There is a rule in Sun Tzu's Art of War that describes ambush and talks about its importance in conquering countries. It is vital, provides the element of surprise that would make the final victor, which is why Sun Tzu insisted that it should be carried out with professionalism and before studied tactics so as never to jeopardize the calm and quiet before the storm and to preserve the effectiveness of the plan.

And if Sun Tzu was an artist who mastered the art of ambush and drew up a list of ingredients so that his students could learn it, Fate was the master who taught him the basics of such fine art. Fate never took more pleasure in attacking without prior notice, and Taehyung learned this bittersweet reality when the slaps of a vicious fate stung his cheeks in a way that could neither be healed nor subdued.

He'd been meandering Seoul's roads in the hours when a tyrannical sun reigned, speeding at times and going back to a pace far from normal, when his eyes caught sight of someone with the same silhouette as you; it drove him crazy how the night changed - how the weather also did - he had an accord with you, and you were ever so understanding that he couldn't wrap his head about what had changed in the blink of an eye.

"I promise you safety; in return, you must promise me silence."

"I'll agree if you also promise to stay out of my sight for the rest of your life."

"Guess we have a deal."

"I can't say it's nice doing business with you, but I'll keep it sweet; you have my word, and I'd like to think I have yours too; a real man's word."

When Jungkook dropped the bombshell with his announcement, Taehyung felt like heaven was testing his patience; it bordered on ridiculousness, and in fact, a giggle escaped his lips as his hand stroked his raven curls in utter frustration; he wasn't sure why he couldn't get a break from the consternation; he already had a lot on his plate, the marriage, and Katarina were the entry and the main consecutively; there was no room for dessert and yet his fork poked at it.

And only then the thought crossed Taehyung's mind; ambush is indeed vital, and he figured he ignored what he had learned during the long MBA courses he had attended; Sun Tzu wasn't full of bullshit after all, and fate made sure he found it out in case he had overlooked it before.

An army was stationed in front of your condo, and one would have been alerted if they had gotten out of the vehicles even if they had kept the black suits instead of swapping them for the green uniforms; Jungkook had taken the liberty of giving orders to their men when Taehyung momentarily lost control; he wasn't angry, but he was royally pissed off, which was why he had left the office without a single word after the questions he had bombarded Jungkook with.

"How did you come to the conclusion that she fled? And where were the men when she did?" Fuck's sake, Jungkook, it was a simple mission I had entrusted to you; now, what do you want me to do, huh? Give you a hug with a kiss that promises to make it better?"

Taehyung was happy that the roads were empty as he waved between lanes; could have been even happier if they had been this way when he set out for home; could have been delighted if he had revved his car's engine to drive to a place that was calmer, free of trouble, and full of Katarina's scent; but life had no intention of working in his favor, and he knew better than to expect a rosy turn of story.

Soon enough, fate showed him that he was no match, that he could spend the rest of his life on the roads and won't sniff the scent of you if the odds were against it, so he gave up when fatigue overtook his body and waved the white flag in the hope that fate would take pity in his case.

He'd admit that his first thought was a distrust of Namjoon, thought he had taken you out of the picture to ensure his safety without consulting him as he had the last time, which is why he had called him before rushing out into the street like a maniac, taking the trouble to send his men to make sure the man wasn't lying, only to wish he had done and gotten rid of the trouble.

Taehyung hated his intrusive thoughts but couldn't deny them. He wished you were dead and lying somewhere in the cold so that his friend's secret and his could be engraved with you wherever you were, and when the thought would not leave his mind and left a sour aftertaste in his soul, he decided to brush his teeth and burn his skin with hot water to shoo it away.

His white shirt fell behind him, leaving his skin accessible to the ungentle touch of the cold air that violated it; his trousers soon followed, leaving the skin of his lower body to the same fate as his torso that had already formed goose bumps. The clothes formed a trail behind him, and he wished to get rid of the stress in the same way he had gotten rid of the dirty garments.

The caress of steam had welcomed him, the hot water doing its best to become the comfort he lacked; the bathtub was filled to the brim, free of bubbles or extravagant scents, only pure H2O embracing his body in a much-needed warm embrace; Taehyung sank into the tub; right foot following his left as he made his way in, and seconds later he was already leaning back against the ceramic of the basin, sinking deeper with each muscle that welcomed the heat until his face was swallowed by the water.

The warmth reminded him of all the kinds of affection he missed, but strangely became the 'it will be all right' he wished to hear; he let himself revel in the moment, forgetting an unpromising tomorrow and a hectic yesterday; after all, there was no escaping the meeting his in-laws pushed for the day after instead of within two days, neither was there much to be done about the escape of a witness he had trusted.

It was all on him; should have known better than to trust who was against him from the beginning.

But the type of escapism Taehyung found in his bath wasn't one you could relate to as you stood in front of your mirror, looking at the bags under your eyes and reminiscing the beauty that was once one of your assets.

You would have bantered and attacked in order to defend yourself; would have told the mirror that traces and features of beauty could never disappear, albeit the weariness caused by the heaviness of an unjust fate, but you preferred to keep your mouth sealed when your gaze diverted from the mirror and fallen on the hook over which your wedding dress was hung, reminding you that you weren't worthy of something more than an arranged marriage.

