Next day,The detective behaviour change drastically.
The detective's tone shifted subtly, the kind of calm that never feels safe—like a knife being sharpened under silk.
"You know, I've heard stories about him. Quiet things, the kind that don't make it to newspapers," he said, leaning closer across the table, his gray eyes glinting in the dim light. "People disappear around him. His hands aren't clean. Mafia ties. Blood money. Maybe even worse."
I froze, the words slamming into me like ice against my chest. My fingers tightened around the warm cup, the porcelain threatening to crack under the pressure. My mind raced, heart hammering a warning.
"Stop," I said, forcing steel into my voice. "I don't want guesses. I want facts. If you have none, don't feed poison."
He smiled faintly, but it didn't touch his eyes. There was a predator's gleam there—knowing exactly the effect his words had on me, knowing exactly how far he could push.
"You're loyal," he said, voice low, deliberate. "Even when you don't want to be."
I didn't reply. I stood up, spine straight, voice clean, though my stomach twisted.
"Find the truth, detective. That's what I'm paying you for. And if you lie to me—just once—I'll destroy you too."
He tilted his head, an expression somewhere between amusement and caution.
"I will find the truth," he said, lifting his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine. "But let's not pretend you don't already know who your husband is… what he's done. What he's doing. He's a monster wrapped in velvet, sweetheart."
I bristled, fury and disbelief battling inside me.
"I don't need your opinions. I need facts. Evidence. Names. Anything that tells me who I am. Not a list of things you hate about my husband."
He laughed then—a low, bitter, entertained sound that cut sharper than words. It bounced off the rusted metal railing, mingling with the distant hum of traffic and the muted sirens of the city.
"You really don't see it, do you?" he said, eyes narrowing, leaning forward slightly so his shadow stretched over my hands on the table. "You hate him. You're terrified of him. But you're still defending him. That's not fear. That's loyalty. That's the kind of twisted bond he builds."
I clenched my jaw, swallowing a scream that had nothing to do with him. It was me—my frustration, my confusion, the way the truth felt slippery, almost impossible to grasp.
I rose fully, letting the chair scrape harshly against the metal floor, heels clicking sharp against the stairs as I moved toward the exit. Each step sounded louder than it should, a drumbeat of defiance and desperation.
The city sprawled beneath me like a living, breathing entity, every light and shadow dancing over the rooftops. The wind carried the scent of wet asphalt and diesel, sharp and real. My chest heaved, burning with adrenaline and unshed tears.
I didn't see the dark sedan parked across the street. Didn't see the man sitting in the driver's seat, watching, waiting. Didn't see the faint nod he gave, almost imperceptible, or the quiet click as a message was sent, vanishing into the digital ether with silent precision.
All I felt was the echo of his words, their weight pressing against my ribs. Twisted bond. Monster wrapped in velvet.
I walked faster, heels striking metal steps and stone alike, wanting distance, clarity, some kind of oxygen. But my mind refused to let me go. His image, impossible, haunted, regal and dangerous, filled every corner. Taehyung. My nightmare. My tether. My curse.
The detective's warnings swirled like smoke in my mind. He was right, wasn't he? Maybe. The fear, the loyalty, the part of me that still clung to him despite the chaos—it was there, undeniable, twisting itself into every thought I had.
I stopped at the street corner, leaning against the cold brick wall, fingers digging into my palms. I needed to breathe, to untangle the mess of heart and mind. And yet… part of me knew, with terrifying certainty, that I couldn't run from him. Not really. Not ever.
A light rain began to fall, the kind that kissed skin with icy needles, that seeped into hair and soaked through layers of thought. My coat offered little warmth, little protection. And yet I barely noticed, because the storm inside me was so much louder.
Twisted bond.
I could still hear it echoing in my head. My breath came faster, and I hugged myself, feeling the weight of truth pressing down like a stone in my chest.
Somewhere beneath that loyalty, beneath that terror and fury, something else flickered. Not love, not forgiveness, not hate. Something raw and impossible to define. A tether between us that no argument, no revelation, no darkness could sever completely.
The detective's words replayed over and over.
"People disappear around him. His hands aren't clean. Mafia ties. Blood money. Maybe even worse."
I shut my eyes, fighting the panic clawing up my throat. Maybe I didn't want to see it. Maybe I didn't want to know the full truth. Maybe part of me needed to believe that beneath the darkness, beneath the monster, the man I had glimpsed—the man who held me, who saved me, who haunted me—still existed.
The rain soaked me. I shivered. And in the chill, I realized something that terrified me more than any revelation:
No matter what I learned, no matter what the detective found… no matter the blood on his hands, no matter the lies, the manipulation, the death and destruction…
I couldn't stop thinking about him.
I couldn't stop caring.
And that… that made me dangerously, horribly, completely vulnerable.
My phone buzzed. I didn't even check it at first, still pressing against the brick wall, still fighting the cold, fighting the storm of my own emotions. Then I glanced down. A message from an Tae-hyun's number.
