It had been months since Kang Taejun bought me, and for the first time, the house didn't feel like it was swallowing me whole.
I still woke up every morning half-expecting to see the bar ceiling, hear the music, smell the sweat. But instead, there was quiet. Too quiet.
I had learned how to boil eggs without burning the kitchen. I even figured out how to make rice — though the first three attempts were disasters that Kang tasted without a single expression on his face before quietly ordering takeout.
Today, I was standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Clumsily. I wasn't used to knives. The blade slipped, and I hissed when it nearly nicked my skin.
"Stop."
I jumped. Kang's voice was firm, cutting through the silence. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his tie loosened from work.
"You're going to cut your hand like that," he said.
I scowled. "Then show me, instead of just standing there like a critic."
He walked over, closing the distance easily. Without asking, he took the knife from my hand, then my wrist, positioning my fingers.
"Curve them inward," he instructed. "Like this. If you keep them flat, you'll slice them."
"I danced for years," I muttered. "No one told me knives had rules."
"That's because no one cared enough to teach you," he said simply, not even looking at me as he sliced the vegetables with perfect precision.
His words hit harder than they should have. I stayed quiet, watching the easy way his hands moved.
When he was done, he handed me the knife. "Try again."
I did. My hands still shook a little, but this time, the blade didn't slip.
When I looked up, Kang was watching me with that unreadable gaze of his.
"What?" I asked defensively.
"Nothing." He turned to leave. "Just don't kill yourself over dinner."
A few weeks later, he let me into the garden for the first time.
The air smelled fresh — real. I hadn't smelled real air since… I didn't even know when.
I ran to the swing at the far end like some excited kid, sitting down and kicking off gently.
"You really trust me not to run?" I called over my shoulder.
Kang was leaning against the doorway, watching me with that same unreadable expression.
"If you were going to run," he said calmly, "you would've done it months ago."
"Or maybe I just didn't have anywhere else to go," I muttered.
For a second, his expression shifted — just slightly — before he looked away.
Later that night, Kang came home late. I was sitting on the couch, waiting. I had cooked — or tried to.
He stopped in the doorway when he saw me. "Why are you still awake?"
"I made food," I said, trying not to sound proud of it. "You didn't eat yet, right?"
There was a pause, and then something softened in his face. "…No one's ever waited for me before."
I blinked. "…Then get used to it. I don't like wasting food."
He didn't smile — not really — but there was the faintest curve to his lips as he sat down.
We ate together in silence, but the silence didn't feel heavy this time. It felt… warm.
The first time Kang took me outside was terrifying.
It was just a café, nothing fancy. But my heart raced like I was doing something illegal.
While Kang went to get our drinks, someone approached me — a tall alpha with a grin that made my stomach turn.
"Hey, pretty thing," he said smoothly. "Are you here alone?"
"N-No—"
Before I could finish, Kang was back, his hand gripping the alpha's wrist and twisting it until the man yelped.
"Touch him again," Kang said in a low, dangerous tone, "and you won't have a wrist."
The man bolted.
Kang turned to me, his jaw tight. "Stay behind me."
I obeyed without arguing, my heart still racing. But this time, it wasn't just fear making it pound.
That night, Kang paced the living room, still clearly angry.
"You should've stayed closer to me," he said sharply.
"Why are you yelling at me?" I shot back, folding my arms. "I didn't do anything!"
"Because anything could have happened to you!" he snapped, his voice louder than I'd ever heard it.
I stared at him, stunned. "…Why do you care?"
He stopped pacing. The anger drained from his face, leaving something raw underneath.
"…Because I can't stand the thought of losing you."
The room went quiet. My breath caught in my throat.
"You really mean that?" I asked, my voice softer now.
Kang nodded slowly. "I didn't buy you just to own you. I bought you because I couldn't stand watching someone else hurt you. And somewhere along the way…"
He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "…You became more than that to me."
The silence stretched between us like a tight wire.
I didn't know what to say.
More than that.
My throat felt dry. "…You're saying you care?"
Kang's jaw tightened. "I'm saying I can't stand the idea of you being hurt again. Not by anyone. Not by me."
I blinked. This was the same man who once grabbed my chin and told me I belonged to him.
And now he was looking at me like I wasn't just property — like I was… fragile.
"Then why do you keep treating me like a prisoner?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He exhaled sharply and sat down on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
"Because if I let you go… someone else would take you. Someone who doesn't care if you live or die. I've seen what they do to omegas like you."
His words should have made me angry — should have reminded me that he still thought he had a right to my life — but instead, all I felt was a strange warmth in my chest.
"You don't trust me to take care of myself?"
Kang looked up at me then, and for the first time, I saw something almost desperate in his eyes.
"I trust you. I don't trust the world."
That hit me harder than I expected.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
"Sit down," Kang said softly.
I hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the couch beside him.
He turned slightly, studying me. "You've changed since you came here."
"Obviously," I said quietly. "I didn't even know how to boil an egg when I got here."
His mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. "You still can't cut vegetables properly."
