This update is dedicated to my bestie, because it's her birthday <3
lavendermiso

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The days that followed Miso and Taehyung’s explosive argument were nothing short of tense. A stifling silence seemed to fill the penthouse, each occupant moving with careful steps, each glance sharp as a knife. Miso did everything she could to avoid crossing paths with Taehyung or his men, Yin and Yang, refusing to let herself feel anything but the resolve to stay out of their way. She’d had enough of feeling like her life was under their microscope.

She kept herself busy in her own quarters, practically a prisoner in her own silence. Every time she heard footsteps down the hall or the murmur of voices, she held her breath, waiting for them to pass. She couldn’t handle the tension in the air, and she’d sooner lock herself in her room than face the smug, infuriating king of this cold penthouse.

Meanwhile, Taehyung did his best to convince himself he didn’t care. He tried to focus solely on work, immersing himself in endless meetings, calls, and reports, anything to keep his mind away from thoughts of Miso and the chaotic energy she brought into his life. But whenever he looked away from his screens or his work phone, he felt the nagging pull of her memory—her fierce eyes, her rebellious spirit, the fire in her words. And he hated it. Hated how her absence echoed in his mind more than her presence ever had.

“Sir, should we address this?” Yang asked one evening, catching Taehyung pacing his office, his hands clenched in frustration.

“No,” Taehyung replied sharply, jaw tight. “If she wants to stay hidden in that room, then let her. I couldn’t care less what she thinks or what she does. She’s irrelevant to my life, and I don’t need distractions.”

Yang exchanged a quick glance with Yin, and both shared the same look of restrained worry. They knew their boss all too well, knew when his words didn’t match his actions. They hadn’t seen him this unsettled in years. Yet they also knew better than to push Taehyung any further.

Days continued to pass this way, each more stifling than the last, and eventually, even Yin and Yang felt the weight of Miso’s silence. One day, they saw her slip into the penthouse’s common area to grab something from the kitchen, and they seized the chance to speak to her. Yin stepped forward cautiously, calling her name.

“Miso,” he began gently, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible. “We just want to talk.”

She stopped, her back still to them, hands tightly gripping the edge of the countertop. Her voice, when she spoke, was icy. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“We just want to understand,” Yang added softly, watching her stiff posture. “We didn’t mean to intrude. We—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, turning to face them, her face set in a cold mask. “Don’t act like you care about me. I’ve seen enough to know you’re just following orders.” She scoffed, the hurt flashing in her eyes despite her best efforts to hide it. “I thought… I thought you two were different, that maybe you could see me as a person, not just a task Taehyung dumped on you.”

Yin opened his mouth to respond, but her glare silenced him, and he swallowed his words, watching her retreat. She moved as if every step was a defiant rejection of everything Taehyung and his men represented. She disappeared back into her room, shutting the door behind her with a finality that left them both standing there, feeling the weight of her anger, her bitterness.

Back in his office, Taehyung felt a knot of irritation tugging at him. Though he’d insisted to himself he didn’t care, he still found himself wondering about her, wondering why the penthouse felt so strangely empty. The whole situation gnawed at him, but he refused to confront it. After all, she was his wife only by title. Nothing more. And he had a business empire to manage—a legacy to uphold.

Yet even as he tried to immerse himself back into his work, he felt a flash of anger rise unbidden. Why was she so stubborn, so unwilling to open up? The question lingered with him, irritating him far more than it should.

With Yin and Yang dismissed, he tried to keep his mind off the whole affair. But as the quiet stretched on, he found himself wondering if he would be able to keep his distance much longer—or if Miso would ever give him another chance to understand the real person beneath her walls.

         ________________________

Kim Taehyung

The basement was damp, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb that swayed slightly, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. I paced slowly, taking in the sight of the man bound to the chair before me. He was slouched, bruises swelling across his cheekbones and the cut on his lip still fresh. I could feel my blood pounding in my veins, irritation tightening my fists. He wasn’t the real reason for my frustration, but right now, he’d do just fine.

I circled him slowly, feeling my temper bubbling beneath the surface. A small, cruel part of me was grateful to have a target to vent on, something I could channel all the aggression that had been building up inside me these past few days.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” I sneered, leaning close enough that he could feel my breath against his face. He flinched, but didn’t respond. I almost smirked. This wasn’t fear—it was resignation. I’d broken men like him countless times, made them beg for mercy with only a few well-chosen words and the twist of a knife.

