***UNEDITED***

When you woke up and took care of yourself after a long time of neglect, you didn't expect the house to be in such turmoil. Silence was a currency Taehyung sought, and you cherished that quality. In it, you found a refuge from the chaos of a life you didn't choose. A kind of stability, and over time, you realized why Katarina had fallen head over heels in love.

But this morning was different. Voices of people you didn't recognize filled the silence with an intrusion you didn't like. As you walked down the stairs to the living room, your eyes scanned the place. Taehyung stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by two women measuring his arms and chest. Another man was taking down the numbers the women were dictating. He stood on a tailor's step riser, the sunlight casting shimmer over honey-glazed skin, chest buffed, and broad shoulders cloaked by a piece of fabric held in place by a few pins. A project for a gilet while the vest was still in the making.

"Start with the black one, please. I need it for a special occasion coming up. The rest can wait."

The assertive voice with which he kindly inquired what he could have ordered instead made you give another reason for Katarina's nosedive. Made you pity her case. It must have been painful to say goodbye; must have been hard to accept the loss. And as you halted your steps on the last flight of stairs, you found yourself wondering, had the situation been different, would you be considered lucky to have what she lost? Would you be appreciative? Happy?

Such thoughts called for other, more tangible, but of the same caliber. Thoughts of how he placed his palm on the small of your back in front of his father and deepened the kiss a little so that you could feel the details of his lips as he captured yours before they could escape. How his forehead rested on yours and the way he looked into your eyes before uttering a fake "I missed you too" with a genuine smile that made you think maybe his words weren't a lie. How he intertwined his hand with yours and walked you to his car in front of everyone, as if the discussions you shared were about your undying love and not about the schemes you were plotting against people as fake as your marriage.

Yeah, such thoughts you needed to be ridden off if you wanted to accomplish your plans. For they were fake. Just like his smiles and your warm touches.

"Good morning," you greeted as you walked inside the living room, drawing his attention to you before the others. "What's going on?"

"She's here; tell the designer we're short on time." He informed the man who was writing down his measurements as he got off the stool and walked towards you, collecting a white envelope that was lying across the dining table before he reached you, "Good morning, Doctor. Did you sleep well?" And before he could hear your reply, he handed you the envelope and turned to the staff, "Could you please tell him she wants to see samples of the fabric as well? She won't have time to go to the boutique. It would be better if we get this done today."

You needed no further explanation when you had the invitation in your hand. It was written in cursive script. Ink as majestic as the designers and tailors working around you like busy bees. But Taehyung felt the need to elaborate a bit more. "My old man wants to spruce up his image. It's going to be a big party. A lot of political figures are coming. Figured you'd need a revenge dress. Right, Lady Di?"

His smile was infectious. Made you crack one of yours, even if it came out as a scoff. You knew his good humor meant he had another plan worked out. He wouldn't be so compliant to his father's requests and wouldn't willingly help restore his image if he didn't have an advantage, but you liked to think that he would have looked like this when he was preparing for your wedding if it hadn't been forced upon both of you.

He had given you glimpses into his mind. Told you how he wanted to arrange the chess pieces and how he wanted them to slowly overtake the black ones. Didn't elaborate on the plan, but you liked what you heard. See, Taehyung was a man of many surprises. He came across as a cold prick at first, and you were fooled by the facade of the eccentric man who favored superficial pursuits. Over time, you found out that he was anything but superficial. In fact, he had layers that you found yourself peeling with every feat, every word spoken, and tailored envision. Reckoned that the danger in his father's DNA had evolved when it was passed into his genes. Became a threat when it met intelligence and a purpose to attack, destroy and conquer power as if it were a piece of land fought over in a bloody war.

It has frightened you. Or maybe it didn't. It might have scared you if it had been used against you. But for now, it was being used for your common goal. So, for now, it made you feel the sort of protection you had been missing for so long. Wings draped over your trembling body, and lord, were they so warm.

The moment lasted. Seconds passed under the spell of his smile and the normality of the exchange, so you preferred to cut it short, for fear that this normality might deceive you, for fear that you might confuse partnership with friendship? Surely not. It was just camaraderie or something in between those lines.

A cigarette met your lips while your eyes kept wandering. It was a means of escape. You knew it. Maybe he knew it too. For he was just like you, muddled about the nature, the name, and the type of confusion entailed by a normalcy that shouldn't have appeared; well, at least not now. It wasn't the right time, and he reckoned there was no right time for what he was feeling. For whatever that feeling was, it wasn't meant to be entertained - to be felt. Before the lighter could stain the stick amber, he effortlessly took it from your lips as if it was his place to show chauvinism, as if it was the norm of your dynamic, put it between his lips instead and lit it without hesitation, his eyes never straying from yours as he took the first drag and swirled the smoke around, "Not now. You should grab a bite first. Breakfast is on the porch. Help yourself. You've got a long day ahead."

