YESOL'S POV: (continued)

"Orabonim," I murmured. For some unknown reason, I addressed him as my elder, yet the word felt oddly familiar.

He stopped mid-step, looking down at me, then at how my fingers lightly held the corner of his sleeve.

I wasn't sure if I'd chosen the right word. Should I have called him "sir" instead? Or something else entirely? Calling him by his name felt too disrespectful, so I didn't dwell on it long enough to think it through.

Pressing my lips together, I struggled to form words under his gaze. He looked at me with quiet curiosity, though his expression remained unreadable.

I sighed softly, steadying myself before meeting his eyes with a mix of softness and seriousness.

"Why are you so good to me?" I finally asked, my voice laced with curiosity and a hint of gratitude I couldn't quite understand.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable before he sighed, as if the question itself was exhausting. "I told you I wouldn't kill you-" he trailed off, his tone laced with exaggerated boredom.

"Even then," I pressed, unwilling to let the matter drop. "Even if you brought me here to test Jungkook, why didn't you hurt me? Or even threatened?" My voice wavered slightly as I continued, "You're not exactly less cruel than Jungkook, are you?"

The room fell into a thick silence, and for a moment, I thought he might not respond.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice softer than before.

"You are like my sister," he said, his words heavy, laden with something deeper, something unspoken.

Suddenly, the sarcastic aura that seemed to follow him everywhere dissolved. It faded as soon as he mentioned her, leaving behind a rawness I hadn't seen in him before.

My brows shot up in surprise. "You have a sister?" I asked, standing from my chair without realizing it. I've never heard about her from anyone.

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor as if weighed down by the mere thought of her. "I had one," he corrected softly. "Ye-jin."

A sorrowful smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn't joyful-it was the kind of smile that clung to a memory so painful, it hurt to even acknowledge it. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet mine, and I saw something in them that wasn't there before. Vulnerability.

"If she were alive, she would've been your age by now," he continued, his voice deep and distant, as if speaking more to himself than to me.

"She's not?" I asked quietly, the weight of his words sinking in.

He shook his head lightly, his voice even lower now. "She passed away when she was four."

He started to walk away, his steps slow and deliberate, and I instinctively followed, falling into steps beside him.

It hit me then-everyone carries a bitter past, don't they? A wound that refuses to heal, no matter how much time has passed. A memory that keeps them tethered to a moment in time they can never return to.

"How?" I asked hesitantly, the fragility of the question hanging heavy in the air. I wasn't sure if I should've asked such a question...

His gaze shifted from the ground to me, and for a moment, I didn't expect him to answer. Then, a bitter scoff escaped his lips, one that carried both fascination and disdain.

"You're the first to ask that," he said, his voice sharper now, edged with something almost resentful. "Usually, people don't even care."

His words left me speechless. The weight of what he carried, the loneliness embedded in it, made my chest ache. I realized then that behind his sharp tongue and guarded demeanor was a man who had been forced to live with ghosts-a man who had been carrying the weight of his sister's death.

As we walked outside, he began speaking, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if the words themselves weighed too much.

"It was years ago," he started, his gaze distant. "I wouldn't have been older than fifteen, and she was the best thing in my life."

He smiled, but it wasn't a smile of happiness-it was heavy, bitter, laced with sorrow that time hadn't been able to erase.

"...She loved flowers," he continued, his voice softer now, a faint trace of nostalgia weaving through his tone. "She used to collect them like jewels, as if they were the most precious treasures in the world."

He let out a faint chuckle, though it was hollow, and his eyes traveled upward, landing on the terrace garden up across. "For her fourth birthday, I made her a terrace garden. Every flower in that garden was chosen for her... because she loved them so much."

My gaze followed his to the terrace garden. It was still there, untouched yet thriving. The vibrant blooms swayed gently in the breeze, alive and cherished by the butterflies that danced among them.

"She was playing there when..." His voice faltered, and I noticed the way his hand tightened into a fist at his side. "When she fell off the terrace."

The faint smile he'd managed to hold onto vanished entirely, replaced by an emptiness that reflected in his eyes. I could see the way the memory pulled at him, like an invisible chain dragging him back to a moment he wished he could forget but never would.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and for a moment, it seemed as if tears might spill, but they didn't. They simply clung to his lashes, heavy and unfallen, much like the emotions he kept buried within.

