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THE EARLY ACCESS CHAPTERS WERE AVAILABLE IN STCKME!!

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The drive to Jungkook's new penthouse apartment was long, with no other noise but silence between the occupants. I stared out the window at the city lights, blurring into streaks of gold and white. It had been such a sharp distinction to the darkness that seemed to settle in my heart. I hadn't said anything since last night, and I had no intention of breaking the silence now.

Jungkook's attention never strayed from the road; his hands were firm on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He did not speak to me, and couldn't explain or justify the events unfolding. Maybe he realized there was no point. He seemed equally tired with this farce as I was. But I had nothing to say to him.

By the time we finally reached the penthouse, one could feel how tight the security had become. Guards were stationed at each entrance, cameras following every movement, and the whole building started feeling like a fortress more than a home. It was evident that Jungkook's father wasn't going to take any more chances, not when it came to the crown of Seoul.

We went in, and the coldness slapped me right in the face. It was luxurious, no doubt—marbled floors, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city that took your breath away, expensive furniture screaming of wealth and power. It was sterile, bereft of warmth or comfort. The place had been built for a king. Jungkook loosened his tie as we pushed inside. His expression was dark and tired. He hadn't looked at me since we left the car, and I felt no impulse to force his attention. The silence between us had grown into a chasm, impossible to cross.

He walked all the way toward the far end of the room, where a slick, state-of-the-art bar was stocked with top-dollar booze. He poured himself a drink, then slugged it back before letting out a heavy sigh. I stood at the far side of the room, silent and arms crossed, feeling anger and resignation in equal measure. We were trapped, both of us, but in very different ways.

Jungkook's phone went off through the thick air of silence. He answered it with a curtness to his tone, plain tired. "What is it?" he barked into the receiver.

The words were indistinguishable from my end, but by the tone, it was obvious who was on the other line didn't deliver good news. With every second, the frown on Jungkook's face deepened, and his features contorted in rising frustration. He turned his back to me, massaging the back of his neck with one hand as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"Handle it," he finally snapped, his voice cold, final. He ended the call with a sharp press of the button, his fingers still clutching the phone as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. I could feel his frustration, his exhaustion, but I had no sympathy left to offer. He was the one who chose to agree to this. He was the one who chose his crown over everything else.

Jungkook finally turned to face me; his expression was hard, his eyes dark with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Are you just going to stand there all night?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. He eyed me harshly from my head to my feet, the intensity with which he regarded me making me feel suddenly exposed, as if I was standing naked in front of him. I crossed my arms instinctively over, subconsciously shielding myself from his inspection.

"Where is my room?" I asked, my voice coming out colder than intended.

"The first room after the stairs," he replied, his voice clipped. "Our bedroom."

"Our bedroom?" I couldn't help the bitter laughter that came out of my mouth over the whole ridiculousness of it all. "Jungkook, you don't need to pretend anymore."

His eyes sort of sharpened at the moment, though he didn't retreat. "I don't care what you think of me," he said, his eyes steady as he poured out another glass. "But I respect this marriage and us.".

I watched him down the drink in one smooth motion, his words hanging in the air between us. Respect? The word felt foreign, almost laughable, in the context of everything that had happened. Still, there was something in his tone—a steely hardness that gave the impression that he genuinely meant it, at least in his own way.

"Respect," I repeated softly, more to myself than to him. "Is that what this is?"

Jungkook set the glass down; the 'clink' it made against the marble counter was far too loud for its worth in the silent room. He turned to face me again, his expression unreadable.

I kept looking at him, for any clue of a man beneath that cold, controlled exterior. All I knew, however, was the same aloof, emotionless mask he always wore. How could someone talk respect, of making the best of things, when they held the strings and were benefiting from all this?

"I loved you, Jeon Jungkook," I said in a voice hardly above a whisper, the words shaking as the weight of emotions finally burst open. "If you were punishing me for betraying you, for something in which I had no choice, just tell me! You must know why I betrayed you, don't you? You know that brother Taehyung wouldn't have spared—"

"I know," he said, his tone gentling but remaining firm. "And I know you did it because Taehyung threatened my life, that you were trying to protect me."

His words hung there in the air, and for that one moment, the tension between us seemed to settle just a little, though the pain and doubt still lingered.

