Kim Mansion—Night
The car rolled up the long driveway like it was approaching a fortress.
The mansion stood there—dark, imposing, every window glowing faintly like the eyes of a predator in the night. Its size alone made Selen's stomach twist.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Kim," Jimin said with a teasing flourish as Eunwoo parked.
"Don't," she muttered, glaring at him.
Taehyung stepped out first, unbothered as always, adjusting his cufflinks like a king surveying his castle. He didn't even glance back to check if she was following—he simply knew she would.
Selen, however, froze at the entrance. The grand doors opened with a heavy groan, revealing marble floors, glittering chandeliers, and hallways that stretched endlessly.
This wasn't a home.
It was a throne room.
And she was the unwilling queen.
Taehyung's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Upstairs."
Her head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"
He didn't repeat himself. He just started walking, his presence commanding enough that even the silence seemed to follow him.
She didn't move. "I'm not sharing a bedroom with you."
That stopped him. Slowly, he turned back. Jimin and Eunwoo glanced at each other like they'd just been given front-row seats to a car crash.
Taehyung's lips curved into something between amusement and warning. "You're in my house, Selen. You'll follow my rules."
She crossed her arms. "Then make me a guest room."
He stepped closer—each movement slow, deliberate, predatory.
"I don't do guest rooms for my wife," he said softly, his voice carrying that dangerous calm that made her chest tighten.
"I'm not your wife," she spat.
His smirk sharpened. "Legally, you are. And legally…" His hand brushed her waist briefly, his touch infuriatingly possessive. "…you sleep in my bed."
Her heart kicked hard in her chest, but she didn't back down. "You're delusional if you think I'm—"
"Careful," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost her ear. "Push me, and I'll carry you there myself."
"Try it," she hissed back.
Jimin coughed loudly from the stairs. "Should I… uh… grab popcorn or—"
"Shut up, Jimin," Eunwoo deadpanned.
The tension was suffocating. Taehyung's gaze locked with hers—unyielding, predatory, daring her to challenge him again.
But she didn't move.
Finally, he straightened. "Fine," he said, voice deceptively calm. "Stay awake all night if you want. Just know… the bed's warmer than the floor."
He turned, walking upstairs without another word. And damn it—she followed. Not because she wanted to.
But because Kim Taehyung never left a battle unfinished.
_____
The bedroom door clicked shut behind her.
Taehyung stood by the window, jacket discarded, cuffs rolled up, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked infuriatingly calm, like a man who hadn't just detonated her life hours ago.
Selen's fists clenched. "So this is it?" she snapped, her voice sharp. "You drag me here and expect me to lie down and play the obedient wife?"
He turned, smirking faintly, swirling the whiskey. "What I expect," he drawled, "is for you to stop pretending you have a choice."
Her jaw tightened. "You think this is a victory? Forcing me into this marriage? Into your world? My father would—"
"Your father is safe," Taehyung cut her off, his voice dropping into something venomous. He set his glass down with a sharp clink and stalked closer. "And you forget… you begged the wrong people for mercy. I'm just collecting what's owed."
Her breath hitched, rage flaring in her chest. "My life isn't a debt to be paid!"
He stopped inches from her, his height overwhelming, his gaze locked on hers.
"Everything has a price, Selen," he murmured. "Even you."
She shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge.
"You don't own me!" she hissed.
He leaned in, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath.
"Don't I?" he whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. And then she snapped, voice trembling but defiant:
"You might have my signature, Kim Taehyung… but you will never have me."
The silence cracked like glass.
Taehyung's smirk vanished. His jaw ticked as he stared down at her—something darker, heavier flickering in his eyes.
Three slow, measured steps forward. He caged her against the wall without touching her, his presence suffocating.
"You'll get used to it," he said, his voice low, dangerous.
She glared up at him, her chin raised, fire in her eyes despite the trembling in her hands.
"I'll burn this house down before I get used to you."
His lips curved slightly—not amusement. Something sharper.
"Then I'll rebuild it around you," he said.
For a moment, they stood there—
Toe to toe. Breath for breath.
And neither of them surrendered.
Then, without warning, Taehyung stepped back. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. He glanced toward the bathroom, his expression returning to its cool, unreadable mask.
"Get fresh," he ordered simply, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Dinner's downstairs."
Selen blinked at him, stunned for a moment by how effortlessly he'd disarmed the storm he created.