I looked at him, the weight of his words pressing into my chest. The pain he carried wasn't just grief-it was guilt. And even though it wasn't his fault, I could see how deeply he blamed himself for something he could never have prevented.

"I hope you know it wasn't your fault," I managed to say softly, my voice wavering slightly. I hoped, even though I knew better, that my words might ease some of the burden he carried.

He scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp, laced with self-loathing. "Of course, it was my fault," he muttered, his tone cutting through the silence like a blade. "I should've never made that garden..." He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of his own words.

I felt a pang in my chest as I watched him, the poison of guilt spilling from his lips, corroding whatever remained of his resolve.

"Then why is that garden still so alive?" I asked quietly, my words making him stop mid-step. His eyes snapped to mine, their depth unreadable, yet filled with unspoken pain.

Taking a shaky breath, I glanced down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Even I have brother, not one, but three," I began, hoping my own flawed family would help him see the light in his actions. "But I don't remember a single time they went out of their way to make me happy."

I chuckled humorlessly, a shaky smile tugging at my lips. "We had a big, lavish garden too. I loved flowers just as much as she probably did, but... not once did my brothers bring me a single flower from it."

He blinked, his expression softening just a fraction, though the pain still lingered.

"That terrace garden," I said, motioning toward it, "even from here, it looks so lovely and alive." My voice grew steadier, my conviction clear as I continued. "It shows how much you still care. How you've never let even a single flower wither, even after she's gone."

He looked at the garden as I spoke, his features tightening with emotion he tried to suppress.

"You've kept her memory alive," I added, my words firm yet tender. "That makes you the best brother" continuing, "You didn't just make her happy while she was here; you've kept her happiness blooming long after. And that's a love not everyone is capable of."

A brief silence stretched between us, the weight of my words settling in the air. I saw his shoulders relax slightly, the tiniest hint of something shifting in his gaze. Maybe it wasn't solace, not yet, but perhaps the faintest recognition of his own goodness-a goodness he'd long buried under guilt.

I took his hand in mine, my fingers curling around his cold, empty palm. He didn't flinch, but I could feel him stiffen slightly at the unexpected gesture. His gaze lowered to our hands before slowly meeting mine, his expression weak despite the composed mask he desperately tried to maintain.

I smiled softly, hoping to offer him a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. I could sense him ease, just a little, as if the small act of kindness was beginning to stitch the frayed edges of his heart.

"She doesn't hate you," I said gently, my voice steady yet tender. His brows twitched, his composure faltering for a brief moment.

"Why would you hate yourself?" I continued, my thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand, grounding him.

He didn't respond, his lips pressed tightly together, but his eyes betrayed the war within him.

"Kim Yesol!!"

A loud, thunderous voice erupted behind Yoongi, snapping me out of the fragile moment we shared. I flinched, my heart nearly stopping as I instinctively turned toward the sound.

Yoongi froze mid-step, his head tilting slightly to glance over his shoulder. And there he was.

Jungkook.

He stood tall and composed, a picture of restrained chaos, as if every muscle in his body was working to hold him together. For a moment, it seemed he was simply taking me in-his gaze drinking in the sight of me like a man starved of hope.

My breath hitched.

He was finally here.

And for reasons I couldn't understand, a wave of relief washed over me, unbidden and unwelcome. It was as if an invisible weight, one I didn't even know I'd been carrying, had suddenly lifted from my chest. My heart surged against my ribcage, demanding my attention, pounding with an intensity that almost hurt.

Why did I feel like this? Why did I feel comfort in his presence, when I had every reason to despise him?

I hated feeling like that but maybe it was natural, it has to be.

I quickly suppressed my emotions before they could form into expressions, burying it deep so he wouldn't see what his mere sight did to me.

I cannot let him know-that I thought of him, even if it was for a millisecond, I wanted him to come for me. I wouldn't let him see that, because it would make me look weak and needy for him. And I would rather die...

I straightened my posture, forcing a neutral expression, but my eyes betrayed me, refusing to leave his.

The air between us felt thick, almost suffocating, but it carried an unspoken tension that neither of us dared to break. The space between us was suffocating yet at the same time-the air never felt so abundant.

