Running.

Running is a good exercise for health; it pumps blood, gives energy to the body; running away from problems is even more beneficial, especially for the brain.

Keeping the body used to sprint at any given chance should be considered common sense; one never knows when they need to escape, leaving it all behind to set in flames, to crumble in shutters, fuck, to evaporate even, once free from the catastrophe, it doesn't matter much.

Selfish. That's the nature of human beings, but let's face it, it's logical in its cruelty, a survival instinct.

The love of a life that is often despised, rebuked, a life that takes the job of an antagonist. A bitch.

You run endlessly, aimlessly, with no destination in mind, only the promise of vast freedom; you run miles, beads of sweat gathering on the back of your neck from the path they have paved from your forehead to your cheeks until they reach their final destination, and you catch yourself wishing you could reach yours too; what a pity you have only reached a dead end, opaque and sinister, dark and chilly.

You run, but in reality, you don't move a single limb, for you never escaped your problems; they loved you so much to let you go so easily; you run, but the destination you find yourself at is miles away from the one you dreamed of, for the place you were at was neither a sunny, quiet beach nor a wooden house in an unknown village on some deserted mountain; your final destination was Armani Haute Couture, and the wooden house was the trial room where you were wrapped in white.

White. What an irony!

And what's that crisp white for? You weren't nearly pure, and the color won't conjure and wash away your sins. It wasn't something within its power in all cases, don't blame it so much.

White. Funny, really!

But Jungkook saw it with different eyes. For him, white suited you, a fallen angel that was sent to enlighten his path, wash away his sins. See, love is blind, or was it Jungkook? In all cases, be it Jungkook or that so-called love, they both needed glasses.

Jungkook marveled at your image as the curtains opened; not a word was spoken, complete silence as he drank from the fountain of joy; he always dreamed of this day but never thought dreams could become reality, never believed in fairy tales or happy endings.

But he believed in you, in the love he felt for you, in the relationship you two had; he had faith, trust, let's say, in the odds, in the game, in the dealer who shuffled his cards; Jungkook was a winner, never left a table without tripling, if not quadrupling, the bet.

Jeon Jungkook never bet on a losing game; never sat on a sinking table.

And so he never left it to fate, not really; he manipulated the odds but never trusted them to serve him obediently; so he planned his attacks based on what luck dealt him, and with the cards he was dealt, he turned the tables, always leaving the gambling house a winner and never costing losses.

Chances are given, but strategies are planned, and it's always been that way, even when you were arrested and sent to the psych ward; sure, it was your fate, but the lens of his photographer keeping you under the radar wasn't; it was his way of playing poker, although he liked chess a bit more; Paw strokes after a good bet always gave him a different kind of satisfaction, something akin to an erotic climax with a well-proportioned woman, artistically beautiful as his eyes preferred, or his cock at that point.

Not a day went by that the black Genesis with the tinted glass didn't stand in front of the mental institution where you were; pictures weren't the only thing he demanded from his henchman; information and anything that could keep him in the loop were requested and recorded in the dubious contract that both parties had signed.

And he reaped what he deemed rightful; too bad it was a huge disappointment; he thought he had you pegged better, but you turned out to be anything but wise.

He despised it, the power your desires exerted on you, but he was convinced that he could tame it, and he was still doing so as he watched your grim, unsatisfied, and uncooperative face as you changed in the umpteenth dress you've chosen. Cute, he thought, how much of a hard time you were giving to the poor assistants, bratty.

Tying your laces tightly is a must when a load of problems is on your shoulders; staying awake even when you sleep is part of the plan; best with those sneakers so you can jet away from sins, guilt, from a tormenting, stubborn past that won't go away unless killed, or killing.

Shame, you took them off at a very critical, dangerous moment, when the hungry wolf had already bared its canines and was salivating over the little red hood, who was dumbly unaware of the plans of such a cunning creature. Such a sad case, really.

But the good news is, your wolf wasn't old and ugly; in fact, it was dashingly handsome; but then again, Lucifer was the prettiest among all the angels, but he was a demon nonetheless.

