpted to satisfy their needs. Not my needs. Their needs. I am not me. I am a creation. A puppet in a play I was never meant to star in.

My fingers run through my hair—dry, brittle from years of straightening my natural curls to fit their idea of perfection. Every strand feels like a reminder of how I've let them shape me, how I've let them destroy everything I once was. And the clothes—oh God, the clothes. Almost every piece in my closet was handpicked by my mother, her vision of what I should be wearing, how I should look, how I should act.

I'm nothing without their control. A puppet on a string, dancing to the tune of Mr. Jeon's perfect wife. I collapse to the ground, mascara-coated tears streaking down my cheeks, the weight of everything crashing down on me. My chest heaves, sobs escaping my throat as I gasp for air. I thought what we had was real. But it was all lies. All lies.

How could I have been so fucking blind? I gave everything—my heart, my soul—believing in a love that never existed. How stupid am I?

I bury my face in my hands, the truth overwhelming me. I can't stop shaking. I was never his equal. I was never his partner. I was just... a trophy, eye candy on his arm. That's all I've ever been.

My mind races, the contents of the contract replaying over and over in my head like a broken record. My father's signature next to Jungkook's. They discussed the benefits of this sick deal like it was some business agreement, some transaction. I should have expected this from my father. But from Jungkook? Never.

The bitterness crawls under my skin, seeping into every corner of my soul. All the times he slept with me, they were never about passion or love. It's like I am a fancy prostitute. Everything he ever did was to keep me blind and compliant. I would have never agreed to this if I knew the truth. How could I have been so easily manipulated, so naive, so stupid? How could I have fallen for this? Two years. Two years of pretending, two years of thinking we had something real. A fucking lie.

The door creaks open behind me. I stiffen, my heart skipping a beat, the sound of his heavy footsteps filling the room. I turn, and there he is—Jungkook. His frame fills the doorway, his size looming over me. He steps forward, his expression unreadable, like a cold mask hiding everything beneath. His presence makes the air feel thick, suffocating.

"Y/N," he says, his voice low, controlled. Too controlled. "What are you doing here? You know my office is off-limits."

I meet his gaze, defiant. There's no room for fear anymore, not after what I've just learned. My lips twist into a scowl. "I found your precious contract," I spit, the anger and pain bubbling over. "The one that binds us together like some business transaction."

Jungkook's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. I can see the flicker of something—surprise, maybe—but it disappears as quickly as it came. "You weren't supposed to see that," he replies, his voice cold, detached.

"Supposed to see what?" I retort, not caring anymore. "That I've been living a lie? That I am nothing to you?"

He takes another step forward, his gaze piercing mine. His words come out like ice. "It was necessary. It protects what matters."

I laugh bitterly, every word laced with sarcasm and anger. "What matters?" I scoff, incredulous. "Your empire? Your business deals?"

Jungkook's fists clench and unclench at his sides. The tension in the air is suffocating. "Yes," he admits, his voice gravelly. "But also you, Y/N."

His words hit like a slap, and I choke on a bitter laugh, tears stinging my eyes. "Don't," I plead, the pain threatening to break me completely. "Don't pretend like this was ever about me."

I grab the crumpled contract from the desk and throw it in his face. "Are you happy with your masterpiece?" I growl through gritted teeth, my heart pounding.

He stands there, unmoving, before tossing the contract back onto the desk. "It's our reality, Y/N," he says, his tone final, unyielding.

"And what about me, Jungkook?" I challenge, my voice raw with desperation. "Have you ever thought about me in all of this?"

There's a flicker in his eyes, a crack in his perfect mask. He hesitates for just a moment, and I almost see something—something real—but it's gone before I can even grasp it. "I never meant to hurt you," he admits, his voice quieter now, almost... unsure.