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jimlingss · 7 years

Text

The Wicked Witch

Words: 22k Genre: Angst, (tiny bit of) Fluff, Drama, Soap Opera!Au Summary: Your first misfortune is your parents. Your second is your brother. Your third is your husband by the name of Min Yoongi. You will not stop until vengeance has been sought. Inspired by the idea of combining all Soap Opera/Makjang Kdrama tropes into one story. Based on this drabble. Warnings: Sham marriages, betrayals, kidnappings, sibling rivalries, deaths, amnesia, infidelity, revenge, etc. Mentions of suicide, car accidents, abuse, etc.

Cr.

[5 Years Ago]

You should’ve never fallen in love with him. Your first misfortune lies within the family you were born into - a mother with a wealthy background and a father with ambitious political aspirations. It was a picture perfect family; a blissful marriage and two well rounded children, you and your older brother. But everything was merely skin deep. With the plastered smiles and exaggerated grins, as a young child, your mother would pinch you at your side to- ‘stand taller!’ ‘look at that disgusting hair, tame it!’ ‘ugh, do you not know how to act like a lady?’ The marriage of your parents was a sham, sleeping in separate bedrooms and leaving for days on end to other people. When they spoke to each other, it was cold and distant. If it wasn’t, then it was screaming and arguing. Though you never felt sadness. You never envied the children who had parents brimming with happiness. That was your reality. What could you do to ever change it? You were numb to it all. Your second misfortune is the ambitious nature of your brother; a trait he had unfortunately inherited from your father. There was a time, so long ago that you can barely remember, a time where you could be considered close to your sibling. It was when you had no one else in the house but him, someone who cared and protected you. But along the way, with the praise of your parents showered upon the boy and criticisms thrown onto you, a gap was created which only grew with the years that came. Soon, he saw the responsibilities in his future and began to utter the same judgements that your mother always whispered into your ear. ‘We’re not children anymore.’ ‘You need to grow up.’ ‘Learn how to act like a lady.’ Despite being driven away by your one and only true companion, you should’ve stayed. If you had persisted and fought against him, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Perhaps you could’ve saved his life and yours. But the past cannot be changed. It was two years ago that your brother was arrested for embezzlement.

He was taken away, thrashing and screaming profanities. The investigation somehow led back to your family and your father’s long years of corruption were exposed. The two men in your family were seized and your mother fell into pieces. It wasn’t out of despair because she loved them. It was simply her flawless reputation that she had poured decades to perfect became tainted. But you couldn’t feel anything inside - the family was never in one piece to begin with. Your third and final misfortune is Min Yoongi. You had always known him as a child, seen him at his mother’s side but not more than a simple ‘hello’ was ever said. Your ten year old self who heard rumours about the prodigy boy would never come to believe that one day, he would become the man you’d marry. But perhaps your third misfortune is really yourself - the person that you are or rather, the person you aren’t. You could’ve ran. You could’ve hid and dug into the ground with your fingernails to search for freedom. For once again, your mother was pinching your skin and whispering like the devil in your ears - ‘Marry him.’ ‘Be a good daughter. After all these years that we’ve helped you.’ ‘Do you really want to see your brother and father die in prison?’ ‘If you rejected this, could you really live with yourself, Y/N?’ ‘Wouldn’t you be so guilt ridden? You’re giving up the chance for them to live. Please, Y/N.’ Min Yoongi is the son of a prosecutor, the prosecutor that would be charging your family members for their crimes. Being unable to cope, unable to make your own decisions, you were driven to mark the contract with your signature. In the days that followed, your father and brother were released and your marriage was set into stone. In the blink of an eye, you were in a loveless marriage - exactly in the steps of your parents. Except, you should’ve never fallen in love with him.

“She was hot, admit it.” You mumble underneath your breath as the bedroom door shuts. You’re no longer in front of the flashes of the cameras, no longer gluing a perfect smile on your lips. It’s deathly quiet, uncomfortable even as you stare out the glass windows. Yoongi turns on his heel, an eyebrow raised at your abrupt question. “What?” “She was attractive, wasn’t she?” You look right into his eyes, giving a tight lipped smile that makes your cheeks numb. “That new secretary of yours.” You have no right to be jealous. There is no reason - not when the agreement clearly states that the both of you are allowed to do whatever each of you please as long as it’s safely hidden from the public. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He snaps, pulling off his tie as he looks into the mirror. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but whatever it is and whatever you may think…I didn’t cheat.” “It’s not like it would matter anyways…” He adds, moving to whisper in your ear with a sinister grin. “We’re both allowed to do whatever we want.” Yoongi pats your shoulder. “Don’t get too caught up in me, Y/N. Don’t forget that this arrangement is only possible because I feel nothing for you.” The words pierce right into your chest, blood gushing out of the wound as the final crack in your heart splits through. But as you’re trained to do, on natural instinct, your expression remains impassive like you haven’t been slapped across the face with his cruelty. He steps away from you with a smirk, moving to the closet to grab a jacket. “Don’t wait for me. I won’t be home tonight.” Yoongi doesn’t spare you another glance as the door slams shut behind him and you’re left in the middle of the bedroom. You wince, a shudder rising from your spine to the back of your head. You can’t cry. The tears won’t drip, your eyes won’t water despite the thick lump in your throat. Your heavy chest screams out for you to say something….anything. You should’ve never fallen in love with him. Even if it seemed like for just a moment, he felt something for you. Those softened eyes, the kiss pressed against your forehead, the sweet honey that dripped from his lips - they were all a part of the game. You should’ve known your feelings would’ve been one sided. A murmur leaves your mouth but he’s already gone. The empty walls are the only thing that listens. “I’m pregnant.”

You cannot remember the exact first time you encountered him. It could’ve been before you were even born into this world, tucked inside your mother’s womb and untainted from the tragedies of the world. By chance, it might’ve been when you were in the adjacent crib to his, hands curled against the railing as you looked out the room and saw your father’s exaggerated smile, heard your mother’s boisterous laughter and you cried to be held by someone. Only...the maid closed the door and you slumped back down onto the mattress. It was so long ago, that you cannot pinpoint the exact moment, the memories have faded away and for good reason. You don’t want to remember.

Why would you want to recall meeting the devil who would soon come to ruin your existence?

[? Years Ago]

“Behave.” Your mother sharply whispers as she tugs you forward, hand wrapped firmly around yours so much that it bruises. Her scowl is quickly plastered with a beam, gown sweeping the grass of the garden as she walks. “Kyungwon! How nice it is to see you.”

“It is, my dear.” The two ladies place their cheeks next to each other, kissing the air on both sides before they step back. “It’s been quite awhile.”

You smile, tipping your head downwards politely. “Hello, Mrs. Min.”

“Hello sweetheart. You look so lovely today.” She looks at you fondly and in practiced response, you nod. Though, even with her compliment, you still despise how tightly wrapped you feel by the dress. The tulle skirt scratches your skin each time you make any movement and the shoes cinch your toes together.

When the two adults begin to delve into tedious conversations, you allow your eyes to wander. Each grownup is in clusters, holding glasses of champagne and tipping their heads back in laughter...fake laughter. Even as a child, you can tell all too well.

If your mother noticed, she would’ve immediately pulled you straight again. But she is much too preoccupied to realize how your eyes have wandered to the deep blue. The luxurious garden party is not of much interest to you, not as much as the seaside tide that bumps across the rocks and sprays a cooling mist into the air. The sand has been replaced by artificial grass, foundation that rises higher than the ocean line. It isn’t much of a beach, but still the closest thing you’ve ever seen aside from the countless books in your bedroom.

You want to run to it but your mother’s hand is all too rigid.

“Where is your son?” Your mother asks curiously, taking a quick sweep of the premise.

“Oh.” The youthful madam laughs before lowering herself down to meet your height. “Do you want to play with him?”

There’s a delayed reaction as you tip your head to the side. “Play?”

Mrs. Min nods her head and stands up straight again, meeting your mother’s eyes. “He’s around here somewhere. It’s hard to keep track of him. You ought to let children be children, right?”

“Of course.” Your mother agrees ironically. Then, miraculously, by some godsend and the persuasive words of Mrs. Min, your mother loosens her grip on your hand. “Don’t go too far.” She lightly pinches at your skin, pretending to smooth out your gown. “Stay safe.”

From any outsider’s perspective, it would sound like worried but tender words from a mother but you clearly understand the underlying threats.

You nod, bowing your head one last time to the other lady before you slowly waddle off. Anticipation and excitement expands inside your chest, a grin swelling your cheeks and despite how much you simply want to take off, while still in your mother’s view, you keep a steady pace.

Once you’re out of sight, you run.

The breeze caresses your face, the hair strands loosen from your secure braids and whirl around your shoulders. A giggle leaves your mouth as you hitch your dress up higher, fistfuls of it in your hands that will certainly leave creases, inevitable to drive your mother insane. Except, you don’t care. There are no concerns in the world. As you spin around mindlessly under the clear sky, there are no boundaries. There are no rules. The course of your life hasn’t been mapped out and set by your parents. You are entirely…

..free.

Your dashes, twirls and giggles only come to a screeching halt when your curious eyes land on a particular boy. The stranger is beside the rocks, the waves crashing against shore right next to him. Yet, he pays no mind - crouching down, knees gathered together and arm outstretched. He reaches for the distant flower, far from his grasps but still in between his fingertips.

You’re about to shout, tell him that it’s much too far. Though the words suffocate in your throat when he manages to grab it. You smile but it erases as you watch him lose his balance, arms flailing into the air. The boy plummets straight into the ocean.

Without a second thought, you sprint.

Perhaps you already know that if you ran to the adults, they’d simply gasp in surprise with a soft ‘oh no’ and watch without intervening. It’s not my problem - I don’t want my clothes to get wet - Someone else will help. - He’s just a boy. You can guess their thoughts, read their minds past the fabricated sympathy. Still, those concepts have yet to corrupt your innocent being.

You kick off the shoes that pinch your toes, hold your dress within your hands and inhale a sharp breath. And you sprint. Your feet sink into the grass and you focus your vision straight ahead.

The boy that is choking, struggling in the waters to leave out a smothered cry of ‘help’ that is left unheard except by your own ears. He manages to look up once more. That is when he sees.

That is when his irises catch a figure much like his own, leap into the sky. He wonders if it’s an angel. Someone who is not pretty skin-deep and dressed in silk fabrics but beautiful and courageous, a soul that is fragile to the very touch. The angel plunges downwards with a ‘splash’ and his eyes are enveloped in deep blue.

There’s a muffled sound, bubbles that escape from your mouth to the surface as you shout at him. He peels back his lids, met with your startled face and with your arms wrapped around his waist, the both of you fight to the top.

“A-are you okay?” You manage to strangle out, laid out like a starfish on the grass next to him. If it were a winter day, the two of you would look like you were making snow angels.

“I-” He wheezes and coughs, pounding his chest. “I’m fine.”

As the both of you sit up, you exchange grins, ready to giggle from the entire ordeal of how you luckily escaped from death’s grasps except-

“Y/N!” Your mother screams, alarming you immediately and causing goosebumps to raise all over your skin.

You whip your head over to the boy, frantically whispering, “You should go.”

He lingers for a moment, a frown creasing his brows in a knot. But with another distressed nudge from you, he stumbles to his feet and walks away.

Your mother in a rage, fails to notice the boy. She instead turns around to see if anyone is watching and then she captures your arm, dragging you upwards as you let out a hurt yelp. “What have you done?!” She scans you from head to toe, gawking at your completely drenched form. Your braids are undone, dress soaked and shoes abandoned in the dirt.

“Mo-”

Your mother strikes you across the face.

The pain shocks you, as if you were electrocuted, then it grows numb. You cannot feel your cheek or your face, cannot feel how your eyes are filling with tears and how her hand is indented red into your skin. All you can do is leave your mouth agape as you stare at the boy who’s meters away, looking at you in horror.

Your dearest mother drags you away like a marionette doll.

Many decades later, you come to regret this very event. Had you known back then that the boy was Min Yoongi -

You would’ve left him to drown.

[Present Day]

“Min Yoongi.” She bows her head with haste, arms folded together in front of her. “Welcome back. Shall I inform your mother of your arri-”

“No.” He cuts her off. “Last I checked, this was also my father’s estate. I have permission to come and go as I please. Also, I would much prefer it if you call that woman my stepmother. If you didn’t know, the woman living here did not give birth to me.”

“I understand.” The maid withdraws back, head downcasted to the tiled floor.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you act so kindly.” A shrill voice causes him to lift his eyes, meeting the called upon woman. She stands at the top of the luxurious staircase, nursing a glass of wine in her hands. “Min Yoongi, my loveliest son.”

She laughs, knowing exactly what nerves to step on. He scoffs, walking up to her only to brush past and enter the study. “What are you doing drinking in the middle of the day?”

His stepmother leans against the doorway, hiccuping behind her hand before answering. “Your dad’s gone abroad. I can do whatever I want.”

Yoongi scoffs again. “Of course my father’s gone.”

She chuckles breathlessly, throwing a finger into the air to point at him. “Don’t insult my marriage. You’re the one who’s in the process of a divorce, son.”

“Don’t call me your son.”

The younger man doesn’t waste any time, grabbing the documents that he needs from the desk and marching past her again. His heavy steps stomp down the stairs, a pace that isn’t at all anxious but calculated. “You better be careful of what you say out loud, Yoongi.” She calls out to him before his hand clutches the knob. “Some day, you might find yourself six feet under.”

He cranes his neck back, “Is that a threat?”

A smirk draws up against her red lipstick printed lips. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to kill me-” His tongue is sharp and merciless, eyes narrowed into the woman who sighs, tapping her fingernails against her wine glass. “-like you killed my mother?”

“How many times must I say it for you to understand? It doesn’t matter how much I hate you, Min Yoongi; after all these years, you still have the wrong person.” She meets his stare. “I. did. not. kill. your. mother.”

The door slams shut a few moments later, not a second to linger and Yoongi’s stepmother is left deserted at the top of the staircase, laughing maniacally at her misery.

The enormous entrance creaks open, servants lined up and bowing from their waist to the ground. He secures his suit jacket around his body, glancing around the abode. It’s spotless and grand, the white tiles catching the light of the chandelier above him. The mirrors on either side of him open the foyer, doubling the vast room and causing him to sneak a peek of his reflection as he strides down.

All the workers repeat in unison, “Welcome home, Mr. Min.”

He doesn’t respond, not until a little girl with bright orbs comes running over with a loud giggle. “Dad!”

A grin matching his very own draws upon his mouth. “Good evening, Princess.” He leans down, scooping her up into his arms as he looks at her fondly. “And how are we doing today?”

She snickers. “Fine~”

There’s something that tugs in your chest when you hear the laughter. Your ears perk and you stand, spinning around on your heel. For a split second and only for the shortest interval of time, it’s the sound of what a family should be like. Or at least - what you think a family should sound like.

