KIM MISO

The morning light trickles in through the heavy curtains, and I wake with a dull throb pulsing through my ankle, a bitter souvenir from yesterday’s clash. I draw in a sharp breath, fingers instinctively reaching down to press gently against the sore spot. A soft hiss escapes my lips as the pain sharpens, grounding me in memories of the day before—the sharpness of Taehyung’s gaze, his unyielding stance, and that maddening, unshakable calm.

This wasn’t the Taehyung I had known when we married, the cold, distant figure with walls so thick they seemed unbreakable. No, he’s been different lately, infuriatingly… softer. A hint of a smile when I attempt to rile him up, a quiet chuckle when I snap at him, as if every jab and every rebellion I throw his way is a puzzle he’s more than willing to solve. And then, there was how he handled my little space—the patience, the gentleness. I thought I’d glimpsed a side of him that didn’t align with the iron-fisted mafia king I’d always seen.

Taehyung had always been the kind of man who wore his authority like a second skin. He was stoic, impenetrable—a fortress in every sense of the word. In the beginning, his approach to me had been frigid, like I was nothing more than a chess piece placed in his life by necessity, not by choice. Back then, his voice was clipped and measured, his gaze dismissive, his words always laced with subtle threats or commands. If I dared to test him, he would respond with a chilling silence that spoke louder than any reprimand. For him, I was simply an obligation, a means to strengthen his empire.

But recently, there’s been a shift, an almost unsettling transformation in his demeanor. He’s no longer the same Taehyung who could silence me with a single look or intimidate me with his razor-sharp authority. These days, he watches me with a patience that feels foreign, as though he’s studying me, learning me in a way he never bothered to before. Gone are the icy stares and the dismissive silence. Instead, I catch him giving me a lingering glance, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when I snap at him or try to provoke him. He seems amused by my defiance, entertained even, as if I’ve become more than just a pawn in his elaborate game.

For example, one day, I’d purposefully created a mess in his study, scattering papers and knocking over a few items, fully expecting him to unleash his usual fury. But instead of anger, he merely watched me, a small, almost indulgent smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Is that supposed to bother me, Miso?” he had murmured, his voice carrying a warmth that had thrown me off guard. Instead of reprimanding me or reasserting his authority, he’d simply walked over, picking up a paper I’d tossed to the ground, and continued about his business as if my rebellion was nothing more than a child’s game to him.

And then there was the flirtation—the audacious, unexpected charm he’d started to wield, a side of Taehyung I’d never seen before. One morning, he’d leaned in close, too close, brushing a lock of hair from my face with the faintest touch of his fingertips. His gaze held a hint of mischief, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that had always sent a chill through me, but now it carried a hint of warmth. “Are you always this stubborn, or do you save it just for me?” he had murmured, his gaze piercing, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Taehyung’s way of flirting is subtle, like a soft breeze brushing past before you even realize it was there, but it leaves a lingering warmth, one that’s hard to shake off. It’s in the way he stands close to me, just enough that I can feel the heat of his presence without him actually touching me. Every glance, every word, is laced with a careful charm, a slow smolder that catches me off guard each time.

One morning, I was pouring myself a cup of tea in the kitchen when I felt him step up behind me, close enough that I could feel the gentle graze of his breath on the back of my neck. His voice was low, almost a murmur. “Do you always steal my favorite tea, Miso?” he teased, his tone smooth as silk, laced with just enough amusement to keep me guessing.

I turned around, meeting his gaze with defiance, but he only smiled, a faint, knowing curve of his lips that seemed to say he enjoyed the challenge. “Your favorite? I didn’t see your name on it,” I replied, lifting an eyebrow in mock innocence. But his eyes lingered on me, dark and intent, as though I were the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Taehyung chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to wrap around me like warmth on a cold day. “If I did put my name on it, would that stop you?” he asked, the playful lilt in his voice sending a strange flutter through my chest.