For the first time, you appreciated the fear inflicted by the two strangers and your friend; wished you could stay under the dangerous protection of the cold-hearted man and, perhaps, his mercy as well.

Death seemed merciful compared to your fate, and you wished for another chance to provoke him so that he could empty the barrel of the shotgun he had held against you in your heart and free you from your present.

Your mother had rushed things up with the purchase of your wedding gown, and so did your father with the moving of the meeting of families; it was in like these times that you found yourself pondering whom you loathed more, him or her.

However, it never took you long to figure that it was yourself you hated, be it in the past or even as you stood soulless in front of the mirror; hadn't it has been for your constant sacrifices, maybe, your destiny could have been different, and you couldn't help but think this way.

Sun Tzu had crap to say about luck, and you begged to differ; you had a lot to say about luck and how discriminative it could be; you could even go so far as to use the way the morning came faster than the night had come and lit up the room you still did not feel comfortable in despite the years you'd spent in it - it was your room, but it also seemed so foreign and not belonging - just to prove him wrong.

You could swear that you had closed your swollen eyelids only seconds before, and yet it was already the day of your execution. You wondered if this time fate had allied with someone else against you or if it was a pure matter of time that had slipped from between your grasp.

"If I had been in your place, I wouldn't have overslept on the day of my engagement." Your mother's voice echoed in your head as you fought the temptation to empty the entire bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand just to avoid hearing the pitch of her voice and the baritone of your reality.

For you, she was the reason. She had lured you to an incarceration unlike any other; an electric chair that you felt was a kind of a big punishment for any sin you had ever committed.

A quick glance was cast at the clock lying on your bedside table before you turned your unfocused gaze on your mother, "For heaven's sake, it's only nine; can't you give me a breather? Isn't it enough that I'm doing as you want?"

"Oh, stop being a brat for once; get up and make use of time to take care of your face; sweet Jesus, have you even taken a look in the mirror? The whole day will not be enough to fix this mess."

You wanted to tell her why your face looked the way it did; gloomy and soulless, with fine lines in places where you should not have seen them for another twenty years; you would have told her that her neglect had cost you a very high price, that it had been years since you said goodbye to a good night's sleep and used the time she mentioned to get a bite and a warm place; that you have experienced the roughness of this life alone, unprotected by a family that should have respected your choices and guided you through success, that the lack of support and the inducement of problems have led you to become an easy target, a deer in the lion's den, which was one of the reasons for the sleep deprivation to which you were subjected and the state of your face.

There was much to say, but you chose silence. You were not exactly in the mood to build sand castles and watch them be brought down by the first wave.

You got up from your bed, hair disheveled and traces of drool evidence that you had overdone it with the sedative to the point that sleep finally overtook your stressed-out self; you ignored her previous comment and decided to engage in a similar argument, but from a different perspective, as you walked to your ensuite.

"Are we meeting them here or in their place?"

Your mother was busy admiring her choice of dress, gently stroking the Swarovski crystals that adorned the crisp white lace around the skirt of your bridal gown. It was a new Elie Saab collection that must have cost a little more than your apartment and clinic rent combined, and for a second, when you just saw it, you wished you could put it up for sale on some shady website and collect the money so you could put it to good use; it might have been a fair payment for your sacrifice, even if it wasn't really enough.

"Your in-laws have rented the entire Westen Josun Restaurant, Hong Yuan, for this event; they must be so excited about this marriage and the benefits it brings that they couldn't keep their wallet hidden," she laughed, and you found that the argument and the way she chose her words, combined with her voice, was vomit-inducing, "You really must go to the temple and thank the gods for this opportunity; you will see a world you never dreamed of."

"Right," your voice sounded dry and low, but only to hide the need to shout and break everything in sight, "the thing is, I don't wanna see that world of yours, Mom, that's why I have never wasted my time dreaming about it."

You grew up with money, surrounded by helpers more than your own family. The glamor of high society was the norm for you, an everyday occurrence that you took for granted until one day, the sparkle of luxury became unbearable and stung your eyes like a syringe; so everything became dull and unattractive, and instead, everything you saw ordinary people doing turned out to be the true norm that you wanted to experience.

The hot meal your friend's mother used to cook for you was much tastier than the delicacies your cook prepared. It was so delicious that you devoured every morsel without caring about table ethics, something for which your mother would reproach you severely, but your friend's mother watched you enjoy the meal, and a warm smile graced her face; proud, she felt; happy and satiated.

When you spent a night at your girlfriend's house, you realized how many things you were missing in your life, and of course, you refused to talk to her about your thoughts lest you seem obnoxious. She would never understand because she always wanted what you had, and ironically, as you watched her mother greet her father after he came home from work and how he devoted himself to his daughter despite being tired, you wished you could switch lives.

But life has actually taken away the luxuries you complained about and given you a life of deprivation instead, leaving you wondering if it was God's way of punishing you for not being grateful for what you had; you wouldn't have felt bad if he had taken the money and replaced it with parental affection, but he took both and left you alone.

