Chapter Text
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Taehyung lounges in the passenger seat, his presence exuding an effortless glamour as they drive back to the mansion. Clad in a sleek, black jumpsuit, the fabric drapes daringly below his collarbone, leaving his cleavage exposed, with an open back revealing smooth skin.
The outfit is daring, seductive, and paired with striking red-bottom heels that elongate his legs. His hair is styled in a rich silver that frames his face, parting perfectly to accentuate his sharp features. Despite the faint hangover lingering from their last night of partying, his look is flawless, even with oversized shades adding to his air of mystery.
Jungkook glances at him from the driver’s seat, his eyes softening as he takes in Taehyung's appearance. In his tailored shirt and slacks, he looks effortlessly put together, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as memories of their past month together flash through his mind—luxurious parties, late-night shopping sprees, candlelit dinners, and a passion that felt unstoppable, even now in the gentle hum of the car.
Taehyung’s gaze shifts out the window, hair swaying slightly, lost in thought as they roll through the familiar streets of Seoul. Their silence feels intimate, comfortable, each thinking of the blissful month they’ve shared. Jungkook finds himself looking at Taehyung with a newfound resolve. He wants this—wants Taehyung, and the life they could have together, even if it means taking drastic steps to secure it.
Reaching over, Jungkook takes Taehyung’s hand, brushing his thumb across his skin in a gentle caress. “What’s on your mind?” he asks softly.
Taehyung chuckles, a little wistful. “Can’t believe our trip has ended,” he murmurs, eyes filled with warmth as they meet Jungkook’s.
“Me neither,” Jungkook agrees, his voice carrying a hint of longing. The freedom of those past weeks, the feeling of endless possibilities, feels like a distant dream. But he knows it’s not over; he’s ready to make it last. If he can’t divorce Diya without cause, he’ll find one—hire an investigator, do whatever it takes. Taehyung is worth it.
“Well,” Taehyung says, his smile widening, “we have lives, don’t we? Besides, I’m excited to finally move into my new place.”
“I’ll drop you at home—I’ve got something I need to work on,” Jungkook says, his tone casual, though his mind is anything but. Taehyung nods, glancing at Jungkook with a soft smile, unaware of the plans already forming in Jungkook's mind. He’s set on meeting with his lawyer, on hiring a private investigator to dig into Diya's life. Anything that could give him leverage, anything that would let him be with Taehyung openly. The clock is ticking, and he hopes he can act before Diya suspects anything.
As they approach the estate and pass through the grand gates, Taehyung’s gaze sweeps over the quiet grounds. “No staff around?” he asks, slipping his shades down as he scans the empty driveway.
Jungkook parks and steps out, moving to Taehyung’s side to help him out of the car. “Gave them a break since no one was home anyway,” he says with a soft smile. He takes a step closer, their gazes locking, and Jungkook leans in, pressing a tender kiss to Taehyung’s lips. The kiss lingers, a subtle promise, and they share a warm embrace, holding each other a little tighter than usual.
Finally, Jungkook steps back, reluctantly letting Taehyung go as he watches him head up the steps. Jungkook returns to the car, glancing back once before driving off. As he pulls away, he’s filled with a determined sense of purpose—he’s ready to make things right for both of them, to create a life together without looking over his shoulder.
Jungkook drives away from the mansion, his mind already racing through plans, his thoughts still warm from Taehyung’s touch and the lingering scent of his cologne. But as he pulls onto the main road, he catches sight of his elderly neighbor, Mr. Alfred, leaning against his vintage car under the afternoon sun. Instinct pulls Jungkook to a stop, and he steps out, offering a nod.
“Ah, Jungkook,” Mr. Alfred greets with a familiar smile, though it quickly fades as he glances down the road. “Good to see you, son. I was just going to mention… I saw your wife earlier.”
Jungkook’s heart stops. “My wife?” he echoes, unsure if he’s heard correctly. “Diya?”
“Yes, drove by not too long ago,” Mr. Alfred says, his brows drawn in concern. “Looked rather serious, too—she didn’t even spare me a glance.”
An icy chill sinks into Jungkook’s veins. She’s supposed to be away, far from here, under medical care. His mind spins, calculating the impossibility of it. Before Mr. Alfred can say another word, Jungkook’s already rushing back to his car, a storm of dread settling deep within his chest.
