If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you do us wrong, do we not take revenge? True words said by someone before me whose name I can't remember. Life is a sequence of action and reaction. You take what you deserve and give what you're due. A well-oiled machine based on the past and its intricacies.

Now I was observing the marvels that this machine created.

Now I was getting what I deserved.

Now, I was watching Min Yoongi be freed into a world where he would experience betrayal, pain and loss, exactly like I did.

The winter sun is known for being violent at its peak. A warmth we crave, but it always ends up burning our eyes a little more than in summer. Today it shone brighter. A crystal in the sky. I loved it, despite the brightness and the shit load about the danger it could bring. I basked in its warmth as I sat in my car, smoking a cigarette that tasted better today than it had ever done before, and waited for the metal door to open.

My watch read nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes to go until Min Yoongi's re-entry into society. You'd think I was waiting to look into his black orbs and write poetry about their depths. I wouldn't blame anyone who had such a thought. For my giddiness suggested something similar (if I had had the talent to write poetry at all). As much as I hated to break it to everyone, I was here for a reason that had everything to do with my rightful revenge and nothing to do with literature and romance or whatever that shit was called.

Yoongi's freedom meant one thing above all: he would see for himself what said freedom had cost him.

And the cost could be read on every billboard in Seoul. He would see the first one right after the last left turn before they entered the highway. Yeah! He wouldn't be leaving the compound alone. He had company. Inaya Chen was waiting for him, just like me. The only difference was the feeling we had while we waited for the gate to open.

She wasn't sitting in her car. Something I found very funny. She didn't want to shock him with the massive changes in her life — their lives — as if he wouldn't see it after the comforting hug she was definitely going to give him. He would bask in it, that was for sure. When you're cooped up in an eighty-per-sixty box for over two months, breathing in testosterone, sweat and gooch odor, the scent of women becomes comparable to that of heaven. In a few minutes, he would visit heaven and then be transferred to his permanent habitat: hell.

My watch read nine fifty-two. Inaya angled her wrist to check her watch as well. She rocked back and forth, counting down the remaining eight minutes, and it seemed like years to her. I felt for her, to be honest. Little joker card was lovestruck. She saw her charming prince in Yoongi even if the man didn't have a bicycle, let alone a horse. She couldn't see me from where I was parked, but I saw her every strained movement, every labored breath, and every glance at her watch. I saw it all. I savored it all. Because it was all an act of longing that would last less than ten minutes before the floodwaters of anger and betrayal washed it all out from under their feet.

Inaya became everything the Mins would never accept. Everything that their so-called reputation could not be attached to. Inaya Chen became everything Yoongi could never approve of. The kind of women he often used to wind out and would leave in expensive hotel rooms after spilling the countenance of his balls in them or over them. She turned into that for him because she loved him enough to pose in La Perla lingerie and Versace swimsuits and expose her flesh to the world so could gain him freedom.

I wouldn't lie here and say that Inaya Chen wasn't successful as a model. In fact, I was shocked. She learned a lot in a short time and scored with her skills without my interference. Her first appearance as a model for Hera gained her contacts that led to contracts. The skinny little girl with an unhealthy complexion became a woman with a perfect body thanks to the diet Miss Rossi forced her to follow. The dark circles that loomed around her eyes, like the petals of death, disappeared, leaving behind flawless skin that needed no make-up to turn heads around. Inaya played the part, which gained her the cash to bail Yoongi out of jail. Now, that was the price of his freedom.

My relationship with Inaya Chen developed into more than just a boss-employee kind of relationship. I wouldn't say we became besties, but we became very close. So close that I was able to share her burden and lend her my shoulder to cry on. That wasn't easy to achieve, but when I dropped her off at home after the hospital visit we had paid to Yoongi, I found a way to upgrade our relationship. Namely, my acceptance of her relationship with a criminal even though it was against my company's policy. God, that was over a month ago. Time does indeed pass very quickly. But I still remember driving like a madman to my house. Seokjin was already waiting for me there. He had told me that he would be, which was why I took it upon myself to shorten the drive time, reach my basement, and dislocate the asshole's jaw for the stunt he pulled. My revenge was mine. I had it planned to the T. I didn't need him to interfere.

Newsflash: I didn't dislocate his jaw. I couldn't do that in front of a witness. Park Jimin was there too, playing with my token chips and deck of cards like they were a family heirloom left by his ancestors.

"You're finally here. We've been waiting for you, man!" Seokjin greeted, as if we hadn't been at each other's throats earlier on the phone.