Jungkook had made it clear, either you become the princess locked in his highly protected towers, far from danger, far from sight, and far from what a person like you would call life, or you simply become an inmate with a number that serves the purpose of a name you'd forget about the moment you step inside the penitentiary.

Yes, this time, prison was the threat; he'll not offer luxurious treatment or nepotism; if you don't comply, he'll have no interest in showering you with his boundless mercy and sending you to the hospital, even if it's necessary because that would be so merciful and far from punitive.

"I like this one. Looks incredibly good on you," Jungkook offered as he approached you with insistent steps, rigid, cold, a shell broken by your lack of reciprocation and monstrous betrayal, a carcass void of life but full of love you never appreciated, "take the sizes; I want it delivered asap."

Resistance? Well, there was no more of that; his grip on your neck was tight; one wrong move, a little more force, and you'd be doomed; and though you realized the consequences of the wrong choice given in the table of contents, you just couldn't put a sock on it; a manifestation, perhaps, or just for the sake of it, "rot in hell."

"Together, babe," Jungkook grinned; the wrinkles you were so fond of tightened around his eyes, as they always did when he flashed his devilish smile. His hand was on your waist as he nuzzled the back of your neck, inhaling the kind of drug he'd picked a gang fight over with the man you'd promised heaven and earth but ended up throwing dirt on his eyes. "You don't think you're going to heaven now, do you?" He stroked your hair as his other hand left your back to warm your bare shoulders; the dress was beautiful, to say the least; a strapless satin gown that kissed every part of your body and showed off every curve; no dramatic crystals or unnecessary dantelle, the crisp white was the only touch that provided an exquisite addition oh so feminine and elegant that had Jungkook fighting for control: "I've heard they no longer accept manipulative wives at the gates; something about stabbing the one you vowed to in the back I suppose; in any case, it has something to do with cheating, which you excel at; so, nah, no heaven for you; we'll seek warmth together in the little place I've set aside for us."

Not totally wrong; heaven never opened its doors to traitors, cheaters.

Seokjin loved you more than life itself; he'd have given you his organs if you needed them to survive and would have been willing to die for you; he'd have brought you the milk of a lioness if you had wanted it without questioning your reasons; he'd have reached for a star and brought it down for you if all the diamond rings he offered you weren't to your liking; Seokjin loved you to the point where he survived in your existence and died when your heart and soul shifted to another man.

Seokjin lived as a loving man and died as a betrayed one.

Seokjin didn't die from your fatal wound to his skull; Seokjin died from the wound you inflicted in his back, from your betrayal.

Seokjin died when he completed the investigation he was conducting and found out that you sold his company to the enemy, served it up on a silver platter by revealing all his secrets to the one who would use and twist every detail to his advantage.

Seokjin flat-lined the moment he received, along with his daily mail, an envelope sent without much information about the sender and full of pictures that confirmed his doubts by openly showing how corrupt you were, how comfortable you were in his enemy's bed, naked, stripped of the weight of his name, which you seemed to have forgotten, dropped on the floor, along with the trail of clothes that you got rid of in the moment of heat, only to put them back on and return to the warmth of his room, snuggling between his arms, while the essence of another man was still alive in you.

Seokjin sighed his last breaths when he decided to keep his knowledge secret, afraid to confront you and lose you as a consequence, which had pained his pride to the point where he turned from a loving husband into a monster; he didn't see it coming, never knew it was within him, but couldn't help the overwhelming disgust whenever you smiled and confessed your feelings while between his arms; he had tried his best, but it wasn't sufficient whenever he had you beneath him, whenever he latched on your lips, whenever he thrust himself into you, he couldn't stop himself from seeing the images of your betrayal in front of his eyes, vivid, taunting his sanity, until said sanity evaporated, and left him drowning in the muddy waters of abusiveness.

"You're right; knowing that I'd end up in hell regardless, I should have wiped you from this world; I would have made up for my wrongdoings that way and also would have sent Seokjin company," you hissed as you tossed his hands away; eyes bored in his inky orbs as you proceeded, "he would have forgiven me for being so stupid."

Jungkook chuckled; that's all he spent on you; a shrug.

