As I closed the door behind me and heard the pressure lock engage, I sank to my knees. I was finally safe. Tears of relief streamed down my cheeks. The flicker of hope within me transformed into a blazing fire.

I took a few moments to steady my breathing and calm my racing heart before I finally pushed myself to my feet and surveyed the small room. To my left, beside the door, was a kitchenette of sorts—an overhead cupboard and a marble countertop with a compact bar fridge nestled beneath it. Curiosity piqued, I opened the cupboard door to find it fully stocked with a variety of dry convenience meals and utensils. By my estimation, there were enough instant ramen packets, tinned soup, crisps, and dried fruit to last at least a week. The fridge, though small, was crammed with bottles of water, UHT milk, and juice boxes—a comforting sight in this isolated space.

I grabbed a bottle of water, savouring the coolness against my fingertips as I continued my exploration. A second door caught my eye, and I opened it to reveal a bathroom. The walls were a soothing pale blue and gave a calming vibe to the small space, while the floor was lined with sleek grey tiles that felt cool underfoot. Inside, there was a compact toilet; its glossy white porcelain contrasted sharply with the soft hues around it. Beside that stood a modest light grey basin with a simple chrome faucet that gleamed in the overhead light.

The shower—the tiniest one I had ever encountered—was tucked into one corner, enclosed by a clear glass door that made the space feel even more cramped. Its walls were lined with white subway tiles, giving it a clean, modern look, while a small shelf held a couple of travel-sized toiletries. I couldn't help but chuckle at its compactness—it felt almost absurd, yet somehow managed to retain an air of functionality. Despite its size, everything was meticulously arranged, which made the space surprisingly inviting. Amidst the uncertainty, I felt a flicker of comfort; I was grateful for the small luxuries this room offered.

Relieved to know I wouldn't have to ration my fluids since there was a toilet here, I took a long drink. The cool water washed over me, helping to alleviate the nausea that was building. Although now my queasiness stemmed from hunger rather than morning sickness.

As I exited the bathroom and scanned the main room, something caught my eye—a large, inconspicuous box mounted to the wall. It seemed out of place in such a sleek, high-tech environment, and curiosity tugged at me. I walked over, drawn in by its odd placement and size. Running my hand along the surface, I searched for a latch or handle. After a few moments of fumbling, I found a small indentation and pulled. To my surprise, the box began to unfold. Hinges clicked softly as a Murphy bed slowly descended from the wall.

It struck me then—whoever had designed this room must have been deeply paranoid about the state of the world. It wasn't normal to see a panic room outfitted with such comfort within the manager's office of a luxury hotel. With that thought in mind, I turned and took in the details of the main room. While there were modern improvements—like the desk and renovated bathroom—the panic room itself had a slightly dated feel. I wondered if it had been installed shortly after 9/11, amid fears that further attacks could occur.

Whatever the case, I figured whomever the panic room belonged to must have been told that I would end up here tonight. So, I felt no guilt as I grabbed an armful of snacks.

Making my way over to the desk, which dominated the space, I admired its sleek design. The dark wood with a polished finish gleamed under the overhead lights. The surface was surprisingly organised with neatly arranged cables and a few essential gadgets—headphones, a high-tech keyboard, and a small digital notepad. To the far left of the desk was a control panel featuring an array of buttons. Some glowed with vibrant light, signalling they were active, while most remained dark and unlit. Instead of monitors placed atop the desk like in Agust's den, a series of high-definition screens spanned the back wall, each resembling an empty photo frame in its powered-down state.

As I placed my haul of snacks down, I accidentally knocked the mouse. A ripple of light flickered through the room as the screens powered up, momentarily filling it with a soft hum. I glanced at the displays, intrigued by the array of surveillance feeds, each telling its own story. This wasn't just a workspace; it felt like a hub of information, a lifeline to the world outside.

I sank into the plush chair, its comfort reminiscent of the one in Agust's hacking den, and tore open a packet of chips. As I munched, I began to examine the screens and their various feeds. Some flickered through different angles, while others remained fixed, capturing a single zone with unwavering focus.

I couldn't help but laugh when I spotted Big Jay and Red Velvet on one of the screens. My husband appeared to be having a great time, his laughter evident even from a distance, while her expression was the complete opposite. If one of those cameras had thermal capabilities, I wouldn't have been surprised if Irene's rage registered as hot as a volcano. The fury was practically radiating off her face. The petty part of me relished her discomfort, dressed as if she were about to fulfil someone's filthy roleplay fantasy involving a maid.