But tonight, it didn’t feel the same. No satisfaction. No release.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” I muttered, though it was mostly to myself, barely a whisper over the dripping water somewhere in the corner of the room. “That I find pleasure in teaching lessons to people who don’t know their place?”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all: he knew this was personal, but he didn’t understand why. And for some reason, that irritated me even more.

“What are you staring at?” I demanded, my voice low and threatening. I grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look into my eyes. “You think you understand me? You think you know what I want?”

He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, but kept silent.

“She doesn’t listen,” I muttered, more to myself than him. The words slipped out before I could stop them, but I didn’t care. Miso’s defiant face flashed in my mind, her voice—her sharp, piercing words—echoing in my head.

I tightened my grip on the man’s jaw, watching his expression shift from defiance to fear. Good. He deserved to fear me. Everyone did. But somehow…she didn’t.

“She pushes back like she has something to prove,” I continued, almost forgetting the man was even there. “Acts like she’s immune to me, like her life isn’t mine to command.” The words slipped out unbidden, my frustration spilling over.

“Do you know what it’s like to have someone look at you like you’re the monster under their bed?” I asked him, my grip loosening but my voice filled with ice. “To see fear in their eyes, yes, but also… something else?”

He winced, his bruised face contorting in pain. I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere, wrapped up in that infuriating woman who seemed intent on testing every last thread of my patience.

“Tell me,” I hissed, bringing his face close to mine, the anger boiling over now, finding its release in his terrified gaze. “Why does she get under my skin? Why can’t she just obey like everyone else?”

He was shaking now, muttering a faint “I don’t know” through cracked lips. I felt a wave of disgust rise in me, but it was mingled with something else—an uncomfortable realization that my words were more questions for myself than for him.

I released his face, stepping back, clenching and unclenching my fists. I couldn’t let her get to me like this. Miso was a pawn, nothing more. This marriage was supposed to be convenient—a power play to expand my empire. And yet, the thought of her defiance, her refusal to let me in… it was like a stone in my shoe, impossible to ignore.

I turned my back on the man, my jaw tight. No. She didn’t deserve my thoughts. She was just another obstacle, another pawn to be controlled. And I’d make sure she learned her place, one way or another.

“Take him out,” I ordered to the guards, my voice colder than the concrete around us. They hauled him away, leaving me standing in the silence of the basement.

_______________________________________

Another day

The flickering light overhead cast jagged shadows against the stone walls of the basement. I felt the weight of my anger coiled tightly in my chest, hot and unyielding. The man in front of me—the pathetic excuse for a human being—sat slumped in his chair, wrists bound, breathing ragged. A bruise bloomed on his cheek where my fist had just connected, and it satisfied me. But not nearly enough.

He had dared to touch Miso. To lay a hand on her after she’d made it clear he should keep his filthy distance. Her words had been a warning—a warning he’d chosen to ignore. And for that, he deserved every second of this.

"Did you think I wouldn’t find out?" I spat, barely keeping the venom from my voice. Each word was deliberate, controlled, because I needed this anger to stay sharp. "That I wouldn’t know what you tried to do to her?"

His eyes darted wildly, frantic, like a trapped animal. Pathetic. I watched him struggle to form words, his lip trembling as he stammered, "I—please, I didn’t mean—"

I cut him off with another punch, this one sending his head snapping back. He let out a strangled cry, his breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "I don’t want to hear your excuses," I ground out, my voice cold and precise. "You disrespected her. Ignored her warning. And now…" I knelt, lowering myself until we were eye-level. "You answer to me."

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to speak, his pride evaporating under the weight of fear. "I swear… I didn’t mean harm," he whimpered, voice barely a whisper. But his pathetic pleas only fueled my rage. There was no mercy for people like him.

I straightened, wiped his blood from my knuckles, and sneered. "You’ll regret ever crossing her," I said, my tone a quiet, lethal promise.

I felt my anger intensify, but it wasn’t directed at him anymore. It was Miso. Or maybe it was just how she had looked at me earlier, the fury and hurt in her eyes, her accusations biting, digging in deep. Why did her words sting? I couldn’t shake the anger, the frustration gnawing at me. She had every right to be angry, and yet…

                          ★★ ★

                     Flashback

When I reached her room, I stopped, steeling myself. I knocked, but silence greeted me. I turned the handle, stepping inside.

She was standing by the window, arms crossed tightly, her body tense as she turned to face me. Her eyes burned with fury, and I could see she was barely holding it in.