He looked different. His always sharp, storm-filled eyes softened into something unfamiliar-something that resembled vulnerability. I could've sworn, just for a second, I saw his angry siren eyes melt into the softness of relief.

And did he feel it too? That inexplicable surge of comfort and warmth, like reuniting with someone you thought you'd lost forever. It was unsettling, yet undeniable.

"Yesol..."

My name slipped from his lips, barely audible, even to air around him but I didn't need to hear it. I read it, his mouth shaping the syllables with an almost reverent softness.

He tilted his head slightly, his jaw slack as he stared at me with a mixture of frustration, disbelief, and something deeper-something raw that lingered between us like an unspoken truth.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to run toward him or away from him. But for now, I just stood there, frozen, staring back at the man who looked at me as if I were the center of his universe.

He released a shaky breath, his entire frame trembling slightly, before he began walking toward us.

It wasn't long before he reached where we stood, his steps determined and unyielding. And then, without hesitation, he pushed Yoongi aside, breaking the fragile hold of his hand on mine and before I could protest, Jungkook's arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a fierce embrace.

I stiffened instantly.

My eyes widened as I stood there, completely rigid. My heartbeat roared in my ears, drowning out everything else.

This... this was the tightest embrace I had ever felt in my life. His warmth seeped through me, unfamiliar and overwhelming, like it had been waiting for me all along.

But it wasn't welcome.

I wouldn't.

I couldn't.

I stood frozen as he buried his face into my hair, his lips brushing against the strands in a soft, fleeting kiss.

I didn't know what to do.

My thoughts were chaos.

Push him away? Yell at him? Fight this indescribable warmth spreading through my chest like wildfire? How does one reject something so... uniquely painful yet tender?

No.

No, no, no.

Goddamn it, he is the one who ruined you, Kim Yesol!

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

But the way his arms held onto me, like I was the only thing grounding him to this earth, the way his grip trembled ever so slightly, made it harder to believe my own words.

No.

With a sudden jolt of determination, I shoved him away, my hands pushing against his chest with everything I had.

He stumbled back slightly, his eyes wide with something I refused to name-hurt, confusion, desperation? But I didn't care.

I would not let him undo me again.

My heart thundered violently as I stepped back, glaring hatefully at him through the storm of emotions threatening to consume me.

He stared at me, disbelief and confusion clashing with anger in his dark eyes. What did he expect? That I'd throw myself into his arms, thanking him like he was my savior?

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his composure cracking under the weight of my rejection. He ran a hand through his hair, an attempt to steady himself, but it was futile. In the next instant, he spun around, his steps sharp and deliberate as he closed the distance between himself and Lord Yoongi.

I gasped, watching helplessly as Jungkook grabbed Yoongi by the collar, his knuckles white with tension. His fury burned like an inferno, while Yoongi, ever so calm, simply stared back at him with an air of disinterest that seemed to stoke Jungkook's rage further.

"I'm sure you had an absolutely splendiferous time orchestrating this absurd little prank, didn't you?" Jungkook snarled, the sarcasm dripping from his words like venom.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and casually titled his head, as though Jungkook's grip had been more of an inconvenience than a genuine threat. His impassive expression held firm, that maddening mask of boredom refusing to crack. It was as if Jungkook's anger was nothing more than a mild distraction.

With a flick of his wrist, Yoongi freed himself, straightening his collar with exaggerated ease. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes swept over Jungkook, sizing him up with lazy amusement. The look was infuriatingly condescending.

"Well, would you look at that," Yoongi drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Prince Charming finally found his runaway princess. Bravo. Truly, what a fairytale moment. Now, why don't you both ride off into the sunset and leave me the hell alone?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as Yoongi's words struck a nerve.

"You knew exactly what you were doing. Don't play dumb" he hissed, his voice as cold as a blade, venom lacing his tone.

Yoongi tilted his head, feigning wide-eyed innocence. "Knew what? That you'd come storming in here, acting like some knight in shining armor?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Actually, I did. But tell me, Jungkook... didn't I just repeat your actions?" His smirk widened into something darker. "I'm not the one holding her hostage in this story... "

I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze bouncing between them. Yoongi's words sliced through the tension, hitting deeper than either of them cared to admit.