"Baby Kim, long time no see, my friend." Jimin stood up to give me a bro-hug I didn't ache for. And I stood there like a deer caught in the headlights. Unmoving. Wordless. My brain worked miles a minute to understand what was going on until I decided I didn't want to anymore. I would act on my plans and shit on theirs.

I went to the cupboard behind the poker table, grabbed a tumbler, and poured myself some bourbon. "You know we are over last name basis, Jimin. Don't bother with the formalities, my friend."

"Oh man, that's just to avoid confusion. This country has limited choices when it comes to last names, and you both happen to have the same one," he sneered at his unfunny joke, pointing at me and Seokjin. "Anyway, Tae, today I'm not here to discuss how we could do with some variety when it comes to last names in this country. I'm here to talk about the Kate Moss you brought into my company through nepotism, if I may point out."

"Nepotism?" I acted offended, placing a hand on my chest for emphasis. "Some big words you're saying, partner."

"Uh-huh," he offered, still playing with my token chips. "Don't you agree?"

"And remind me again," I walked over to the poker table and took a seat, "in what way is this supposedly not good for your business?"

"Trust", Jimin offered, his voice low and tasting like a threat. He downed his drink, tossed the chip into the center of the table as if he were placing a bet, and fixed his gaze on me, "That would be a serious blow to our mutual trust, my friend."

Seokjin's eyes danced back and forth between me and Jimin. He was desperate and trying his best to communicate with me words that fell into the "warnings" category. I didn't care, and I would have told him so if I wasn't assessing Jimin and refusing to back down from the eye contact we held. I had more pressing things to do than worry about a warning he could have spared himself if he'd stayed out of my shit. I had a suspicious partner to convince and a trust to rebuild. The last thing I needed was to let Jimin in on my plans. He wasn't his father. And though he shared the same hatred for the Mins with his old man, he didn't need to know about Inaya Chen. She wasn't a Min; he didn't need to get his claws into her.

I downed my drink as well, pulled a joker from the deck of cards, and slid it to the token chips Jimin had placed in the center of the table. "Even though I don't approve of the use of such strong terms, I understand where you're coming from. I wouldn't want to be kept in the dark either. But I assure you that there's no need to worry about the transparency of our business, because it's crystal. The woman went through a fair recruitment process. Hand-picked from the streets. I just saw a potential and thought it would be a loss if I left it behind. You'll thank me when she increases the annual income."

Jimin picked up an ace of spades and a queen of hearts and slid them into the center of the table. Grinning, he looked at me before he offered: "I would be reassured if I knew for sure that the coast is clear and that you have nothing to do with her. You see, my friend, I like my income secure and my women available."

See, stupid prey have a tendency to walk right into the hunters' trap. So en-fucking-dearing.

I got up from my chair and went to the bar to fill my glass and his. When I returned, I handed him his glass and made a toast. "The coast is clear, partner."

"Here's to our fruitful partnership, baby Kim." Glass clinked against glass, and the funniest part was that he thought he had one on me.

And Park Jimin wasn't the one to shy away. He, in fact, was fast to bite the bait. A moron, if you ask me, but criticizing him would be counterproductive since I needed him to do the job for me. Which, in his defense, was getting done beautifully.

Park Jimin liked anything exotic. Inaya Chen was not only exotic, but she also had a personality that added an air of majesty to her beauty. Inaya was half Chinese, half Brazilian — officially anyway, but in truth, she was half Brazilian, half Korean, courtesy of Jeon's blood. Her adoptive father had bought his way into the vibrant Latin American country. He went there to do business in the phosphate industry, for which the country was known and eventually discovered love as well as phosphate deposits when he met her mother. When her mother died, he figured he could only cope with her absence if he left the country, and in search of a steady job, he ended up in South Korea as an assistant manager in a small company specializing in engine parts.

The adoptive father was a real man if you ask me. He never made her feel like she wasn't his. He gave her his name and his affection and made sure she never found out that her real father wanted nothing to do with her or her mother.

Jimin was quick to show the results of his work. He stuck to Inaya like super glue. He was there when she went through her first photo shoot. He was there when the photographers yelled at her and demanded retakes of pictures that didn't meet the predetermined requirements. Jimin knew better than to take the same rusty path he'd taken with other women, namely drinking like a fish and fucking in a hotel room he'd forget how he'd gotten to when he woke up in the morning. No; he did it better. He wined her. He took her out to dinners that he claimed were for business. He traveled with her and made sure she experienced first class and its perks whenever she had a photo op abroad. And I watched her closely and with great fascination and, dare I say it, amusement. Amused because Inaya was suffocating under his grip but didn't dare tell him. This became apparent when she increasingly avoided his invitations to dinner. When she realized that his touches were far from sympathetic and professional. When he extended invitations to parties where in the end it was just him and her sitting in the dimly-lit high-end nightclubs. But, of course, she didn't dare say a word to anyone. No, not until that night.

