The warehouse at the address Hoseok had given me loomed like a forgotten relic, its massive concrete structure rising ominously against the vibrant Hawaiian sky. In its day, it was probably once bustling with industry and life; however, it now stood in a state of decay. The building's walls were riddled with cracks and peeling paint that flaked like dead skin on old wounds.

As I drove closer, the air thickened with an unsettling silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves against the car. The oppressive stillness seeped through the windows, wrapping around me like a heavy fog and deepening the dread coiling in my stomach. Defiant tropical plants burst with vibrant colours as they wove through the cracks in the concrete, their green tendrils reaching skyward as if yearning to reclaim their lost territory. Bright splashes of colour from wildflowers burst from the ground, contrasting the cold grey structure with unexpected life. Vines clung tightly to rusted steel beams and snaked across the warehouse's façade. It was all a persistent reminder that nature would not be so easily denied.

I inched the car toward the building, parking in front of the side door I had spotted. I took a moment to steady myself. As much as I wished to delay this confrontation, Yoongi's life depended on my next move. As I stepped outside, the scent of damp earth mingled with a faint, acrid smell of mildew, enveloping me like a heavy shroud.

The boa constrictor of anxiety tightened around my stomach as I approached the side door, each footfall echoing off the walls like a menacing warning. My heart raced at the building's foreboding presence. Its sheer size felt suffocating, as if it were breathing around me, inhaling my fear and exhaling an unspoken threat.

My eyes scanned the entrance, a yawning maw framed by jagged concrete—beckoning yet menacing. Sunlight fought to break through the gloom inside, trickling through broken windows smeared with layers of grime. It cast long shadows that twisted and danced hauntingly across the uneven floor, hinting at secrets concealed beneath layers of dust and debris. The knowledge that Yoongi was inside, trapped and vulnerable, sent shivers down my spine. I fought to steady my breath, but it came in shallow gasps, the weight of dread pressing down on me with each step.

The interior was a disarray of forgotten machinery and overturned crates, remnants of a past that felt impossibly distant. Rusted tools of old lay abandoned, their purpose long forgotten. The ground was littered with shards of glass and bits of shattered concrete. I could almost hear the echo of laughter and shouts that once filled the space, now replaced by an oppressive stillness that clung to the air.

More creeping plants reached out from every corner, reclaiming what humanity had left behind. Their roots dug deep into the ground, weaving like fingers grasping for something lost. I felt a pang of recognition—nature's relentless drive to thrive mirrored my desperation to save Yoongi. But as I took a cautious step forward, I was reminded of the danger lurking within. Each shadow seemed to shift, each creak of the building sending my heart racing anew.

An overwhelming sense of urgency ignited my instincts. I had to enter. I had to find him. But the thought of facing whatever lay beyond those crumbling walls filled me with trepidation. The warehouse was more than just a building; it was a battleground, a vivid reminder of the struggle I had been drawn into, where the stakes were impossibly high.

I gathered every ounce of courage and forced the fear deep down inside me. If I wanted to reclaim who I loved, I had no choice but to face the darkness lurking within. The first step was the hardest, my body resisting as if instinctively rejecting what lay ahead. But I pushed through. O put one foot in front of the other, moving toward the heart of this decaying giant. For Yoongi, I would face whatever horrors awaited.

"Ah, you've finally arrived, Little Lamb. I'm so happy to see you," a voice proclaimed, the owner hidden by a veil of shadows. I didn't need to see the woman's face to identify her voice.

"I wish I could say the same, Irene," I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady despite the fear and anxiety surging inside me.

I had expected Hoseok, not his ruthless—and possibly mentally unhinged—second-in-command. Based on my experiences at Copacabana and what Hoseok and the FBI agents in New York had informed me, Irene Bae was a volatile force waiting to explode. I knew I had to tread carefully if there was even the slightest chance of saving Yoongi's life.

"Have you decided which option you're going with?" she asked, avoiding small talk and going straight into the hard-hitting question.

"I have." My voice was steady even though my heart raced. "I'll tell you, but first, I need to see Yoongi."

On the outside, I projected a calmness I didn't truly feel, clinging to a confidence that eluded me. Inside, fear and anxiety clawed at my chest, threatening to suffocate me. Each word felt like a delicate thread holding me together, but I couldn't allow them to see me crack—not yet.

As I waited, the seconds dragged by as if time itself had slowed. Each moment felt like it stretched into an eternity. My heart pounded in my chest, fear tightening its grip with every beat. Finally, after what felt like forever, two hulking figures emerged from the shadows, dragging Yoongi between them. He looked broken—bruised and bloodied.

But alive.

My breath caught as Irene appeared behind them. Her presence was cold and commanding as she moved with a quiet menace. Her gun was raised, the barrel aimed at the side of Yoongi's head. Her gaze locked onto mine, a twisted smile dancing on her lips that felt more hopeful than malicious. It was as if she genuinely believed this was all part of a greater plan. A strange light flickered in her eyes, a deranged glimmer of anticipation. It was as though she saw this moment as the gateway to a distorted dream that only she could comprehend.

