The ropes bit deeper with every twitch of my wrists. My skin stung where the coarse fibers rubbed raw, and I could feel damp warmth seeping into my palms—blood, maybe. My shoulders throbbed from being forced back against the splintered wood of the chair. My ankles were locked tight to the legs, and the more I shifted, the more the bindings carved into me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe properly. Even the air felt stale, thick with mold and iron, like an old basement that hadn't seen light in years.
Above, a single bulb dangled on a wire. It flickered, buzzing faintly, a sickly yellow glow that cast long, jerking shadows against the cracked concrete walls. The sound gnawed at my nerves, like the light itself mocked me—reminding me of the mistake I had made.
I had trusted him. Him. The detective. The one who first leaned across the café table, offering me coffee with a smile that seemed so genuine. His words had dripped with sympathy, with promises of freedom, truth, justice. He had whispered that he could help me. That he would help me.
And like a fool, I believed him.
I thought I was clever. I thought I could use him to bring Taehyung—the devil—to his knees. I thought I was playing both sides. But now, bound and helpless, I realized I was the one who had been played.
The cold concrete beneath my bare feet reeked of dampness, the scent mingling with old smoke and rust. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped, steady as a ticking clock. But what froze me was the sound behind me—the slow, measured echo of footsteps.
My body went rigid. Every muscle tightened until it ached.
"You're a pretty fool," the detective's voice drawled, unhurried, almost amused. He stepped into the glow, hands shoved in his coat pockets, tilting his head like I was a puzzle he had already solved. "Really thought I cared about your past? About helping you?"
He circled, boots scraping against the floor, his eyes catching the weak light. When he crouched in front of me, close enough for me to smell the faint tang of cigarettes on his breath, the smirk tugging at his lips made my stomach twist.
"You were never a partner," he said softly. "You were bait. That's all."
My throat tightened, the words clawing their way out of me.
"You're a liar," I spat, my voice breaking under the weight of my shame. "You betrayed me… you made me believe you were different."
His smirk only deepened, cruel and satisfied. "Sweetheart, betrayal was the point. That's what makes the game fun."
I bit the inside of my cheek, shame burning hotter than the rope burns. I couldn't meet his gaze. I turned my face away, eyes squeezing shut, as if shutting him out would erase the truth.
A rustle made me look again. He pulled a phone from his pocket, casual, like this was routine. He held it up, wiggling it between two fingers.
"Let's see," he murmured, "how much the devil values his precious bride."
My chest hollowed out. "Don't—"
But he was already scrolling, already pressing.
The ringing filled the air, louder than it should've been. Each tone crawled into my veins, wrapping around my lungs, squeezing.
One ring. My pulse quickened, throat tightening.
Two rings. Bile surged up, burning the back of my mouth.
Would he answer?
Would he come?
Or would he leave me here? A punishment. Retribution for my betrayal.
The detective arched an eyebrow at my trembling. "Doubtful?" he taunted. "Because if he doesn't come…" He leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper that slid down my spine like ice. "We start cutting one finger at a time."
The words shattered me. My entire body flinched so hard the chair rattled. Tears blurred my vision, hot tracks against my chilled skin. The fear was a living thing in my chest, clawing at my ribs.
My voice cracked as I rasped, "He won't come…"
The detective's smirk only widened. "Oh? You sound so certain. But I wonder—what hurts more? Losing his trust? Or finding out he never cared at all?"
He let the words linger, poisonous and slow. And I hated myself because part of me believed him.
What if this was what I deserved?
What if Taehyung knew everything already—that I had betrayed him, tried to use him—and this silence was his answer?
Shame and terror collided inside me, stealing my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, heart thundering, as the ringing finally stopped.
A pause. Long. Heavy.
Then—
His voice
---
"Who the hell are you. And why are you using my wife's phone?"
The detective grinned.
"Oh, I think you know exactly who I am. And what I have."
Silence. Cold. Sharp.
"Your little wife's been busy, hasn't she? Snooping around. Whispering to rats. But now she's tied up nice and tight."
I squeezed my eyes shut, shame pouring through me.
The detective's tone darkened. "You want her back? Pay. Or pick up what's left."
Still, no answer. No sound from the other side of the line.
My breath hitched. Was he coming? Would he pay? Would he send men?
Would he kill them all & pull me into his arms like a madman in love?
Or… would he let me die here?
The Silence Before the Storm / Hope dies slowly
The phone call ended.
I couldn't hear what Taehyung said after that. Only the smug satisfaction in the detective's smirk as he slipped the phone back into his coat.
They didn't touch me— not yet— but their presence closed in like wolves waiting for a signal. I stared at the floor, my arms numb, my legs trembling.
What had I done?
I betrayed him. I tried to bring him down. I used secrets & lies, thinking I could control someone like him.
What if Taehyung didn't come? What if he looked at my betrayal & decided I wasn't worth the trouble?
He had every reason to abandon me. He could find someone else. Someone loyal.
Hours passed.
The light never changed in this abandoned hell. Only tension thickened.
---
The detective grew restless. He kept pacing, checking his watch, muttering.
"Strange…" he mumbled. "Thought he'd storm in like some mafia knight by now."
The others laughed. One tapped a blade against the chair leg. Another opened his jacket & made sure I saw the gun tucked inside.
I didn't flinch anymore. I couldn't. I was too far gone.
I kept telling myself: He'll come. Taehyung will come. He always does.
But doubt was poison, and it had already soaked into my bones.
What if this time… he didn't?
What if this time… he didn't listen to his pride instead of his heart? What if he decided I wasn't worth the damage?
I betrayed him. Plotted against him. Met another man behind his back.
Used secrets to wound the empire he bled for.
Maybe this was justice. Maybe I deserved to sit here & rot.
I lowered my head, shame curling up inside me like something alive. A tear slipped past my cheek & I didn't bother wiping it.
"If he loved me," I whisper, "he would've come by now."
That's when the lights went out.
---