As I tore open a packet of crackers, my gaze drifted over the buttons on the control panel. Two, in particular, stood out: 'Manual Lock' and 'Lock Release.' The latter brought a rush of relief, affirming Jungkook's words that the room could only be opened from the inside once the lock was engaged. A wave of comfort washed over me as I realised I had found this button—it would serve as my key to freedom when the time came to escape this fortified sanctuary.

A sudden flurry of activity on one of the screens caught my eye. I instinctively leaned closer, my heart racing as I watched the chaos unfold. More screens began to flicker to life, each revealing snippets of the raid that was now in full swing. Vibrant images danced across the displays, showcasing the escalating intensity of the situation.

Across multiple screens, swarms of agents were storming the ballroom, flooding in from every angle with a surge of energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Their movements were coordinated and precise, a well-oiled machine in action. It quickly became clear why it had taken Namjoon and Jungkook so long with their investigation—this was no ordinary FBI raid.

My eyes widened in disbelief as I absorbed the chaotic spectacle before me. Alongside the familiar blue and gold uniforms of the FBI were agents from Homeland Security, the ATF, DEA, and ICE, their agency initials emblazoned boldly across their bulletproof vests. The sheer scale of the operation was staggering. The sight of so many agencies collaborating sent a chill down my spine, amplifying the weight of the moment.

My heart was in my stomach as I observed the agents moving with purpose, their expressions a blend of focus and urgency. One team cleared the balcony I'd been on earlier, guns drawn and at the ready, while another team flanked the sides, scanning for any potential escape routes.

I let out a horrified scream as a sudden puff of red filled the screen where the head of a gangster had been in the dining room. Time seemed to slow as I watched his body collapse, and in that heart-stopping moment, his hand dropped the gun I hadn't even noticed before. A wave of dread washed over me, and I felt my stomach churn.

I was grateful the cameras transmitted no sound into the panic room. The thought of the chaos outside—the shouts of law enforcement mingling with the sharp staccato of gunfire—sent a chill down my spine. I could only imagine how overwhelming it must be, a cacophony of violence and fear that felt worlds away yet too close for comfort. In that sterile silence, the contrast between my safe haven and the brutality unfolding beyond the walls deepened my sense of helplessness.

As I watched the feeds, the gravity of the situation struck me like a blow: this was a full-scale assault on drugs and organized crime. My heart raced as I witnessed the relentless advance of law enforcement. Agents poured through the ballroom doors in waves, guns drawn and poised. While their primary mission was to make arrests, they were equally ready to take down any threat that might arise.

The walls of the panic room felt both protective and suffocating. While it provided a false sense of safety, I was acutely aware that I was trapped in this sterile cocoon. Haunting images of chaos and carnage unfolded just beyond my reach, tightening the tension in my chest. Despite the agents outside working diligently to protect both me and the city of New York, I realised my sense of safety was far more fragile than I had ever imagined.

I couldn't believe how many bodies lay strewn across the floor after only such a short time. A part of me felt a twisted sense of relief that most were dressed in suits, their attire suggesting that they'd rather die than go to prison. Yet, I couldn't ignore the smattering of ballgowns among them, a stark contrast to the chaos. For my peace of mind, I hoped the women who had lost their lives were not innocent victims, but rather individuals caught up in the same dangerous world as the men in their tailored suits.

My eyes scanned the feeds, searching for any sign of Big Jay and Red Velvet. A part of me desperately wished for my husband to find a way to escape, to break free from the chaos surrounding him. Yet I couldn't forget that he wasn't an innocent man. Despite the kindness he had shown me throughout our marriage and the friendship we had built, I couldn't overlook the horrific things he had done as Big Jay. My heart felt torn, caught between the man I had come to love as a friend and the shadow of his past that loomed so large.

As I examined the feeds, my heart skipped a beat when I spotted Namjoon and Jungkook on one of the cameras. The pair moved with effortless grace, navigating the chaotic scene like seasoned dancers in an intricate ballet. Each step they took was perfectly synchronized, their bodies mirroring one another's movements as if they shared an unspoken language.

Namjoon's sharp gaze swept the area, taking down any threats with meticulous precision, while Jungkook stayed close, protecting his partner's back. The way they positioned themselves, back-to-back at times, revealed a deep trust forged through countless missions together. It was as if they could predict each other's thoughts, anticipating each manoeuvre before it even unfolded.

Watching them in action, I felt a wave of admiration and relief. They were more than just agents; they were the ones who had saved and changed my life. Without them, I would never have met Yoongi or our group of misfit friends, who had all become dear to me. Because of the two men, I discovered what true, unconditional love felt like.