He didn't wait for her reply. He turned and left the room, the soft echo of his footsteps lingering like a ghost, leaving her pressed against the wall—breathless, furious, and… confused.
Her hands curled into fists.
She hated him.
She hated how easily he controlled the space around her.
But more than anything… she hated the part of her that couldn't look away.
_____
Selen closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
The silence here was louder than Taehyung's presence.
Her gaze lifted to the mirror. The girl staring back at her… didn't feel like her. Messy hair, smudged eyeliner, and eyes heavy with exhaustion and questions she wasn't ready to answer.
She didn't want to hate him.
God help her, she wanted to. It would have been easier if she could. But even now, even after he forced her into this… he was still the only one standing between her and a world that would devour her whole. And that terrified her more than anything.
Her fingers curled around the sink. "What am I even doing…" she whispered.
With trembling hands, she stripped off her clothes, letting them fall in a small heap on the tiled floor. The air was cool against her skin, grounding her in a reality that felt unreal.
And then she saw it again.
Her breath hitched.
Right there, just below her collarbones, a faint mark bloomed on her skin. Not from pain. Not from violence. But a mark that didn't belong to her world until last night.
Her fingertips brushed over it slowly, her chest tightening.
It wasn't deep. It wasn't possessive. But it was his.
Memories flickered like broken film—the way his gaze pinned her, the way his presence swallowed every inch of air until she could barely think. And now, even here, alone in this bathroom, she felt it. Him.
"Pull yourself together," she whispered to her reflection, but her voice was thin, unconvincing.
____
Flash back.
Two Months Ago
Rain hammered against the café windows, turning the city lights outside into blurred streaks of gold and red.
Selen stood behind the counter, arms folded, watching the downpour. She hadn't planned to stay this late. But when the sky split open and poured its wrath, the streets emptied, taxis disappeared, and she realized she didn't even have an umbrella.
"Great," she muttered under her breath, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
Her father's café was warm and quiet at this hour. Only the hum of the coffee machines and the rhythmic drumming of rain filled the silence. It was… almost peaceful.
Almost.
Until the sound shattered it.
A sharp, metallic crash outside.
Selen jerked, her heart leaping to her throat. It was loud—close, like something had slammed hard onto the slick pavement.
"What was that?" she whispered to herself.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then, curiosity won. She grabbed the spare keys, unlocked the café door, and stepped out beneath the awning.
The rain was relentless, soaking the streets in silver. And then she saw it—at the far end of the street.
A motorcycle.
Or rather… what was left of one. It was toppled over near the curb, its engine still faintly humming. Beside it, a figure lay slumped against the wet pavement.
Her breath caught.
"Someone—!" Her voice cracked, but the street was empty. No one was around to hear.
Her legs moved before her brain could protest. She ran, her sneakers splashing through puddles, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she reached him, she dropped to her knees.
The man—God, he was tall even crumpled on the ground—was bleeding from his knees. His leather jacket was torn, his hands scraped raw.
But it wasn't the blood that froze her.
It was his eyes.
Sharp, striking… and terrifyingly calm despite the pain, locking onto hers with unsettling focus.
Deep. Dark. Like staring into a storm that didn't end.
"You…" His voice was low, rough, almost swallowed by the rain.
Selen's breath stilled. "Wh-what…?"
He didn't answer. His gaze shifted—slow, deliberate—fixing on her eyes as if they were a memory he didn't quite trust.
For one strange, suspended second… he whispered something.
"…Y/N!"
The name was barely audible, stolen by the rain, but it made her blink in confusion.
"I— I think you hit your head," she stammered, panic rising. "Don't—don't move, I'll call an ambulance—"
His hand shot out, fast despite his injuries, fingers curling weakly around her wrist.
"No."
Just one word. Firm. Final.
Selen froze, heart hammering. She didn't know why she didn't pull away. Maybe it was the way his grip wasn't cruel—just… desperate.
And then his strength faltered. His hand slid away, his body slumping.
"Hey—!" She caught his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Stay awake!"
He didn't respond. His chest rose and fell steadily—he was breathing—but he was barely conscious.
Selen swallowed hard, glancing around. No one was coming.
"Okay," she whispered to herself, rain dripping from her hair, her pulse racing. "Okay, it's fine. You've got this. You can… you can help him."