As you step outside the dining room, both their eyes land on you and they halt. Mina’s little smile immediately rubs off, yet, you pay no mind. You clear your throat, “I’ve made dinner. If you want some-”

“No.” He turns away from you. “I have some work to finish.”

“Oh, okay.” You force your lips to upturn, cheeks numb. Your arms open as you motion for the child. “In that case, I can take Mina-”

She whimpers away from you, hugging onto Yoongi like it’s her lifeline. He exhales a breath, patting her back comfortingly. “It’s fine. She won’t bother me in my study.” As he walks away and the girl sticks her tongue out at you, safe in her father’s embrace, he calls out once more. “Ah, but if you want to continue to discuss our divorce settlement, then you can drop by later. Other than that, I want to be left undisturbed.”

You keep your pride on your shoulders, raising your nose into the air as you turn away from him. “I understand.” Your tone is rather curt and not without purpose.

When you return to the dining room alone, the table is filled with the dishes of your labour. It only serves as a reminder that once again, you have no family. You do not belong in this house or any house. You have never had a home.

With a deep animosity that unleashes from it’s tight containment, you pick up the bowl of soup that was put out for him. From your haste, the boiling liquid sloshes over the edge and falls onto your skin, burning and causing a strangled, angry cry to leave your throat. You hurl it across the room with all your might and it shatters against the wall upon impact.

“Mrs. Min, are you okay?” A maid rushes in, wide eyes to the fragment of the porcelain bowl and to where you’re standing, hands curled around the seat of the front chair. “Mrs-”

“I’m fine.” You silence her with the wave of your hand, ignoring the sting of the new wound. “Clean up this entire table. Throw it all out. I don’t want to see any of it.”

She bows her head, a few others entering in to follow your command. “Yes.”

“And one more thing…” Upon your voice, she gives you full attention instantly. “Do not call me by that name.”

She lowers her head. “I apologize, madam. It will not happen again.”

The injury on your hand is left untouched to sear deep. It’s self-retribution, a punishment you’ve put on yourself for the chaos you’ve vowed to bestow upon each individual that has done you wrong. And it is a reminder that you do not just feel internal pain but externally too.

Sometimes, when you look into the mirror, you do not recognize the person you’ve become. The fingertips that run over the cool glass, grazing against the downturn curve of your lips and your dark pupils. A transformation has been made and it’s not one of beauty or a peasant turned into a princess. You have become the villain of the book. You are the evil stepmother that locks the daughter in her tower. You are the sinner that will burn in hell or rather, the incarnate of the devil himself. You are the picture perfect shot of evil and cruelty. But, it is a transformation that was not from choice or made from your own will. It was forced upon you. You are the wicked witch.

And you will not stop until vengeance has been sought out.

“How could you?!” Her voice still rings into your ears, permeating deep into your dreams. And like back then - there is no escape. You can only thrash against the bedsheets and sob in your sleep. “How could you, Y/N!? Do you know what I’ve done for you?”

You’re curled up in a ball, hiding in the corner with hands up in the air for mercy. Still, she grabs fistfuls of your hair and tries to rip it from your scalp.

“I’m sorry! Mom, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t call me that!” She screams out.

Your mother is not as young and strong as she used to be. Long ago, a simple pinch or smack would’ve left marks for days; that would be covered up later by a concealer, the shade of your skin. But decades have passed since you were a mere little girl. Even in the moment when your mother is hitting you with all her might, you’ve felt more pain before.

Her exhaustion grows and that’s when she stops punching you, letting go of your hair that is now all tangled in a mess. She stumbles back, chest heaving as she catches her breath. And at the sight of you, makeup completely smeared and your limbs up and ready for defense, she chuckles breathlessly and falls to the floor. “Why couldn’t you?”

Your mother, rage dissipated, is now full on weeping until her eyeballs fall from their sockets. But, you feel absolutely no remorse. You’re the one who should be crying. But with years of stained pillows and blankets used to soak up the waters, it seems like only your chest can beat itself into pain.

“You had a secure future.” She spits out into her hands. “And all because you couldn’t bear a single child - that’s why he’s getting a divorce with you!” Your mother is hysterical, not understanding that there are a million other reasons. “What are you going to do when you’re a divorcee? What will become of your life?! Of our name?! Of me?!”

Your mother has lost her mind. Somewhere on the path of riches, insanity had gotten to her and the polished woman you once knew had gone crazy. “Don’t ever speak to me again.” She shakes her head, again and again, as if rejecting reality. She picks herself up, limping away. “I don’t have a daughter like you.”

The ties that were never of a mother-daughter bond but more of a slavery one severs itself.

You awake to the bewitching hour, met with half the bed unoccupied, not even a ghost has wandered its way into the room. You replace any found loneliness with a madness, no different from your mother’s.

The plan was set five years ago. You will leave a legacy of ruin and chaos.

He looks up with an open mouth. “Wow.”

You smile, strolling down towards him. “Jimin.”

The man dressed in his suit greets you with a crinkled eyes. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful this house is.”

You laugh in response, “Oh, I’m sure your own home isn’t so bad. But what are you doing here on this fine morning? Would you like to have some breakfast? I can get it prepared for you.”

“I’m okay for now. I’m just here to check in and see how you’re doing.” He beams at you, taking in another sweep of the luxurious premise that is all too empty to be called a home. “Where’s my brother?”

You lifelessly point towards the door. “I believe he’s left for work.”

“I see.” Jimin nods to himself before he radiates another bright smile. “Will I see you tonight, sister-in-law? Need I remind you of the dinner we have planned this evening?”

The grip of your clasped hands tighten against each other. Your nails sink into your skin but you muster up turned lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to attend. And really, Jimin, you don’t need to call me that anymore.”

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Min Jimin steps forward, reaching for your hands and taking it within his. He looks at you with feign sincerity, a mask of angelic compassion. “You will always be my sister-in-law. You will always be family to me. That other woman...I can’t accept her. I won’t accept anyone else, no matter the circumstances. I made that promise to you back when you married Yoongi, remember?”

You sharply inhale, giving a strained lipped smile. “I remember Jimin. And thank you, really. It means a whole lot but-”

“Shush.” He shakes his head in disapproval. “No buts. You’re still a Min in this house. I will have your presence for tonight’s dinner and no one can say otherwise. Not even Yoongi himself. I’m in charge.”

The boy, younger than his brother, is holding you by the shoulders and directly looking at you. You know he won’t drop this issue until you agree. But what you call into question is, behind his exterior, how sadistic was he? Did he enjoy watching you in ashes? Did he want to smile through agonizing atmospheres and hidden excruciating pain?

Why does he want to observe the graveyard of Yoongi’s marriage?

“Alright. Okay.” For the sake of reminding your dearest husband that you are still part of this household. You’ll use every single chance to make a fool out of him, even at your own expense.

You know all too well the reason of Jimin’s visit is to secure your invitation to the disastrous dinner party. “Great.” He smiles, giving a quick hug before his departure. You watch as he leaves, tugging your white blazer closer to your shoulders and the side of your lip tugs into a smirk.

Jimin is playing a game, a game that is far more dangerous than he can anticipate. He’s unaware that you’ve been a player far longer than he’s lived.

The only thing that keeps you sane is by adamantly reminding yourself that you are not your mother.

Albeit if it seems like you’re heading down the exact same path, that you’re driving yourself to insanity too - even if your marriage is a complete sham - you are not her. You are not a housewife cooped up inside four walls; gossiping over tea with other married women in the afternoons, waiting for a husband each and every day in the evenings. Despite your mother’s ill words, you had taken over your late grandfather’s business alongside your brother.

It’s something you would’ve never done, allowing yourself to be immersed in the world of dirty business, but for the sake of your goal, a little sacrifice on your behalf was necessary.

You speak to the knocks on the door and it creaks open, “Come in.”

“There’s someone here to see you, madam.” Your secretary frowns and reads the name off the slip of paper. “Someone by the name of Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. Should I let him in?”

The familiar name causes an eyebrow to lift and some distant memories to spark back. It was when you were a completely different person - happier perhaps but more foolish and ignorant.

“Y-Y/N?” His voice cracks and you notice the tremble of his hand.

The secretary closes the door and you rise from your seat with an immaculate smile. “Jung Hoseok. I never thought I’d see you again. You haven’t aged a day.”

The man, who is no longer as young as you can recall, wrinkled suit and ruffled hair with lines that show how time has done him well, is bewildered at your calmness. For all the months and years he’s imagined of reuniting with you, it was never like this. He always thought that you’d be wrathful, slap him across the face and he’d take every resentful insult from you. Another part, a more hopeful one, wished you’d run into his arms and cry your longings out loud.

“You...you haven’t aged a day either.”

But here you are, leaning against your desk with crossed arms, watching his every move. Cold and distant, like he’s no less than a stranger. “Y/N…”

“What are you doing here, Hoseok?” You cut straight to the point with a long sigh. “Unless you have business, I don’t have time to chat. Are you here to see me? Are you here to see what I’ve become as your ransom?”

“I-I’ve come back to take revenge.”

“Revenge?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Why? So you can feel better about what you’ve done? As a method to condone for your sins and try to undo your mistakes?”

“Yes. To all of it.” Hoseok takes a bold step forward, his knees threatening to buckle and his hands still shaking. “I regret it, Y/N. I regret the life that we didn’t spend together, how I betrayed you and made you suffer. I haven’t been able to sleep at night. I can’t eat and I can’t think clearly. It’s been like this for years. No matter where I go, it’s all the same.”

“Good. At least you know what you’ve done.” You disregard his pain while biting back a bitter laugh. “I just don’t understand why after all this time you’re here. What did you think? That I would be happy that you’ve come back for me? That I would go back to you after you’ve taken your so-called revenge? Hoseok, Hoseok….a decade ago, I might’ve fallen apart without you but I’m a different person now.”

It feels like you’re lecturing a child, lowering yourself down to meet his downcast eyes. “Life moves on. Do you understand that?”

The man exhales a staggering breath, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he fights back the tears. He didn’t expect to be the one crying today. He didn’t expect a lot of things. Certainly, he didn’t know you would be like this.

“Are you really happy?” Happiness is no longer an option. “I guess you’ve heard about my divorce.” You fall back into your chair, still scrutinizing his form. “Well, not everything is roses and butterflies. I’ve had my trials and errors but I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself. I don’t need a man to.” You pause, “Are we done here or do you have something you need to say to me?”

“Y/N-”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me. By making your appearance today, you’ve turned my mood sour. If you want to do any favours for me, Jung Hoseok, then I never want to see your face again.”

“My forgiveness for you is unobtainable.” You whisper cruelly, “You won’t get what you’re looking for by coming to me.”

A strangled sob emits from the back of his throat. “Y/N-”

“Get out of my office. Before I have to call people to haul you out.” You command, like a goddess to her people. “Get out.”

The man’s hands curl into fists and in a lingering gaze, he turns away and walks out the door. He was the person who was once your first love; the receiver of most innocent affections and smiles. And he is the individual who set the stage for this entire play.

“Hoseok.” It’s a haunting whisper that leaves past your parted lips. “The Y/N that you know is dead. They made me kill her.”

The world is built upon façades and personas. In order to hide the hideous monster underneath, each wears a flawless mask that has been crafted with envy, fear and a lust for perfection. Your world is a feasting ground for these disguises, ready to rip off pretty faces from any weaklings.

Along with refined exteriors, your world is one of alliances and bonds. All have shaken hands with one another, not for peace but as partners. If a partner in the agreeance has been attacked then the other will rush forward. As a result, your friend is allies with your enemy. It’s a chain system, a domino effect. If one is taken down, everyone else falls.

These two things are ultimately the weapons you wield to your goal.

“Mr. Jeon will be with you immediately.”

The lady leaves you alone in his office and you use the opportunity to look around, almost intruding in his personal space. You pick up a picture frame from his desk, staring at the little boy in the photo, presumably his son. The child wears no smile, standing straight and staring forward with his mother’s arms holding him in place. When you set it down, your fingers run along the edge of his desk until you gaze up at the huge portrait of him.

“Mrs. Min. Lovely to see you today. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Your teeth grits at the name. You’re fully aware that he’s making a mockery out of you. Still, when you spin around, you have the brightest of smiles. “Mr. Jeon. It’s lovely to see you too.”

“Please, there’s no need for such formalities. Take a seat.” He gestures to the armchair and you sit down across from him.

“Very well then, Jungkook.” You settle in, crossing your legs and putting your clasped hands in your lap. “How are things going? I know the election’s coming up soon.”

“It’s going pretty well. The other members in the party have a lot of hope for me. But really, I’m just following your father’s steps. He was a great man when he was still alive, Y/N.”

Your smile twitches, though thankfully he doesn’t notice. “Congratulations, Jungkook. I’ll be sure to attend your party when you get elected in.” You clear your throat. “At any rate, I know you’re a busy man so I won’t keep you for long. I came here to ask about my mother.”

Jungkook hums, grazing his chin as he looks away. “Your mother?”

“In the days leaving up to my father’s passing...did she...come up to his office?”

“I can’t say for sure.” He sharply inhales, returning back to his memories. “Maybe. I don’t really remember. I do, however, recall her phoning me and asking me where he was. It was right before his car accident too.” The man regains his focus onto you, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know this might bring back bad times for you. Is there any reason that you’re asking though?”

“No..” You peel your eyes away, regaining a fabricated composure. “It’s just that I’m looking for one of his momentos. It’s an old watch, nothing really important. I can’t seem to find it and my mother doesn’t know if she’s misplaced it. I was just asking, it’s not a big deal.”

“Well it is a big deal if it was an important keepsake.” He puts a reassuring hand on your knee. “I’ll tell my people to keep an eye out for it.” Jungkook withdraws, sinking back to his seat. “Your father was a huge role model for me, Y/N. Even after the whole….” He gestures wildly, not being able to find the right words. “...thing five years ago, I still looked up to him. He was the whole foundation of this political party and made what it is today. A great man.”

“A great man. And an even better father.” You lie straight through your teeth, nodding. “Well, I need to get going. I have a family matter to attend to. Thank you so much for your help, Jungkook. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

The two of you stand out, arms outstretched to shake each other’s hands. “No problem, Y/N. You can call me anytime.”

When you look at the young man, hair slicked back and dressed in a crisped suit, he reminds you of your father. The father who didn’t care for his children, who manipulated people and led them in dishonesties. A father whose eyes shined with countless ambitions. An individual that never paid for his crimes and until the end, bribed his way out.

Your hand grips Jungkook’s tight until he lets go. You give one more smile before parting and this time it’s genuine - full of pity that he’s absolutely unaware. His days of devastation will come much sooner than it did to the man who you call your father.

Right as the elevator doors are about to close, a woman steps in.

She holds a pile of paperwork, sparing you a glance as she turns away and presses the button to the third floor. Suddenly, three seconds later, the elevator shaft rumbles and it goes completely dark. The emergency lights flicker on but the security camera in the corner hasn’t. She twirls around with a smirk.