Jungkook clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with restrained fury. His voice dropped into a dangerous whisper.

"Trust me, you don't want to test me right now," he warned, the menace in his tone barely restrained.

Yoongi's smirk only grew. He stepped forward, his confidence unwavering, the air between them thick with unspoken challenges. "Really? Because I'm curious to see how far you'll go," he said mockingly. His grin turned sharp, almost maniacal. "Should I abduct her again? Maybe hide her somewhere... far away?"

The sharp intake of breath from Jungkook was enough to break me out of my trance. Before this tension could escalate into something catastrophic, I quickly stepped between them.

"Enough," I blurted out, my voice cutting through the thick air like a whip.

A part of me knew they wouldn't actually fight. They were practically brothers, bound by a history deeper than whatever this was.

But this didn't look like a friendly banter either.

They were threatening one another like the inconvenience they caused each other was greater than what I went through.

I see how it is. Mentally ill people are really mentally ill.

"Exactly. I'm done with this nonsense," Yoongi said with a dramatic huff, stepping back. His gaze flicked to me, his smirk softening. "Take your man and get out of here."

"He's not my man. Ew." I shot back, cringing as I turned and purposefully hit Jungkook with my shoulder as I brushed past him and headed toward the castle.

Behind me, Jungkook's voice rang out, amused and tinged with disbelief. "Does she know no one dares to lay a hand on me like that?"

Yoongi snorted, clearly proud of the chaos he'd created. "Oh, she knows," he said, folding his arms with satisfaction. "That's exactly why she did it."

Honestly, the idea of hitting Jungkook whenever he made me mad hadn't seemed all that appealing at first. But now that I've done it, I couldn't deny-it felt so good.

__________________________

The violet evening had settled in, cold and quiet, as we stood outside the palace gates. The air between us was heavy, not with words but with silence that felt thicker than it should.

Jungkook and Yoongi, the masters of avoiding farewells, or perhaps emotions altogether-stood still, pointedly refusing to greet each other goodbye. Instead, they continued staring at each other, their tension as obvious as the chill in the air.

I sighed, breaking the quiet with a soft bow toward Lord Yoongi. Offering him a polite smile, I said, "Goodbye. I hope we can meet again, orabonim." I tried to ignore the unspoken tension between Jungkook and Yoongi, hoping it wouldn't affect whatever bond I shared with the latter.

"Orabonim?" Jungkook repeated mockingly with scoff, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I didn't bother acknowledging him, and neither did Yoongi, who simply nodded in return, his gaze softening for a fleeting moment.

"Ah, before you go," Yoongi began, his calm voice cutting through the stillness. My eyes lifted to him in curiosity as he moved his hands, always clasped behind his back, to reveal a bouquet of flowers.

My eyebrows shot up, surprise stealing my breath for a moment.

"Here. You like flowers, right?" he said, his tone formal, but the subtle care beneath it didn't go unnoticed. "I have even the rarest ones here." He looked back at his big garden. "So now you don't have to feel sad about not getting flowers anymore."

His hand reached out gently, patting my head. "A message is all it takes," he added, his lips quirking into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "This whole garden is yours."

For a second, I was caught off guard, warmth blooming in my chest. His gesture was unexpected but kind, a rare crack in the stoic facade he always wore.

Before I could respond, Jungkook's hand shot out, swatting Yoongi's hand away from my hair as though it were an annoying mosquito. His sharp glare followed, a silent warning that spoke louder than words.

Lord Yoongi merely smirked, unbothered by the gesture.

Before I could even process what was happening, Jungkook grabbed my wrist with his usual iron grip and began dragging me away.

"Let go!" I protested, yanking against his hold, but my strength was no match for his.

"Quiet" one word, low and commanding.

I tried again, planting my feet in an attempt to stop him, but he didn't even falter. It was as if my struggles only fueled his determination.

By the time we reached his pristine white horse, I barely had a moment to protest before he lifted me effortlessly, straddling me over the saddle and fixed my dress.

"Jeon-" I started, but the words were lost as he swung himself up behind me in one fluid motion.

His chest pressed against my back, his arms caging me in as he grabbed the reins. His presence was overwhelming, his proximity sending a strange mix of anger and heat coursing through me.

