The journey to Taehyung’s family mansion had been filled with tension, but as they neared the estate, even Miso couldn't help but let her thoughts wander to the grandiosity of what lay ahead. The car hummed along the tree-lined driveway, and as they approached the towering iron gates, the scale of the estate became clear.

It was massive—easily twice the size of her father’s mansion back in Busan. Her eyes widened as they passed perfectly manicured lawns, fountains that shimmered under the evening sky, and sculptures that must have cost millions. The high walls surrounding the property made it feel like a fortress, and Miso found herself momentarily breathless at the sheer opulence of it all.

The guards, all sharp-eyed and well-dressed in suits, immediately straightened as the car approached. With a synchronized movement, they opened the heavy iron gates, allowing the vehicle to roll inside. Miso’s attention flitted between the intricate details of the estate: the marble pathways, the golden accents on the mansion’s walls, and the sheer size of the place—it was like a palace.

"Wow," she muttered under her breath, unable to hide her astonishment. She had lived in luxury all her life, but this... this was something else entirely.

Taehyung, sitting beside her, noticed her reaction out of the corner of his eye. Her wide-eyed expression caught him off guard—Miso, the fiery and sassy woman who always had something to say, looked almost... speechless. It was a rare sight, and for a moment, he found himself wondering what was going on in her mind. She didn’t grow up poor, so why is she so astonished?

He quickly pushed the thought away as they reached the main entrance. The car came to a smooth stop, the tires barely making a sound on the stone driveway.

Yang, ever the energetic one, was the first to jump out of the car. He adjusted his suit and rounded the vehicle, opening the door for Taehyung with a nod. “Boss,” he said, his voice respectful, though his usual playful demeanor lurked just beneath the surface.

Taehyung stepped out, straightening his suit jacket with precision. He glanced down at Miso, who was still gazing at the sprawling mansion before her, lost in thought. His jaw tightened slightly. Snap out of it, he wanted to say, but instead, he leaned down slightly, his voice low, cold, and dangerous as he whispered, “Stay in line. Don’t cause any trouble here.”

His tone was a warning, sharp and cutting, but unlike every other time, Miso didn’t fire back with one of her usual witty remarks. Instead, she simply nodded, her eyes still fixed on the grandeur surrounding her.

Taehyung straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. She didn’t argue back? That was strange. For the first time since they met, Miso hadn’t thrown a single retort his way, nor did she challenge him.

Miso, on the other hand, was still in a haze. She couldn’t wrap her mind around how lavish this place was. She’d been surrounded by wealth her whole life, but this was another level entirely—like a dream she hadn’t known she could have. For a fleeting moment, the rebellious spirit within her was quieted, replaced by curiosity and a hint of admiration.

Yang closed the door behind her as she stepped out, glancing at her with a small smirk. “Don’t let your jaw hit the floor, brat,” he teased under his breath. “It might ruin your face.”

Miso barely registered his comment, too absorbed by her surroundings to care about the teasing. The grand entrance loomed ahead of them, large double doors intricately carved from dark wood, with gold inlay running through them like veins. She glanced at the mansion's windows, tall and imposing, reflecting the last light of the setting sun. The sheer opulence of it all made her feel like she was entering a kingdom.

Taehyung, with his usual air of cold authority, led the way toward the doors, his stride confident and commanding. Miso followed, still trying to take it all in. As they approached, the doors opened smoothly, revealing a grand foyer that looked like something out of a magazine—crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and massive staircases that spiraled up toward the second floor.

Without a word, Yin and Yang remained behind as the couple entered the mansion. Yang was still watching Miso with that amused glint in his eye, but Yin, ever the silent observer, kept his expression neutral. He noticed how Miso’s usual energy had been replaced by a kind of reverence for the space they were entering.

Once inside, the heavy doors closed behind them with a soft thud, and Taehyung’s cold mask slid into place even more firmly. He walked ahead without waiting for Miso, his movements precise and unbothered, as if the mansion wasn’t anything special to him. For him, it was just his father house.