Another time, I had deliberately ignored him, scrolling through my phone as he sat across from me in the living room. Without warning, he leaned over, reaching across the space between us and gently taking the phone from my hands. “Are you always this distracted, or is there something more interesting on your screen than me?” he asked, his gaze locking onto mine with a glint of mischief.

I rolled my eyes, reaching to take the phone back, but he held it out of reach, a smirk playing on his lips. “If you wanted my attention, Taehyung, all you had to do was ask,” I said, crossing my arms and trying to keep my composure.

He tilted his head, his gaze softening, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his eyes. “I never have to ask, Miso. Somehow, you always notice me.” His words were soft, almost a whisper, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the quiet intensity between us.

One evening, I caught him watching me from across the room as I sat reading, lost in the world of my book. When I glanced up, he didn’t look away. Instead, he held my gaze, his eyes dark and thoughtful, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “If you stare any longer, Taehyung, you might just bore a hole right through me,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady.

He shrugged, unbothered. “I’m just admiring the view. Can’t a husband appreciate his wife’s beauty?”

The way he said it—smooth, confident—made my cheeks flush despite myself. But I rolled my eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. “You’re too confident for your own good, you know that?”

He laughed softly, a sound rich with amusement. “Maybe. But confidence looks good on me, doesn’t it?” he replied, leaning in just a little closer, his gaze dropping to my lips for the briefest moment before returning to my eyes.

Sometimes, his flirtation is less in the words he says and more in the way he moves around me, with a calm self-assurance that suggests he knows exactly the effect he has. Like the time he found me in the library, lost in thought as I arranged some books. Without a word, he reached above me, his arm brushing my shoulder as he placed a book back on the top shelf, his face so close I could see the dark flecks in his eyes.

I tried to act unaffected, busying myself with the books in front of me, but he lingered, his voice soft, almost a murmur. “You look beautiful when you’re focused,” he said, his breath warm against my cheek.

Flustered, I turned away, trying to hide the faint blush creeping up my face. “And you’re a distraction,” I muttered, hoping he’d step back.

But instead, he only leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Is that so? I thought you liked distractions.”

It was impossible not to feel his charm, his warmth, the way he seemed to know exactly how to push my buttons without ever crossing the line. And even though I wanted to believe it was all a game, each smile, each lingering glance, chipped away at my defenses, leaving me wondering if there was more to his flirtation than just his usual calculated control.

It wasn’t like him at all. The Taehyung I’d known was cold, detached, his touch rare and his gaze guarded. But now, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if I were something delicate and precious rather than an obligation. Even when I slipped into my little space—a vulnerability I’d never expected him to accept, let alone embrace—he had been shockingly patient, guiding me with a tenderness I hadn’t thought he was capable of. Instead of scolding me or looking at me with disdain, he had been there, quietly present, his voice softened and his hands steady, comforting. The way he handled that side of me left me bewildered, almost vulnerable to his warmth.

I’d told myself, over and over, that this change was just another tactic, a facade to lull me into a false sense of security. After all, Taehyung was a master of manipulation; he knew how to twist emotions, how to weave his power around people like a spell. And yet… there was a sincerity in his gaze now, a gentleness that contradicted everything I’d known him to be. He no longer wielded his authority like a weapon against me; instead, he seemed to hold it back, as though afraid it would drive me away. The indifference had been replaced with something warmer, something that almost felt like… care.

But I can’t—won’t—let myself believe it. His actions, his softness, it’s all just another layer of control, another way to keep me tethered. This man, this mafia king, doesn’t know how to love; he only knows how to possess, to rule. And yet, the gentleness in his eyes, the quiet patience in his voice, haunts me in a way that his coldness never did.

No matter how much I resist, a part of me aches to understand him, to unravel the mystery of this shift.