Somehow, she got him to his feet, his weight heavy against her. With every step, she told herself she was doing the right thing. That he was just a stranger who needed help.
The only sound was their footsteps and the relentless storm.
When they finally reached the café door, she fumbled for the keys with shaking hands, glancing at him nervously. His head was dipped slightly, rain sliding down the glossy black helmet that hid his face.
"Sit," she muttered, breathless, guiding him toward the nearest chair.
He obeyed without a word.
Selen ran to grab the first-aid kit from behind the counter, her heart still racing. She'd seen weird things in this city, but this… this was something else.
When she returned, she froze.
He was still sitting there.
Still.
Perfectly still.
His gloved hands rested on his knees, his head tilted slightly, the faint hum of his breathing the only sign he wasn't a statue.
And that mask.
That damned helmet and black face covering beneath it, making him look like a shadow that had wandered in from the rain.
"You… should take that off," Selen said cautiously, setting the kit on the table. "If you hit your head, I need to check—"
"No."
The word was sharp, low, final.
Her fingers tightened on the box. "You're bleeding," she pointed out.
"I've had worse."
His voice was deep, calm, with a quiet edge—sent a shiver down her spine.
She swallowed, irritated at the way her pulse reacted. "Look, I'm not a doctor, but if you want to pass out again and—"
"I said no."
He turned his head toward her then, slow and deliberate.
Selen's breath caught.
Even through the tinted visor of his helmet, even with his face hidden, there was weight in that stare. She could feel it—like he was stripping her down to bone and nerve.
Something about him wasn't right. No—worse. Something about him felt… dangerous.
But then, he spoke again, softer this time.
"Just… water."
Selen blinked. "What?"
"Water," he repeated, leaning back slightly, his voice rough like gravel. "That's all."
For a long second, she didn't move.
Then, against all reason, she obeyed.
She brought him a glass of water. He took it in a gloved hand, tilting it beneath the helmet just enough to drink without showing his face.
And then—
"Why?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
A pause.
"Why what?" His tone was low, measured.
"Why won't you take it off?"
He didn't answer right away.
Finally, he leaned forward slightly, close enough that she swore she could feel the chill of rain still clinging to him.
"Because if I do…" His voice dipped lower, silk over steel. "…you won't sleep tonight."
Her breath hitched.
And then, as if the words had never been spoken, he leaned back again silently.
Selen stared at him, heart pounding.
She didn't know it then, but this was the first night the storm had brought him to her.
And he never left.
____
The next morning, Selen's eyes fluttered open to the sound of rain still pattering faintly against the windows.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Her neck ached from having slept awkwardly on the café couch, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders. Blinking groggily, she sat up—
And froze.
The chair.
Empty.
The stranger was gone.
Her heart stuttered. She looked around wildly, scanning every corner of the café, but there was no trace of him. No footprints. No water dripping from where he'd sat.
Only the faint scent of rain and something sharp—cedar and smoke, lingering in the air like a ghost.
"...What?"
Her voice cracked softly in the empty café.
She stumbled toward the door, yanking it open. Nothing. No sign of anyone outside, not even tire tracks on the soaked pavement. Just the gray morning and the sound of rain hitting the ground.
Her chest tightened.
He'd been injured. There was no way he could've just… vanished.
Jaw tight, she rushed behind the counter and pulled up the café's CCTV feed.
Her hands trembled as she clicked through the footage, eyes glued to the screen.
Midnight.
The moment she'd brought him in.
1 a.m.—he was still there, unmoving.
2 a.m.—still there, head tilted back slightly as if resting.
And then—
3 a.m.
The chair was empty.
Her breath caught.
She clicked back, frame by frame, desperate for a sign of movement. A shadow. A door opening. Something.
There was nothing.
One frame, he was there. The next—gone.
"No…"
Her fingers dug into the counter, her pulse hammering.
It was impossible.
And yet…
As she stared at the frozen screen, her reflection faint in the monitor, she realized something that made her blood run cold.
The camera—
The angle was wide enough to capture everything.
But for some reason, in every frame where he was there…
His face was always turned away from the camera.
Always.
Her hands shook as she slammed the laptop shut.
For the first time in years, Selen locked the café door in the middle of the morning and leaned against it, pressing a trembling hand to her chest.
Her heart was racing, not just with fear… But with something far more dangerous.