"You." Her voice was sharp, laced with venom. "You think you can just barge into my life, pry into things that are none of your business?"

I shut the door behind me, maintaining an indifferent expression, though her anger was a force I could feel, tangible and hot. "I needed to know, Miso. To understand why you act the way you do." The words came out calm, deliberate. They felt detached, but they were all I had right now.

She let out a bitter laugh, her eyes flashing with a hurt that twisted something in my chest. "You needed to know? You needed to know why I act the way I do?" Her voice trembled with restrained rage. "You don’t have the right to know. Not you." Her tone cut deeper than any knife could.

I took a step closer, my voice a quiet demand. "Your father gave me answers because I know you'll refuse ."

Her face hardened, and she shook her head in disgust. "So, what? You go to him, thinking he’d give you the key to controlling me? To figure out my… little space and what triggers it, thinking that would make me weak? You think that knowing my pain makes me easy to break?" She scoffed, her voice dripping with scorn. "If that’s what you think, then you really don’t know me at all, Taehyung."

I swallowed, feeling the weight of her words settle like lead in my chest. "No," I said quietly, my voice softer. "Not weak. Just… vulnerable." The word felt wrong, exposed, but I couldn’t take it back.

Her bitter laugh cut through the air, and she shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I’m not your vulnerable little project," she snapped, her tone fierce, laced with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. "I’m not some broken thing for you to dissect and ‘fix’ when it suits you."

My jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath my skin. Why couldn’t she see that I wasn’t trying to hurt her? That I was just trying to understand. "Miso, I just wanted—"

"I don’t care what you wanted!" Her voice rose, her eyes flashing with anger, and I could feel her words slicing through the last of my resolve. "You’ve crossed a line, Taehyung. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for it."

Her words were like a slap, unexpected and stinging. But before I could respond, she stepped back, her gaze filled with something I’d never seen before—disgust.

"Stay out of my life," she whispered, her voice filled with a finality that sent a chill through me. "I don’t need you. And I definitely don’t want you."

She walked past me, her shoulders stiff, every step radiating a defiance that I couldn’t bring myself to break

The dim light of the basement flickers overhead, casting shadows across the cold cement walls. Rolling up my sleeves, I can feel every nerve tightening, each movement deliberate, calculated. This isn't just any moment; it's one I’ve been waiting for since that bastard laid his filthy hands on what’s mine.

He’s tied to a chair, trembling, his eyes darting around like he thinks there’s some way out of this. Pathetic. There’s nowhere for him to go, nowhere to hide. The bruises on his face, the blood dripping from his split lip—they're just the beginning. Each mark, each whimper is like fuel to the fire simmering inside me. This isn't just about what he did to Miso. No, this is about everything she’s stirred in me, every moment of frustration, every inch of rage that’s been building up. And now, this man—this fool—has given me a way to let it out.

"Do you even understand what you did?" My voice comes out low, almost a whisper, but laced with an edge sharp enough to cut glass. I stand inches from him, watching the fear settle into his eyes. "You dared to touch what’s mine."

He tries to speak, stammering something about not meaning it, but I don’t want to hear his excuses. My fist crashes into his jaw, the sound of bone meeting flesh ringing through the room. He gasps, spitting out blood, his head slumping forward as he chokes on his own cries.

"You ignored her warning." My voice is ice, sharp and detached, slicing through his pitiful attempts to defend himself. "She gave you a chance to back off. She told you to keep your disgusting hands off. And you didn’t listen."

He’s staring at the ground now, probably wishing he were anywhere but here. But his silence just makes my anger grow. Miso’s face, her hurt, her fury—they’re all I can see, playing over and over in my mind. I don’t know why it bothers me this much, why her anger twists something inside me. But it does, and I need a release. And this piece of filth has made himself the perfect outlet.

"You thought you could touch her?" I sneer, my voice thick with contempt. "Defy her warnings and walk away unscathed?"

He chokes out another pitiful plea. "Please… I didn’t mean any harm… I swear… I was just…"

"Save your breath." I grab his collar, jerking him forward until our faces are inches apart. "There’s only one thing I want to hear from you now." I lean in close, my voice a low growl. "Beg."