“Mrs. Y/N.” She gives you a manila file from the bottom of her stack and shifts the sleeve of her blouse. It’s then that a tiny USB falls into her hand and she passes it onto you. “It has everything that you’ve asked and some other things deemed...important that you’ll need.”

You nod, taking both items and stuffing them into your briefcase. “Thank you.”

Jungkook’s secretary turns back around, right as the elevator returns to its normal state. The red light of the surveillance camera flickers back on. It stops at the floor and she exits without looking at you; as if she never spoke to you.

You exit the building at a timed pace, no one noticing how it’s quicker than normal.

“-a little longer…...inheritance….trust me…-”

“What if-...figures it out…...the girl..”

Their whispers from the concealed corner become more audible with each muted step that you take.

“You sly dog.” She giggles underneath her breath, taking a quick sweep around. “What if someone sees?”

“Shh..” He cowers beside her, hand slowly creeping lower and lower on her back.

“Ahem.” You clear your throat loudly, making the younger girl squeal and the two jumping apart immediately like they haven’t been mere millimeters away from each other. You keep your eyes trained forward. “Is there something important you’d like to share? Or shall we move to the dining room. I believe dinner has been prepared.”

Jimin inhales a breath to calm him down. He gives you a tense smile. “Of course. But I’m so glad you made it for tonight, Y/N.”

“Where else would I be?” You crane your neck over, giving the coldest glare that shakes them to the core. “Last I remember, I am still a Min and the head of this household. You’re in my home.”

Suyeon keeps her head down, for once not mumbling back a bitter comment. She smooths out the skirt of her dress and treads ahead to the dining room. You remark casually, following suit, “You better be careful what you do and say, Jimin. There are ears everywhere.”

The round table is filled with expensive dishes, made from the chefs in the kitchen, and Yoongi is already seated. The moment you walk in, his eyes flicker to your form and he wears a deep frown. “You’re joining us?”

You lift an eyebrow as you pull the chair from across him, “I can’t?”

Jimin scratches his chin uncomfortably. “I invited her.” After a minute of full silence and the clatter of utensils being picked up, Yoongi’s half-brother regains his confidence. “For old time’s sake, right? Doesn’t this remind you of six years ago? It does for me.” He leans back with a bright smile. “When you both got married and all the parents were still around. Shame that they can’t make it tonight. We’re down to only us few now. It’s too bad..”

Jimin hums out, “Some things never work out.”

As you expected, your presence is Jimin’s weapon, used to make a travesty out of Yoongi.

The ability to breathe without feeling suffocated returns when Mina enters the room discreetly. She’s in a pretty dress, hair pulled into a high ponytail and she plays with her thumbs nervously.

“You finished getting dressed?” Suyeon speaks in a soft tone that’s all too fake. It seems to surprise Mina too as she looks up with wide eyes. “Come darling, sit down next to Mommy and your uncle Jimin.”

Jimin beams at her as she crawls onto the chair next to Suyeon and him. The luxurious size makes her look like a doll in a playhouse. “Have you been well?” She nods in response. “What a cute little girl. She’ll do great one day as your heir, Yoongi.”

It’s a big pill to swallow and you feel much too out of place. This isn’t your family. This isn’t your home.

There’s a sort of desperation deep within you that you thought had died, that you had long walked away from but it seems to awaken as you break the prolonged pause. “It’s been such a long time since everyone’s been able to sit down and enjoy a meal.”

“Oh really?” Suyeon stops mid-bite, tipping her head to one side. “It hasn’t been that long for me. Right, Yoongi?”

The called upon man spares you once glance before he grumbles to his bowl. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for anyone.”

Mina struggles to reach for the ladle of the soup.

Her mother laughs beneath her hand and lightly smacks your soon-to-be-ex husband on his arm. “Well you always make time for me.” She peeks at you mockingly. “Speaking of which, how much longer will the documents take?”

There’s a loud ‘clank’ that startles everyone, yourself included. Yoongi’s harshly slapped down his utensil against the table, glaring at her in horror as if she dared utter such words at the dinner table. Suyeon quickly retracts her blunders, “b-because….Mina! Mina was asking when I’d get to live here…” She nods to herself. “-and we could be a family again. She misses her mommy so much. Didn’t you say that, darling?”

Suyeon turns to her daughter, gingerly giving her a pinch under the table. The little girl winces and your fist clenches in your lap. “Soon enough.” You declare loudly and the cunning lady settles back down.

No one notices Mina who is struggling. She reaches farther, her other hand that is supporting her weight, accidentally slams down on another plate. The contents fling onto Jimin’s clothing like a catapult. “HEY!” He shouts as she gasps, flinching away. As it occurs to him the sheer volume of his yell, he breaks out into a forced smile. “I mean, it’s alright, sweetheart.”

Yoongi looks over, “Are you okay?”

Jimin gives a tense laugh, wiping himself and the dressing off his clothes with the napkin. “I’m fine. She’s just so...charming, isn’t she?”

You should’ve known this entire dinner would’ve been a gong show. With the exasperated and exhausted expression Yoongi gives, you know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You know, I think Mina must be so lonely.” Jimin comments, getting a scoop of the soup and plopping it down to the child’s bowl haphazardly. “It’s too bad she doesn’t have any siblings...”

You stand from your seat.

“This was great. But I just remembered I have something important to do that I’ve forgotten. I’ll see you some other time, Jimin.” You swallow hard, “Suyeon too. Have a good evening.”

As you make your departure, the two of them exchange a glance before discreetly smirking to themselves. Even Mina seems more relaxed without your presence.

Yoongi, expressionlessly stares at your backside before it disappears.

The only time you have a remote sense of tranquility is when you’re out on the roof terrace, sitting in the patio swing chairs. That’s where it’s quiet and you can listen to the distant rumble of cars passing by, watch the stars in the night sky and let your cheeks be kissed by the cool breeze. It’s where you’re undisturbed and you can recall the memories of playing in a similar place at your parent’s home; when you were younger than Mina’s age, a toddler perhaps and the nannies would laugh at your antics.

It’s freeing and simply another method to keep you from insanity.

Though, you can never stow away your destructive mind. Sometimes you’d like to look off at the skyline and steal a glimpse of the ground three stories away. You always wondered...what it would be like...if you just jumped. Would you be freed from your hell?

“So this is where you run off to.” A low timber shatters your reverie. “A personal sanctuary, hm?”

“What are you doing here?” You swivel your head around, glaring at the way he nonchalantly strides forward with hands buried in his pockets.

“Last I checked-”

“-this is your house. Fine.” You finish off as he scoffs at your interruption and irritated tone. “Where’s Mina?”

“Asleep.” Yoongi replies, “I read her a story and the maids put her to bed.”

“And the others?”

“They went home.”

“I’m surprised.” You sigh out, looking ahead at the darkness like he is. “I thought you’d want your precious mistress to stay.”

“There’s a lot of time for that left.” He says, “This place will eventually become her home after all.”

It’s a delayed response on your behalf, “...Right.”

“So...” He inhales a breath of fresh air, moving to sit down on the farthest seat of the patio swing, leaving a giant space from you. Still, it feels too close for comfort. You don’t remember the last time he’s properly spoken to you, much less, be within an arm’s reach. It hurts.

You pull the shawl closer to your body as if it’s your shield. “What important thing did you have to do?”

“None of your business,” you snap in a mumble.

Yoongi scoffs again, “So it was nothing?” You don’t answer and he doesn’t need you to.

“Yoongi. Why did you agree to marry me?” It’s a question that’s been haunting you day and night. “Why did you force us both into this?”

He chuckles lightly at your sincere questions, prompting rage to boil inside your stomach. “Let me remind you. This marriage was never forced. You’re the one who agreed. I helped your father and your brother. I let you escape from your mother-”

“Then what’s in it for you?” You narrow your pupils towards him. “Why, Min Yoongi?”

“Your parent’s money. Your mother’s status.” He lists before smirking at you, “Fame.”

“Fame for marrying a girl who lost everything and had close to nothing.” He laughs to himself. “I gave out a lending hand to someone who was begging on their knees for my help. Am I not such a compassionate soul?”

“You’re a cold bastard.”

“And you’re the wicked witch.” Yoongi retorts before smirking at you. “We all have our names. But I thought you’d already get used to it by now, Y/N. I thought you weren’t so fragile and weak anymore.”

He reaches out to touch you by your shoulder but you slap his hand away before it can make contact with your skin. “Don’t touch me.” Your jaw clenches and you stand. “I don’t need any of your pity, Yoongi.”

“Don’t worry. I have none for you.”

“Why are you even here?”

“Honestly…” He exhales, moving to his feet and looking at the skyline. “I wanted to remind myself how much of a joke you are. I’m pleasantly surprised though. You’re not as pathetic as in the past.”

You regain your self-control, planting a cool exterior as you stare at him. “You’ll come to regret this day.” He raises his eyebrow at your threat, amused by it all. “Min Yoongi, there is no heaven where you’ll end up.”

“I’m fully aware of that.”

“Not for you. And not for me, either.” You leave in a murmur, something painful lodging in your throat and your chest burning in agony. Yet, you cannot cry.

He lingers back, taking his time. The man even gives a brief look to the dirt ground meters and meters below; thankful that you didn’t jump.

Yoongi is not to be misunderstood. Do not mistake him for a benevolent being who saved your life. There’s not even an ounce of concern within him for you. Simply, for some reason, when he gazed at the distressed expression spewed across your features as you looked down, he feared you would leap forward.

There isn’t much time.

As quickly and calmly as you can possibly manage, you insert the flash drive into the computer. You steal one glance at the closed door, palms sweating as you drag the files off the desktop and into the new folder.

Copying - 7% complete.

Copying - 15% complete.

Copying - 34% complete.

You tap your fingers nervously, gnawing on your bottom lip as your heartbeat drums within your ears. It’s then that you catch the sound of muffled voices, faint laughter and footsteps reaching closer and closer. You’re eyeing the monitor, mumbling a prayer to any deity that will listen.

Copying - 59% complete.

Copying - 64% complete.

This is the only way you can succeed. This is the only method in which justice will be served. No one will be able to escape through wealth, power or status.

Copying - 82% complete.

“Isn’t there….-well….call them…..-no.” His voice becomes louder and you bolt your head to the screen, reaching for the USB. The doorknob turns.

Copying - 90% complete.

“Y/N?”

Your brother is completely startled. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“I did.” You grin, eyes indifferent at him. Your arms are crossed and you’re leaning against his desk. “I’m a part of the company too. We’re co-owners, remember?”

You hoist yourself back up, strutting around his office. “And I just can’t recall the last time I spoke to my older brother. So, I decided to stop by. Funny how we never run into each other. It’s almost as if one of us is going off secretly and doing their own work.” You give a tense smile as his frown deepens. “Why? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” Taehyung moves to sit behind his desk, plopping down on his swivel chair. He wiggles his mouse, turning the computer back on. He fails to notice anything amiss and he visibly relaxes. “We’re co-owners, correct. But isn’t there an unspoken law to respect each other’s private spaces? Or should I visit you unexpectedly too?”

He continues, “And if you’re wondering where I’ve been then why don’t you ask our mother? Oh wait.” Taehyung leans forward, clasping his hands together and scrutinizing you. “When was the last time you’ve been home?”

“That place isn’t my home.”

“Then is Yoongi’s house your home?” Your older brother smirks at you. “Since we’re on the topic, how’s your divorce moving along? Do you need a divorce lawyer? I might know a few good people. It’s too bad you never got that prenup done. I remember our mother was absolutely distressed when you brought the topic up before your marriage. You probably had to convince Yoongi otherwise, right?”

“Is this how we’re really going to be?” You ask in a scoff.

Seven years ago before your brother was taken away, if he had been this cruel to you, you surely would’ve broken down in sobs. It wasn’t that something had changed within Taehyung but rather, he began to show his true nature and the skin of a caring sibling shed. Now, your severed bond and the distance between the both of you doesn’t even begin to faze you.

You’ve been apathetic ever since. From seven years ago when the curtains of your family’s stage fell and was revealed to the world, from six years ago when you were joined in sinful matrimony and from five years ago when you vowed to gain your revenge. You’ve lost a part of yourself; a part that was warm and tender, that could empathize with others.

The arrogant man in front of you is not Taehyung, your older brother. You have no such family.

“How what’s going to be?” He mimics in an acidulous tone.

“Shouldn’t you thank me?” You exude your confidence in a snicker. “The only reason you’re not rotting in prison is because of me. The only reason the shareholders have any remote connection to you is because of me. You really think they would want anything to do with you after the stunt you pulled?”

“Taehyung, the only reason you’re standing in the position you’re in is all thanks to me. You’re not in a place where you can mock me or try to bring me down. I am your life jacket, your oxygen tank. You - will - die - without - me.”

His mouth is left agape and his brows furrow deeper. Taehyung is silent since he knows your words are all too true. You feign a helpless sigh, “Well. I don’t expect you to understand. You don’t know what you have until you’ve lost it all, right? Who knew...the sister that you sold off would become the ruler one day.”

When you leave his office, you’re sure that it’s one more small battle that you’ve won.

It’s a little difficult to not get ahead of yourself. After all, the war hasn’t even started.

The maid returns shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve repeated myself a few times but I don’t know if she heard me-”

“It’s fine.” You smile and she nods with a sigh of relief. The workers at your parents’ house have always been very sweet people. You can’t help but pity them, wondering how many times they’ve had to endure through your mother’s rage. “Thank you. If there’s anything I need help with, I’ll make sure to call you.”

When you were a child, the garden was always prim and proper. The grass was never overgrown, bushes trimmed into fancy shapes and the flowers flourished in rows. Presently, it’s unkempt and disorderly, still it has its own charm - reminding you of an untamed meadow. You’re sure it’s not because the gardeners have been slacking but because your mother’s shrieks to keep it the way it is. Perhaps the garden, once precise and now chaotic, portrays how your mother’s losing her mind.

“Mom.” You kneel down in front of her. She’s sitting out in the sun, in a chair, orbs glossed over. When you call out to her, she looks at you and her impassive expression is marred with scorn.

“What are you doing here?!” She spits at you. “I thought I said I never wanted to see your face again!”

“Yeah...well…” You take a deep breath. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“I have no answers then.” Your mother turns the other way. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a useless daughter, especially not one that can’t keep her marriage. You’re no less of a stranger to me.”

“Mother-”

“Don’t call me by that name!”

“What did you want from me then?!” You shout and she instantly winces, taken back at your audacity. “You knew that when I married him, I didn’t love him. He doesn’t love me. You...You made me give up on everything I was working towards. I was happy….Mom, I was happy. And I had never felt that way and from now on, I won’t.” You choke back the agony in your chest. “For once I was happy and I thought-...I thought that I could escape this life. Did you think this is what I wanted for myself?”

“Oh boo hoo.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone has their sob story and their struggles. Stop thinking you’re something special, Y/N, and throwing those pity parties for yourself. It’s pathetic.”

“I loved him.”