"You're looking gorgeous as always, Princess," she said whilst skimming every inch of my body with her eyes. "I'm not used to seeing you in so many clothes."

I swallowed my grimace and shoved down the wave of revulsion. When I worked at Copacabana, dealing with male patrons was manageable—they always knew the rules and understood they'd be banned if they crossed a line. But Irene was different. She never acknowledged those boundaries; no matter how many times I rejected her advances, she refused to take the hint that I wasn't interested.

"Here's your lover boy, Princess. Now, tell me—what's it going to be? I truly hope you choose option two."

I pictured in my head the brief but chilling message I had received earlier, each word a stark reminder that my life had been reduced to a cruel game. The options loomed over me like a dark cloud, each one more suffocating than the last:

1. Become Mrs. Hoseok Jung.

2. Marry someone of my choosing.

3. Die.

During the drive here, the weight of those choices pressed heavily on my chest. Only one answer resonated with me—my lifeline in a sea of despair. It was the only option that didn't send chills racing down my spine. Sure, it came with its own fears and uncertainties. Nonetheless, it offered a glimmer of safety, a chance to navigate through the chaos that surrounded me.

Now, with the realisation that it had been Irene who sent the message, my conviction was solidified. I could easily imagine her twisted sense of logic; had I chosen option two, she would undoubtedly have relished in telling me that I was to become Mrs. Irene Bae. The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine. I could guarantee that she would manipulate the situation to her advantage thus turning any semblance of choice into a trap.

"Oh! Before you make your choice, I almost forgot one crucial detail," Irene said, her smile widening into something wicked that could rival Harley Quinn's. "If you choose either the first or second option and somehow manage to escape before the wedding, your boy toy here will meet the same fate as your poor little Taehyungie." Her eyes sparkled with malicious delight, the threat hanging heavy in the air like a dark cloud ready to burst.

I glanced over at Yoongi, my heart aching at the sight of him. His expression was a mixture of heartbreak and terror, and I could see the anguish reflected in his eyes. It was a pain worse than his physical injuries. It was clear he was suffering more for me than for himself, weighed down by guilt for what had transpired. He would be blaming himself, convinced he hadn't done enough to protect me, that he had failed to safeguard my identity online.

I longed to reach out and reassure him, to convey with just a look how deeply I loved him and how truly sorry I was for what I was about to do. At that moment, I wished for nothing more than a future with him—to someday marry the man who had shown me such kindness and strength. But that dream was slipping further away with each passing second.

Instead, all I could hope for was his survival. As terrifying as it was, keeping him alive had to be my priority. I silently promised him that I would do whatever it took to ensure he would still be there when the dust settled, even if it meant sacrificing everything I had hoped for.

I stood tall, my voice steady even though my insides twisted with anxiety. "I'm going with option one," I said, my words measured. "I'll become Mrs. Jung."

Irene's expression darkened instantly, her lips curling into a scowl. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as if trying to read deeper into my choice. "Mrs. Jung?" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're telling me you chose him?"

Disappointment flashed across her face as she shook her head, then leaned in, her voice low and bitter. "If you had chosen option two, you know who you'd have married, don't you? You'd have been my wife. Mrs. Bae."

There was something deeply unsettling in the way she spoke as if she had already envisioned the outcome she desired. The thought of anything else infuriated her. But what scared me most was the sickly sweet smile that formed, a mask of false charm hinting at the darkness lurking beneath.

"It seems like you're resolute in your decision to become Chloe Jung," she said, her tone dripping with a faux pout. As soon as she said my real name, I realised her plan to drive a wedge between Yoongi and me. "You know, Lover Boy, it breaks my heart to tell you that your girlfriend has been lying to you the whole time you've been together. Her name isn't Bonnie Sinclair; it's Chloe Harlowe. And she's not just some aesthetician working at a fancy day spa—no, she's Lola, a dancer selling her body for men's entertainment."

When I met Yoongi's gaze, a flicker of understanding passed between us. That flicker grew into a fire when he mouthed, 'I love you, Angel.' We shared a subtle smile, knowing her plan to expose me had backfired.

"Whatever you're trying to do won't work," he said, his voice coming out gravelly and strained, a testament to the torment he had endured. "Chloe and I have no secrets between us." His steadfastness bolstered my resolve, reminding me that even in the face of her manipulations, our bond remained unbroken.

Irene let out a scream of frustration, reminiscent of a moody teenager throwing a tantrum. If she weren't brandishing a gun, I might have found her theatrics amusing with how pathetic they made her look. But the danger lurking behind her outburst turned it into something far more sinister.

She stormed over to me, her anger palpable as she seized my arm. I winced at her grip; her long fingernails felt like talons digging painfully into my skin. With unsettling force, she began dragging me toward the door, her frustration radiating off her like heat from a flame.

In that moment of chaos, I glanced back at Yoongi, desperate to communicate my love and my fear. His eyes locked onto mine, and he mouthed the words that would keep my heart steady amid the turmoil: 'I'll find you, Angel.' The sincerity in his gaze reassured me. It was a reminder that even in the darkest moments, our love would endure anything—even me being forced to become the wife of a formidable gang leader.