Miso, however, was still in a trance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she followed a few steps behind. She glanced around, her gaze sweeping over the massive chandeliers that hung like twinkling constellations from the ceiling and the intricate moldings that adorned the walls.

How much money does this family have? she wondered, her mind racing. And yet, as she looked around, she realized that no matter how grand the place was, there was a coldness to it—just like Taehyung himself. There was no warmth, no sense of comfort or homeliness. It was beautiful, yes, but also impersonal. A gilded cage.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Taehyung suddenly stopped walking, turning slightly to glance at her. His eyes, as cold as ice, flicked over her with mild irritation.

"Try to keep up," he said, his voice clipped.

Miso blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Right,” she muttered, quickening her pace.

Taehyung led them deeper into the mansion, the tension between them palpable. As they walked through the grand halls, Miso found herself wondering what this dinner would be like. Would his father be as cold and calculating as him? Or worse?

But for now, she kept her thoughts to herself. She wasn’t in the mood to provoke Taehyung, especially when she was still trying to wrap her mind around the sheer magnitude of the world she had been thrust into.

And for once, Taehyung found himself unnerved by her silence, as though the quiet between them held more power than any argument ever could.

_______________________________________

                      Kim Miso

The moment I stepped into the dining room, my breath hitched. The room was enormous, just like everything else in this mansion. A massive chandelier hung above a dining table so long it looked like it could seat a small army. The polished mahogany gleamed under the light, and there was an intimidating formality to the setting—everything perfectly arranged, not a napkin out of place.

At the far end of the table sat two men, already in conversation when we entered. One was older, perhaps in his fifties, his posture rigid and eyes sharp. His presence alone sent a chill down my spine. The other man, much younger—perhaps in his early thirties—had a more relaxed demeanor, though there was an unmistakable air of authority about him too.

As we drew closer, the younger man’s face lit up. A grin spread across his features, and before I knew it, he was striding toward Taehyung with open arms. “Taehyung!” His voice was warm, friendly—too friendly, compared to the ice-cold atmosphere Taehyung carried.

He wrapped Taehyung in a quick embrace, clapping him on the back like they hadn’t seen each other in ages. I blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

"Hyung," Taehyung greeted him with a much more subdued nod. His voice was polite but void of the warmth the other man seemed to expect. The man turned to me, his smile broadening as he gestured between the two of us.

"And you must be Miso, right?" he said with a grin. "I'm Kim Namjoon, Taehyung's older brother." His voice was smooth, welcoming even, though I couldn’t help but feel that every person here, in some way, was a little too good at playing roles.

I quickly composed myself, plastering on my best smile even though my heart was racing. “Yes, nice to meet you,” I replied, offering a polite nod. Inside, though, I was screaming. Kim Namjoon? Taehyung’s brother? How many more surprises can this night hold?

As I forced my lips into a smile, the elder man at the table slowly stood up. My heart thudded in my chest as I realized exactly who this was—Taehyung’s father. The former mafia king. The man I had heard stories about—ruthless, calculating, and feared by many. His gaze landed on me with an intensity that made me feel like I was being stripped bare. I could feel the coldness radiating off him, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

He looked me up and down, his eyes sharp and piercing. I swallowed hard, trying not to fidget under his scrutiny. Hold it together, Miso, I reminded myself. You’ve faced worse.

"It’s good that your father agreed with my proposal," he continued, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Otherwise, I would’ve had to find... other ways.” His words were laced with venom, though his lips curled into a smirk. He wasn’t joking, and we all knew it.

Beside me, Taehyung stiffened, his jaw clenching. I could feel the tension radiating from him as he glared at his father, but he said nothing. I, on the other hand, felt my pulse quicken. I forced a laugh, though it came out more as a strained chuckle. “Well, I’m glad we didn’t have to resort to... other ways,” I said, my voice sounding far too high-pitched for my liking.

Stupid, stupid, I cursed internally. I sounded like a fool, but what else could I say to the former mafia king?

Namjoon, sensing the rising tension, stepped in, clapping his hands together as if to disperse the thick atmosphere. “Okay, enough of the jokes,” he said with a chuckle, though his eyes held a slight edge, “Let’s start dinner, shall we?”