"Was it all fake?" I asked, clutching the last shred of hope, my voice cracking under the strain. "Your confession... everything you said—was it all just a lie?"

"Moon!" he said sharply, and for the first time in a long time, he used the name he used to say with such tenderness adding the word My love. It felt like a knife to my heart. "Look—"

Long story short, I just couldn't stand hearing any more. Not another word could he say that would make a difference to me by that time.

Betrayal, pain—it all was too much.

I spun to face the stairs, not wanting to continue in this conversation, this room, and everything it stood for. "I'm going to bed," I whispered, barely keeping myself in check. "Alone."

He didn't try to stop me or say another word as I walked away. But I could feel his eyes on me, a weight that pressed down on my shoulders with every step I took. As I climbed the stairs to the bedroom—our bedroom.

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I must have drifted off and slept without knowing it, still in the day's long dress. My sleep was restless, crowded with scraps of nervous dreams. Then, something—a breath—settled against my feet. I snapped upright quickly, adrenaline surging as my heart started to pump blood at an alarming rate while I wrestled with my mind to understand what was happening.

The room was dimly lit, the only light emanated from a table lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows along the floor. My gaze had been dragged to the foot of the bed, where I had seen. a head? I yelped and yanked my legs toward me in panic.

"Jungkook?" I gasped out, my voice shaking.

Slowly raising his face, Jungkook was now seated on the floor, his head resting on my feet. What the hell was that all about? My head swam with confusion and disbelief.

"Givvvve meee feeet," he drawled, his voice very thick with drink. The words were barely intelligible; most striking to me, however, were his eyes, swollen and rose-red as if he had been crying.

I was frozen in hesitation. Slowly, I started stretching out my feet again toward him, all the while trying to make sense of this situation. He, without a word, began to kiss them; his lips pressed tenderly on my skin. It was some weird, desperate kind of movement, and discomfort washed over me. I again tried to pull my legs back. His grip had tightened to hold them.

"Stop it, Jungkook!" I demanded, my voice a mix of fear and confusion.

He didn't answer but continued his graceless, drunk affection. The actions were unsteady, graceless, almost frantic; he was trying to convey something that no words would be able to convey. But all I felt was deep unease, fear of the man before me who seemed so broken, lost.

"Jungkook, stop!" I said, tugging at my legs again. This time, his eyes flickered upward, and for one fleeting second, there was something so vulnerable in those drugged eyes that it tore at my heart, despite everything.

"Moon, my love," Jungkook murmured; his voice was all cracked, raw with emotion. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone."

The way he called me, full of tenderness, using those very words, was like a twisting knife in my heart. My vision blurred from tears while the overwhelming pain of what we had lost washed over me. There before me was the old Jungkook whom I loved so much—nothing remained anymore. I don't know if I still could trust him, if I could still believe in us being us.

"Jungkook, stop," I whispered, trying to shake off my tears as they rolled down. "That's not you. You are drunk, and you don't know what you're doing."

For a moment, it seemed as though he was going to listen—like the pleading in my voice finally got through to him. His grip on my ankles tightened, and he bent his head again toward my feet. He was breathing raggedly, desperately. "No!" he cried out, raw, heart-wrenching pain filling his voice.

"My love," he called again, his voice shaking with an emotion that rocked me to the core. "Don't hate me," he pleaded, the vulnerability razing me.

"Give me one reason, Jungkook," I choked out, crying my eyes out. "Give me one reason not to hate you."

"I. I. love you," he whimpered, his voice breaking over the words. The anguish in his voice was so awful that it felt like my heart was being pulled apart. Now mine was blurred vision, my own tears tumbled down, and I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that love wasn't supposed to feel like this—like prison, like punishment.

"No, you don't-you abuse the word!" I sobbed, grimacing from the pain in my chest. "You abuse that word, Jungkook! Love isn't supposed to hurt this much. It isn't supposed to destroy us!"

"I don't...I wouldn't...I would never," he cried, his voice now utterly breaking as he buried his face against my feet, his tears wetting the dress fabric. The sight of him—shattered, completely, and a far cry from the strong, immovable man I knew—broke something inside me. This wasn't the Jungkook I loved, who was once my everything. It was a person lost, drowning in his own pain and guilt.

My will was torn between wanting to comfort him and how he had cruelly scarred my heart. "Jungkook," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.