♡Fragile Threads of Trust
I woke up abruptly as I felt a gentle touch — and then a soft kiss — on my foot.
Warm water brushed my skin. I flinched slightly, half-conscious, but the hands holding my foot were steady. Gentle.
Tae-hyun.
He was crouched beside the bed, eyes focused, jaw tight, but his movements careful and precise. He dipped a soft cloth into the water and dabbed the wound on my ankle, the sting of antiseptic making me wince.
His fingers paused immediately.
"Sorry," he muttered under his breath, as if even the tiniest discomfort I felt was a personal failing.
I tried to pull my foot away, but he held it firmly, not forceful, just possessive in a way that made my chest tighten. The slow rhythm of his care — the way he pressed the cloth, applied ointment, wrapped the bandage knot by knot — was deliberate, almost meditative. His thumb brushed slightly over my skin at the final knot, and I couldn't decide whether to flinch or melt.
"I never meant for you to bleed," he said quietly, voice low, almost a whisper, yet the weight behind it pressed into me like gravity.
I clenched my fists, remembering everything — the blood, the chaos, the wedding, my parents lying in pools of betrayal.
But even as anger coursed through me, there was something maddening about the way he remained, unwavering, gentle, careful. For a fleeting moment, past and present collided — dreams and reality tangled in the quiet touch of a man who had stayed even when everything broke.
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I pulled my legs closer, shaking, staring at him with a mix of fury and disbelief.
"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" I spat, voice trembling. "That you meant well while murdering my parents?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. No excuses. No flinching. Just those maddening eyes, unflinching, claiming.
"My parents," I hissed, letting the words cut sharp. "My fiancé. You destroyed everything. And now you sit here acting like some wounded saviour? You call this love?"
He finally exhaled, a deep, low sound, almost a growl. "I call it fate," he said. "Twisted. Unfair. But still mine."
I shook my head, voice cracking. "Fate doesn't come with blood on your hands. Fate doesn't make you this… this monster!"
He stood after a moment, adjusting the blanket over my legs with a slow, deliberate care, like he had every right to protect me. He leaned slightly over me, gaze piercing mine. "Monster? Perhaps," he murmured. "But I am your monster."
I flinched at the possessiveness in his tone. "Mine?"
He stepped back just slightly, just enough to give the illusion of space. "Yes. Because no one else deserved you. Because no one else would fight through the storm for you like I did."
I swallowed hard, trying to anchor myself in logic, in reason. "Fight? This isn't protection. This is control. Obsession. Violence."
He knelt back down, close enough that the heat from his body brushed against mine. "Maybe. Or maybe it's love the only way I know how. Fierce. Raw. Terrifying. But mine."
My chest tightened. I hated him for the way those words made something deep inside me shiver, something I couldn't name. My heart, my mind, my very will — all tangled in him despite every reason not to trust, not to forgive.
"I… I can't," I whispered, words trembling. "You can't just decide that I belong to you. You can't just take me like this."
He leaned closer, so close I could feel his breath against my temple. "I don't take, Aish. I claim. And claiming doesn't mean destroying. It means I stay. Even when the world burns. Even when you scream. Even when you hate me."
I wanted to scream, to push him away, to run, to vanish into nothing. But my body wouldn't cooperate.
He held my gaze, steady, unrelenting. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said quietly. "I'm asking you to survive me. With me. And maybe, eventually… see me."
And for the first time, I felt the fragile threads of trust quiver in my chest — stretched thin, but not completely broken.
He rose then, moving toward the door, pausing just before he left. "Sleep," he said softly. "You'll need it. Tomorrow, we decide how to fix the mess I caused. But for now… rest."
I lay there, trembling, unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. But one thing was certain: he had left a mark — not just on my skin, but on the fragile pieces of me I hadn't known could still feel.
And I hated that I couldn't hate him completely. I'm trapped with him. I don't understand why he is doing this to me.Does he knows me before we met? Why am I even here? Is that what fate what? Stuck with a mafia professor? And what about the dream? Why suddenly i saw that dream? I never seen that kind of dreams before? Who was she? I never had a sister. If they weren't my real parents, who they were? Why they raised me? For money?