See, I had memorized the pattern of Jimin's advances by heart that I decided to take a break from the stalking activity I engaged in for the first time in almost a month. I was tired of being at the helm of a ship that would eventually sink and kill everyone on board. So when I got back from work, after a hot shower and a hearty dinner, I retired to the basement and enjoyed my cards and my single malt whiskey. I knew that Jimin had taken Inaya out for dinner to a three Michelin-starred restaurant. I also knew that he had told her that Miss Rossi would be there and that the purpose of the whole invitation was to thank them for the efforts and professionalism that had helped him get a contract with Bvlgari Accessories. I knew he would find a credible reason to explain Miss Rossi's absence. I didn't worry about what it would be. I withdrew and put my trust in fate. Somehow, I knew it would work out for me.

The doorbell rang at around half past one at night. I wouldn't say I was drunk, but I certainly wasn't completely sober. I had a quarter of a bottle of Black Label in my blood, which meant that my steps to the door were slower than usual. The doorbell rang again, testing my patience. It goes without saying that I wasn't expecting company, and I really didn't care about decorum as I walked to the door wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and a deep scowl.
I wouldn't lie and say I wasn't prepared to give a piece of my mind to whoever was at my door at this ungodly hour. I didn't suspect anyone, but I was firmly convinced that it was Seokjin. When I opened the door, I wished it was him. But before me stood Inaya with her long, luscious hair wet and matted and her skin even paler than usual. I took in the details of her posture. She was panting. Her chest heaved uncontrollably. The black mini dress, which I assumed was a summer edition of Nina Ricci, clung to her skin like a vice. I was supposed to act. To move. To let her in and sheild her from the rain that hadn't taken the name of God as it pelted the ground. I should have done something, anything. I should have asked her what was going on or what had happened, but I couldn't for a hot minute. I just clung to the doorframe and stood like a statue on the threshold.

"Mr. Kim!" But she broke the silence with that husky voice of hers. It rang like an alarm clock in my head and woke me from my torpor. I pushed the door all the way open, moved away, and let her enter. It wasn't lost on me how she crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide the shivers. Nor did I miss the fact that the penny had finally dropped.

When she entered my domain, I rushed in and got a sweater for her and wore one myself. I tried to give her space and sit across from her on the couch, but she held my hand tightly, and at that moment, something zinged in the particle of air that surrounded us.

"What happened, Inaya?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She said, averting her eyes to avoid my gaze. "But whatever happens, I want you to know that I tried to keep my job until the very end. I did my best, but it doesn't seem to be enough."

I was genuinely curious. I didn't have to pretend to be curious. I wanted to know. In full. Down to the last detail. I wanted her to cry in my arms, between my embrace. To sob. To writhe. Because I would make sure to kiss it better in my own way. And that's what I did. Because whatever I had to do to destroy Min Yoongi, I was willing to do. Whatever means I had to take to see my child, I was willing to take. Even if it was a woman. I brought her in my arms, breathing in her scent and savoring her shivers. "I'm going to ask you again. What happened? I need to know everything so I can judge."

"I can't," she groaned with a soft whimper. For a second there, I felt really sorry for her. She kept going through hot coals and needles over that semblance of a man. "But I came here to defend my rights. My job." She extricated herself from my arms and straightened her back as she adjusted her posture. "I want you to understand that I'm not going to sit quietly if I'm stripped of my job. I haven't done anything wrong. I need my job, Mr. Kim. I really do, and..." she stuttered, which gave me the opportunity to step in.

"And what? Listen, Inaya. I can't wrap my head around your coming to my house this late at night in this state, but one can only assume. So tell me, did someone from the company hurt you? Was it a client? A manager?"

My tone was warm. Very supportive and present. I have to admit that I hid my grin well behind my teeth. Or maybe it would be a real admission if I said there was no grin at all. But warm were also my hands as I reached for hers, which were the stark contrast. She held my gaze. Her eyes were bloodshot, I noticed for the first time. I figured I was a dick of huge proportions, but can you really blame a man after the shit he'd been through? I guess you can. But I also guess I couldn't give a fuck about anyone else's opinion. She looked down at the floor, avoiding my gaze again, but I saw the tear rolling down her cheek. "I can't." She mumbled.