The horse began to move, and I had no choice but to clutch the saddle, my frustration bubbling over. Behind us, I could still hear Yoongi's faint chuckle, the sound grating against my nerves.

__________________________

The woods felt endless-an expanse of shadow and silence stretching infinitely in every direction. The towering trees swayed gently in the cold night breeze, their skeletal branches weaving together to block out the moonlight. It was darker now, lonelier too, but Jungkook seemed unfazed. His posture was relaxed yet steady, as if every twist and turn of the path was engraved in his memory.

I, however, couldn't stop my restless gaze from darting around. My mind clung to the little details-the way the roots curled out of the ground, the faint glow of moss on the bark, the rhythm of his horse's hooves breaking the oppressive silence. If there was something about this road I could commit to memory, I would.

Though, deep down, I prayed there would never be a "next time." I had hit my lifetime limit of absurd abductions. No more.

Still, I couldn't let my guard down, even in this fragile quiet.

The silence between us wasn't suffocating, though. For once, I didn't mind that Jungkook had nothing to say. I welcomed his rare quietness-spared from his sharp, snarky remarks.

But the cold began to creep in, biting at my skin. My silk gown was thick enough to shield me from most of it, and his fur coat radiated some warmth, but my hands... they ached. No amount of rubbing or massaging them together seemed to help.

I glanced at him, gritting my teeth. This inconsiderate bastard. If he knew he was coming to fetch me, couldn't he have thought to bring gloves? Or better yet, wear gloves himself so I could've borrowed them? Useless. Completely useless. All he knew was how to swing a sword and intimidate people.

I tightened my hands into fists to hold onto whatever heat I could muster, quietly cursing him for being so inconsiderate. But before my irritation could boil over, I felt his hand, warm and steady, enveloping both of mine.

His grip was firm yet gentle, his fingers long enough to fully cover mine. The heat from his touch seeped into my skin almost instantly, like a fire melting the frost that had settled in my bones. He began stroking my knuckles, his movements slow, deliberate, and impossibly tender.

"Is my hand warm enough for you, princess?" His voice broke the silence, low and teasing as he leaned in.

I froze for a moment, staring down at his hand cradling mine. My fingers looked small against his, pale and fragile in comparison. And yet, in his grasp, they felt warm.

But I wasn't about to admit that. I rolled my eyes, shoving my shoulder into his chest as I pushed him. "No, it's not," I lied, my tone laced with indifference.

I heard him chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest like a distant thunder. I could feel his breath at the back of my neck as he shook his head in disbelief, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch.

But I didn't pull my hands away.

And he didn't let go.

"You should give your beautiful eyes some rest, princess," he said, his voice low, almost coaxing, though the teasing undertone was impossible to miss. "We still have an hour to reach."

"I'm good," I muttered, keeping my gaze fixed on the dark woods ahead, unwilling to entertain his attempts at conversation.

"Are you, though?" he questioned, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sly smirk. "Well, you did have a long day," he added mockingly, his amusement simmering just beneath the surface.

I shot him a sharp glance over my shoulder, my lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't trust you," I snapped, my voice colder than the night air.

His smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, replaced by something and unreadable. But just as quickly, his mask of nonchalance slipped back into place. "And yet, you trust Min Yoongi enough to call him 'orabonim'?" he mocked, mimicking my earlier words with a bitterness that felt sharper than his usual teasing.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation, my voice flat and unyielding, daring him to challenge me.

The silence that followed was deafening. I could feel the tension radiating from him, a storm barely contained beneath his composed exterior.

One thing was clear-this was possessiveness in its weirdest form, because why was he even jealous of Lord Min Yoongi?

His jealousy was like fire-uncontrollable and deadly and yet, this was me-calm, collected, and unapologetic, even after the events of today.

He was in no position to touch a man like Min Yoongi and that led me to be comfortable around him without worrying about the consequences.

"How nice," he finally said, his tone deceptively calm, though his tightened grip on the reins betrayed him. "I wonder what exactly he taught you. Or perhaps..." He paused, his voice dipping lower. "...he told you stories that won you over?"

"What do you mean by that?" I turned to face him, confusion flickering in my eyes.

His laugh was soft but devoid of warmth, a hollow sound that echoed in the stillness. "I don't know, but you may know better, right?"