I could have hugged him for the save, but I simply nodded, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease just a fraction. Taehyung shot his brother a grateful glance, though it was barely noticeable. The elder Kim didn’t comment further, instead taking his seat at the head of the table, his eyes still fixed on me like a hawk eyeing its prey.

As we all sat down, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched—no, hunted. Every movement, every word, felt like it was being scrutinized. My nerves were on high alert, but I forced myself to stay calm. Taehyung’s father might be terrifying, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

Taehyung took the seat beside me, his cold expression never faltering, but beneath the surface, I could sense a storm brewing. His father’s comment had clearly gotten under his skin. I wanted to reach out, say something, anything to ease the tension, but this was not the place for it.

Dinner was served with military-like precision—course after course, prepared to perfection, yet I could hardly taste any of it. My mind was too busy racing, trying to decipher the dynamics between these men and how I fit into this intricate web of power and control.

Namjoon, ever the peacemaker, tried to keep the conversation light, talking about business, the weather, anything to fill the silence. But every now and then, I caught Taehyung’s father watching me, his gaze unwavering, and every time our eyes met, I felt the weight of his silent judgment. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that made it all the more terrifying.

What did I get myself into? I wondered, staring down at my barely touched plate. The stakes were high, higher than I ever imagined, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what was to come.

As I sat there, I glanced at Taehyung from the corner of my eye. He looked as unbothered as ever, but I knew better. I could feel the tension radiating off him, the barely-contained anger beneath that icy exterior.

Whatever game we were playing, it had only just begun.

-------------------------------------------------------

The meal had barely started when the tension in the air became suffocating. The soft clinking of silverware against porcelain was drowned out by the cold, deliberate conversation between Taehyung and his father. What began as routine talk about business deals and territories quickly turned sharp, the words like knives cutting through the silence.

"I hear there’s trouble in Daegu," Taehyung’s father remarked, his voice low and smooth, but dripping with condescension. He didn’t even look at Taehyung, his eyes fixed on his plate. "You should have dealt with it sooner. Delays like this make you look weak, son."

Taehyung’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his glass. His voice was clipped, barely containing his irritation. "I’ve got it under control."

Namjoon, ever the mediator, chuckled lightly, trying to ease the rising tension. “Daegu’s nothing Taehyung can’t handle, Father. His men are already stationed there. The situation’s handled.”

But the elder Kim wasn’t finished. He turned his gaze to Taehyung, eyes cold and calculating, testing his son’s patience. “Handled?” He scoffed. “I’ve yet to see any real results. Sitting on your ass and waiting won’t fix anything. You can’t just pretend to be a king.”

Taehyung’s eyes darkened, and the edge in his voice became razor-sharp. "I don’t pretend to be anything. I am the king."

Miso, seated quietly at the table, felt the tension tightening around her like a noose. She could feel it—Taehyung’s anger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over. She kept her eyes on her plate, pretending to be interested in her food, but the anxiety gnawed at her. The cold, harsh voices around her brought her close to the edge, her little space threatening to break through. But she couldn’t afford to slip. Not here. Not in front of these men.

She gripped her fork tighter, focusing on staying composed. She’d let herself retreat once they got back to the penthouse. Lock herself away. It would be safe there. Just a little longer.

Meanwhile, Taehyung’s father shifted his attention to Namjoon, his words no less venomous. “And you, Namjoon? How’s your business doing? Or are you too busy cleaning up your brother’s messes?”

Namjoon’s smile faltered, but only for a second. He was used to this. “Everything’s running smoothly, Father. We’ve secured new contracts in the U.S., and the numbers look promising.”

His father barely acknowledged the response, his tone dismissive. “Make sure they don’t slip. You know how fast deals can fall apart. One mistake, and everything goes to hell.”

Namjoon tried to keep things light, but the tension was as thick as the silence that followed. Across the table, Miso could feel Taehyung’s growing fury, the storm in him brewing darker and darker with each biting remark from his father. His shoulders were tense, his grip on his glass so tight she thought it might shatter.