The look of terror that crosses his face almost makes me smirk. His lips are trembling, and his breaths are coming in short, panicked bursts. "Please… please forgive me… I… I made a mistake… I won’t… I won’t do it again… I swear…"

But his words mean nothing to me. All I see is a coward. I release him, letting him slump back into the chair before I drive my fist into his stomach. His choked scream echoes through the basement as he doubles over, gasping for air.

He shivers, his broken sobs barely audible as I let go of his collar, letting him fall back into the chair. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he looks up at me, desperation etched across his face.

“Say something else. Beg for mercy,” I challenge, voice thick with contempt, watching as his gaze falls, realizing there’s no hope left. His head drops, and he manages a weak, choked, “I’m sorry… I… I was wrong.”

But his apology means nothing. I grab him by the collar again, my knuckles bruised and bloody as I bring my fist down, again and again, each hit satisfying in its finality. His gasps weaken, his body going limp, until finally, he slumps forward, silent, barely breathing.

I step back, breathing heavily, my vision slowly clearing as I take in his unconscious form. For a moment, I almost want to finish it, to end this entirely. But he’s already broken—barely alive, barely clinging to consciousness. He’ll live with the reminder of this, the pain a constant memory of what happens when he crosses me.

As I turn, silence , replaced by the steady thud of my footsteps. I head upstairs, each step bringing me closer to the inevitable clash awaiting me.

---
After that argument with Miso, my days took on a darker rhythm, one filled with violence and shadows. The anger, her words, the venom in her gaze—all of it festered inside me like a wound refusing to heal. Every night, I found someone to take it out on: traitors, men who’d crossed lines, even those who simply annoyed me at the wrong moment. They were all just a release, a temporary fix for something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

With each punch, each bruised knuckle, I found a strange solace—a relief that came only in the heat of bruising flesh and the cries of men begging for mercy. I convinced myself that I was in control, that I was unaffected by her rejection, by the hate I saw in her eyes when she looked at me. But every time I closed my eyes, that anger resurfaced. The look on her face, the tears she held back, and those words—words that shouldn’t have meant anything to me, yet they carved deep.

Days turned into weeks. Every night, I returned to that cold basement, finding a new face to take my frustration out on, trying to bury the rage beneath a mountain of bruises and blood. And yet, it never disappeared. If anything, it grew, gnawing at me with a ruthless patience.

Then one night, something shifted.

It started small. A simple act. I was heading back to my office, barely aware of my surroundings, still riding the edge of that anger, when I spotted her. Miso, sitting alone, slumped on the couch, a slight tremble in her frame. She looked… fragile, in a way I hadn’t seen before, her tough exterior replaced by something I couldn’t put a name to. She wasn’t crying, but her face was drawn, her gaze fixed on something I couldn’t see.

She didn’t notice me, and for a moment, I wanted to turn back, walk away before she did. But something held me there, something I hadn’t felt in weeks—a strange, foreign urge to go over, to reach out, to say something that might ease that expression on her face.

And just like that, the anger I’d been feeding for days—the fury that had kept me going, kept me detached—began to ebb. It wasn’t gone, not by any means, but for the first time, I felt its grip loosen, just a fraction.

I forced myself to keep walking, away from her, my fists clenching to ward off the feeling. But the image stayed with me, creeping into my mind even as I tried to shut it out. Each day after that, I began to notice the things I’d been ignoring, her quiet presence, the way she held herself with a strength that defied her gentle exterior. And each day, the need to lash out became harder to summon.

Without realizing it, the days of violence became less satisfying. The anger I’d once harnessed felt empty, hollow. And slowly, whether I wanted to admit it or not, something started shifting, pulling me back from that edge I'd been teetering on for weeks.

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Author's Note:

Hey, you fabulous people!

Welcome back to another chapter of Miso and Taehyung's chaotic life! Buckle up because things are about to get messier than a toddler with a cupcake. 🎉

This chapter is all about Miso’s epic sass and Taehyung’s attempts to play the “cool husband” (spoiler: it’s not going great). Seriously, if you thought he could intimidate a mafia princess, think again! Miso is about to serve up some defiance with a side of giggles that even Taehyung can’t resist.

And let’s not forget the little space moments! Miso’s inner child is just itching to come out and play, and I can’t wait for you to see how that goes down. (Will there be toys involved? Maybe a bubble bath? Stay tuned!)

So grab your snacks, settle in, and prepare for some giggles, cringes, and possibly a few “did they really just say that?” moments. As always, your thoughts, reactions, and theories are welcome—let’s keep the fun rolling!

Until next time, keep being awesome!

StarlitWings