I frowned, his words catching me off guard. "What're you talking about?!"

"Forget it," he muttered, his voice curt now, the teasing long gone but he made assumptions, didn't he?-assumptions which were too close to the truth.

I stared at him confused. What had Yoongi taught me? We only talked, talked about his past, his current status and that was only it. What else was he wondering otherwise?

He looked down at me, his dark eyes unreadable, and for a brief moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But then his gaze hardened, his lips curling into a faint, cold smile.

"Goodnight, princess," he said instead, his voice soft but final, signaling the end of the conversation.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with questions I didn't dare ask again. And yet, as his hand tightened around mine, his warmth seeping into my cold fingers, I couldn't shake the feeling that Jungkook was a man haunted by ghosts I couldn't yet see.

Who was Jeon Jungkook, really?

A crown prince? A future king? A child who clawed his way through the darkness to survive? Or a beast who cared for nothing but power?

He had so many faces, so many untold stories, and yet none of them seemed to bridge the void that would reveal who he truly was. To claim I wasn't curious about his true self would be a lie, wouldn't it? I told myself I didn't care-why should I?-but the twist of his existence was too deep, too tangled in shadows, to let go.

How was he planning to seize the throne when he didn't even have a clan of his own?

This was the most troubling part. He didn't have loyal subjects behind him, no army that carried his name. The court was firmly under the Empress's thumb, each noble a puppet bound to her commands.

They weren't just her supporters-they were her weapons, each sharper than the last, honed to defend her power.

How could he become king when he didn't even belong in the court?

Of course, there were other ways. He could kill. He could conquer. He had always been capable of doing just that-unleashing the beast within and drowning the kingdom in blood and fear.

Yet, he hadn't. If Jeon Jungkook wanted to take the throne by force, if his plan was to tear down the Empress and her regime through violence, he could have done so long ago.

But he didn't.

It was almost laughable to think he might want the crown rightfully. "Rightfully"-the word itself felt like a cruel joke in a kingdom like this.

And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his silence, his restraint.

What was he going to do? What was his plan, really?

The horse came to a halt, jerking me out of my spiraling thoughts. Before I could react, he jumped down, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. He didn't look at me immediately, but when he finally did, the anger in his eyes was undeniable, yet behind that rage, there was some sadness too.

So he was capable of showing this side of jealousy too? Not the kind that erupted in heated words or reckless actions, but the silent kind, the one that simmered just beneath the surface and compelled him to take control. I preferred this over watching men die just because they looked at me-at least it made him a bit of a human.

He didn't utter a word after that last biting exchange, but his silence was louder than anything he could have said. He was mad at me. But I was mad at him too-mad at him for his arrogance, for what he did to me, his secrets, and, most of all, for being exactly who he was.

Without warning, his hands gripped my waist. I gasped softly as he effortlessly pulled me down from the saddle, his touch firm yet surprisingly careful. His fingers lingered for a moment too long, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to let go.

Taking my hand, he turned and began walking toward the palace gates, his long strides setting a pace I struggled to match. His back was rigid, his shoulders tense, a clear sign of his lingering frustration.

I huffed under my breath, rolling my eyes. Instead of looking at him, I turned my gaze to the side, unwilling to grant him even the satisfaction of my attention.

As we approached the gates, the guards immediately sprang into action, unlocking the heavy doors with practiced precision. The massive iron barriers creaked open, revealing the dimly lit corridors beyond.

We stepped inside, and the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that clung to the skin and made every breath feel like a challenge. Servants and court ladies stood frozen along the edges of the hallway, their gazes firmly fixed on the ground.

No one dared to look up, not even for a fleeting glance.

I realized then the gravity of what he had done earlier in the day. Whatever it was, it had shaken everyone in the palace to their core. Their fear wasn't just for him-it extended to me as well. The weight of their unspoken dread pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

They weren't just avoiding him; they were avoiding me. The thought sent an unsettling chill down my spine.

And yet, as I trailed behind him, his hand still wrapped around mine, I couldn't help but wonder: who had Jeon Jungkook truly become to instill such fear-and why was he dragging me along for the ride?

He dragged me to my bedroom, his grip firm yet not forceful, and when I assumed he would bid his farewell at the threshold, I was met with a surprise. The court ladies opened the door for us, bowing low, and he stepped inside without hesitation, pulling me along.