She raises her eyebrow. “And you’re still hung up on that?” Your mother laughs. “He sold you at a price, as ransom. He obviously didn’t love you. Why are you making a fool out of yourself, Y/N?”

You should’ve known that speaking to your mother would be torturous. She is a merciless woman with a sharp tongue. And before you can stop it, the flood of memories are recalled back into your mind.

Jung Hoseok. Your first love. The one who sold you off to your mother.

‘Y/N. There’s no one in the world I would want to spend the rest of my life with. Trust me, okay?’

Six years ago, he held your hands and promised that you would spend forever with each other. He promised that you would go somewhere far away without anyone knowing your names. The two of you would begin on a fresh canvas, a blank slate, a new start.

Foolishly, you believed him.

The two of you made plans to run away together on the night before your first meeting to arrange the marriage. Previously, you had been hiding at a friend’s apartment but with a packed suitcase and intertwined hands, you followed him blindly. Except, instead of driving you both to the airport, Hoseok made his way back to your house. The men had seized you at once and you thrashed and screamed, tears flooding down your face for him. He, on the other hand, received an envelope and gave you one last look before driving away.

Hoseok boarded a plane - a plane that he had only one ticket for.

It was only later that you would learn, he struck a deal with your mother. Your life for a lump of green bills. That was the price of your soul.

“You’re right.” You smile to yourself. “You did one good thing for me. You made me realize that he didn’t love me as I thought he did.” The taste of your mouth suddenly becomes bitter, “No one has ever loved me as much as I loved them.”

You had given up that night. There wasn’t any will inside you that could be manifested. After all, you had been betrayed by the one you loved most. Your hope as well as your love shriveled up.

“That’s life, sweetie. No one will care for you as much as you care for yourself.” She sings, mostly to herself. “It’s time to wake up to reality.”

“Did you kill my father?”

Your mother is appalled at the sudden question. She inhales a breath and lifts her arm, swinging it forward to strike your cheek. But before she can make contact with your skin, you catch her wrist and hold her back. “Did you kill him?”

She struggles but to no avail. It’s not that you’ve grown stronger. No. Your mother has merely become weaker.

You repeat again, “Did you kill him?”

“He died in an accident.” She grits her teeth.

“An accident you caused.” You lift an eyebrow, letting go of her and she draws her hand back to her lap. “I know. It took me a while but I figured it out. He wanted to get a divorce. He even signed the paperwork and before his death, you went to get them. You ripped them up, maybe burned them…..”

Your mother scoffs, “I just did what I had to do to keep my marriage.”

“So you killed my father?” You laugh breathlessly, falling back into the dirt as you stare up at the sky. It’s all so absurd; your life, your mother, the entire situation. You wonder if your life is a huge comedy. “Rather he die and your name be saved then for you to be a divorcee, huh?”

“I should’ve never given birth to you.”

“Hmm.” You hum in acknowledgement. “I wish I was never born as your daughter either.”

For the first time in a while, you and your mother are able to sit in quiet without the sound of screams.

It comes as no surprise.

Not when the phone call came, not during the drive, not when you’re walking down the white hallways. It’s as if you’re submerged in a dream, though it’s neither pleasant nor a nightmare. Rather, it’s a bittersweet flavour that’s left on your lips.

“Your mother-...” The maid stumbles in front of you, stopping you mid-step. She is sobbing within her hand and then she dives to her knees. You ponder why she’s being so emotional about it. “-she’s pronounced dead.”

Yoongi watches you with calculated eyes and placid features. He’s leaning against the wall outside the room, hands buried within his pockets.

You ignore his presence, dragging your feet into the room.

The numerous doctors and nurses are surrounding the bed, at a complete loss of what to do. The monitor runs a straight line through the screen, a noise that carries one tone rings in your ears. As you trek forward, you find her eyes closed. Her face is tainted with bruises and cuts, arms broken at her side. Surely, if she could see herself now, she would shout profanities and sobs. But instead of the usual frown you remember her by, she is calm and empty from rage.

“I’m sorry, we tried our best-” The chief of the hospital speaks hesitantly, afraid for his career and your animosity. You motion him to continue and he stutters, “It was a car accident. Paramedics arrived immediately and our whole staff came running to save her. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Min.”

In a delayed response, you manage a murmur while still keeping your eyes trained onto her dead body. “It’s-.....fine.”

Padded footsteps increase in sound, panting breaths and someone staggers into the room. “Mom?!” Taehyung howls, running past you and falling next to the bed. On his knees, his hands cup her hollow cheeks and he shakes her again. “Mom?”

“What’s going on?!” A dam of tears trickle down his face and he looks around frantically in desperation. All the people look away crestfallen and in cowardness, no one is willing to explain. Taehyung stands up, fists balling in anger. “Is no one going to say anything to me?! Do you know who I am? I could get you all fired! I could buy this hospital!”

He chokes, inhaling sharp breaths as he hyperventilates, “What happened here? Why isn’t my mother responding?”

“She’s dead.”

He cranes his neck to you, “What?”

“She’s dead.” It’s a fact. There’s no point in sugar coating it. “Car accident. And now she’s dead, Taehyung. She’s gone.”

Taehyung laughs.

He laughs out of disbelief, to the ceiling as he tips his head back and to the four walls when reality slaps him across the cheek. “You’re a liar.” He mutters underneath his breath, grief tearing him apart limb by limb. It aches and his screams, the comforts of the nurses is not enough. No. It’s when he sees you, completely unfazed and not broken as he is, does he decide to turn his lament into wrath.

And you know it best - what it’s like to turn sadness into anger.

“You did this, didn’t you?!” He shouts in front of your face, shoving you against the wall. You wince and a few people gasp, trying to restrain him but he throws them off. He grabs fistfuls of your blouse, holding you up. Taehyung shakes the living daylights out of you, as if you were a doll. “You fucking killed her! You heartless bitch, you killed our mother!”

“I didn’t.” You put your hands over his fists, challenging him. “It was a car accident.”

“You liar!” He drops you, making you plunge to the ground. Taehyung’s back slides against the door frame and his hands cover his face as he sobs. “You killed her. You killed her. You killed her.”

You’re not exactly sure how long you stay on the ground, breathless and overwhelmed. You wave away anyone who tries to ease you or provide more explanation and sooner or later, the majority of the doctors and nurses are gone. You do hear some voices outside, perhaps one of them explaining to Yoongi the causes of her death. Taehyung remains on the ground in hysterics. That is until-

“Sir. Are you Kim Taehyung?”

He lifts his head, met with two police officers. He answers weakly, “Yes?”

“Can you please come with us down to the station?” One of them coughs. “We just want to ask you a few questions on what you’ve been doing today.”

“What?” Your older brother’s eyes grow wide, wholly shocked. “You….you think….I killed her?”

“Well….” The other one speaks up. “We’re not sure of anything yet but we believe you may have something to do with your mother’s hit and run. All we ask of you is to come with us and answer a few of our-”

“She killed her.” Taehyung points to you. “She killed my mother. I have nothing to do with this! You have the wrong person! She’s the murderer!”

“Sir-”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” He stands up, backing away before knocking a metal cart down. He’s sobbing, looking directly at you as he shakes his head. “I didn’t do this.”

“Sir-”

“NO!” He resists and the policemen take him, reading his rights out loud, binding his wrists in handcuffs. Taehyung thrashes with all his might, never once looking away from you. “She’s framing me! She’s framing me! Y/N! Y/N!”

It becomes too much. His shrieks, roars and curses that condemn you to hell is too much. It’s the second time that he’s being taken away in front of your own eyes but it’s different this time. You don’t reach your hand out for him, bawl your eyes out and demand for answers. You don’t make any promises to help him. Instead, you curl your legs together. You close your eyes.

“You’re a monster!”

You put your hands over your ears.

It’s only quiet again when Taehyung is dragged away.

“Are you going to ask me if I did this?”

“Did you?”

“If I said no, would you believe me?”

Yoongi chuckles, choosing to not respond to your question. “Don’t you feel anything?” He looks at your serene profile. “Your mother just died.”

“I’m not sure what I feel.” You admit in honesty. “My mother…..she was a very bad person who harmed a lot of people. She caused a lot of pain while she lived. I don’t expect you to know.”

It’s a secret that you’ll keep buried forever. There’s no need to re-open wounds that have been closed. Your mother wasn’t only responsible for the death of your father.

She’s responsible for Yoongi’s mother too.

Min Yoongi’s biological mother; a woman of grace and beauty, someone kindhearted who you had encountered a few times in your childhood. You remember her vividly as she was a stark difference from your own parent. The memory you most recall, however, is the news of her suicide. It was abrupt, all over news and front headlines, people unable to believe that such a thing had occurred in a family that was famous. Like the rest of the world, you couldn’t believe it either.

Until you overheard a conversation, one silent night, decades ago. You had climbed out of your bed, wandering aimlessly until you stopped and peeked your eyes through the crack of the door. Your mother was speaking to the mirror, her own reflection, babbling off and laughing to herself. For not only had Yoongi’s mother died but your mother’s sanity began to unravel.

“She’s gone. She’s gone.” Your mother giggles to herself. “It’s so easy. Just pay a little money and your problems are all gone! Money. Money!”

You push the door open, scared at the person who’s in front of you. “Mommy?”

She bolts her head back with a menacing look. “Go back to bed!”

Back then, you were unable to comprehend the meaning of her words. It wasn’t until you were much older and able to fit the pieces together yourself. Yoongi’s mother and your own were founders of an organization, the two leaders of a non-profit institution. And to gain full control of it, your mother killed her.

The funds of the institution then went straight into her pocket. It’s the same establishment that would be the root of your father’s corruption. The same organization that bases your brother’s embezzlement years later. It’s ironic and well-deserved.

“What? You think I would kill her as revenge for the way she’s treated me all these years?” You laugh and he doesn't, boring his eyes into your skin until you sigh. “That’s petty, Yoongi. You should know me better than that.”

“I’m not sure I know you at all.”

“Hm..you’re right. You don’t know me.” You smile at him. “It’s a shame too, considering we’ve been married for so long...over half a decade now?”

If only Yoongi knew what your mother had done - if only he knew her as much as you did - this day would be a joyous celebration for him. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that she was the woman who brought you into this world. Of course, she never wanted you and she never held back on expressing that disappointment but still.

Your mother didn’t kill you. She wasn’t the one.

The funeral is like other funerals you’ve been to; crying, lots and lots of crying that is unfortunately disingenuous and all for show. An innumerable amount of people shuffle towards you, holding their hands and sharing their griefs. They sob in your arms, asking how you’re doing and talk about what a wonderful woman your mother was.

It makes you want to laugh.

Yoongi out of respect and since he still is your husband in name, attends the burial. He stands next to you and despite not speaking to you, comforting you or laying a strong hand on your shoulder - it’s enough. You don’t need those things. You don’t need his sympathy and compassion. But as you’re the only member left of your family at your mother’s funeral, his presence somehow makes up for the emptiness you feel.

“Why don’t you cry?” Mina nervously murmurs, curious as she looks up into your eyes. The two of you are sitting outside the service hall on a bench, waiting for time to pass. “Isn’t she your mom?”

“I can’t.” You sigh, “I haven’t been able to for a long time.”

“You…” She tips her head to the side. “...can’t cry?”

The sides of your lips tug up sheepishly as you gaze at the little girl whose feet can’t even reach the floor yet. “One day, you won’t be able to either. You’ll be like me.”

Mina looks at you in horror. She shakes and tears mark her pink cheeks. “I will never be like you.” It’s then that she vows to the heavens and to hell, any spirit that may be listening. “You’re evil and cruel. I would rather die.”

You chuckle to yourself, looking away from the child. “You know….I once said the exact same thing.”

Days bleed into weeks. The divorce is moving along quickly. They’ll be only so much more until the settlement will be reached and all the documents will be finalized. You’re running out of time.

“Y/N.” You continue ahead, ignoring the desperate man who struggles to keep up with your pace. “Y/N wait.”

“Is this man bothering you?” The security guard blocks his way and you turn around. For a long moment, you contemplate saying ‘yes’ but with his pathetic eyes, you only exhale in exasperation.

“It’s fine.” The man nods, walking back to the entrance. You give the other man a cold glare. “What do you want?”

“I-I heard about your mother’s passing…” Hoseok hesitates, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for your condolences.” You huff out, looking around the main lobby of your workplace. No one seems to notice that you're speaking to an unfamiliar man and you're not waiting for someone to. Nothing good will come out if you're seen with him. “Is that all?”

“Y/N-”

“What did I say about not wanting to see your face anymore?” You narrow your eyes, trying to get rid of the pest in front of you. “Do us both a favour, Hoseok, and never speak to me again.”

“I want to avenge everyone who’s ever hurt you….us….” You ignore his shouts, walking away. “Please Y/N. I’m still in love with you!”

He fades into the background. You don’t look back even once.

Yoongi’s stepmother holds a glass of wine in between her fingertips. With a large sigh, she moves up the stepstool and slides the cabinet door open. A cloud of dust appears from the rough movement and she coughs before grabbing the photo album roughly. She steps down and plops to the floor, putting her glass by her ankles.

The tired woman proceeds to flip open the worn scrapbook, met with photographs of her son, Jimin. He was always a cute baby, winning over the hearts of others and he grew up to be a fine young man. However, despite loving her child, she isn’t here to dwell on him.

She continues to turn the pages, in dismay of how there are so few photos of the boy she’s looking for. Perhaps, it demonstrates how much he was neglected in his childhood and one of the many reasons he’s the way he is today. But finally she finds what she is looking for, a picture of Yoongi who is wearing a solemn expression; unlike the bright smile an individual his age should have.

Min Yoongi. At the thought of him, his stepmother smiles to the walls surrounding her. For his entire life, he had always resented her, believing that she was the cause of his biological mother’s death - whether it was forcing her to commit suicide or murdering her in cold blood. And no matter how many times his stepmother had denied any involvement, Yoongi only scorned her more.

She couldn’t blame him. Their relationship was never great to start with and with her selfishness, she never put in any effort to improve it. Her naive young self loved her own son more and doted on him, ignoring the step-son that she never bore. Yet, even with Yoongi’s hostility throughout the decades, she only felt pity for him.

For no one but two people, his father and his stepmother, in the whole world knew a deadly secret - that Yoongi was never a Min to begin with. He isn’t his father’s child.

Yoongi is the black sheep of the family.

“Kyungwon….” She murmurs underneath her breath as if the ghost of her friend can hear. “If you were going to have a child….it should’ve been with him...and not from your affair.”

Yoongi’s mother, Kyungwon, had committed adultery for years. And Yoongi was the product of that infidelity.

She had kept it a secret and couldn’t bear to rid of the baby within her womb so she lied. Her husband at the time eventually found her secret but openly chose to ignore it, for he loved her too great to leave her behind and ruin their marriage, even if it was all a sham.