But if you didn't bicker, it wouldn't be you. It was an established trademark. Would squabble just for the sake of it. Just to make sure your word was the last one spoken. "Since when did you realize that a cigarette isn't breakfast? Could have sworn you considered tar a hearty meal."

He didn't laugh, though you expected to be met with a show of pearly whites and a giggle you only had the pleasure of hearing on rare occasions. Instead, he leaned forward and whispered his words in the proximity of your ear, letting the warmth of his breath caress your neck with each spoken word, letting them sink in deeper, hoping they would somehow lodge in your brain, "since we started sharing the same name and somehow, the same blood too, Doctor. Something about mirroring my partner's behavior."

And when he left you standing there and graced you with a smile as he turned to glance at you and subtly wink, you thought about his advice. Thought about how you were supposed to give him children. How you would be forced one more time to do something you weren't ready to do. Felt scared. Cornered. Abused in the truest sense of the word. Physically violated.

When your measurements were taken, the fabrics chosen, and color preferences established, you came to the conclusion that there was nothing to worry about. For deep down, you were sure that he wouldn't lay a finger on your body without your consent. Didn't really need to hear what he had said to his father to be reassured, but double confirmation never hurt anyone. It was welcome, god grace to have him protecting your mention in your absence. Made you feel like you had someone to lean on. Someone who cared, and fuck, it could be a trauma or some sort of psychological challenge caused by the absence of parental affection, but feeling like you mattered made you feel emotions you'd never experienced before.

When the brushes stroked pigment into your cheeks and eyelids, and the hair sculpted your features into a powerful portrait, you figured those worries and fears had no place or right to materialize. Were easy to overthrow with a simple checkmate.

For when you will conclude the chess battle with that simple word, the shackles will dissolve. Changes will be initiated. Your father will pay a salty bill like his would, too. Divorce will occur under the noses of those who resisted it, and freedom will be regained.

When he entered your room and interlocked gaze with your reflection in the mirror, eyes examining each added detail on the existing traits, you found yourself, for the first time, including him in the visualization of your future. Wondered what your dynamic would look like. If you could shake hands and say 'good game'. Thought it would be nice if you could call each other friends; thought it would be childish to completely ignore your past. Pitiful.

But you were never friends. Far from it, actually. Friends have shared hobbies, not just goals. You never knew what his hobbies were. Never asked about his dreams, and neither did he. Didn't know his favorite movie or his favorite color. Didn't know if he really liked the suits he wore every day or if it was more of an entailment of his status. You would have told him that you preferred him decontracted; friends can express their preferences and make suggestions, but you never reached that level because you weren't friends.

Maybe a simple hi if you happened to cross paths would do. You reckoned that he deserved a greeting and a genuine 'How are you?'. Would invite him in for a warm cup of coffee if his schedule allowed. A conversation on the street would feel a little formal, reserved for strangers, and you weren't strangers; you shared a roof and mutual disdain. After all he's done for you, he deserved that much credit. He also deserved a loving companion, you thought. Deserved children to warm his heart with affection, not to carry the heir's duty, and you wondered what kind of mother he envisioned you as when his father brought up the idea.

Emerged in thoughts of a tomorrow so far, you didn't notice his hand about to touch your shoulder before he registered his actions and rested it on the back of the chair instead. Didn't see how he deftly hid the effort with which he swallowed and didn't know how much he wished he could loosen his tie at the sight of you. You looked majestic; emerald-colored satin enveloped your body in a way that rivaled queens. A mono-shoulder type of dress long enough to pool around your dressing table that he was afraid of accidentally stepping on.

Neither knew what was going through the other's mind, but you kept looking into each other's eyes as if you knew. As if the secrets were common knowledge and as if his heart didn't beat for you, and as if you weren't afraid of that far tomorrow.

But then he confessed, "You look beautiful," and you stayed true to the secrecy, "You look good too."

He has his eyes to blame, for they revealed how he felt when you swapped indirect glances taken from the mirror's reflection with direct ones taken from close range. He'd like to blame you, but he was so distracted counting your freckles and inking each trait into his pupils. Would like to accuse you of seducing his devils, but he knew the voices screaming inside his head, causing the blood to rush where it shouldn't, were those of angels. After all, you were his wife. It's not like he desired a woman who didn't belong to him.

And this time, you saw it too - the change in his gaze, the hand that - once again - against his better judgment, wanted to rest on your waist instead of the chair or even your shoulders, so he shoved it into his pocket for safety reasons. Saw the inner struggle in his eyes- the way they couldn't decide where the spring to quench the thirst was. Whether in your eyes or your lips. This time, you felt his hot breaths on your skin and could swear you heard the rhythm of his heart, too.