The car roars to life as he speeds out of the estate, his hands shaking as he dials the facility. “This is Jungkook,” he says, barely keeping his voice steady. “Did you discharge Diya early? Without informing me?”
There’s a pause, then a stammered response. “Mr. Jungkook, she was not discharged. She requested a day pass, but we expected her back by evening. She didn’t mention… going home.”
Jungkook’s fingers clench around the wheel, his jaw tightening as a flood of anger and fear collides within him. Taehyung is at the mansion—alone. Vulnerable. Jungkook grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white, the thought of Diya’s unpredictable nature looming like a shadow in his mind.
He ends the call, tossing the phone aside. The dread only intensifies as he tries calling Taehyung, his heart sinking with each ring that goes straight to voicemail. His stomach churns, a flash of his worst fears tearing through him. What if she’s already there, what if she’s seen him? His pulse races with each dreadful scenario, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it could break through his chest.
“Come on, Taehyung, pick up,” he mutters, slamming his hand against the wheel. He feels the sweat beading on his brow, his breaths coming fast, ragged with the weight of his panic.
He can see it—the mansion, the place that felt so warm with Taehyung, now shrouded in a haze of tension and danger. Each mile feels like an eternity, his fear pressing down on him, sharper with each second. The closer he gets, the more his resolve hardens. He’ll do anything—tear apart walls if he has to—to make sure Taehyung is safe, to confront Diya if she’s dared to touch even a thread of Taehyung’s existence.
“ Just hold on, Taehyung,” he whispers, his voice shaking as he floors the gas, pushing the car to its limits, praying that he isn’t too late.
Taehyung steps into the mansion, the quiet wrapping around him like an unwelcome chill. He clutches his purse, his heels clicking on the polished floor, but something feels wrong. There’s a presence, an energy that sets his instincts on edge.
The hairs on the back of his neck rise just as he reaches the edge of the living room.
Suddenly, a deafening blast splits the air, followed by the shattering of glass—a bullet whizzing past him, tearing into the large pane behind him. He gasps, falling to the floor, his heart pounding as shards of glass pierce his skin, a sharp sting blossoming on his cheek.
He scrambles behind the couch, breathless, blood trickling down his face. He clutches his side, his hand trembling as he brushes glass fragments from his skin, his pulse racing as he hears her voice.
“Come out and face me, you bitch!” Diya’s voice echoes through the space, a twisted fury lacing her words. She stands at the top of the staircase, aiming her hunting rifle with chilling precision, eyes wild as she locks onto any hint of movement.
Taehyung lets out a soft, mocking laugh from behind the couch, grabbing a shard of glass and gripping it tightly. “So, this is what we’ve come to, Diya?” he calls out, keeping his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart.
Her footsteps draw closer, heavy and determined. Taehyung doesn’t move, barely breathing, every nerve on edge. She fires again, the bullet hitting the floor just inches from his hand, sending splinters flying. The room fills with tension, thick and suffocating. He feels the heat of her anger as she nears, her erratic footsteps echoing as she circles, searching for any sign of him.
In a moment of calculated silence, Taehyung shifts, crawling low and slow, holding his breath. Diya, impatient and seething, climbs onto the couch, aiming the gun down where she thinks he’ll be.
But Taehyung is already behind her. Seizing his chance, he grabs the nearest heavy statue and swings it with all his strength. It crashes against her head with a sickening thud, and she lets out a cry, the rifle clattering to the ground as she stumbles, clutching her head.
Without hesitation, Taehyung dives for the gun, but Diya grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking him back. Pain radiates through his scalp as he’s forced up, but he twists around, locking his arm around her neck in a headlock. Diya’s struggling wildly, and in a desperate move, she slams her head back into his face, knocking them both off balance.
They crash into the glass coffee table, the surface giving way beneath them as they fall. Shards scatter around them, digging into their skin as they wrestle, their breaths coming in harsh, desperate gasps. Taehyung pushes against the shards, ignoring the sharp pain as he tries to wrestle control, but Diya is relentless, clawing, snarling as she fights him with a viciousness that terrifies him.