He raised Yoongi and forgave his wife; that is until she passed away and he remarried. But his soul would never be the same again. Despite Jimin being his only son that was blood related, he still chose Yoongi to lead the company and take over his inheritance. Maybe it was because of the same pity that Yoongi’s stepmother felt for him, perhaps it was because his heart still belonged to the woman who betrayed him.

The man that raised Yoongi, although not being his father in blood and only in name, he still loved Yoongi like a son.

“Jimin.” His mother is leaning against the wall, nursing yet another glass as she watches his son. “I want you to stop this immediately.”

The young man frowns and his hands shuffling the piles of paper halt. He looks up at his mother, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t think you can bypass me, boy.” She struts to him. “I gave birth to you. I know what you’re up to and what you’re thinking...”

Jimin shakes his head with a laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you okay? Have you been drinking too much?”

“You will leave Yoongi and the company alone.” She commands in an authoritative and firm voice. The timber startles her son and the floor shakes. “Your father has already decided. You will not go against his word.”

He looks away, “I’m just going to take back what’s rightfully mine.”

“It’s not rightfully yours.”

“Then what should be mine.” Jimin continues to organize the papers. He continues calmly, “Mom, don’t you want me to become successful? Why are you letting Yoongi, someone who’s your stepson, take everything away? Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“I’m tired, son.” She falls into the armchair, rotating the red liquid in her glass. “If only you would understand that. I’m exhausted from fighting.”

“Why can’t you learn to be happy with what you have? You have a lot. I gave you a lot. You have a house, cars, money. You have enough to live happily and comfortably for the rest of your life. Why do you want more?”

Jimin grits his teeth. “Because I can’t sleep peacefully knowing what should be mine is in the hands of another.”

“He’s your half-brother.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Fine.” She huffs, drained of arguing with her stubborn son. “Suit yourself but one day you’ll see. You’ll realize and come to regret the decisions you’ve made but by then...it’ll be too late. I’ve been down this path countless times before. I don’t want to be involved in it again.”

“I never asked you to.” His voice softens and he gazes at her slumped form, the redness of her eyes and the bags underneath them. “And one day...when I’m successful, I’ll make sure you live a better life than this. You won’t need him anymore.”

“He’s your father, you know. You should address him as such.”

“I don’t have a father.” He says as he leaves the room, a whisper that haunts his mother’s ears. “Not one that loves his other son more.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl together until his fist is clenched so tight that his knuckles crack.

He is driven mad, a desire of vengeance that has swallowed his sanity.

When he closes his eyes, he can see your crinkled eyes, upturned lips, swelled cheeks. He can hear your laughter. He can feel your light touch against his skin, reaching out to twine his fingers between yours. But when he peels back his lids, he finds your cold backside that has left him in the dust. Your sharp tongue and merciless glare that holds no fondness reverberates inside his head and stings his chest. It’s like you’ve become an entirely different person.

Hoseok can only wonder who’s hurt you. Who has turned you into the villain.

The Y/N that he loved - where had she gone?

“Who are you?” Mina looks up from the hopscotch chalked gravel, blinking past her eyelashes.

He swoops down, matching her height and he smiles. “I’m your dad’s friend. He told me to pick you up. Don’t you want to go home?”

She shakes her head, slowly backing away. She is smart enough to know that the stranger is dangerous, his dark aura makes his grin sinister. “I...I don’t know you.”

“Come with me, Mina. I’ll treat you to food too.”

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Because...I’m your dad’s friend.” Hoseok looms over her, a shadow that consumes her tiny figure. She turns around, ready to run off and a scream begins to rip through her throat. But the man’s hand covers her mouth. Her limbs thrash, though she is no match against his strength.

And just like that, the child is taken.

“Y/N?” Yoongi rushes to you as soon as you enter the door. He puts his hands on your shoulder and your eyes grow in alarm at the touch. “Have you seen Mina?”

“W-what?” You try to comprehend what he’s saying. “Mina….I-I haven’t seen her.”

It was nine o’clock at night, already dark out. By the frantic pacing of the workers and Yoongi’s chaotic hair, telling you he’s been running his fingers through it, there was something wrong. He lets you go, biting his lower lip as his breath staggers.

“She’s gone.”

“What?” You shake your head. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She didn’t arrive home. I’ve called her mother, I’ve called the kindergarten, the surrounding schools. She didn’t go meet the chauffeur like usual. No one’s seen her, Y/N. We’ve contacted the police and now they’re looking.”

The calm demeanor that Yoongi often wears is nowhere to be found. He is in distress, distraught, at wits’ end.

Without thinking or considering your place, you grab onto him. You force him to stand still and you lean your head on his shoulder, not realizing how intimate the action is or how his breathing evens. “It’s going to be okay, Yoongi. We’ll find her.”

The long moment ends when the phone rings, abruptly cutting the silence.

Yoongi pulls away from you, motioning to the maid not to pick up. It continues to ring and after the third one, he picks up the handle. There’s merely static on the other line.

“Who is this?”

“I have your daughter.”

You take a step forward as Yoongi’s brow creases deeper. “What do you want from me? Do you want money? How much?”

“No. I don’t want money. I want you.” He asserts, “If you care about your daughter then come trade in your life for hers. And don’t think about contacting the police or you won’t find her alive.”

“Where are you?”

“At an abandoned warehouse at the outskirts of the city. It’s the same one your company used four years ago.” He laughs without mirth. “You have twenty minutes, Min Yoongi. If by then, someone comes in place of you or you do not make it, your daughter will be dead and so will I. I’m not afraid of anyone or anything.”

“Fine.” Yoongi crumbles in front of your eyes. “But who are you?”

The man on the other side contemplates telling and after a second, he smirks. There’s nothing more that he wants than for Yoongi to remember his name and burn it to the back of his head in the seconds before his death.

“I am Jung Hoseok.”

He repeats it in a whisper, a questioning tone as he scours his brain. Is this an enemy of his? A business competitor or someone from long ago? Why does it ring a bell?

“Jung..Hoseok?”

You rip the phone away from his grasp, pushing it against your ear as you scream. “Hoseok?!”

He softly gasps on the other side. “Y/N?”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” You shout angrily, teeth grinding against each other and your jaw clenched. “Are you insane? Where are you?! Why did you take her? What are you doing, Hoseok?!”

He chuckles slowly, answering at such a passive state that it enrages you even more. “I’m getting revenge for us...for you. Everyone that’s ever harmed you…..”

“I never asked for this.” You choke out. “You’re not doing anything to help. You’re the one causing me harm.” You take a deep breath before speaking calmly, “Hoseok...bring her back.”

Hoseok sighs. “I can’t. It’s too late. There’s no going back from here.” And before you can retort, he’s hung up.

The phone handle falls from your hand and the maid rushes to catch it, putting it back in its place. It’s deathly quiet, breaths held and looks exchanged. The bodyguards are standing meters away, awaiting for their commands. But you keep your eyes onto him, your husband in name.

From his detached expression, you already know he’s aware of who this is. You hadn’t ever spoken about Hoseok but Yoongi had done his research before commencing his marriage with you. He gives you one lingering gaze before turning on his heel. “I have to go.”

“Sir!” A black suited man steps up.

He looks at them. “And you will follow me but at a large distance. Keep half a kilometer away and contact the police to do the same. When I emerge and signal you, you’re allowed to come forward. Keep an eye out.”

They nod, immediately leaving in groups to the cars and turning on their ear pieces.

“Let me come with you.”

“No.” Yoongi grabs his car keys, throwing on his dark coat. “You will stay here where it’s safe.”

“Yoongi...I-I know him, okay? I can deal with him and we can figure something out...together.”

“No.” He shakes his head, turning around. “I don’t need potentially another person in my life dying, okay? Just….stay here. Please.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard his plea. “Then…” don’t go. Stay here with me too. You obliterate the emotion before you can even identify what it is. “...stay safe.”

Yoongi nods in response and he walks out the door.

Five minutes pass as you chew on your nails and pace around the floor. The servants try coaxing you to sit down, to have a seat and drink some water, that ‘everything will end up fine’.

But you can’t calm down. Not when Yoongi is out there, Mina is being held and the root of all these problems is your fault. “I’m going.” You grab the other set of keys, taking the coat off the hook.

“No wait! Madam! Just stay inside! We’ll be informed of any news!” A maid tries to stop you but you leave anyhow, opening the car door and turning on the engine. You shift gears and drive off with the wheels screeching against the pavement.

The dial of the phone rebounds off the small interior of your car and as you swerve onto another lane, it finally picks up. “Hoseok?”

He pauses, “Y/N?”

“Don’t hang up!” You shout frantically, flooring the gas pedal and going dangerously well beyond the speed limit. “Hoseok, it’s me. Don’t hang up.”

He laughs lifelessly on the other line. “Y/N. I...I miss you.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You try your best to remain calm, persuading him to do good. “Listen, I can help you. If you just let her go and don’t harm anyone...you won’t get into trouble.”

There’s an extended pause and you hear the sound of him choking, a silent sob that he tries to swallow back. “....do you remember when I asked you to marry me, Y/N? Do you remember?”

Your eyes burn but you continue with both hands on the wheel. “I remember.”

“I got down on one knee...and before I could even say the words, you were already saying ‘yes’. We were so happy. We were so so happy. You might’ve not known but when I asked you, I was being genuine. I wasn’t planning to...betray you back then….It was only later when I-I...went to your mother and I...”

“It’s okay. It’s in the past, Hoseok. What matters is the now.”

He sighs, “I was an idiot. I still am. And I regret so many things. We could’ve been happy together. We….we could have had a family by now...lived somewhere far away….” Hoseok weeps, his voice becoming muffled. “D-do you remember, Y/N? I can still remember...the first time I met you. The first date we ever had. The first time I told you I loved you. And..and...I made myself vow….that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I broke that vow, Y/N. I-I broke it.”

“Hoseok...maybe once I did...but now all of those memories are so far away. It’s true that you hurt me but…” For once in your life, you speak the honest truth. “I don’t love you anymore.”

He doesn’t respond but the static doesn’t die. It’s as if he’s dropped the phone. All you can hear is faint conversation….Yoongi’s voice. You drive faster. They’re talking….shouting...screaming.

“Hoseok? Yoongi!” No one hears you and you whiz past several police cars. They try to block your way but the men from your house has already identified your license plate number, moving the others away from your path. Several seconds later, the warehouse comes into view.

There’s a distinct roar, “MINA!”

The line goes dead.

Your wheel hits a pothole and with the sheer speed you’re going at, the vehicle goes out of control. It begins to go into circles, the dirt flying into the air as you floor the brake and skid. You twist and turn and it only begins to slow down, not before crashing into the side of the concrete wall. The airbags deploy and the debris causes you to sputter and cough. With what’s left of your energy, you rip off your seatbelt and open the door.

“Dad!” Your feet stumble, vision blurry and the universe spins around you. Your ears pick up the sound of a child crying in the distance. “Dad? Wake up! Please.”

No. He mustn't die. Yoongi, you can’t die. It’s sheer will that keeps your knees from buckling and making your numb legs step forward. No. You can’t die. Yoongi. You can’t. I won’t allow you to.

Hoseok is nowhere to be seen. You find Yoongi laying on the ground. Mina is weeping by his side, shaking him. You fall beside him. He isn’t the man that you’ve been competing against. Where did his strength go?

“M-Mina…” You call the child underneath your breath and she looks up at you past her soaked eyelashes. “They’re...there are people half a block away that can help your father. Go...and hurry.” She nods, staggering as she begins to run.

“N-no….No….NO!” You press your hand against Yoongi’s head; skin soaked in crimson. In desperation, you put his head into your lap, pressing against his wound with your clothing to stop the bleeding. Your clothes soak red. “No. You can’t do this to me…...Yoongi…”

The ambulance sirens blare, the bodyguards running to do a sweep of the premise, the policemen blocking off the area with their yellow tape. The chaos around you does not make you flinch a single inch, stuck in a bubble where it’s just you and him. Yoongi looks at peace when he’s in your arms, the frown between his brows dissipating, his breathing swallowing.

“Put him on the stretcher!” Someone shouts and he’s ripped away from you. The man is strapped in, loaded into the back of the ambulance. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding!” Someone says in alarm, pointing towards the trickle of your forehead but you push past them.

“Excuse me.” You move forward, ignoring Mina who’s sobbing at her father. The paramedics and policemen block your way. “Move. I’m his wife. He’s my husband. He’s my husband!”

They exchange looks before allowing you to the back, next to him. “We have a thirty-two year old male, by the name of Min Yoongi. He’s had a head injury.” Someone reads into their transmitter. The other woman grabs a breathing mask and hooks him up to the machinery. “He was hit with a cinderblock. We suspect he’s bleeding from a hemorrhage. We’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

“Drive faster.” You calmly command to the front, your body jostling around as the ambulance barrels down the road. The constant beeping of his heart rate is a comfort, yet a curse. It mocks you, whispering that he’s on the brink of death and at any second, if it goes dead, he’ll be gone.

The two are hard at work, stopping the bleeding to the best of their abilities before arriving at the hospital. You’re clutching his cold hand within yours, muttering to him despite the lump in your throat. “Min Yoongi. You cannot die. I won’t allow it. I still have to make you suffer. You have debts to be paid. You have to suffer with me.”

“Yoongi….don’t die...I’m begging you.”

It doesn’t feel like you’re alive. You don’t feel dead either. It’s like your mind is hollow and your body is forcing itself to keep walking - maybe it’s out of habit - maybe you’re going to keep going until your feet bleed and you die of exhaustion.

“Their marriage is already over...now we just need to take the inheritance and we’ll have it all.”

“It’ll be even better if he just dies.” She giggles. “Then we don’t have to wait anymore.”

There’s a sound of lips smacking against each other, another snickering laugh and some more giggles. “Oh stop it. What if someone sees? Later. We’ll do it later.”

You turn the corner, straightening your back and darting eyes straight ahead. In a moment that you feel absolute exhaustion inside, you look strong and resolute. Your mother would be so proud.

You ignore Jimin and Suyeon, briskly walking past them.

Their eyes widen to the point where it almost falls from their sockets. They freeze in sheer terror, the daylights scared out of them and petrified at your abrupt presence. “Y/N-.....”

“Where were you when your daughter needed you most?” You pin your eyes onto Suyeon for a mere heartbeat and she withers downwards. Even Jimin retracts his outstretched hands to you, shaken raw.

You walk away, down the hallway and away from their sights. Your hands press against the glass as you watch your husband’s body on the table, a swarm of doctors around him in the midst of his surgery. His heart rate monitor is beside him, dropping lower and lower.

“Fine…” You’ve already decided as your head was being bandaged and the Grim Reaper was taunting you with his scythe. “Die. Die, Min Yoongi. For all the pain you’ve caused me.”

You’re whispering past the glass, to the Heavens and the hell you’ll be going to. “If you die then we don’t have to do this...I won’t have to hurt you. The plans I’ve made...I don’t have to go through with them. For my sake and yours...just go peacefully.”

The doors open and the chief doctor takes off his gloves, pulling down his mask.