Because deep down, some small, terrified part of her knew—
He wasn't gone.
After a moment. Selen stood in front of Nyra's door, rain dripping from her hair, her clothes clinging to her skin.
When Nyra opened it, she blinked in disbelief.
"Selen? What the hell—"
"I'm… exhausted," Selen cut her off, her voice low and raw, almost pleading. "Please, Nyra… can I just… borrow something to change into?"
Nyra's brows furrowed, but she didn't argue. She simply stepped aside and handed her a soft oversized hoodie and cotton shorts. "Go. Bathroom's down the hall. You look like you'll pass out standing."
Selen managed a small nod, clutching the clothes like a lifeline.
The moment the bathroom door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.
Steam from the still-warm shower fogged up the mirror. She stripped off her damp clothes one by one, her movements slow, heavy, as if her body wasn't fully hers.
And then—
She looked up.
Her reflection stared back at her.
And her heart stopped. Right there, just below her collarbone, faint but undeniable—
A mark.
Not a bruise. Not something that could be explained away.
Just a latter. "V"
Her trembling fingers brushed against it. It wasn't painful, but it was there. Almost like… a kiss made of fire.
Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed, pale, horrified. Her fingertips brushed the skin, cold against the warmth of it.
"This… this wasn't there…" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper, as panic clawed at her chest.
She wiped the mirror again, desperate, as if clearer glass would somehow change the truth. It didn't. The mark stayed, mocking her.
"No, no, no…"
Heart racing, she backed away from the mirror, pressing her hand over it like she could hide it from herself.
And then the memory hit—rain, the crash, the masked man who refused to take off his helmet.
Her knees almost buckled. She grabbed her phone and stumbled out of the bathroom, breathless, calling for the only person who wouldn't think she was crazy.
"Nyra…"
Nyra, sprawled lazily on the couch with a cup of instant ramen, nearly choked. "Holy hell, you scared me—what—"
"Look," Selen's voice cracked, raw and trembling, her hands gripping the fabric like it might hold her together. "This… wasn't here before last night."
Nyra frowned, ramen forgotten. "What are you talking about?"
Without another word, Selen tugged the hoodie collar down just far enough to reveal it.
The mark.
Faint, but sharp enough to feel wrong.
Nyra blinked. "What the… Is that… a bruise?"
"Last night–," Selen whispered, shaking her head violently.
Nyra, now fully alert, set down her cup and stepped closer. "Selen… what the hell happened last night?"
"I don't know," Selen rasped, shaking her head violently. "The rain… the café… that crash on the road… I helped him. He didn't even take off his helmet. He didn't… he didn't say anything. I just—"
"And then I woke up in the couch. Alone. No one there. But this—this wasn't here yesterday."
Nyra stared at her like she wanted to laugh it off, but the panic in Selen's eyes stopped her cold.
"Okay… okay, sit down," Nyra said, standing now, setting the ramen aside. "Selen, maybe it's just—"
"It's not," Selen snapped, her voice trembling, desperate. "Nyra, I swear… I feel like someone's watching me. Like he's still here. I can't explain it, but—"
Her words cut off.
Because Nyra wasn't laughing.
Her best friend glanced toward the window.
The curtains were closed, but for a fleeting second—just a second—she swore she saw the faintest shift in the shadow outside, like something—or someone—was there.
"Selen…" Nyra said carefully, voice low. "You didn't… tell anyone about this, right?"
Selen's nails dug into her palm. "Who would I even tell?"
Silence.
And then—somewhere neither of them could see—
Across the street, a man leaned casually against the railing of a balcony, his figure shrouded in shadows. His head tilted, a faint smirk curving his lips as he watched the two women from afar through a binocular.
Not moving. Not hiding. Just waiting.
Cedarwood and leather lingered in the air like a ghost that refused to leave.
And as Selen clutched at her hoodie, trembling, she didn't know that the man in the shadows was already whispering her name like it belonged to him.
"Marked! Mine!"
Flash back ended.
_____
Selen's fingers were still resting against the mark, the phantom weight of that night pressing against her chest like a haunting memory. Two months, and it still felt fresh—like the rain, the shadow, and that cursed text had branded her skin and soul.
She blinked hard, shaking her head, trying to push it away. This wasn't the time. Not now.
But before she could gather herself, a knock came from the bathroom door. Firm. Controlled.
And then—his voice.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?!"