My arms found her trembling form again and brought her into the warmth I radiated. I hugged her with both compassion and a sense of victory that seemed appalling right now but also sweet. "You won't lose your job, Inaya. I promise you that much." Pause. Inhale. She smelled of jasmine, rain, and chaos. She smelled of my future and my reunion with my child. Breathe out. Repeat. She smelled like something of mine. "Do you trust me?" I probed.

"I do, but I'm afraid of losing this job. You know how much it means to me, how much I need it. God, Taehyung, you even know why I accepted your offer in the first place. I can't destroy everything I've built up for...for something so unimportant — for me."

Oh man, how good I knew. I knew very well because I made sure she fell into this trap in the first place, but she didn't need to know that. No, not when she called my name with such trust and affection. Not when the way she looked at me suggested we were on the verge of telling each other secrets. Not when those secrets might reveal where my son was.

I took her hand and looked into her eyes, relishing in the depth of those browns and the warmth that played around her irises. There was fear there, and I realized that it didn't suit her at all. Serenity suited her better, and I knew that, even if I hadn't seen it yet. Call it a hunch, this type of feeling that made me want to shower her with stability, comfort, and happiness, only to confirm that my suspicions were indeed correct. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was my twisted logic, but I wanted her to mourn Min Yoongi in my embrace, and like a phoenix, I wanted her heart to be reborn after she was done crying. "If you trust me, that means you know me enough to tell that I'd never make you pay for something you had no say in." Hepocrit, meet liar. "You won't lose your job, but I want to know if anyone close to me has to go."

When she spoke, she was shaking, even stuttering, and that's when I knew I wouldn't be any different from Yoongi and his family if I caused her any more grief. "I don't want to work with Park Jimin anymore, Taehyung. I—I'm sorry, I know this is so unethical," she held my hand with an iron grip. It was like she was afraid he was going to pounce on her here, in my damn fortress and before my fucking eyes. Horseshit. He wouldn't dare, and he could try me if he was so eager to meet his maker. "But he—he hurt me, Taehyung."

I never let her finish what she was about to say, afraid I'd do something very bad to Jimin after all, even though I had baited him. It was a very confusing feeling. It was anger, joy, and rage, and it all combined to create such a sour feeling that I found it hard to swallow. So I hugged her, and this time I didn't change my expression when my face was hidden from her. Because this time, I hugged her with the sincere feeling that came over me: Protectiveness.

And that promise became a word of honor. Inaya kept her job and with it our weekly Seolleongtang dates. Sometimes I waited for her at the restaurant. Other times, I waited for her to call. This usually happened when I knew she was at a photo shoot. Over time, we became closer and closer. Friends? I didn't know. But we were something very close to that. I mean, as close as a lying scumbag can be to someone who trusts them to a certain extent.

I looked at my watch and realized it was already ten o'clock. The buzzing that sounded from behind the fenced compound confirmed the time. Before the ugly buzzing could die down, the door opened and two uniformed men, armed with heavy rifles, stood pointing at the ground but ready to aim for the chests should the need arise. There weren't many released prisoners today. Just a few old men and maybe five younger fellas whose families were waiting impatiently for their release. People hugged each other and basked in the beauty of reunification. Some of them cried, others ran to their vehicles, ready to leave this place behind their backs. Inaya, however, stood motionless. I doubted she was even breathing. She held her cell phone between her palms, which she held together in a posture one would assume when sitting in a church pew and praying. Maybe she was actually praying. Praying to meet her missing half already.

Two minutes past ten, her prayers were answered. Min Yoongi was far from his usual splendor and respect for fashion. He wore a white shirt that was somehow yellowed, pants that had seen better days, and a beard that needed a razor and shaving gel. His hair was in a dire need for a haircut too. Jesus! The man turned into a hippie. Lo and below how the time changes. Long gone were the days when he looked and believed and behaved as if he was above-than-thou. He looked like a commoner mortal now. He looked like the Kim Taehyung he killed.

But Inaya ran towards him with everything she had in her. She didn't mind the stubble or the disgusting smell I was sure he sported. She just hugged him, kissed him, and mended the piece of her heart that she had lost when he went behind bars.

She really loved him. Such a pity! I was going to change that fact soon.

The end of the first sequence.

I want y'all to go back to chapter One (not the prologue) and check out the pseudo-name of the narrator at the top of the chapter right beneath the title of the chapter. Each POV has a distinct pseudo-name. The narrators will be announced with their pseudonym.

Votes and comments are appreciated. XO