“Are you Mrs. Min?”

“.....Yes.”

“Your husband is going to live.”

You don’t know why you feel so relieved.

The little girl is next to her father, sitting beside him on a stool. Her head bobs up and downwards, lids fluttering with sleepiness. Her eyes are red underneath from excessive crying and rubbing. You wonder if she’s had dinner yet. Her mother is nowhere to be seen.

You take extra care to slide the door closed quietly. And you take one long look at Yoongi.

He hasn’t woken up yet and it might take until tomorrow or the next day. His head is bandaged up, a slight bruise on his cheek but other than that, he is unharmed.

“Hmm?” Mina lifts her head, blinking her eyes and instantly tenses when she notices you’re sitting next to her.

“Have you eaten?”

“No…I’m not hungry.”

“Go sleep on that sofa over there.”

She doesn’t move a centimeter and you sigh, lips turning sheepishly. Though, your irises are still focused on the man asleep in front of you, you catch her staring innocently at you in your peripheral vision. “You know….” You turn to look at her. “...I was suppose to have a daughter like you.”

“You were?”

“Yes.” You feel tears prick at your eyes. You don’t allow them to fall. “A long, long time ago. She would’ve been your age too.”

“What happened to her?”

You inhale a deep breath, orbs doting lovingly on the child. But when you lift your hand to stroke her hair, to provide some sort of comfort...she winces away.

She flinches like you’re about to burn her. The girl who will never be your daughter cowers in fear. She spites you. She will never be yours. She believes that you’re the cause of why her father hasn’t woken up. The child blames you. And she has every right to.

You leave the room, chest heaving in pain. “Take care of her. Make sure she is well fed, that she goes to sleep at appropriate hours. If I hear that anything is amiss, the entire staff will be fired.” You command the maid outside and she nods frantically, entering to obey your words.

When you’re left alone in the stairway, you make a phone call. “Seokjin. It’s me again. I need one last favour.”

The black bag over his head suffocates his breathing. He attempts to struggle but it’s hopeless, not when his hands and ankles have been bound by rope. He doesn’t even know who it is that has caught him like this.

Hoseok didn’t mean to intentionally harm anyone. In spite of his words, he is a coward. He has been and always will be - that’s simply the nature of his life.

All he wanted was to make you happy, bring you back and somewhere, it had all gone wrong. So the moment where there was a crash on the other side of the warehouse and the feeble walls shook, Yoongi was hit and knocked unconscious from a falling cinder block; Hoseok had ran for his life.

It was an accident. He wasn’t a murderer. Yet, his escape was made futile.

“Who are you?” He shouts, sound muffled in the bag.

A gun is cocked nearby and the captured man swallows hard, praying for mercy in his head. When he feels the barrel press against his forehead, he closes his eyes and thinks about your smiling face.

“Hoseok. I’ll always love-”

Bang.

When Yoongi wakes up, the first thing you expect is for him to regard you with complete disdain. He would scoff, rip out the IV’s in his arm and try to remove his bandages, claiming that he didn’t need any of it. What you don’t expect however, is for him to blink at you with big eyes, his face written all over with confusion as he tips his head to one side and asks-

“Do I know you?”

“It seems like your husband is suffering with Retrograde amnesia. He doesn’t remember the events leading up to his head injury. We asked him a few questions to see where he remembers up to and it seems like the condition extends to ten years prior. We’ve ran a few more tests and we believe it may be temporary.”

“Amnesia?” You whisper out in disbelief, “...It’s temporary?”

“Yes. We can’t say for sure. It may in a matter of days or weeks before he’s able to regain all his memories again. It might help to bring in mementos, photos or films to help him but it’s important not to put too much stress on him. He must be feeling very confused at the moment.”

You’re a ghost, this is even worse than hell. You’re not yourself. You can’t be, not when for the first time in your entire existence Min Yoongi is looking at you with such innocence. He is not acting like your enemy, no snide remarks and no glances of contempt. He hasn’t been tarnished and you cannot find it in yourself to be evil.

“You….you don’t remember anything about me?” Mina asks in disappointed, orbs fogging up once more.

He lifts his hand, stroking her hair gently. “I’m sorry…”

You clear your throat, letting your presence be known. “Mina…can I talk to your father? You haven’t had breakfast yet, right? Head down to the cafeteria with Dahee.”

The little girl reluctantly looks to her father who motions for her to listen. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and gets up while wearing a pout. The young maid follows behind her with a nod of acknowledgement towards you and the two of them leave the room. You take the spot next to Yoongi on the chair.

“Good morning.”

He grins at you, “Hey…”

“Did you have a good sleep earlier?”

“I did.” The elated man nods. “I’m sorry about this morning, Y/N. I couldn’t recognize you at first glance…”

“Why?” You let a small smile slip. “Do I look tired? Have I gotten that old?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I was going to say that you looked so beautiful. I was going to say you aged so well and you look wise beyond your years.”

Something stings inside your chest and you force your eyes away from his softened gaze. “This must be...all a very big surprise to you, huh? How much do you remember about me?”

“I remember….” He hums, leaning back onto the reclined bed and closing his eyes. “I remember hearing about you sometimes….in the news or on television. You are from a well-known family after all.” Yoongi teases, “Your dad might win the election….your brother’s doing fairly well in the company and your mother’s attending a lot of ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Have those things changed since?”

“Very much so.” You reply in anguish and from your expression, he knows not to press on. “Anything else?”

“I remember seeing you as a child, though we never got to play or interact much. Oh. And I remember that time you saved me from drowning.” Under his gentle, fixed stare, you begin to feel yourself crumble. “Have I ever thanked you for that?”

“...no.”

“Then...thank you, Y/N. You saved my life.” He smiles again at your surprised form. “This is crazy, isn’t it? It feels as if I’ve gone to bed one day and when I woke up, I’ve aged ten years. I find out that I’m married and I have a family, that I’m happy and that everything is stable. It’s almost like a dream come true...”

“That girl...is she our child?”

Wouldn’t that have been nice? If Mina really was yours and Yoongi’s. To have a little girl to call your own, despite this world being wretched and cruel. To have a place where you could come back to, a place where you could call home; a loving husband who cared unconditionally and a son or daughter that would reach out to be held by you.

You can almost see it if you closed your eyes.

“Mommy? Are you home?” She would run up to you, jump and let you swing her by her arms. She would giggle, laugh and press a kiss against your cheek when you hold her. The fatigue of the day would melt away.

“You’re finally here?” He would try to suppress his smile but to no avail, fail. He would leave a kiss on your lips and embrace you, leaning into your ear to whisper, “I missed you.”

“Welcome back home.”

“No.” You strangle the useless daydream. “She isn’t mine. She’s yours, though.”

“Oh….” He swallows the hard pill, mind wrapping around the idea as his brows furrow. “Is...is it uncomfortable for you?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can do whatever that pleases you. We’re both allowed to do whatever we want.”

“But I care about what you think.” He says with all of his sincerity. “We’re married, aren’t we?”

You don’t know how to answer that question.

In the silence that holds, Yoongi notices the bandage against your forehead. “Did you get that when I got my-” You nod slowly, lifting your hand to peel it. You wince but after a second it’s off. The wound is no longer bleeding, closed up even but now there’s a scar that’s left.

“May I?” He asks and you lean forward in allowance. Yoongi lightly runs his fingertips against the line, an imperfection on your face that your mother would’ve once been horrified by. But as unseemingly and awful it is in your own eyes, Yoongi doesn’t seem to be disgusted. He looks like he’s even...guilty.

His caress is light and placid, irises gentle as he takes time to bore his vision on each of your features. He’s a breath away from you, lips soft as the corners turn upwards. You both speak in whispers and murmurs, as if not to let the intimate moment quiver away. “Do you love me?”

“I did.”

“Did?”

“Yeah.”

You hate him.

For the past years, you’ve lived for nothing more than vengeance. And for all the people who have done you wrong or caused you harm, Yoongi still stood as your first enemy. You hate him.

Even so, somewhere underneath pride and lies, you still love him.

“Don’t you remember me? Sweetie! It’s me.” There’s a loud, distressed voice from the room and you halt before opening the door wider. Through the small crack, you can only see someone’s silhouette frantically making gestures. “We have a child together! You love me. You don’t love her. You were going to divorce that bitch!”

“Well then I’m going to hold off the divorce finalization date and all the paperwork.” He lowers his pitch. “And do not call her what you just did. She is my wife.”

“I can’t believe you! I can’t believe this!” She screams in hysterics. “She’s brainwashed you!”

“If you have nothing else to say...then you should go.”

“Ugh!” Suyeon twists around, stomping childishly as she opens the door. When she sees you, she snarls and shoves past your shoulder with a loud ‘hmph’.

“Why did you do that?” You slide the door shut, moving to put the plastic bag of snacks onto the bedside table. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

“It’s because I married you.” His pupils don’t waver, pinned deep into your skin. There are no smiles or light-heartedness in his tone. He is serious, much like the Yoongi you’re more familiar with. “If I married you, then that means we were really in love.”

You already have an explanation: No. It doesn’t mean that. You were never in love with me. Though you can’t find it in yourself to say it out loud.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere.

There’s something within the way he looks at you, something warm and unfamiliar. When he talks to you, there’s always a smile and for a long time, you thought that that was just the way Yoongi was when he was younger. Except with others, there is not nearly as much joy in his eyes.

He would sometimes grab your hands, ‘just because’ he would always say. He would intertwine your fingers with his and look away. You found out that he often asked doctors or nurses about your whereabouts when you left for extended periods of time. And most of all, when you fell asleep watching him, arms folded on top of the mattress as you rested your head, he would softly run his fingertips through your hair.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, with the way he looks at you and the gentleness of his words.

But it’s too late.

“Where are you going?” He frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m leaving...for a little while…” You try to explain. It’s too difficult. You never thought you would need this conversation. “It’s too dangerous if I stay here.”

He reaches out and takes your hands again, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” You reassure falsely. “There’s just...a few people that have debts to be paid.”

Yoongi nods. “Alright. I can understand that.” His hand tightens on yours, a slight squeeze as if he’s reluctant to let you go. “Make sure you stay safe, Y/N.”

“I-...I love y-”

You put a finger over his mouth to silence him. With a huge lump in your throat, you look up at him past your eyelashes. “Tell me when I get back, okay? What you’re about to say...tell me all about it when I return.”

“Okay.” He nods again and you walk away. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

This isn’t the Yoongi that you know. This isn’t the man who married you.

You remind yourself over and over again, hands curling at the edge of your files inside your bag. It’s too late.

The suitcase is thrown onto the bed, drawers pulled and dumped into it. He scrambles for his life, sweeping the tables and shoving in anything possible.

His mother sighs, downing the rest of her glass. “Let’s just accept fate, son. Let them take us. If we don’t repent for the things we’ve done then we’ll have to do it in the afterlife.”

“Stop it. We don’t have to repent for anything.” He grabs another bag, opening up the zipper. “I’ve already got our passports. Bring what you need. We’re leaving in two minutes.”

Yoongi’s stepmother glances once more at her frantic son before huffing out and turning on her heel, obeying his will.

On the other side of the city, Suyeon screams to the sky and throws her phone onto the ground. “Bastard not picking up my phone calls. Fine! I never needed you anyways.” She mutters to herself, grabbing her suitcase and pouring in her clothing. In the next five minutes, she zips it up and grabs her secret envelope of money, securing it in the inside pocket of her coat.

She prepares to leave...only to be met by her daughter standing by the door.

“Where are you going, mommy?” The child looks at the bags, the passport and how her mother’s well-dressed. “Are you leaving?” She chokes back a sob. “...without me?”

“Ugh.” Suyeon rolls her eyes. “Fine!” She grabs her daughter’s hand roughly, dragging her outside but the girl whines. “Do you want to stay here by yourself, brat?! I’m doing what you asked me to! I’m taking you with me!”

“What about dad?” She cries out, arm pulling out of her socket. “We can’t-”

“Leave him!” Her mother shouts, throwing her daughter into the backseat of the cab. “He doesn’t matter! You’re the only chance I have left. We’ll come back in a few years to take what’s ours!”

The taxi drives off with the two women. The rest of the city is in chaos.

Yoongi pushes the wheels of his wheelchair, exiting his room. He’s wearing a hat that covers the colour of his hair, given by a nurse he doesn’t recognize and hasn’t seen around. She had strongly insisted that he keep it on at all times. He gave in but that wasn’t the only strange event that had taken place.

This morning, Yoongi had moved to a different floor. He was now where all the other patients were, his room shared with others. Furthermore, he’s underneath a completely different name.

“Breaking news.” A man on screen interrupts the program and Yoongi halts to watch the television. “This afternoon, just two hours ago, we have received files from an anonymous source. As of now, we have been informed that four domestic media outlets and two international outlets have been given the same information.”

“Within these files reveals multiple cases of corruption, various incidents of embezzlement, collection of bribery cases and different crimes that were hidden from public eye. There are even occurrences of exploitation, fraud, theft, larceny, defalcation of well known companies, manipulations within the stock market, human trafficking and even hired assassinations.”

“It has been revealed that many businesses and well known, high status members of our society have connections to the Mafia and have been utilizing them for inhumane purposes. Citizens of our city have poured out onto the street and cried out for these injustices. As a result, police are now actively searching for everyone that has any involvement and due to the sheer mass of suspects, multiple police stations across the nation are aiding within this matter.”

There are numerous murmurs within the hospital wing, even doctors who have stopped in their tracks to watch the monitor. Yoongi’s finger twitches.

The reporter listens to his earpiece and continues, “This just in, we have received news that MP Jeon Jungkook has been taken. Min Jimin has been arrested and his father has been seized at the airport when trying to return home. The Min family, Kim family, Lee and many other respectable groups with long standing companies are being wanted for questioning and arrested as we speak. Members of parliament from all parties are being called into question under the suspicion of where exactly taxpayers’ money have been going to.”

“This is a huge conspiracy, ten times larger than the Kim Family’s corruption ten years ago. Police are currently trying to track down this anonymous individual who has leaked all this information but has yet to be successful. We will provide more updates and information as it comes. This just in, reporter Namjoon.”

With all of this, Yoongi can only frantically wonder: Where are you?

The president has been impeached, the stocks have plummeted, the world of façades and personas have crumbled. The flawless masks that each have carved have been ripped off and their monstrosities have been revealed in the light. You have severed your ribbon, the world of alliances and bonds crumbling together. It’s a chain system, a domino effect. If one is taken down, everyone else falls. Now they have all fallen and you will too.

You haven’t turned yourself in but you haven’t tried to run and hide like the rest of them.

The entire building is emptied out and you’re simply sitting inside your office, in your chair while staring out over the skyline. The skyscrapers littering across the landscape looms shadows across the roads and it hides the sun. “This will all one day become yours.” The ghost of your mother twenty years ago whispers to you.

You didn’t understand and you had merely blinked up at her, nodding. But now you reconstruct yourself, no longer a helpless child held down by her grip. “No it won’t. And it won’t be yours either.”