You're thinking about me. Don't pretend otherwise.
My chest tightened. My hand trembled. I wanted to throw the phone, smash it against the concrete, erase the tether that had me bound to him. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because somewhere, deep beneath every scar, every betrayal, every fear… I knew he was waiting.
Waiting for me to make a choice.
Waiting to see if I would fight him, flee from him, or fall entirely into the storm he had always promised.
And in that rain, with the city blurred and cold around me, I realized:
I wasn't running anymore.
I wasn't hiding anymore.
I was standing at the edge, staring into the depths, knowing that whatever came next… I would face it.
Even if it destroyed me.
Even if it meant losing myself completely to the man who had already claimed pieces of my heart I wasn't ready to admit I still owned.
And as the detective's voice echoed in my mind one last time:
Twisted bond.
I clenched my fists, letting the cold rain sting my skin.
Yes. Twisted. Dangerous. Terrifying. But undeniably real.
And no matter what truth came next, I would meet it.
Even if it broke me entirely.
♡♡Homecoming in the Rain
The city had vomited rain all afternoon, turning streets into slick mirrors. By the time I finally reached the mansion, soaked through, my hair plastered to my face, I barely had the energy to lift my hand to ring the doorbell. My coat dripped in puddles on the marble floor, and the chill ran straight through my bones.
And then I saw him.
Tae-hyun, in the kitchen. Shirt sleeves rolled up, brown shirt clinging slightly at the damp spots from the steamy pots. The scent of herbs, garlic, and something rich and savory filled the air. He moved like he always did—controlled, deliberate, fluid. Stirring the pot with one hand, tasting with the other, brows furrowed in concentration.
And by the stove, leaning on the counter like she'd never lift a finger to help him, was Mrs. Han—the house's oldest servant, like a grandmother who had seen everything and judged nothing but still enjoyed teasing relentlessly.
"See? Even the great Kim Taehyun needs me to tell him when he's over-salting the soup," she said, shaking her head, eyes twinkling as she glanced at him.
He shot her a glare that was half annoyance, half amused surrender. "I do not need—"
"—a babysitter? Oh, yes you do, Tae-hyun," she interrupted, smirking. "Otherwise you'd burn the kitchen down again."
I froze at the doorway, unable to process the warm domestic scene in front of me. The smell of cooking, the soft hum of the ventilation, the calm but tense domesticity—it was… unnerving.
And then he saw me.
His head snapped up, eyes wide. "You!"
Before I could move, he was across the floor in a few long strides, arms outstretched. "Come here."
I tried to protest through chattering teeth, but the chill made it impossible. He wrapped me in his arms, brushing my wet hair from my face, holding me as if I might shatter into pieces under the weight of rainwater.
Mrs. Han approached, shaking her head, a towel in her hand. "Let me," she said, draping it around my shoulders, the warmth seeping slowly into me.
I barely registered the heat, the scent of him mingling with the steam from the stove. I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. I just stared, shivering.
"Why didn't you call?" Taehyun asked, voice low, full of quiet accusation and relief. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
Mrs. Han huffed, amused. "She's not used to men fussing over her. Watch, Taehyung, she'll just stare at you like a frozen cat."
"I am not—" he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. Just a soft, amused frustration that made my heart twist in ways I didn't want to analyze.
He guided me to the kitchen, steadying me as I stumbled slightly on the wet marble. "Sit. Eat something," he ordered, pointing at the plate he had set. Steam rose, fragrant and comforting.
I shook my head, unable to speak, letting him and Mrs. Han fuss over me. Their questions came fast—
"Did it rain much?"
"Where were you?"
"Did someone hurt you?"
And I… couldn't answer. All I could do was stare at him, at the way he kept brushing my hair from my face, at the gentle crease between his brows, at the way he silently asked me to trust him without words.
Finally, Mrs. Han placed a cup of hot tea in my hands. I hugged it like a lifeline. He leaned closer, his hands brushing mine as he adjusted the towel around my shoulders again.
"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, intimate. "You can tell me anything. I'm here."
I just shivered, unable to speak. Words would betray me. My heart would betray me. Even my body seemed to betray me, pressing closer to the heat he radiated without consent.
Mrs. Han chuckled quietly from across the kitchen. "Ah… young love and stubbornness. My favorite combination."
Tae-hyun ignored her, letting her amusement fill the room, focusing entirely on me.
"Look at me," he said softly. "You're home. You're safe."
I blinked up at him, rain dripping from my hair, face pale, lips trembling. I could only nod, shiver, and press the cup of tea to my chest.
He smiled faintly—not triumphant, not teasing, just… soft. The way he always was when the world could wait, and only I existed.
And in that kitchen, with the rain beating against the windows, Mrs. Han shaking her head and whispering nonsense about how stubborn we both were, I realized something:
Even in the storm, even drenched and shivering, even speechless and broken…
I was exactly where I needed to be.