"Should've done that the first time you forced me by using my father to threaten me," you spoke confidently with hatred in your voice as you continued to walk toward him until you were standing at a dangerous distance, pressing your index finger to his chest as you continued, "but I still thought of you as human and never forgot our friendship, even though it was obvious that you were neither a friend nor a human; I thought you wouldn't stoop so low as to turn my father against me, to make him taste loss, just to increase the pressure on me; I should have killed you, guess prison would probably have looked different if it had been your soul I reaped, but it ain't late now, is it? I mean, look around, scissors everywhere; I bet this disgusting dress would look better with your blood on it."

Seokjin died while thinking you had sold him cheap; he died without knowing that you never meant to hurt him, that there was a scenarist behind the curtain who had written your final sequence.

And you killed him without knowing that he had tortured himself to keep you by his side, at the cost of his pride, which you had defiled; you killed him without knowing that he fought his inner self every time, that he swallowed the tears before they could form, that he fought hard not to question your reasons not to tell you that you smelled like male perfume every time he embraced you; you killed him without asking what had made him what he had become.

And you never learned your lesson; oh God, the irony, such a funny thing; funny how fate can repeat itself, certainly with a bit of variety, but the latter hadn't changed the fact that you again pacted with the demon to keep your beloved at bay from danger; no, it didn't when you had promised Min Yoongi that you'd destroy Jungkook if he kept Taehyung out of the equation, nor when you had agreed to marry Jungkook to save Jimin's medical license and thus him from prison.

"It would," Jungkook offered as he pulled you to his body; your confidence excited him beyond measure, and his control waned the longer you stood unimpressed before him until his sadistic nature took possession of him, "grotesque; I like the idea; creative."

His hands were quicker than your reflexes when he clasped your jaw, lips scorching hot as he brushed them over yours; they were full and tasted of medicinal substances mixed with tobacco, sweet and inviting, and he wondered if that was what Taehyung felt when he tasted you; it drove him crazy to know that he shared that taste with other motherfuckers.

You aggressively pushed him away and landed a slap on his cheek without hesitation, "Do you think you can lay claim to my body because of a damn ring? If that's the case, then you're wrong; I'd rather die than give myself to you."

It was abnormal, Jungkook knew it, but the way he felt about being rejected in such an intimate situation was more than exciting; untamed, unpolished, a raw feeling that overtook his body whenever you stood your ground - not his style, he'd admit; he'd rather be in control than under it, but the way your nose flares, your chest seethes with anger, and the strength you show every time he gets under your skin makes him tremble and demand more; maybe more provocation, friction, hell, even more touches would do. "Don't I already own you? I mean, we're getting married in a few days; isn't that enough?"

"You know better than believing that such a marriage could ever turn out to be real," you hissed, hand resting on his chest haltingly, "I said I better die; which part of it is unclear?"

Jungkook, without a doubt, hated Taehyung for being an obstacle, despised Jimin a bit more for having failed to work on your foul temper; he always thought that as a doctor, he could have done better instead of helping a prisoner wander from a hospital to another, "hmm, the part in which I don't give a fuck?"

Jungkook was aware that he was losing the control he had kept all along, the movement of his muscles as they grasped at your arm was proof, and the twitching on his shaft was supporting said claims, yet, this time, he didn't seem afraid of the consequences, couldn't care less about them in all honesty, you would be carrying his name in the upcoming days, so he couldn't spot the necessity to wait for the green light when he was more than sure that it would never come; the traffic light at the intersection was broken, and the city government would never budget to fix it.

"Taehyung will end up just like Seokjin," Jungkook began, his hand blocking your movements and controlling your squirmings; he pressed you against the wall and calmly brushed your hair, bringing to light a bipolarity unlike anything you've ever experienced, even in a psychiatric ward, "take your leave; I want to be alone with my soon-to-be wife."

Loneliness has common aspects with darkness; it's frightening and unbearable; it manifests itself especially when one suffers from extreme depression or a pinging solitude, but it can also be the side effect of the presence of danger or threat; it's unsettling, the way it gets a person feeling the sort of suffocation that could be dismay. It's a dark tunnel that, once entered, is difficult to leave. Long miles from daylight, scary, breathtaking.