She raises her hand to slap you but the memory dissipates.

Finally. You’ve reached your ultimate dream, everything that you’ve been working towards for the past half a decade. Revenge has been sought and fulfilled, your wrath has been satisfied, everyone has been punished and you too, are waiting to receive punishment from the Heavens. But why do you feel so….empty?

You’ve imagined this day, played it over and over again when you couldn’t sleep and felt too weak to live. You should be joyous and cackling. Should. You’re not. You’re stuck thinking about Yoongi. What he’s doing? How he’ll fare. If he’s been captured. He is your greatest enemy, the one who you were going to bring down ruthlessly and make him suffer as much as you did. Yet, you gave him a chance to live. You let him escape for reasons you’re not sure of yourself. Perhaps it’s your own weaknesses that you allowed fate to take charge.

If fate would really allow it, then he would live. If not, then he would be captured.

Until the very end, you’ve overestimated yourself. You’re still the weak girl who’s heart swelled at a man who didn’t love you.

Boom.

There’s an enormous explosion several floors below you. The floors and walls shake, trembling and there are several screams on the streets and people running. When you look down, you notice smoke rising. Fire.

Someone, probably an individual now being interrogated in a dark room, had probably ordered for your death. You laugh. You laugh because there’s nothing else you can do. Alone in your office with the telephone lines dead and no one else in the building, you laugh in absolute hysterics.

You wonder why they’re so cruel. Why whoever it was couldn’t just stab you in the back or shoot a bullet through your skull. Why did they have to make you wait for death and suffer, wait until your body would be swallowed by flames and your lungs would be full of smoke. Why? Is this the way you’re suppose to repent for your sins?

“I’m so tired, mother. I’m so very tired.” You collapse onto the floor, imagining your mother by your side.

In your daydream, she is sitting with your head in her lap. She is stroking the strands of your hair before patting your stomach gently as if to coax you to sleep. In your daydream, your mother is much more youthful and her eyes are kind. She hasn’t succumbed to the hatred of the world. “Why, darling?”

“For revenge. For my vengeance.” You tell her. “The things that have driven me for the past five years. Now I’m wondering if it was all even worth it.”

“Well...was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then, let’s talk about the happy things. There are always happy things in life.”

“I’m not sure if they are any in mine.”

She laughs happily while shaking her head, “Don’t be silly. Everyone has at least one or two happy moments.”

The flames are traveling faster, now outside your door and knocking. They are blazing in hues of orange and yellow, crackling as the smog seeps past the cracks of the door. You close your eyes, thinking for a long time. “There are a few moments...when I felt like we were a family. We would sit around the table, talk about our day and eat together. It was simple but I felt really happy.”

“Yes.” She agrees as your lids flutter back to stare at her, “I agree. They made me happy too. Can you think of anything else, dear?”

“When I thought….” You swallow hard, “...when I thought that Yoongi loved me. Before I learnt that those feelings were one sided. All those years ago, when for a moment, just a single second...I thought that he felt something for me.”

“I was happy, mom. I was so very happy when I thought someone could love me.”

Your mother vanishes as the flickering flames take her place. You cough from the smoke, body weakened as the black smog begins to envelop you. With the energy that you can muster, you lift your hand to focus your eyes on the wedding ring. It is thankfully without a gaudy diamond that most would use to flaunt. Instead, the golden band is faintly inscribed with a twirling design, simple but enough.

“Why do you want to marry me?” You sit at the registration office, the papers in your hand that haven’t been submitted. “I’ve been thinking and really, I benefit the most from this.”

He looks on at the blank wall with a meek smile. “I’ll tell you someday.”

“Why do you have to be so vague?”

“Because I want you to live on.” He tells you, “Find out the answer.”

“But for now, take this.” He takes your hand and opens it up, shuffling for the small object inside his pocket. He places the box in the middle of your palm. You open it up hesitantly, eyes fogging up as you feel a shift inside your chest. “It’s not much, certainly isn’t the real one that I’ll give you at the ceremony. I just thought it would be nice to have for-”

“No.” You murmur, slipping it on your finger. “It’s beautiful. It’s enough.”

That was the day that you found strength to live. The day that you felt eternally grateful for him, for finding a way for your family to escape from their crimes….a path for you to be freed from the chains of your prison. It was only much later until you would come to despise this same man.

Why did you marry me, Min Yoongi? What reason did you have? Was it really for my mother’s status? To feign an act of benevolence? You said you would tell me the answer someday.

Tell me. Tell me before it’s too late.

His voice echoes in your head, “Because I want you to live on.” It’s funny, priceless even. Out of all the people you know, you would’ve thought that the both of you mutually wanted each other to die. If the exhaust of the fire wasn’t murdering you slowly, you would’ve found the energy to laugh again. Though, somewhere as his raspy timber that’s reverberating in the hollow of your mind, you find strength like you once did all those years ago. “Because I want you to live on.”

You stumble and stagger, limbs screaming out for you to stay still and pupils shaking the universe around you. The flames engulf the desk, the black fog covering ceiling tiles and the walls like ugly paint. It sizzles, crackles and sings a soft tune to lure you in.

You walk towards it. Tell me. Min Yoongi. Tell me why. You continue until you cannot see anything, until your coughing turns to wheezing and desperate breaths. Then, you turn on your heel, nails sinking into your arm to ignore the siren creatures inside your head that whisper for your knees to buckle. Tell me.

Tell me why you could never love me.

You run towards the window and your body collides against the glass. On impact, the crack erupts into a crystal shower. It rains down like droplets of water as the particles sparkle in the sunlight. The fragments spray into the blue sky. The shards skim along your skin to reveal crimson drops. Like a child’s marionette doll that has been abandoned and thrown away, you are free-falling to the ground.

And you close your eyes. Your arm reaches out as if someone will catch your hand.

No one will. Though, you’ve come to realize that no one is to blame.

Your first fault is that you should’ve never blamed others. There were so many things you could’ve done, should have done. Instead, you chose to accuse your upbringing, your parents and your brother. You pointed at them in rage and anger for every flaw of your life. You pitied yourself, ached for someone to understand and give you solace. But you should’ve given that to yourself.

You relied on others, became too dependent and never took responsibility for your own life.

The second fault of yours is the undying thirst for revenge. The freedom that you longed so much for was held captive to your bitter resentments. For one goal that would never satisfy your soul, you laid your victims onto the alter for sacrifice. You fought fire with fire and let the flames consume your mind.

The third and final fault...is that you should have loved Min Yoongi more.

If you had loved him more, if you weren’t blinded by your own ambitions and so afraid of lending out your heart, you could have saved him. You would’ve done anything within your power to be with him. You would have fought until the ends of the world for your marriage. Yet, you let the only thing you had slip through your fingers.

The life that you so dearly dreamed of - “Mommy?”, “I missed you.”, “Welcome back home.” - was strangled by your own hand when you morphed that longing into hatred.

There’s a scream somewhere, sirens already beginning to play in the background. You flutter your lids shut, the bright sky burning to the back of them. A tiny smile slips on your lips.

You should have loved Min Yoongi more.

“Did you hear?” A nurse mutters to another, cupping her mouth discreetly. “All the doctors in every department rushed down to the emergency room. They say that lady had jumped out of a burning building. What’s her name? The one that police are looking for. Oh, it’s Min Y/N.”

Yoongi halts, “What did you just say?”

There’s yelling and shouting, your body being jostled around as they rush you inside. It’s chaotic - that much you’re able to make out despite it seeming like worlds away.

“Prepare the anesthetic!”

“Stop the bleeding first.” The metal table is cold underneath your skin. There are countless voices speaking over each other, but you hear the sound of your heartbeat loudest; how it slows and slows. “Her oxygen saturation levels are plummeting!”

On the other side of the hospital, Yoongi’s hands have started to crack. They work against the wheels, pushing himself forward at a distressed pace. A heavy lump lodges inside his throat, frustrated at how slow he is. Still, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until the wheelchair slips underneath him and he slams onto the floor.

A stranger gasps, “Are you okay, sir?”

Like a slap to the face, an onslaught of memories storm into his brain. They blitz and make a mockery of him. “Yoongi. Why did you agree to marry me?” - “Don’t touch me.” - “Let me come with you.” - “I don’t need any of your pity, Yoongi.” - “You’ll come to regret this day.”. He finds the apparition of you in front of him. Your eyes are full of despair, pain written across your features. Most of all, he meets the hatred rooted deep into your soul; it is a vine of roses, the thorns wrapped around your heart and sinking in to bleed red.

“Yoongi….don’t die...I’m begging you.” “Min Yoongi, there is no heaven where you’ll end up.”.

He shoves the people away from him. Yoongi stands. His eyes pin straight forward. He wobbles on his feet, he staggers uselessly. And then...he sprints.

“Too much time has passed.” A woman cries out. There’s a pressure on your chest, a warm trickle from your forehead. “Intubation!” The white light pierces past your eyelids. Your fingers twitch. “Her blood pressure is falling.”

Yoongi runs. The hallways and doors blur into the back. A few nurses tell him to stop. His head throbs. His knees sting. His chest aches. You can’t breathe. A doctor presses their hands against the middle of your chest. They push fast, using their body weight to revive you. There’s another shout. A machine is switched on.

“Charge to 300 joules.”

The heartbeat steadies into a single tone. Yoongi falls on the floor. “Step back!” There’s a pause. “Shoot!” The electric current charges to your heart. Yoongi gets back up. Your body jolts on the metal table.

“Y/N...please.” He runs again.

They press the pads of the defibrillator against your body, again and again, shooting currents.

“Min Yoongi. I’m sorry. I should have loved you more. If I did...would you have loved me then?”

Yoongi slams his fist against the glass of the window. Your heart does a flutter, there’s another beep.

He steps onto the accelerator of the car and steals a peek at your form.

“She’s alive. But your wife is in a coma.” They had told him with a face marred in sadness. “It’s likely that she’ll never wake up again. We tried our best. I’m sorry.”

In the few days that had passed, he had been by your side. Yoongi spoke to you as if you were still awake. He clutched your hand and wiped your forehead. He slept and ate next to you. Yet, you were oblivious. You were unconscious and unable to wake up. Still, for once, you looked at peace.

“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Min?” A policeman tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you please come down to the station with us? We believe you’re involved in the recent corruption cases.”

There was nothing left. In your wake, truly everything had been destroyed.

“Please.” He had begged, tightened his hands in yours. “My wife was just in an accident. Give me one more day to spend with her.”

In compassion and empathy, by looking into the poor man’s eyes, they gave into his will.

“Don’t worry. I have hope she’ll wake up.” A nurse once coaxed him, though the lies in her words were clear to see. “She’s a strong woman. Especially after what she went through six years ago. Ah! But I-I...didn’t mean to bring up your loss. I’m sorry.”

He had looked on in confusion, “What?”

Yoongi’s hands grip tighter on the wheel. His teeth sink into his lower lip as his eyes cloud up. “You should have told me.” Angered by his own actions, Yoongi shoves his elbow against the window. He moves his hand over his mouth and looks out the window.

He cries to your empty ears, “You should have told me.”

He had pulled out your medical records. And in the quiet room, he had fallen to the ground and clutched the files against his agonizing chest. As sobs ripped through his throat, he had moved his irises onto your lifeless form. Six years ago. Min Y/N. Miscarriage.

Yoongi stops the car. The dusk horizon that seeps from the windshield removes the shade of sickness from your skin and soaks in warmth. “Do you know who Mina reminds me of?” He turns to you, gently moving a strand of hair away from your forehead before lightly caressing your cheek. “You.”

“But she isn’t your child.” He inhales a breath. “And she isn’t mine either.”

Because unlike what others thought, he hadn’t laid a single finger on any other woman. The night that he was passed out drunk at some hotel room, in his bleary mind, he still knew. He knew that it was a setup. The clothes that were littered to the ground, the woman beside him and the events she had told him about in the morning were all fabricated. A DNA test a few years later proved that it wasn’t just his imagination. The child belonged to his brother.

“When I saw her…..I wanted to help her the way I was unable to help you as a child.”

To grow up without pitches and scowls. To live happily and away from judgements. To be free from the groomings of a monster. To be liberated from the world of façades and masks. These were all things he wished for both you back then and the child now.

“That’s why I married you, Y/N.” He tells you past a choked voice and tear stained cheeks. “A way to undo my regrets. But I made you suffer even more. I pushed you away because I knew...I could never return your feelings. And I made you despise me. I made you this way.”

“If you will so take me again, in my next life, I will be indebted to you.” Yoongi whispers as he steps onto the gas pedal. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you loved me.”

The car leaps off the cliff. He holds your hand and braces for the shock.

A tear drips down from your closed eye.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi #bts scenario #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #I gotta admit this is like borderline crack #but damn #i had a lot of fun tapping into my inner dramatics

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she-is-no-one · 7 years

Text

I’m moving into my car, but I’m not crazy.

To my Brother and those who love me enough to be concerned,

I love you. Whether you’re my big brother or not, I love you. I know this because if you worry for me, I must worry for you as well. We all know that I’m a little rough around the edges, the type of person you either love or you hate. I’m not an easy person to get to know, I’m steadfast in my convictions and stubborn just like father. I fancy myself an explorer like mother does, though my beliefs are more rooted in science than hers. We all know these things of me- so if you’re one of the few who’ve invested the time into getting to know me, then you must be concerned. I’d be curious if you weren’t worried. I’m worried too. Though, my worries are different from yours.

I don’t feel I have much of a choice given that my self is at stake. If I don’t act quickly I fear I will be lost for good. This is the type of thing that concerns me. You’d be concerned about it too, if you knew. There’s not a person in the world who truly understands me, nor any of you. Like you, I’m built upon layers and layers of things most know nothing of. The lack of communication on my end validates your concerns. I’ve never been very good at opening up but I’m going to try. I hope you can understand that this is bigger than you know, I hope you’ll try as I attempt to explain.

I have a plan, a means to an end. I’m moving into my truck. I know you don’t like it and truly, I understand the hesitation. But people do this. I’ve spent a good amount of time reading and researching the lifestyle struggles and successes. I’d be happy to share what I’ve learned, I’m sure I’ll have my own to add once this is over. Like the many others who made this choice, I bought an SUV , which just happens to be the perfect space to house little ole’ me. Brother, you say “get another job,” work more, budget better, and a hundred more suggestions that to many seem like viable options. But I think perhaps you just don’t get it. You worry about the logistics, the “responsibility” and given I know you, I can completely understand why you’d worry of the things you do. Most people are more like you and less like me.

I’ve asked a talented friend to make a livable space with his engineering and woodworking skills. I’ll have a tent, and all the essentials for camping, since that’s basically what I’ll be doing. Not every day will be a fun adventure, but I’m certain each day will be interesting. I’ll do this until I reach my goal and I head out to South America where I will be working for board.