I froze, staring at him in utter confusion as he turned to lock the door behind him, the soft click making my unease grow tenfold.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice sharp and laced with alarm. My bedroom was my sanctuary-the last place I wanted to share with him.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shrugged off his outer robe and carelessly threw it onto the chair, twisting his brows in mock innocence. "I'm sleeping here," he declared, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"No, you're not. This is my bedroom," I shot back, stepping forward to confront him.

A sarcastic smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face me fully. "Before it was yours, it was mine," he said casually, his tone dripping with amusement. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, taking his time as he removed his socks, completely unbothered by my protests.

I narrowed my eyes at him, fury bubbling beneath the surface. "Bastard."

"I'm not sharing a bed with you!" I said firmly, my voice like steel.

He leaned back against the pillows, utterly at ease, and shot me a lazy glance. "You are. Whether you like it or not." He tossed his socks onto the same chair where his robe lay, completely shameless in his defiance.

I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. He was doing this on purpose-I knew it. This wasn't about the bed or the room. This was about control. About punishment. Because I had dared to talk to Min Yoongi. Because I had accepted the flowers that were still clutched in my hand like some fragile, sacred treasure. And because I said I didn't trust him enough to sleep in his presence.

"So, come here while I am asking nicely" he commanded.

Fine. If he wanted to play games, I could play too.

"Fine," I huffed, my voice icy as I turned on my heel. "You can sleep here alone. I'd rather freeze to death than share a bed with you."

I marched toward the door, my steps resolute. If he cared even the slightest bit about me, he'd leave before I did something reckless-like actually sleep outside.

Just as my fingers brushed the doorknob, I felt it-a sharp sting at the base of my neck, piercing my skin like a predator's bite. A gasp tore from my lips as a dull, throbbing ache spread rapidly through my shoulder, its intensity like poison coursing through my veins. My hand shot up instinctively to press against the source of the pain, but it was futile. The ache only deepened.

My breath hitched as my vision began to blur, the edges of the room smearing together into indistinguishable shapes. The world around me felt distant, unreal.

No. He didn't. Right?

I swallowed hard, a wave of unease washing over me as I pieced it together. Did he really hit me with a dim dak? A needle dipped in toxins?

My knees wavered, my body betraying me as I struggled to stay upright. Every shallow breath burned in my lungs, and the room tilted dangerously. I was unraveling, and he knew it.

I felt him behind me before I could react, his presence a chilling shadow that pressed close. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back against him as his other hand brushed against the site of the needle. I groaned, a sound of both pain and disbelief, my head swimming with intoxication.

"You really don't like nice, do you?" His voice was low, a dark whisper against my ear, each word dripping with sinister amusement.

I barely registered the soft clink of the needle being discarded as his arm tightened around me. His other hand trailed downward, leaving a trail of chills in its wake, before reaching the bouquet I clutched so desperately-only to snatch it and fling it carelessly across the room.

My body, heavy and unresponsive, betrayed my will, leaning into his solid chest for support. My head fell against him as my eyes fluttered shut, desperate to calm the storm raging within me.

He's a psychopath. He really went so low.

"Always the hard way," he murmured, his lips grazing my ear in a mockery of tenderness before pressing a kiss to its shell. I bit back a whimper.

Before I could so much as summon the strength to protest, he scooped me into his arms with ease, holding me as though I were a fragile, broken thing. I fought to keep my eyes open, my blurry gaze locking onto his face.

"You're one twisted woman, princess" he said with a grin, his tone laced with amusement. To him, this was all a game-a sick, twisted game that he controlled. And somehow, my defiance only seemed to amuse him more.

I wanted to glare, to curse him for going this far, but the toxins worked faster than my anger. My body grew heavier, the fight draining from me as his dark, unreadable eyes bore into mine.

He'd done this. And he'd hit the perfect spot, too.

My body fought to stay awake, but my eyelids were growing heavy, and my vision blurred into a mist. I could hardly comprehend what was happening-only that the monster in front of me was the cause.

He was unfixable, beyond repair. He was a stone, cold and unyielding, one that couldn't be shattered, but even if it were, it would never piece itself back together. He was beyond saving.