Taehyung grits his teeth, blood trickling from the cuts along his arms and face as he struggles to keep her pinned. But Diya’s hands find another shard, her grip tightening as she aims it toward him. He catches her wrist, forcing it back with every ounce of strength he has, their eyes locking, filled with raw hatred and fear.
For a heartbeat, they’re both still, locked in a deadly standstill, breathing hard, blood and glass covering them. The shattered remains of the table beneath them reflect their fractured, violent struggle—a reflection of everything broken and twisted between them.
Taehyung is weak, blood staining his clothes and skin, yet he drags himself forward, each inch toward the gun a battle of pure will. He’s almost there, fingertips grazing the cool metal. But Diya, seething and relentless, claws her way up, the sharp glass shard still clenched in her hand. In one brutal motion, she drives it deep into Taehyung’s thigh.
He screams, the agony paralyzing, his hand gripping the gun even as pain radiates from his leg. But she’s on him in an instant, grabbing his head and smashing his face into the cold, hard floor. Once, twice—the relentless assault leaving his nose and lips bloodied, his vision blurring. Taehyung tastes blood, feels the raw sting of his broken skin, yet he can only lie there, gasping as Diya flips him onto his back. Her cold gaze bores into him as she points the gun straight at his face, her chest heaving, fingers trembling yet determined.
“Any last words?” she sneers, her voice dripping with venom.
Taehyung’s lips curl into a defiant smirk, blood trickling down his chin as he chuckles, his eyes blazing with a dark, mocking glint. “Your husband’s cock is amazing,” he spits, his voice slurred with pain but defiant. Blood splatters as he coughs, and he watches her face twist with hatred.
Diya’s finger tightens on the trigger, her eyes narrowing in rage. Just then, the door bursts open, and Jungkook stumbles in, breathless and wild-eyed.
“Diya, NO! STOP!” he shouts, his voice raw with desperation as he steps forward, his gaze locking onto Taehyung lying helpless beneath her. His face contorts with anguish as he takes in Taehyung’s battered state, his own hands shaking.
“Put the gun down, Diya. You don’t want to do this,” Jungkook warns, his voice barely holding steady. His eyes shift between Diya and Taehyung, an unspoken fear hanging in the air.
Diya laughs bitterly, her knuckles white around the gun. “Tell me why I shouldn’t?” she screams, eyes blazing with fury and betrayal. “I’ve wanted to kill him since the first moment I saw him! The day I found out what you two were doing behind my back! Rolling around with him—your own brother-in-law! While I was locked away in a facility!” Her voice cracks, rage mingling with despair.
“Both of you are going to die at my hands today!”
“Diya, stop it!” Jungkook’s voice wavers as he inches closer, his hand reaching subtly for the concealed gun at his side. “If you do this, you’ll be locked up for life. This isn’t you. You don’t want this.”
“Move one more step, and I’ll shoot!” she shrieks, pointing the gun closer at Taehyung’s head. Jungkook freezes, his breath hitching, his heart pounding as his mind races.
Diya’s gaze wavers, her eyes misting as she begins to tremble. “I always knew you were my nemesis,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “To spit on my face, insult me like this... seducing him, whoring your way into my life.”
Taehyung’s eyes gleam with contempt, and he spits out another defiant, bloody laugh. “Quit whining, Diya. Just shoot me already. You’re unloved, and you’ll never measure up to me, dead or alive. The more you hurt me, the more miserable you’ll become. So go on, pull the trigger,” he taunts, his words slicing into her like a dagger.
Jungkook snaps, shouting, “Taehyung, SHUT UP!” His voice is a desperate plea, fear gripping him as he watches Diya’s hand tighten around the gun. But before he can say another word, Diya lets out a scream, and the gunshot rings through the mansion, echoing like a death knell.
The room falls silent, the air thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder.
Diya pulls the trigger, but there’s no explosion of sound, no fatal impact. Just an empty click. She frowns, pulling it again and again, each time with rising desperation. Her face contorts in frustration and terror, her hand trembling. Taehyung laughs—a dark, guttural sound that fills the room, tinged with relief and twisted satisfaction.
Jungkook, frozen in place, watches with his heart in his throat, feeling the brief moment of terror when Diya first pulled the trigger. He was sure Taehyung would be gone forever, lost because of his own mistakes. He’s paralyzed by guilt, his mind a chaotic blur, but then he notices something glinting in Taehyung’s hand.