But I still think , Could this be genuine? Was there actually a part of him that cared, or was this just another move in his endless game? I shake my head, refusing to be swept up in his act. No, this softness, this so-called kindness—it’s just another form of control, a way to break down my defenses. I won’t fall for it. I won’t let him pull me into his twisted web.

I swing my legs out of bed, wincing as my ankle protests, and limp over to the wardrobe. Fine, if he wants to play nice, I’ll make things interesting. My fingers brush over the silks and satins until they find it: a deep crimson dress that hugs every curve, plunging low at the back, elegant yet daring. I slip it on, smoothing the fabric over my hips, allowing the silk to settle against my skin like armor. Let him see that I am no doll to be coddled. Let him deal with this.

By the time I’m done, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror: hair tumbling in soft waves, dark crimson lipstick a bold contrast against my skin, a spark of challenge lighting my gaze. I smirk at my reflection, then make my way downstairs, each step sending a pulse of determination through me.

As I step into the dining room, I feel Taehyung’s eyes latch onto me immediately, his gaze darkening as it sweeps over my figure. I pretend not to notice, walking past him without a word, heading straight for the door.

“Miso,” his voice breaks the silence, low and edged with that familiar command. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I pause, slowly turning to face him. His eyes are on me, intense and unwavering, but I hold my ground, refusing to let him see the flicker of heat his gaze stirs within me. I lift my chin defiantly, a smirk teasing at my lips. “ I want to go out for breakfast today . And I assume it’s your job to make that possible?”

A hint of amusement dances across his face, though he keeps it guarded. “Is that so?” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with a cool, assessing gaze. “Dressed like that?”

I shrug, stepping closer to him, letting the silence stretch between us until it’s taut. “What’s the matter, Taehyung?” I challenge, tilting my head with a mocking smile. “Are you feeling… possessive?” My tone drips with defiance. “Worried someone else might enjoy the view of your wife?”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, though his jaw tightens. “Possessive?” His voice drops lower, a dangerous undertone simmering beneath the calm. “ Well yes I'm possessive about my things and you  Miso! are my wife so , Yes I'm possessive.”

Before I can retort, he stands and closes the distance between us in one stride, his hand reaching out to gently catch my wrist, pulling me toward him until we’re close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. My heart hammers in my chest as his gaze holds mine, unyielding and intense.

“I’m not worried about who looks at you,” he murmurs, his tone almost a whisper, his breath warm against my skin. “You can wear whatever you like, Miso. Do whatever you like.” His fingers brush over the fabric of my dress, his eyes drifting to where it hugs my hips. “But know this…” His gaze flickers up to meet mine, dark and steady. “If anyone looks at you the wrong way, I’ll handle it. I'll pull off those eyes, I'll cut that hands , Remeber No one touches what’s mine , and YOU ARE MINE.”

A shiver runs down my spine at his words, a heat pooling in my cheeks despite myself. But I force myself to keep my composure, lifting my chin in defiance. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Taehyung.”

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and rich, sending another shiver through me. “Oh, I know.” He leans in closer, his gaze holding a mix of amusement and something darker, something more. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

I pull my arm free, stepping back and crossing my arms. “Then I’ll be going. Yin? Yang?” I call to his men, who stand a few paces behind him, their faces impassive but watchful. “Are you coming with me, or shall I go alone?”

Yin and Yang exchange a brief look before turning to Taehyung, waiting for his command. Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yin and Yang you both will be not coming with us  in our car today,” he declares, his gaze sliding back to me. “I’ll be the one taking you.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Why? Afraid I’ll cause trouble without you?”

His lips curve into a smirk, and he steps closer, brushing past Yin and Yang, his gaze locked onto mine. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” he says smoothly, his voice laced with a challenge. “Besides,” he adds, his eyes raking over my dress one more time, “it would be a shame to let someone else enjoy the trouble you’re so obviously dressed to cause.”

My cheeks flare, but I refuse to let him see the effect he has on me. I lift my chin higher, returning his gaze with a smirk of my own. “Then let’s go. Unless you’re all talk, Taehyung?”