"Jungkook," you recoiled as he kept invading your personal perimeter; his endeavors became bolder the more he inhaled your scent, the tastier your lips became when mingled with his own saliva, "fu--stop the fuck, what the hell you think you're doing?"

Jungkook and, for the first time, let his demons reign; he let go of control, glad to have released the shackles; never before had he felt such an impact, never before had he felt disempowered, out of his comfort zone, troubled, and in the midst of a strong turbulence that propelled him on a nosedive in this way; he admitted his weakness to himself as he nibbled at the soft skin of your neck, pinned you against the wall with no way out, and once again, confessed his feelings: "Believe me, he won't love you like I do."

Love.

"But I have a better idea for this dress," Jungkook smirked; he took a step back, cast final glances at the marvelous sight before his eyes, drank the last sips of majesty before removing his vest, and setting about loosening his tie, the steps that followed were deliberate, calculated and with one purpose in mind; he marched in confident steps, the mischievous grin never leaving his plump lips, and with one move, tore the dress that he'd have liked to see you wearing while walking the aisle to vow for a lifetime loyalty to him; he didn't care much at this point, in fact, he made his mind that tearing it apart over your body would be an even better sight, a sight that would remain graved in his mind for a long time to come, for times in which he would find himself in loneliness, which he was positive would come sooner than later.

With an ease contrary to your difficulties, Jungkook tore the fabric and left you bare of honor and pride, like Eve when she descended to earth after being expelled from heaven, naked as the moment you came out of your mother's womb, without protection, without objections, because you knew they'd not help you.

Bare you stood before a hungry wolf ready to devour your last vestige of self-respect and modesty; it wasn't long after that his attack started; not long after the stupor that overtook him upon seeing you bare only for his eyes to admire, Jungkook attacked, latched, kissed and marked a territory that wasn't meant to be his, and besides screaming your lungs out, there wasn't much you could do.

Jungkook knew you'd be far from compliant, hence the force he used to block your movements; he had the strength you lacked and the motivation to savor what he had been forbidden to enjoy.

The place was his - money and what it could do - and the CCTV didn't mean much to him; if anything, they'd record the moment he reached his desire; perhaps he'd save it on a hard drive to watch later when the courage to repeat such a move wore off.

Junkook loved you; his feelings were twisted. That was a fact, but he loved you nonetheless.

Love.

Unconditional but far away from pure; thirsty but overflowing with affection; raw, possessive. Still, it was love, nevertheless.

Jungkook's love was bigger than convincing for reciprocation, for it was condemned never to have it, never to be blessed.

"I hate you," you cried, throat soar from screams that never saved you from your fate, "die, Jungkook, die."

"I know," Jungkook confirmed softly in your ears, comforted by the heat that radiated from your body, "but it doesn't matter; you're all that matters to me, and I have you now."

With each thrust, Jungkook felt complete, and with each touch, you hated yourself a bit more; curious how two people who shared bodily fluids and heavy breaths could feel terribly different sensations linked to the same act; interesting, how love and hate are on the same track, separated by a very thin layer invisible to the naked eye.

Fascinating how one's preferences and habits change to accommodate a beloved one, really; it seemed that way to Jungkook as well, as he fucked you with intent despite it being against your choice; no sadism insight as he drilled inside you, if not for the way he wrapped your hands above your head with his necktie, one would argue that he was actually making love to you, for the kisses he traced on your body weren't those that a raper would bother with, those were token of love, left behind to confess yet another time feelings that were destined to die unaccepted. "I waited for this moment since the first time we met Y/N; it tormented me whenever I thought about that bastard having you all to himself while it was me who was supposed to start a family with you; I'm sorry, love, but it wasn't something I could control any longer although I wished for our first encounter to be different."

Albeit losing all of it in a moment of weakness, Jungkook had been patient longer than he had expected himself actually to be; it wasn't the way he dreamed of taking you, that's a fact, but he didn't mind it that much when he bored himself inside you.