And it was enough.

"Let's go; we'll be late." You urged.

When you reached the venue, the roar of the place almost drowning out the rumble of the engine, the flashes from the cameras mimicking a raging thunderstorm, you realized how reassuring his heartbeats were. Granted, they broke the silence you had created for yourself so as not to be disturbed by thoughts that seemed like truths you had begun to recognize, but they still kept you in a bubble of chosen ignorance.

And when each valet opened your respective doors, and he beelined to stand right by your side, palm flat on your back, you realized that it wasn't just the silence or the well-crafted illusion of ignorance that comforted you, but the shield he placed around you.

A human shield created for you. Yours.

Old man Kim had a knack for extravagance. Enjoyed the praise this lavishness brought him. Basked in the arrogance entailed by the excessive expenditure, and so it was no surprise that the venue was transformed into something to rival royal palaces.

You'd gotten used to the protocol by now. Or maybe protocol was easier to bear now that you were no longer forced to pose like an alien in front of the cameras. Alone. You were a person of high position, accompanied by the crown prince and soon-to-be king.

For tonight, you were his queen.

Ask him, and he would say the position was yours to occupy for eternity.

Taehyung's smile wasn't forced as you expected. In fact, you were almost convinced it was genuine. Beautiful in its honesty. Serene.

You didn't mind his hand as it intertwined with yours, reporting your moment of intimacy to the whole country through broadcasting cameras that were filming your entrance. In fact, you missed it when he let go to greet an associate. The sudden rush of air made you long for the warmth he had given you. Made you feel neglected. Alone.

Glasses of champagne were served at will. People mingled in seek of socialization. The best place to serve such a purpose. The worst place to be. But your chess player had a plan, and you had to go through with it. This wasn't about what you liked, because otherwise you would have left not only the venue, but the fake life you were living, the husband you didn't know what to consider, and the additions his life had imposed on you.

But at least the music was nice. So were the drinks, so you drained your second glass within ten minutes, no more. And when Yoongi approached you, the need for a third glass became urgent. But you knew you couldn't let the alcohol affect your performance. Here you weren't just dressed in Bulgari. You weren't just decked out in Cartier and Hermes jewelry. Here you were dressed in fake pleasantries and perfumed with hidden feelings. For revealing your true feelings has never led to victory at the chess table. Chess is a game that requires a sporting spirit.

"Seems like a bond has finally formed between the couple of the century." Yoongi pointed out.

A sip of your drink to get rid of the sour taste in your mouth that almost made you want to spit in his face was necessary. It gave you time to formulate words. Time to look for your husband in the crowd, too. "Image maintenance. But if it got you from everyone thinking we're THE couple, that means the job is done with perfection."

"It may have looked convincing," Yoongi agreed, closing the distance and whispering the rest of his words in your ear, "but you're more real when you're in my bed. Raw. Honest with actions and reactions alike."

Right at that moment, you figured one more sip of champagne, and you'd puke. Because your stomach was overtaken by a wave of disgust caused by poor decisions and misplaced trust. You had never respected your marriage in any shape or form, nor had your husband, but at this moment, you wished you had stayed true to that vow.

Remained clean from dirty touches and carnal gratification.

You leaned forward to straighten his tie, a mischievous grin gracing your plump lips painted in ruby and said: "Acting never beats reality. Fiction is just that. Fiction."

Taehyung, who was watching the interaction with a frown marring his pretty face, wasn't sure what was fiction and what was reality anymore. He could no longer hear what his associate was saying. Couldn't hear a thing from that commotion full stop. For his ears were ringing, the blood was cursing in full potency through his veins he feared a stroke. Discarded pride and decorum and excused himself to go prove to whom you belonged. To prove that generosity was not one of his qualities. That his collectives were not to be touched, looked at or coveted, for they were his, and fuck the vows and the piece of paper that constituted your family register. You were his with or without those. Now or later, you would realize, whether you liked it or not.

And you saw it. Saw him. Saw what you had seen before you led to the venue. Saw what you feared. Saw raw emotion and unfiltered anger, and it reminded you of yourself coming home to an empty house every night. When he had come into your marital home on the second day of your marriage with touches that belonged to another woman. You saw how similar his fears were to yours. Saw how he hid them from the public beneath a fake grin and saw how he let you experience them with the unforgiving grip he locked around your waist instead.

And this time, you couldn't escape from his feelings or your confusion, for you were caught between his grip and your beating heart, wondering if it was being corrupted by the falseness of the setting and believing things you wanted others to believe, or if you were becoming a good actress who became so invested in the role that she began to think the script was reality.

"Didn't realize you were invited too, Yoongi." Taehyung spoke with a certain ease that belied the strength of his grip over your hipbone. It was assertive. Painful. Spoke louder than his voice. Asked honest questions instead of the fake pleasantries he shared with his lawyer.