He chuckles again, the sound rich and infuriatingly warm. “Oh, I’m coming, Miso,” he murmurs, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between us, his breath ghosting over my cheek. “Don’t doubt that.”

My heart pounds as he turns, motioning to Yin and Yang. “You two follow us in other bodyguards car. I want extra eyes on her today.”

I stifle a scoff, moving past him toward the door, feeling his gaze linger on me. I can sense Yin and Yang’s silent surprise as they follow us, clearly thrown off by Taehyung’s unexpected decision.

Fine, I think, my heart racing as I step outside. Let him try to keep up. If Taehyung wants to play the game, I’ll make sure the stakes are higher than he ever anticipated.

----★-----★----★-----★-----★-----★----★----

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Taehyung and I stepped into the dimly lit underground parking garage, our footsteps echoing in the vast, cold space. The air was cool, and the faint scent of oil and concrete lingered around us, amplifying the eerie silence. Rows of sleek, black luxury cars were parked in neat lines, each one more expensive and intimidating than the last, but my attention was focused on the tall figure walking a step ahead of me.

Taehyung moved with an effortless confidence, his strides long and steady, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored coat. His presence filled the space around us, radiating a quiet authority that seemed to ripple through the stillness of the garage. There was something so dangerously captivating about the way he carried himself — as if he were a king surveying his kingdom, and everything around him was under his control.

I followed him, keeping my pace calm but not missing the opportunity to add a subtle sway to my walk, letting him know I wasn’t intimidated by his cold, powerful aura. I was his equal, and I intended to make that very clear. Even if he thought he could push me around like everyone else in his life, I wasn’t about to let him.

He reached his car — a sleek black  with tinted windows that seemed to absorb the shadows around it .

Taehyung walked ahead of me, his posture stiff, his steps calculated, exuding that cold, controlled presence that seemed to radiate authority. Without sparing me a glance, he unlocked his sleek black car and slid smoothly into the driver’s seat. I couldn’t help the small smirk that played on my lips.

Oh, he thought I’d sit beside him. How sweet.

I trailed behind,  casually walked over, my steps deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. My mind already churning with a bit of mischief. Why not push his buttons a little? Smirking to myself, I opened the back door and slid in, crossing my legs with a deliberate air of defiance. Leaning back, I let out a small sigh of contentment, settling in as though I were his esteemed passenger. 

Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, I leaned back with an air of mock superiority and lifted my chin.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, a sound I should’ve found unsettling but somehow only made me more amused. He didn’t even turn to look at me, his voice oozing with that same controlled, chilling authority I’d come to hate—and maybe, just maybe, admire a little.

“Really?” His voice was a low, amused murmur, laced with a dangerous edge. “The back seat?”

I leaned back, crossing my arms with a smug smile. “Yes. I’d like to ride like the queen I am,” I replied, tilting my head just slightly to give him a challenging look. “Now, chauffeur, kindly start the car.”

In the rearview mirror, Taehyung’s gaze met mine, a flicker of amusement briefly softening his usual cold expression. He turned in his seat slightly, raising an eyebrow as his gaze took in my rebellious stance in the back seat. A faint smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

“You have exactly three seconds to get in the front seat,” he said smoothly, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge to it. “I’m not your driver or your servant, princess. Sit in the passenger seat… or I’ll make sure you do.”

“Oh, come on,” I shrugged, crossing my arms and leaning further back. “I’m quite comfortable back here. Surely someone as important as you would understand the value of a little luxury.”

He sighed, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. “I could understand luxury, but I can’t tolerate brats.” He threw open his door with a calm resolve, striding around to my side. His expression stayed perfectly composed, yet his eyes held a glint of something challenging.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I’m quite comfortable back here. Besides, shouldn’t a gentleman offer his lady the choice of where to sit?”

His mouth quirked up, clearly amused. “You’re playing games, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Oh, please. Can’t a girl sit wherever she wants?”