But Seokjin died without knowing that you never sullied his name; died without knowing that you never allowed anyone else to touch your skin, your body, which was his sanctuary, his and his alone, under a vow and a signature; Seokjin died without knowing that you preferred to sell his company rather than sell your soul, which was one of his expensive assets.

Seokjin died without knowing that you would have stayed with him even if he had lost all money and power. Hence, you foolishly thought that you could use him, his empire, to save your selfish father and yourself at this point.

Seokjin believed his eyes and forgot that they were controlled by a brain that could create false illusions manipulated by external forces and elaborate plans.

The pictures that led your plane to this cloudy and stormy fate were the result of a well-written story; you became a marionette Jungkook played with, controlled its strings, and moved the puppets left and right to his liking.

The only reason you answered his call that night was to be sure he was living up to the deal the two of you had made; in counterpart to the documents you were supposed to bring, he was supposed to save your father's company, which he actually drove into near bankruptcy, resulting in a tight rope that encircled both your and your father's necks.

At that time, you had already prepared your resignation letter; you wished you had done so when Seokjin first asked you to, and with it safely in your purse, along with your husband's ledger, you took a cab to one of Jungkook's hotels in South Gagnam. The deal, which was supposed to end with a simple exchange of documents, underwent a change when your resignation showed up in the file. Jungkook was convinced at the time that Seokjin would throw you away once he found out how you sold him out at a cheap price, but the fear of losing out in a game he developed worried him, pushing him to unlock another level for the gamers to step forward.

Divorce.

That was Jungkook's aim; he came to terms with your marriage but never accepted losing you for a lifetime; thus, he spiked the water he served you.

Mind you, he was still a gentleman, never dared to look at your bare body without your consent, the reason for which he called for his trust-worthy Rachel to strip you of your clothes once the sedative did its job and create a trailer far away from the original story of the movie, selling it under false claims.

Divorce.

Well, that never came, no matter how much he looked forward to it; fear crept into his body the longer he waited for the news to appear in the daily business magazines he reads every morning with his coffee until he came up with the brilliant idea of installing cameras in your house; that was his solemn solution to keep himself informed and keep the progress of his plans under control.

Jungkook never understood whether seeing you beaten every day made him happy or not; however, he swallowed the negative feeling with a glass of liquor and promised you behind the screen of his computer that a new dawn would appear over your sky, one that he'd make sure would bring you the happiness you lost because of his selfishness.

Jungkook was sitting in his car right in front of your house when you were getting strangled by Seokjin's once-loving hands; he watched with potent anger as Seokjin abused your body and thanked the odds once again for having opted to keep the bedroom free of intrusive devices- he wouldn't be able to stop himself had he seen the way Seokjin treated you in what was once considered your love lab- he felt your fears, sensed your disappointment, wished to save you and take you as far as he could but decided against moving an inch even when you appeared on the screen with a shocked expression and heavy breaths, hands covered in the blood that had once been the contents of the heart that had beaten for you.

Misunderstanding.

It's strange how it can cause chaos, funny how unspoken truths can become one's past and present, going so far as to shape a future that might be quite different if honesty prevailed. Sure, it's interesting how fate can become a monster when a human takes control of the Almighty's decisions.

"Die!" You cried again; heavy eyelids made it hard to see the enemy; weakly, you lay on the cold floor, goosebumps adorning your skin along with a torn bridal dress that couldn't make it into the church.

But you saw his silhouette as he buckled his belt, broad shoulders still bare before he picked up his shirt from the floor and tucked it into his pants, "I did," he muttered, but you didn't give a damn about his statement until the sound of your sob forced him to face you, "I died today, we both did."

And you weren't the only one watching him with clouded vision but also the driver of the black Maserati, whose vision was fogged with hateful jealousy instead of salty tears and incomparable disappointment.

And that added one extra corpse to the scene, Kim Taehyung.

A/N

I'm really sorry for the late update; been so busy with work and life in general; I'm counting on your understanding.

This chapter is unedited due to a packed schedule (and heavy fatigue TT)

We are almost at the end; not sure how many chapters are left, but sure, there aren't many.

If you're enjoying the read, please vote, share, and leave your comments.

Love you 💜