He lowered me gently onto the bed, his hands surprisingly tender for someone so cruel. His face hovered just above mine, and in the dim light of the moon spilling through the window, his eyes-those starry, haunted eyes, bore into mine.

The moonlight made everything look ethereal, but it was his gaze that outshone it all. His eyes held a brilliance that almost made me forget the bitterness, the poison swirling in my body.

He brushed the strands of hair from my face with such delicate care, his touch so soft it almost made me want to close my eyes in bliss. I could almost convince myself that in another world, this was a moment of rare tenderness, something I've never felt before.

He looked at me as if I was the most precious thing in the world, like he would never trade me for anything ever.

But I knew better. This bastard also just hit me with a needle just so I would stay by his side. My blood simmered with rage.

Have you ever looked into someone's eyes and seen the depths of hell, yet found it beautiful? Well, I have and it was sickening.

I saw my reflection in his eyes-so weak and completely at his mercy; yet so etheral-a sight I'd die for only if he wasn't the man I despised the most.

He was a monster, yes. But his eyes... they were still human. And that made everything worse.

Why was he like this? The contradiction twisted my mind, leaving me grappling with confusion and anger.

"Don't you dare touch me when I'm asleep," I muttered, my voice weak, barely audible. It was a half-hearted command, and I knew it.

The intoxication was making it harder to think, to keep myself steady, and my words felt like they came from someone else. I wanted to make him understand, to push him away, but my body betrayed me.

He smiled, that rare, infuriating smile that always seemed to bring both comfort and fury in equal measure. The mole beneath his lips stood out like a kiss from an angel.

I raised my trembling hand, my fingers brushing against his lower lip and the mole. It was a question even I didn't know the answer to it. Why did I still reach for him? Why was I still trying to touch him, even when everything inside me screamed to keep my distance?

His lips pressed gently against my fingertips, as if to calm the storm that churned inside me. "Don't worry, princess. I may be the wrong guy, but I have my rules."

I wanted to ask him what rules he was talking about, but my tongue felt heavy, thick with the poison that muddled my thoughts. The words wouldn't come, and the question swirled in my mind, unanswered.

He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before moving to my right eye, then to my left, each kiss gentle yet possessive, making me close my eyes against the force of his touch.

When I opened them again, his gaze was fixed on my lips, then slowly flicked back to my eyes. He swallowed hard, like he was trying to fight something within himself, before pressing another kiss to my forehead, longer this time, his thumb gently tracing my cheek.

"You may act all stubborn and hate me all you want," he whispered looking right into my glistening eyes, his voice low, almost tender, "but at the end of the day, you're going to sleep in my arms."

The words settled around me like a heavy weight, but it wasn't just the words that struck me-it was the finality behind them, the certainty in his tone. As if he knew, with absolute confidence, that I would never be able to escape him, no matter how hard I tried.

And maybe, just maybe, he was right.

I felt the warmth of his chest against mine as my body began to relax involuntarily, his presence both comforting and suffocating. The toxins might have clouded my mind, but his words pierced straight through me, wrapping around my heart.

He leaned away, his movements were deliberate, almost calm, as he settled himself beside me, his body heat wrapping around me like an iron chain. He gently shifted my head onto his arm, pulling the duvet over us.

I blinked, fighting the haze in my mind, but my thoughts refused to cooperate. The room, the bed, the whole world around me felt distant, blurring into a haze where only he remained clear, more real than anything else.

Why was he doing this to me? Why did he have to make me feel this anger, this hatred for him, only to twist it all up and leave me questioning my own heart? One moment, I wanted nothing more than to push him away, to hurt him for ruining my life, for the manipulation, for the madness. And the next... I was here, in his arms, unable to escape.

Why are you like that, Jeon Jungkook?

So human, yet so inhuman.

I couldn't make sense of it. The confusion churned inside me, leaving me tangled in emotions I couldn't control, emotions I didn't want to feel. He had me trapped, and worse-he didn't even have to try. He just existed, and that was enough to unravel me piece by piece.

The contradiction in him gnawed at me like an itch I couldn't reach, a puzzle I couldn't solve.

I wanted to punch him and understand him at the same time.

__________________________

A/n: The start: 🩷✨🤍
The end: ☠️💉✨😵‍💫

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