“Oh, you’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone almost affectionate despite the edge of warning. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as he waited, that intense gaze of his meeting mine through the mirror.

A flicker of impatience flashed in his eyes. I thought he might just ignore me and start driving. But, with a low chuckle, he  opened his door and got out, striding around the car with a quiet force. Before I could react,he was at my side, yanking open the door with that cool, impassive expression that made him look every bit the boss he was. He leaned in, his intense gaze meeting mine head-on, unfazed by my defiance.

“Alright,” he said, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Let’s get you seated properly.” He scooped me up, ignoring my half-hearted protests,“Hey! What the hell? Put me down, you jerk!” I yelled, struggling, but it was pointless. His grip was ironclad. And then carried me to the front. The warmth of his fingers brushed my waist as he buckled my seatbelt with an infuriatingly calm precision, his fingers brushing my waist as his gaze locked on mine. His gaze still locked onto mine, daring me to challenge him.

“There,” he said, his voice calm yet laced with a subtle arrogance. He held my gaze as he secured my seatbelt, his fingers lingering slightly before he leaned back with that infuriating smirk. “All buckled up, and luxurious just like you wanted, right?”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest, my cheeks still warm from the unexpected closeness. “You’re insufferable,” I muttered, though the words lacked any real bite.

“Is that so?” he murmured, settling into the driver’s seat and starting the car with a smooth motion. His tone was cool, but I caught the hint of satisfaction in his gaze. “Glad to know I’m leaving an impression.” I crossed my arms with an exaggerated sigh and muttered just loudly enough, “Yin and Yang can leave more impression than you. At least they don’t make the air so tense.”

A small smirk appeared on his face. “I’d hate to deprive them of your charm, but somehow, I think I’ll manage.” I scrunched up my nose, shooting him a deadly glare.

“I swear to God,” I muttered, “this is so ridiculous. You’re like a control freak on steroids.”

He just smirked, his eyes cold with glint of  amusement  “You wanted to annoy me, remember? I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

I glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But you like it.”

I huffed. “You wish.”

After that the drive was filled with a heavy silence, neither of us speaking, though I could feel his presence beside me, calm yet intense. Finally,  car glided into the valet area of the upscale café, the city’s bustling noise seemed to fade into the background, swallowed by the refined ambiance that surrounded us. The café had a classical European feel, with marble floors, grand chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and walls adorned with ornate mirrors. The faint hum of soft classical music added to the sophisticated aura.

I didn’t bat an eye at the lavish surroundings— I am used to it by now—but the opulence still did make me chuckle inwardly. Of course, he'd pick this kind of place to flaunt his wealth. A true Mafia to the core.

Taehyung stepped out of the car first, his movements fluid and precise. He straightened his coat, adjusting the sleeves with a practiced hand before turning to open the door for me. His gaze met mine for a brief second, his eyes giving nothing away—calm, collected. Taehyung stepped out and circled around to open my door, holding it open for me with a small smirk. I glanced around, taking in the impressive surroundings.

A second black car pulled up, and Yin and Yang stepped out, following us as silent shadows while we entered the café. Only they joined us inside; the rest of his men stayed back, their eyes sharp as ever.

The café’s opulent decor was just as striking inside, with elaborate chandeliers and plush velvet seating. A tall, visibly nervous man approached Taehyung, bowing respectfully. “Mr. Kim, welcome. Would you like us to prepare a private table for you and your…”

The man’s voice trailed off, unsure how to address me.

Taehyung’s arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close with that usual possessive ease. “My wife,” he said, his voice confident and firm.

The man stammered a quick apology and led us to a secluded table with a perfect view of the busy street. Yin and Yang took a seat nearby, their attention alert to every detail. A waiter soon arrived, and Taehyung ordered without even glancing at the menu, like he had the entire thing memorized, his tone practiced and precise.