I was proud that their tireless work on the case against the Blue-Side Serpents had set in motion the downfall of all the gangs in New York, a feat that seemed both monumental and necessary. I knew they were risking everything to protect me, and their unwavering commitment to keeping their promises filled me with a sense of safety I hadn't felt in a long time. Along with Yoongi and my friends in Hawaii, Namjoon was the only other person who had never lied to me—even though Jungkook's lie was one out of necessity, it still hurt.

It felt like I was witnessing good finally triumphing over evil as the two FBI agents cornered Red Velvet. I squinted to confirm it was her; she had discarded the maid's uniform and was now naked and smeared with blood. Her appearance was a haunting testament to the chaos in the room—and a disturbing reflection of her unravelling sanity.

The scene intensified as the three of them faced off in a volatile standoff. My heart raced, and I longed to be able to lip-read, desperate to grasp the urgent exchange of words unfolding before me. I could picture the two agents, their faces hardened with resolve, commanding Red Velvet to drop her weapon. In response, I imagined her unleashing a torrent of furious insults, each word laced with venom. The air was thick with anticipation, the potential for violence hanging like a storm cloud, ready to erupt at any moment.

But what happened next sent me scrambling to the bathroom. Doubled over the toilet and retching violently as my stomach fought to rid itself of its contents, I knew I would never, ever get that image out of my head for as long as I lived.

I cowered beside the toilet, shaking violently as terror coursed through me. My mind replayed the moment in agonizing slow motion: Red Velvet lifting her gun, aiming it higher, and then pulling the trigger. For a heartbeat, it felt like nothing had changed, but then I watched in horror.

A trickle of blood seeped out of the wound in Jungkook's forehead before his body collapsed, lifeless, onto the floor.

A raw scream tore from my throat as I cried for my friend. My sobs racked my body with a force I couldn't control. The bathroom spun around me, the walls closing in as despair threatened to swallow me whole. The only faint consolation in that nightmarish moment was the knowledge that Irene had paid for her actions with her life. Seconds after she'd shot Jungkook, Namjoon's instincts kicked in and he avenged his partner before her instincts for self-preservation could even register. After unloading an entire clip into her chest, there was no way in hell Irene could survive.

After what felt like an eternity of crying, I knew I needed to drink something to replenish what I'd lost in dehydration from all the vomiting. I rinsed my mouth with the mouthwash on the vanity; the minty freshness provided a momentary reprieve from the constant nausea swirling inside me. Gathering my strength, I stepped back into the panic room and over to the fridge. As I opened the door, my eyes scanned the contents until they landed on the selection of juice boxes.

Moments after I retrieved one and began to make my way to the Murphy bed, something on one of the screens jolted me to a halt. My heart stopped as I locked onto the image of two figures: Big Jay and the leader of the Doom Posse gang. The air around me thickened, a heavy weight settling in my chest as tension surged through my body.

My blood ran cold as the world narrowed to a single, horrifying moment: the barrel of a gun pressed against my husband's head.

Fear gripped me, a visceral wave of panic drowning out all rational thought. As much as Big Jay embodied the ruthless persona of a villain, he didn't deserve to die like this. Hoseok had undergone a transformation I never thought possible since Red Velvet had taken over. He'd evolved from a cold-hearted gangster into a man who now demonstrated kindness and loyalty—qualities I once believed were buried beneath layers of bravado.

Yet now, here he was, forced to kneel before his enemy. He refused to show any weakness, his face blank. However, knowing the man within and his tells, I could see the panic in Hoseok's eyes even though he kept it hidden well. He had fought so hard to redefine himself, to escape the confines of the life that once defined Big Jay. But at this moment, all of that progress seemed to have been for nought.

It felt as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet once more as I watched my husband's brains splatter across the once-white tablecloth. In less than an hour, I had witnessed the lives of two people I cared about be erased in a second.

The harsh reality that I was now a widow engulfed me like a relentless tide, dragging me into a suffocating abyss of sorrow. Despite being thrust into an arranged marriage, I would miss Hoseok. The cruel truth that both he and Jungkook didn't deserve this fate deepened my despair. The weight of that loss pressed heavily on my chest, raw and unyielding, overwhelming me with a sense of injustice that felt unbearable.

Hoseok, even though he never wanted to be a father, would never have the chance to meet his child. And Jungkook would never get to experience new love since his relationship with Louisa had failed—something I only found out about last week when she finally talked to me before she walked out of my life.

As I cried, curled up on the chair with my hand resting protectively on my growing belly, I made a silent vow. I would live my life to the fullest, refusing to squander the freedom that Jungkook had fought for until his last breath. I would raise my child with all the love and support that Hoseok and I had never received from our families. This child would know the warmth and care we had missed, and I would honour their legacy by filling our lives with joy and resilience, no matter the pain that surrounded us.