"Can't see why I shouldn't be." Yoongi rejoined. Eyes fierce and confident until he noticed where your husband's hand was. He took a sip of his drink, looked at you and looked back at your husband, "As the family's lawyer and your confidant, it's only right that I'm here."

He looked at you deliberately when he said confidant. That was an attack. He was trying to prove a point, just like the hold your husband had on you. It didn't go unnoticed. In fact, it served to open your eyes as well as your mouth.

"Of course. As the family's lawyer, it is your duty to be present at such occasions." Your hand snaked around Taehyung's waist, mirroring his action in a gentler way. His body stiffened at this action; you sensed his reaction, but you chose to act oblivious. "After all, a good lawyer's loyalty should always lie with his client. Don't you agree, baby?"

Maybe it was the gentle way you called him, or the fact that you were allied against a mutual enemy, or the fact that you were indirectly boosting his pride. Reinforcing it. Patching his scars as you tightened the grip around his waist and patted softly; one, two, three. Squeeze. Pull closer. Fuck! It was definitely that touch that drove him mad. Forced him to drain the rest of his glass in one go, look at you, and say, "I do, wife."

"Will let you socialize with these people, Yoongi. I know how important it is for your job to mingle with people from this entourage." You placed the glass of champagne in the tray of a passing waiter and turned your body to face Taehyung fully. Hands over his chest as you pursued, "Let's not keep him from his work, husband. Let's take care of ours instead."

Even though you had no work to do, the smirk on Taehyung's lips made you think that maybe you didn't just come here to show off your pretty face. Wished he had told you what you needed to do. But as he brushed your hair behind your ear and planted a little kiss on the back of your neck while looking at his and your father standing a few tables in front of you, you realized that surprises weren't so bad after all.

Namjoon was with them. Arrogant, thinking that he had the old man by his side while the son was not. Thought that one day the son would be so far away that the way would be clear for him. Worked hard for this illusion. A dream that could become reality if he was patient. If he continued to be a yes-man.

People gathered as the screen showed images of old Kim working for the good of the party from a young age. Lights dimmed, and the voices fell silent, listening intently to the narration. Taehyung also fell silent until he waved a waiter over and fetched two glasses of champagne. One for each of you.

"Here, but don't drink yet." He instructed in a whisper. Smile evident through the darkness of the room.

The recording stuck to the name of the company. Goryo Holdings. The lettering was golden. So bright that it lit up the room for a solid minute. And when you looked at your husband and saw the grin with which he was looking at the screen, you realized that the technicians' efforts to fix the projector were all in vain.

"What's going on here?" You asked.

"Enjoy the show, Doctor." He replied.

"And what do I get out of it? You shook hands with that bastard Cha and will become CEO when Taehyung dies, but what about me, huh? Man, that old geezer will do his best to destroy me when he finds out I've been working for both sides."

"Dead people don't talk, Yoongi. It's very simple. You can always say that his ungrateful son ordered you to pull some dirty strings to fatten his cut of the deal with the in-laws. And don't worry. Let Cha get rid of that arrogant bastard, and once I take his place, you'll be untouchable. My right hand that no one can touch."

"I don't know anything anymore. Namjoon, this is another level. This is murder. Besides, what makes you think the old man would give you his son's chair?"

"First of all, we're not murderers. Cha will take care of that task. And as for the position, he just needs to see how his son was about to fuck the whole thing up. Will need to add some salt and pepper, and hoop. The meal is ready. Man, do I really have to teach you how to convince a person when you're a lawyer?"

"I have a meeting with her father later. Exchange of information. Namjoon, take care of this asap. I'm starting to have nightmares that my license will be revoked if the old man finds out I'm sharing his secrets with other businessmen. Wrap this thing up and ease my mind."

There was an uproar after the reappearance of the Goryo Holdings label. Loud chatter and pointed fingers. Wide eyes narrowed on the stars of the recording that shook the foundation of the event. But there was a calmness in Taehyung's gaze as he continued to look at the screen, unfazed. One hand shoved in his pocket while the other held a glass.

In your heart, however, was a feeling of fulfillment. The feeling of soothing the pain of a wound with blood. Felt nice. Avenged. Would tell Jimin about today. Would tell him that he can rest in peace. That you will soon do worse than what was done to him, and that this is just the beginning.

"Tae-

"Now you can drink it." He interrupted, holding the glass to toast, "Cheers!"

"That was a checkmate. You've done it. You did it, Taehyung."

"No. Not a checkmate yet. One would call it Castling. But these fuckers aren't kings. Rooks yeah. But I would call it a derivation of Castling, though. Two rooks. One bishop. And a threatened king."

"A rearrangement of the chessboard."

"That's it, wife."