The waiter turned to me next, and I took my time scanning the menu, trying to ignore the fact that Taehyung’s gaze never once left me. Finally, I placed my order, though I didn’t fail to notice the amused glint in Taehyung’s eyes as he watched me.

As soon as the waiter left, Taehyung’s attention shifted to his phone, as though I wasn’t even there.

Rolling my eyes, I propped my chin on my hand. “You know, you could at least pretend to be interested in my company.”

“Trust me, I’m very interested,” he replied, his smirk deepening, “in more ways than you’d imagine.”

I scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

Taehyung didn’t even glance at me as he was still doing something in his phone , his movements as smooth and precise as always. “You’ll find out soon how impossible I'm.”

I wasn’t about to let him get away with his typical smugness.

“So,” I started, leaning across the table with an air of exaggerated curiosity. “Do you memorize every menu at every restaurant you go to, or do you just like to look impressive?”

He didn’t look up, but the corner of his lips quirked up. “Would it impress you?”

I almost choked on my drink. “Impress me? Ha! The only thing you impress is… well, I don’t know, maybe a rock. But not me.”

“Not yet, at least,” he replied smoothly, his voice teasing as he met my eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy,” I shot back. “I’ve seen more interesting things than you.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Like what?”

“Like a brick wall. At least it doesn’t talk back.”

Taehyung smirked, an edge of amusement in his eyes as he leaned against the wall, his posture effortlessly relaxed. "A brick wall doesn’t have a body like mine," he said, his voice dropping slightly in tone. "I think you were enjoying the view a bit more than you’re letting on." I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re delusional.”

The smirk on his face grew as he picked up his phone again, clearly enjoying my attempts to irritate him. It just made me more determined.

I didn’t let up, throwing out sarcastic remarks here and there, testing how far I could push him. But every time I tried to provoke him, he just answered with that infuriatingly calm tone, as if nothing I said could get under his skin.

Finally, after the waiter brought our food, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You’re kind of a foodie, aren’t you?” I asked, quirking a brow. “You already had breakfast, and now you’re doing it again. I didn’t realize I’d married someone who’s so… insatiably hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow, unruffled by my taunt. “Actually, I didn’t finish breakfast at home,” he replied calmly, cutting into his food. “But I see someone’s afraid I’ll get ‘too big’ from eating so much. Worried you’ll be stuck with an unattractive husband for life?”

I snorted, shaking my head. “As if. I’m just curious. And besides,” I added with a smirk, “not like I find you attractive anyway.”

“Oh?” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “Funny, that wasn’t what you were saying that night…”

Heat rose to my cheeks at his brazen remark, and I fumbled, sputtering as I tried to find a retort. “Th-that was…” I trailed off, narrowing my eyes at his smirk. “Delusional. You must have been hearing things.” I snapped, trying to mask my embarrassment. “You’re making things up now.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.” His tone was infuriatingly calm, almost amused. He clearly enjoyed flustering me.

My face flushed, and I quickly looked away, muttering incoherently as I picked at my food, trying to ignore the flutter of warmth spreading through me. Determined to steer the conversation away, I launched into more pointless questions, hoping to distract myself.

“So,” I began, glancing at him sideways, “what’s your favorite color? Or, wait, let me guess—black, like the rest of your soul?”

He chuckled, amused. “You’re close.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. Gray, then? Just as bland?”

He shook his head, a glimmer of exasperation mingling with his smile as he sipped his coffee. I continued pestering him with nonsensical questions, my only goal to get a rise out of him, yet he remained unruffled, occasionally giving me a knowing smirk that only added to my frustration.

We continued bantering back and forth, the meal passing with as much sass as usual. But I couldn’t ignore the fact that Taehyung was… well, undeniably attractive, especially with that confident expression and the way he held himself. Not that I’d ever admit it, especially not to him.

Once we finished, Taehyung signaled to the waiter and stood up, leading us out of the cafe. Yin and Yang followed us to the car.