Then, the final insult landed. Taehyung’s father, in a tone dripping with derision, sneered, “Maybe you should stop pretending you’re in control, Taehyung. Just because you have the title doesn’t mean you have the brains or the balls to lead. You’re still nothing but a boy playing dress-up.”

That was it. The last straw.

Taehyung slammed his glass down so hard it cracked. The entire table jumped at the sound, but Taehyung didn’t flinch. His eyes were like ice, his voice low, dangerous, barely restrained. “I don’t need your fucking approval. I’ve been running this empire better than you ever did, and I don’t need you to remind me who’s in charge.”

The silence was deafening.

Miso’s heart raced, her hands trembling as she tried to focus on breathing, on staying composed. Her little was clawing at her insides, desperate to come out, but she held it back. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose control here. Not in front of these men who’d tear her apart if they saw her weakness.

Across the table, Taehyung’s father’s face twisted in fury. His fist slammed down on the table, making the plates rattle. “Watch your fucking mouth, boy. You forget who you’re talking to.”

But Taehyung didn’t back down. Not an inch. His cold gaze didn’t waver as he stared his father down. “No. You forget. I’m in charge now. Not you. And if you don’t like the way I run things, maybe you should go fuck off to one of your whores and leave the real work to me.”

The tension snapped like a whip. His father stood abruptly, face flushed with rage. “You ungrateful little bastard—” he growled. “How dare you—”

But Taehyung didn’t flinch. He met his father’s glare with cold defiance, not a single ounce of fear or respect in his eyes. “I dare because I’m the one in power now,” he said, his voice steady. “Not you.”

Namjoon, ever the peacemaker, quickly interjected. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down.” His voice was strained but even, as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We’re all here for dinner, remember? No need to escalate things.”

Miso took a deep breath, her mind spinning. She was holding on by a thread, barely keeping her little in check. She just had to make it through the night. Just a little longer. Then she could let go.

The meal ended in an oppressive, stifling silence. Taehyung stood abruptly, shoving his chair back with a scrape that echoed through the dining room. “Miso, let’s go,” he commanded, his voice cold and clipped.

Without a word, Miso stood and followed him, her legs stiff as she tried to hold herself together. No sarcastic remarks, no playful banter. Not tonight. She was too close to breaking, too close to losing her grip. All she could do was nod and walk behind him.

Namjoon stood as well, his voice softening as he turned to her. “It was nice meeting you, Miso. I hope we’ll have a chance to talk more soon.”

Miso managed a tight smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Likewise,” she murmured, but her voice was faint, her mind already on the edge of retreating.

They made their way out of the dining room, leaving Taehyung’s father behind in seething silence. Outside, Yin and Yang were waiting by the car, their postures tense as they noticed the charged atmosphere.

Yang, always quick to break the tension, opened his mouth, probably to crack a joke. But one glance at Taehyung’s stormy expression, and he quickly shut it, sharing a look with Yin instead. They both knew. Dinner with Taehyung’s father never ended well, but tonight was something else. Something darker.

Without a word, they all climbed into the car. Yin drove in silence, and Yang, uncharacteristically quiet, sat in the passenger seat, his eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and Taehyung.

Miso sat stiffly beside Taehyung, her eyes glued to the window, her mind racing. She was holding on by a thread, barely keeping her little at bay. Once they were back at the penthouse, once she was alone, she could let herself go. Let the tears fall. Retreat into the safety of her little space. But not now. Not here.

Taehyung, beside her, was seething in silence. His father’s words echoed in his mind, burning like fire in his chest. One day—one fucking day—he’d shut his father up for good. He is the king now, and no one, no one, will ever talk to him like that again. Not even the man who once held the throne.

One day, he’d show them all. He’d show them what real power looked like.

And no one would dare disrespect him again.

★★★★★★★

Author's Note:

Hey, amazing readers!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Dark Innocence! Your support means everything to me. Please take a moment to vote, comment, and share the book with your friends. Your feedback motivates me to write more, so keep those comments coming!

Thank you for being a part of this journey!

Much love,
StarlitWings