This is the best way for me to see something sustainable for myself. If I’m not tied down, think of the possibilities! Sometimes things that seem crazy to society at large isn’t actually all that crazy when you change your perspective. People make radical changes all the time in order to find peace and sustainability. This is my version of that. My “tiny house.”

Let me reiterate: this is about saving my self, or as some of you would say, my “life.” How ridiculous it sounds, I know. So big and dramatic and laced in entitlement. You might be right, but within my reality, it couldn’t be more accurate.

I’m smart, and I’m not talking average-smart, I’m talking smart-smart. When I was younger I tested into one of those gifted schools for really smart kids. I guess could’ve been a genius or something like it but instead, at 30 I find myself working retail. And why do I work retail? Well, for a lot of reasons, but mostly- because I’m good at it and I never finished university. Do I like it? Sometimes. Okay, so if I don’t hate it and I’m pretty good at it, whats the problem?

It’s just not enough. Had you ever worked retail? Well, like most things, after 15 years it looses its luster and you realize that you’re a wheel in a cog that will turn and turn forever and if you don’t get out now you never will. Capitalism at its finest. Long hours and low wages is what my future holds if I stick around. Look, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with retail, because there’s nothing wrong with it. Its a good job and it’s a good company but we all know that I have more to offer than that. Yes, that sounds privileged and honestly, it probably is. But I’m bigger than that and so is my intellect. I can do more, I have more to offer. I could be far more useful, I’d like to be.

Sure, maybe I’m not the genius I could have been, but who knows? Maybe my knowledge grows in different forms. In my experience, it tends that way. I’m not sure if you’ll remember this, dear brother of mine, but when you were in college, I spent a few months living out of my car before getting that apartment. In New Jersey, I would get kicked out of the house so frequently that I’d always have 3 plans in my back pocket, just-in-case. I flourished in unconventional circumstances, I learned how to be prepared and how to be resourceful, I learned how to survive. In a very real way, it can be more comfortable for me to have such varying degrees of flexibility.

Because then I remember the state of our country is disastrous. Our society is getting worse every day and I’m terrified that if I stay here and continue on this path of capitalistic promotion, bitter cynicism, complete and utter distaste for humanity, there will be nothing left in me to save. My fire is fading and I’m losing hope. And if you’re reading this then you know how desperate a place it must be for me to be on the verge of giving up. I’ve always been an optimist, I believe in people and I believe in chances. I’m not depressed, I’m realistic. But I’m not stimulated by much these days. Everything looks the same and tastes the same and every day is just the same. The times I find peace are when I find myself listening to the sounds of the world around me or connected to stories from a new friend. I manage find solace in books, research and and endless stream of documentaries but I want to utilize the knowledge I am soaking up and do something with it. I have been trapped in the never-ending cycle that is this society, this city, this culture, and this experience. I don’t have the heart to do it anymore, I can no longer be a silent participant in my own dehumanization.

Everything inside of me is steaming, bubbling and boiling over with the longing of a new adventure, a new experience. A different experience. And I’m not talking I want to go to Germany and drink beer and eat sausages. I’m telling you that I want to get into the thick of it in a foreign culture with a foreign language and I want to be immersed. I know what you’re going to say- it isn’t safe.

And maybe you’re right. But I’d like to know if anybody told you not to go to a well-visited place because it wasn’t safe? If you’re a white, cis, man, then you’ve probably not been told to be careful, or straight up told not to go. I bet nobody’s told you much do to with your life at all, actually. The decisions you make are very rarely questioned by your loved ones, your higher ups, or your peers. I know that you love me and I am so grateful to be loved loudly enough that some scream out with concern but I’m going to tell you something now and you’re not going to like it. You’re going to get upset at first, you’re going to deny it because you don’t want it to be true but please hang tight because it’s not your fault.

You’ve been raised to be sexist. We’ve all been raised to be sexist. There’s a mentality about women that they’re not tough or smart or strong enough to deal with the things that nature has to offer. But these ideas that have been embedded into our mentalities are damaging and incorrect. Its damaging to you, and it’s damaging to me. The concern for the safety of women should not be placed in the hands of women. After all, its not women who are endangering other women. Your concern for my safety is well intended, but it is also inherently sexist. If you’re concerned for women’s safety, be concerned for all women’s safety, not just mine. Not just the safety of your mother and sister and friends. Combat misogyny on a daily basis so that my daughter will not have to write an essay when she wants to go off and explore the world just like her mother did.

I’ve always been a tomboy. Always. I’ve always wanted to hang with the boys and be like Indiana Jones. I’ve always had a quest for adventure and I’ve always wanted to change the world. Ask our parents anytime, have mom go into the garage and pick out any drawing I made. I won all those t-shirt contests because I wanted to save the world and I drew about it. Well, I grew up and I started writing about it. To the core of who I am, I have always been this.

I’ve just spent my whole life being told that it wasn’t ladylike. Or that boys don’t like that. That I’d never find a man with an attitude like that. I was told that I needed to lose or gain weight based on the opinions of others. I was told to let the men handle that or to ask someone more masculine than me. I had men refuse to allow me to sell them iPhones simply because I was a female. I was told not to play outside and ruin my dresses. I was put in my place. As women, our opinions have been lesser than our male counterparts. We got used to being blamed for the behaviors of men. Our decisions have been continuously been underscored and painted rash or crazy. Our intelligence questioned and challenged. Our emotions have labeled me cold and/or bitchy or too sensitive. Our friendliness claims us whores and our lack of interest names us prudes. The whole damn world has an opinion of how women should act and behave. There are guidebooks for women of what to say and not to say. How to sit and how not to sit. There are thousands of books for women on how to behave, and guess what? The majority of them are written by men. Read The Women Who Run with Wolves and try to explain to me how any of this is beneficial for women, or the men in their lives when you realize the true depths of the problem.

We live in a society where my insecurities are exploited for profit. We’re slaves to the united corporations of america and if we’re not yet then we’re on our way and I don’t think I want to participate in this type of society. I’m willing to bet there’s someplace better out there that I’ve yet to stumble upon. It may be far away and it may be dangerous but nothing worth doing is ever easy.

Women are strong as hell and it’s time to remove the covers from our eyes and understand that the world is a dangerous place for women because men make it that way. America is unsafe for civilians because the Police have made it that way but we all still go outside and go to work. We all still “live” our lives. Life is dangerous and it’s scary but what is it that makes it worth it? Why do we continue on? There’s no point in being afraid if you’re not moving. They’re not watching when you’re not moving. Stay still. Stay safe, and everything will be fine. But I’ve been standing still for a long time and I’m miserable and I’m bored. There’s nothing going on when you’re not moving. What’s the point in standing still and being safe when there’s this thing we used to believe in called Freedom. I still believe in it and I’ll search for it until I find it. I have a feeling it’s somewhere I wouldn’t have expected, because it’s certainly abandoned us.

It can be dangerous to travel alone regardless of whether you’re a man or a woman. And by the way, statistically, it’s more dangerous to be a citizen of the US than it is to travel to South America at this point. The same concerns would not be the topic of these conversations if you were having it with your roommates, and I doubt a privileged man ever felt the need to write an essay of why he decided to, well, decide something. Our society teaches us to hate women, to distrust women, to question women, to delegitimize women. All of us have internalized a lifetime of misogyny and a lot of the time we don’t even realize that’s what so many of our opinions are made up of. It’s up to us to challenge the internalized misogyny inside ourselves and open ourselves up to the power and strength of women.

I’ve been in Los Angeles for over 6 years now and I’m a different person than I was when I got here. I want different things; I’m intrigued, interested and engaged by different things than I once was and I’m losing myself in the vicious ocean that is LA. I’m drowning in the debt and my mental health is not recovering. I wake up exhausted, go to work exhausted and invest all of my energy pretending, then I go home where I am too exhausted to enjoy much of anything. I’m wasting away in this society. I’ve been stuck, trapped in this place of complacency because I have been so afraid to make a decision. Afraid to make the wrong decision. So I’ve locked up in my apartment. It’s available, it’s safe, and I don’t have to do much of anything. I can waste away for as long as I please. Hours spent on unnecessary entertainment. I can stream anything I want, get lost in nothing for days on end and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Except this. Except everything.

I’ll never be able to have anything if I stay in Los Angeles. I’ll never be able to afford a house or have children (if I wanted to). We all know how difficult it is to meet people that intellectually and spiritually engage you, challenge you, and inspire you. I can’t keep waiting around for this city to show itself. It has shown itself. Its shown itself to me time and time again and it’s about damn time I listened.

I don’t need saving and I don’t want your saving. If you offer, I’m sure I’ll take you up on your couch every now and again but I would never expect or anticipate needing a hero. I’m making these choices because I want to be my own hero. You feel like you have to save me because you love me, all of you do, and I appreciate that so much. But I don’t want your saving and better yet- I don’t need it. I’m not doing this hoping that people will find out, feel sorry for me and offer me a place to stay. I won’t be parking on your streets hoping for an invite inside. I am ready for the challenge, I am ready for the struggle. I am prepared for the days where it’s tough, because it will be tough. I am not delusional nor do I believe that every day will be exciting and inspiring. There will always be rough days and rainstorms. It’s part of the gig. But at the end of the day the only person responsible for me, is me, I am my responsibility and you are yours. I’ll take care of myself and you take care of yourself. Thats the best we can do for the ones that we love.

This is the best solution I’ve come up with in order to save myself, and to ultimately take care of myself. I’ve been going down a dark road and in this decision I see the first glimmer of light in a long while. And honestly, I’m pretty excited.

Anywhere can be my home base, I can sleep under the stars and camp out on the weekends. I’ll spend my days off work volunteering with local organizations, my evenings at the library, and my mornings at the climbing gym, where I will also shower. I’ll utilize my time building strength, training for the months ahead. I’ll read more, and I’ll probably socialize more. Most of my friends have offered their couches and beds to my disposal for the nights that I want or need company. It’ll be a struggle at times, but in the end, I believe it’ll be worth it. A means to an end.

What will happen then, you wonder? Well, who’s to say. I think it’s safe to say that we might be asking a different person then. And I’m sure she will have some damn good experiences and insight to share.

Listen, if I return home and I haven’t figured out a way to become a writer for a living by then, I’ve got 3 years running a successful retail shop on one of the most famous streets in the whole world for a that company loves me and would happily invite me back if they had a position. I have cushions and I have plans. I’ve got back ups and I’ve got ideas I’m still sorting through but there’s always room for a little flexibility. Always account for variable change. I’m open to suggestions but I want you to know that I intend to do follow through with this.

I am more and I am bigger and I am so much better than the life I have succumbed to. I don’t have money to enjoy many activities, and when I do the things I like to do, I do them alone anyway. Why not invest my life and my time into the things that I actually enjoy and make it easier on myself? I’m a lone wolf, my friends, and I am accepting of that fact. Do you know how excited I am to have my headlamp on while I read a book in the back of my truck while I sleep under the stars at the base of a trailhead? I’ll wake in the morning and the first thing I’ll do is go for a hike. When I’m outside, I’m never alone. I’ll be more inclined to explore and adventure and I’ll be testing my resourcefulness in the relative vicinity of “home” when anywhere can be home for the night.

I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they have wings, and then I realized I could wonder the same about me. I can change everything. I want to change everything. I don’t utilize my time, I waste it, trying to just make it through the day that’s just the same as the one before and the next one to come. I’m wasting my life away working to simply exist, for nothing. Partying on the weekends doesn’t really qualify as a life. If I make no ripples how can I truly exist? What is the purpose?

You all have a purpose. You all have your own personal mission statements and everyday of your life you’re working towards them. I want to work towards mine too. I hope you can understand and appreciate that mine look wildly different than yours. I’ve always had a vagabond spirit, a rebellious spirit. This is about more than just me. This is about my humanity. This is more than an adventure, this is a shift towards a lifestyle. This is my trial run towards the life I’ve always wanted and never been brave enough to go after. Brave people do things before they’re ready. I want to be brave.

I believe that the world is full of things that are good and I want to see more of them. There are assholes everywhere, I know, and I’ll run into at least a few. There will be days more beautiful than I could ever quantify and there will be challenges I could never anticipate. This is bigger than singular person, I want to explore and learn about peoples. To live with the people I’ll be working for, completely immersed in the cultures and community, if they let me. To speak the native tongue and eat the local food and I’m going to make as much of a home for myself in these places as I am offered. I want to help and learn and do something that helps another on a human level. I want to offer support in any way I am capable. I want to get my hands dirty and I’m curious to see what happens in between. My future will be full of detours, roadblocks, debris, storms and delays. It’ll be stressful, and infuriating on occasion. I’d like to see how resourceful I truly am, and I’d like to push myself beyond the limits I’ve arbitrarily placed, the limits this society has arbitrarily placed.

Upon hearing my plans, some are thrilled and excited and willing to support me in any way they can, while others are utterly shocked and confused and could never imagine doing something of this nature. To me it seems the most natural and obvious solution to my growing problem. You may say this lifestyle is irresponsible but I have to disagree. To me, it’s the most responsible thing I can do as a human being with the gifts that I have to offer.

It is my responsibility as a human to do good and make an effort to make things better, not just for myself. This isn’t some white savior kind of thing either because I’m not trying to save anybody- I intend to learn as much as I can and challenge my preconceived perceptions, and hopefully learn enough to assist in saving my self. Maybe I’ll help fix a fence, or teach a little girl english. I might work on a farm or help build a hut. I could make beds, make coffee, and check guests in or I could assist on an archaeological dig excavating remains of the past. I want to get out there and explore and struggle. I want to be healthy enough to welcome the struggle. I want to listen to stories from cultures unlike my own and learn from them. I want to connect with people in other hemispheres, on other continents, and I want to learn about their lives. I hope to be invited to participate in cultural ceremonies and experiences, I’ll be grateful regardless. I want to be engaged in another language and I want to share a meal with a local. I want to meet their children and play with them outside. I want to help build things and I want to help grow things. I want to assist, I’m ready to share myself in any way that can improve. Anything my hands are capable of, I’ll have callouses by the end. I’ll spend every other moment outside, becoming familiar with tree and stone and river. I will be present and aware and I’ll remember that feeling in the pit of the stomach when you’re reminded you’re alive; an adventurous life. A real life.

I’m going to meet many people and I’m ready to love them all, I’m ready to learn from them all. It’s easy to love people, it’s not so easy to like them, but I intend to like and learn from as much as I can. I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life and I want you to be excited for me too. I know you’re scared and I want you to know that I’m scared too. But I’m scared of standing still. I’m scared of waiting until it’s too late and I’m scared of what will happen to all the good in me if I don’t at least go try to find something worth fighting for out there, beyond me.

Hey, and if nothing else, at least it’ll be some great stories to write home about or another chapter for my book.

Thank you for caring, thank you for loving me. And thank you for listening. I hope one day you’ll join me on one of my adventures and you’ll have stories to write about too.

#i moved into my car #and so i wrote this explanation #writing #words #thoughts #thoughts with tj #stream of consciousness #text #long post

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