As the sleek black car came to a halt in the underground parking of the penthouse, I opened the door, stepping out with an air of indifference. My heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the quiet space. The heavy stillness of the parking lot was only broken by the faint hum of the city above us.

Taehyung exited the car with his signature composed grace, his hands casually sliding into his pockets. He didn’t say a word as he circled around to my side. His dark gaze lingered on me for a moment, a look that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken things. Just as I was about to make my way toward the elevator, his voice, low and controlled, cut through the silence.

"I have work to attend to," he began, his tone as calm and cool as always, though there was an undertone of something I couldn’t quite place. “But I’ll come back early tonight. Let’s have dinner together.”

I froze mid-step, the unexpected words catching me off guard. Dinner? Together? His offer was so out of character that, for a moment, I wondered if I’d misheard him. My instincts told me to scoff, to laugh at his attempt to impose any sort of domesticity into this arrangement. Yet, I felt the faintest flicker of surprise—quickly masked by my usual shield of sass.

“Dinner together?” I turned to face him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Are you planning on winning ‘Husband of the Year’ now?”

He chuckled, leaning close, his eyes dark. “Just trying to make life a bit more… enjoyable for you.”

I raised an eyebrow, covering my surprise with a scoff. “Trying to ruin my evening, are you?”

A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Looking forward to it, then?”

I arched an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden sentiment. “Let me guess, you want me to cook, set the table, and wait obediently like a good little wife while you grace me with your royal presence?” My voice dripped with sarcasm as I crossed my arms.

Taehyung’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk, that maddeningly infuriating smirk that somehow managed to look both condescending and alluring. “No need to trouble yourself, princess. I’ll take care of dinner,” he said smoothly, the faintest edge of flirtation laced into his cold tone. “But don’t think for a second you can wiggle out of this. I’ll be here by seven. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I froze for a split second, my brain short-circuiting when Taehyung’s deep, velvety voice casually threw out the word "princess" like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Princess.

Of all the things he could’ve called me—brat, annoyance, or even a headache—this felt entirely unexpected. My heart did an embarrassing little flip, betraying me for a man who had more ice in his veins than warmth. The shock must’ve shown on my face because I saw the faintest twitch of amusement in his dark, piercing eyes.

But I wasn’t about to let him see me flustered. I quickly smoothed over the moment, tilting my chin up with a haughty scoff as though his little nickname meant absolutely nothing to me.

I let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be thoroughly put out by his insistence. “Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But don’t think this means I enjoy your company or anything. I’m just agreeing so you won’t whine about it later.”

He chuckled at my defiance, a soft, low sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Of course," he replied, his voice like silk laced with ice. “We wouldn’t want you to endure the unbearable tragedy of enjoying my company.”

I opened my mouth to fire back another sarcastic remark, but something in the way he was looking at me—intense, calculating, yet almost playful—stopped me. Instead, I turned sharply on my heel and made my way toward the elevator, the sharp rhythm of my footsteps filling the air.

But I could feel it. His gaze was still on me, following my every step like a shadow. It wasn’t the kind of look you could shrug off—it clung to you, heavy and palpable, like a weight pressing against your back. It wasn’t until I stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut that I allowed myself to release the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“What an infuriating man,” I muttered under my breath, my reflection in the polished elevator walls staring back at me with an exasperated expression. Yet, as I leaned against the cool metal, a small, unwelcome smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

He was frustrating, arrogant, and undeniably controlling, but there was something oddly compelling about him. And for reasons I couldn’t quite understand, the thought of dinner with him tonight didn’t feel entirely unwelcome.

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Author's Note:

Hey lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The tension between Taehyung and Miso is heating up, and I can’t wait to dive deeper into their dynamic. From next week, I’ll be updating twice a week, so stay tuned for the schedule announcement. Your support means the world to me! Let me know your thoughts in the comments, and as always, happy reading!

Word count: 6000