"Hey!" I nudged him with my shoulder without thinking — and froze when I realized what I'd just done.
But instead of snapping at me, Kang let out a low chuckle.
It was the first time I'd heard him laugh.
The sound did something to me — something I couldn't explain.
"I like it better when you're not scared of me," he said quietly.
"I'm still scared," I admitted, looking down at my hands.
"I know."
He didn't say it like a threat. He said it like an apology.
The quiet between us shifted — softer now, not sharp and heavy like before.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel," I whispered. "You're the reason I'm here, but… when you're like this, I don't hate it. And I hate that I don't hate it."
Kang's hand moved, hesitated in mid-air, then settled gently over mine.
"You don't have to figure it out tonight," he said. "Just… stay."
I swallowed hard. "…I wasn't planning to run this time."
Something in his expression softened even more — like my words had knocked down a wall inside him.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my heart thudding too fast.
Every word he'd said kept echoing in my mind.
I can't stand the thought of losing you.
You became more than that to me.
I pressed my face into the pillow, groaning softly.
Why was my chest so tight? Why did it feel like I wanted him to come back into the room, just to look at me again?
When I finally fell asleep, my dreams were strange — not the bar this time, not the old nightmares.
Just Kang's laugh, his hand over mine, his voice saying my name softly.
The next morning, I found him already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, making coffee.
"You're awake early," he said, glancing at me.
"I couldn't sleep," I muttered, then hesitated. "…Can we go outside again today?"
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't look displeased. "You're asking?"
I shrugged. "I'm not planning to escape. Not anymore."
He didn't say anything for a moment — then he nodded once.
"Fine. After breakfast."
And just like that, something inside me unclenched.
That afternoon, we sat together in the garden, side by side on the swing.
I kicked at the grass absently while he sat still, his arm draped casually along the back of the swing — close enough to touch me, but not quite.
"Do you ever get tired of… all this?" I asked suddenly.
He glanced at me. "What do you mean?"
"Being in control. Owning everything. Owning me."
For a long time, he didn't answer. Then, to my surprise, he said quietly:
"Yes. It's exhausting."
I turned to look at him. "…Then why do you do it?"
His gaze stayed on the horizon. "Because if I let go of control, everything I built falls apart. And I can't lose everything again."
Something about the way he said again made my chest ache.
I wanted to ask what he meant — what he had lost — but for the first time, I didn't push.
Instead, I said softly, "Then maybe… you don't have to control me so much. I'm not going to break."
Kang looked at me then — really looked at me — and something in his eyes changed.
"You're stronger than you think," he said.
And for the first time, I believed him.
The days that followed felt different.
Kang didn't bark orders anymore — not the way he used to.
He still corrected me when I messed up, but it wasn't cruel, just… firm.
He even started showing me how to do things himself, instead of just watching me fail.
"This is how you hold the knife," he said one afternoon, standing behind me at the kitchen counter.
His hand closed over mine, guiding it slowly, carefully, as I sliced the vegetables.
My heart pounded. He was too close — warm, steady, his breath brushing against my ear.
"I'm not going to cut myself," I muttered.
"You almost did. Three times," he replied calmly.
I scowled, but I didn't pull away. "You could just let me learn on my own."
"And watch you lose a finger? No thanks."
When I glanced at him, he was smirking. Actually smirking.
The sight sent a strange flutter through my stomach.
"You're annoying," I said, looking back at the cutting board.
"Good," he said simply. "It means you're not scared of me anymore."
I wanted to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.
Because he was right.
Later that night, I found myself wandering into the living room where he was reading.
He looked up when I entered. "Can't sleep again?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Can I… sit here?"
He gestured to the couch. "You don't need to ask."
I sat down on the far end at first, curling my knees to my chest.
For a few minutes, the room was quiet except for the sound of pages turning.
But my eyes kept drifting to him — to the way the light from the lamp softened the sharp lines of his face, to the way his brow furrowed when he read.
"You read a lot," I said finally.
"It helps me think," he replied without looking up.
"What are you thinking about now?"
There was a pause — then he closed the book and turned to me fully.
"You."
My breath caught. "…What about me?"
"That you're not the same person I brought here," he said quietly. "And I don't know when that changed, but I notice it every time I look at you."
My chest felt tight. "Maybe I'm just pretending to survive."
"Maybe," he said softly. "But you smile more now. Even when you think I don't see it."
I looked down quickly, embarrassed.
Kang's voice lowered, almost gentle. "I like it when you smile."
The room went still — like the world was holding its breath with me.
For a moment, I wanted to say something — anything — but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, I leaned back against the couch, my pulse hammering.
Kang didn't push. He just leaned back too, not too close, not too far.
But I felt him there — steady, quiet, warm — and for the first time, the silence didn't feel like a cage.
When I finally went to bed that night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
My chest wouldn't stop aching.
But it wasn't the old ache — the one filled with anger and fear.
This one felt different.
Lighter.
Dangerous.
Like maybe, just maybe, I was starting to want him to look at me like that again.