Taehyung extends his hand, fingers unfolding slowly to reveal the bullets he had slipped from the gun in those precious seconds. One by one, he lets them clatter onto the blood-streaked floor. Diya’s face pales as the reality sets in, panic flashing in her eyes. She lunges toward the bullets, desperation consuming her, her hand reaching out to reclaim her power, her control.
It’s all Taehyung needs. With his other hand, he raises a jagged shard of glass, swiftly plunging it deep into her neck. There’s a sickening sound—a wet, crunching stab as the glass punctures through skin and muscle, hitting her artery.
Blood sprays from the wound, thick and dark, painting Taehyung’s face and the floor in violent crimson. Diya’s hands fly to her neck, her eyes wide in horror as blood pulses through her fingers, each heartbeat sending another wave of red flooding out.
She staggers back, choking and sputtering, blood bubbling from her lips as she fights for breath. Her body convulses, collapsing onto the floor with a heavy thud, and she writhes, her hands clawing uselessly at the glass shard embedded in her neck. The life drains from her, staining the floor with a spreading pool of dark, glistening red that seeps into every crevice of the hardwood.
Jungkook rushes forward, grabbing Taehyung and pulling him close, his chest heaving in shock. Taehyung lets out a choked sob, burying his face in Jungkook’s shoulder, his entire body trembling from the adrenaline and horror. They sit there, holding onto each other, as the room falls into a grim, heavy silence. Diya’s body lies lifeless in the center of it all, her last breath leaving her in a final, shuddering gasp.
“She’s... she’s dead,” Jungkook whispers, his voice barely audible, as if saying it aloud might shatter what little sanity remains. He holds Taehyung tighter, pressing soft, desperate kisses to his cheek as they both stare, numb and haunted, at the crimson-stained scene around them.
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As the mansion fills with the wail of sirens, red and blue lights flash across the front lawn, piercing the heavy, tense air. Police cars line the driveway, and neighbors cluster outside, whispering as officers rush into the mansion. EMTs tend to Taehyung on a nearby couch, gently cleaning the cuts on his face and wrapping his wounded thigh, while Jungkook stands off to the side, speaking with detectives.
The officers move methodically, gathering statements, documenting the scene, and examining Diya’s body as it’s prepared for transport. Jungkook hands over the CCTV footage and the gun, explaining every detail of the altercation. The detectives nod, their grim expressions softening as they conclude it was self-defense, a desperate reaction to Diya’s unhinged attack.
Once the police and ambulance depart, a weight seems to lift, but the silence in the mansion grows colder. Staff and security begin to fill the space again at Jungkook’s request, handling the aftermath and restoring the eerie emptiness left behind by Diya’s absence.
Jungkook finally approaches Taehyung, who sits motionless, eyes blank and expression distant as though he’s miles away. Jungkook crouches in front of him, his voice soft yet steady. “You need to rest, baby,” he whispers, brushing a hand over Taehyung’s bruised cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the fresh bandages. Though relief hangs between them, there’s an unmistakable sadness—a dark void left by Diya’s demise, her bitterness unraveling to this inevitable, tragic end.
Without another word, Jungkook gently scoops Taehyung into his arms, carrying him up the stairs. Taehyung’s head rests on his shoulder, eyes shut, his body pliant with exhaustion and trauma.
Jungkook brings him to their bedroom, laying him gently on the bed before easing his clothes off, mindful of each bruise and scrape. Once Taehyung is settled, Jungkook heads into the bathroom, running a warm bath, watching the water rise as steam curls softly into the air. The only sounds are the quiet trickle of water and Taehyung’s steady breaths, as Jungkook prepares to help him wash away the horrors of this long, brutal night.
The quiet hum of the water fills the bathroom, thick with steam and an intimate warmth that cloaks them both, wrapping around the rawness of everything that’s happened. Jungkook kneels at the edge of the tub, his eyes soft and intent as he cradles Taehyung’s foot in his lap, his touch light and reverent, as if Taehyung might break under any sudden movement.
Taehyung sits with his leg stretched out, the cool bandage over his thigh reminding him of every moment of their narrow escape, every breath of survival. He can’t sink fully into the water, but the warmth brushes against his skin, drawing him into a sense of calm.