Not as if you had your parents around you, even when you were in their premises in all cases.

But you were happy when you became what you wanted, and you could have been even happier if your father had gone off the grid to let you enjoy success. Instead, he made sure that you rotted in the residence coat of Seoul University Hospital even though you deserved the title of professor more than the scumbag whom he had helped to keep you tied to misery.

Every time you thought about it, your blood boiled. Therefore, you decided to let the water wash away the memories and move on because otherwise, you would have a hard time helping him with this marriage.

You had thought about it, to be honest, had considered revenge and how sweet it might taste; there wasn't much to do, God had handed you your vengeance on a silver platter, and all you had to do was to savor it. Yet, you didn't find it in you to let your father rot in misery and perhaps in prison if things went wrong, just to get back at him.

You didn't care who your groom was, but you were sure his family was in the saddle of power. Your father would not have bothered to summon an ungrateful child like you if it were not for that, and if your sister were still single, he would have arranged to marry her instead; you didn't know the entourage of elites, while she had spent her life making contacts and connections with every top family in Gangnam, but you knew enough to be sure that your future husband if he had enough power to help your father in this crisis, would not be your age or your sister's age; he would be much older to lull that authority in his lap.

Nevertheless, you had nothing against him, but your problem was your family, and you knew better than to direct your anger on the wrong track. However, you wished with all your heart that he would be understanding enough to leave you alone and hoped that his mistresses would also be enough so that you would not have to fulfill your marital duties.

It was almost late afternoon when you got ready; the sun disappeared, leaving the rain to clear away the sorrows and negativity that stained your thoughts; you strained to recognize your reflection in the mirror, and no matter how much you narrowed your gaze, it still seemed to be a stranger you did not want to meet.

Your hair was dyed this morning during preparations, a soft chocolate hue that softened your features and brought focus to your honey orbs; flawless skin that seemed too pale for your liking; however, a soft earthy tone, smokey eyes balanced everything out, giving your face a healthy glow along with the champagne colored highlighter your makeup artist added as a final touch.

The reflection in the mirror was everything you were not; from the makeup to the baby blue dress you were wearing; it was too formal for what you would normally choose, but so was the occasion; one size smaller, you reckoned as it was a bit difficult to breathe in, but it still fit you perfectly, hugging every curve with grace while maintaining modesty

You did not even notice that a tear rolled down your cheek, even though you looked in the mirror, and if your makeup artist had not been so quick to wipe it off, your makeup would surely have smudged.

It was your reflection you were looking at, but it seemed as if your soul was watching your body, which was lying in the coffin, ready to be put six feet under the ground.

To stop your mother from her constant whining about how late you were, you joined her in the living room. Your thoughts were blank and void of sound as you downed the glass of champagne you had warmed between your hands while waiting for your father to come out of his office and as soon as the alcohol had settled in your throat and burned the frustration while your esophagus remained intact, your father called you over.

"Listen, daughter," he addressed you, holding your shoulders with the kind of affection you wished was genuine, "I know you are smart, you always have been, so I'll make this short and sweet; I want a strong bond that nothing can break," he smiled gently, and you wished you could tell him how fake it looked, "a bond that will keep us in the saddle; I like to think you understood."

Lacking words, you nodded, albeit unimpressed and borderline indignant. You freed yourself from his grip and headed for the door before his words stopped your momentum, "They're sniffing around us, so do not disgrace me, Yunjae. Do not put your business at risk because of a few silly thoughts, darling."

The ride passed in silence, with only the hum of the engine to keep you company; you opted for another car, and although you did not appreciate it, you accepted that the driver took the wheel - once again, to silence your mother; on the other hand, things were very tumultuous at the entrance of the hotel; the clinking of the flashes of the cameras illuminated your figure over the dim lights; the reporters were hungry for anything that could fill their columns and satisfy the readers interested in the higher world and the covenant of the century. After a pose with a smile forced by you, the guards who filled the entrance and lobby directed you and your family to the restaurant where your in-laws were already waiting.

You appreciated the quiet atmosphere, which contrasted with the noisy one you had escaped when you took off your coat and left it for the waiter. Your mother laughed obnoxiously with your father over some discussions that you were sure were not jokes but rather tactics for their approach-what she could and could not say-while you followed behind, quietly taking in the sight of the luxurious dining room.

You were neither frightened nor excited, no emotions at all. Even your heart refused to beat louder than usual, knowing for sure that a revolt would not do any good; after all, it would have come to a total arrest if your father had closed your clinic and thrown the years you had spent working your ass off into the garbage.

However, the tide turned faster than expected, and the heart, which before had been calm and had almost completely given up on life, began to beat with such violence that you thought it would break your ribs; your footsteps stopped, and the sounds around you faded into white noise, while you watched with great shock and closed fists the man who was bowing to your parents; raven black curls that you couldn't forget how they shimmered in the softest light, musky scent that you couldn't forget how it penetrated your nostrils with its earthy aroma; with broad shoulders and unreadable expression, the person from whom you thought you had finally broken away stood before you in full glory, adding an extra dose of irony to the mockery of your fate.

Kim the gangster?!

Votes, comments, and shares are appreciated.