Jungkook’s fingers move gently over Taehyung’s foot, massaging away the tension, moving in slow circles as though memorizing every inch. The silence between them is deep, almost heavy, yet it holds them together, sealing every wound with its weight.
It hasn't even been hours since the chaos, but already, the world feels different, as if they’ve crossed through some twisted doorway where it’s just them, a place where they can finally breathe.
Taehyung’s head throbs from the tension, his body aching and bruised, his broken nose still a dull, constant reminder. But the pain falls away under Jungkook’s gentle touch, the way he moves as though the rest of the world has ceased to matter. Taehyung takes a slow breath, finding solace in the small details—the way Jungkook's lashes are damp from tears he’s holding back, the slight tremor in his hands as they trace along the bandage on Taehyung’s thigh.
Then, Jungkook’s shoulders start to shake, and Taehyung’s heart stirs, worry flashing in his eyes. Jungkook’s silent tears spill over, trailing down his cheeks as he stares at Taehyung’s injury. He doesn’t look away; instead, he presses his fingers to the bandage as if trying to take the pain into himself.
“None of this should have happened,” Jungkook’s voice breaks, thick with grief and regret, his tears coming faster. He doesn’t hide them, the sorrow raw and exposed as he kneels before Taehyung, utterly vulnerable.
Taehyung’s hand reaches up, slipping into Jungkook’s hair, fingers brushing through the strands, each stroke slow and calming. “And I just stood there… paralyzed,” Jungkook chokes, eyes searching Taehyung’s face, as though grounding himself in those familiar, gentle features.
“I was terrified—terrified I’d lose you. When she pulled the trigger… I felt my world collapse. She was ready to take you from me, and I—I couldn’t…” Jungkook’s voice cracks, grief and fury twisting in every word. “How could I have been so blind, so fooled by someone so—so vicious? I thought she was… and I married her,” he mutters, his voice breaking, face twisted in anguish.
Jungkook’s gaze never leaves Taehyung, his fingers trembling as they trace the lines of his lover’s face, an apology etched in every touch. “Forgive me, Taehyung,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t protect you from her. I should’ve kept her away, made sure she was far out of reach. But I just… I just wanted to focus on us, on how much I love you.” His eyes, glossy with tears, lock with Taehyung’s, the vulnerability in them so raw it pierces straight through.
Taehyung’s heart stirs, racing at the admission, the depth of Jungkook’s love hitting him like a storm. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat as his own tears well up. Finally, he finds his voice, broken but steady.
“It’s not your fault, Jungkook. My sister and I… we’ve been in this war for as long as I can remember. There were so many nights I thought the only way out was… to escape her entirely. And tonight…” He trails off, swallowing hard, trying to contain the emotion rising in his chest.
“The truth is, a part of me felt… satisfaction when she lost. I told her I’d take everything, that I’d own every breath she’d ever take—and now, she’s gone. Dead. Forever a ghost in our past, nothing more.” His voice cracks, and tears spill over as the reality settles in: he made it out, alive, free.
Jungkook lets out a soft chuckle, though there’s a touch of disbelief in it. “I’ve never seen two people hate each other so deeply.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Taehyung’s thigh, the action tender, grounding them in the moment. Taehyung’s hand drifts through Jungkook’s hair, fingers threading gently, a quiet comfort shared between them.
“Beyond measure,” Taehyung murmurs, his tone laced with resolve. He takes a deep breath, a new strength flickering in his eyes.
“But I won’t let her ghost follow us. She’s gone now. I’m done letting her have any part of me.” He shrugs, the weight of years falling from his shoulders.
Jungkook smiles, something both fierce and soft in his expression. “Then may she rest… in peace or in agony,” he says, a touch of humor breaking the heaviness, his voice filled with an unyielding love for the man before him. And in that moment, his gaze is unwavering, filled with a love and a promise he’s too overwhelmed to voice.
Taehyung chuckles, the sound soft, free, like a new beginning.
“New chapter then?” Jungkook murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “Just us. No distractions.” His words hold a vow, binding them in a new promise, one unmarked by past shadows.
Taehyung meets his gaze, more ready than ever. “No distractions,” he echoes, their future unfolding before them, raw and beautiful.
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