☆Taehyun's POV — The Silence Before the Storm
The call ended, but her voice lingered, sharp as a blade, fraying at the edges of my control. Fear. Pure, unmasked fear. I could hear it even over the static of my phone.
The room was quiet, too quiet. My men stood around, stiff, trained, aware that when I was silent like this, the air itself could kill. I didn't need to look at them to know they felt it. Every ounce of tension in their bodies was mine to command, and they knew better than to speak.
"She… she was working with a detective?" one of them ventured, voice low.
I didn't answer.
My gaze dropped to the floor. Her photo lay there, the edges curled from last night. That damn journal, always so careful, so full of secrets. And there she was—smiling up at me from the polished wood, oblivious to the danger closing in. I clenched my fists. Every nerve in me screamed.
"Sir…" another said cautiously, "She… she's trying to hurt herself, or someone else?"
My hands tightened into fists, nails biting into my palms. The air in the room thickened, heavy with tension.
"She's scared right now," I said finally, voice low, deliberate, and deadly calm.
They paused, unsure.
"I can hear it in her voice," I continued, each word measured. "I can feel it in my bones. She's not just tied up—she's breaking."
The weight of that realization pressed down, hotter than anger, deeper than fury. My chest ached in a way I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years. Not because she was in danger—but because I hadn't been there to stop it.
"Find them," I commanded, my voice cutting through the silence like steel through flesh. "Every last one of them. I don't care if the detective runs, hides, or thinks he's clever. I want him alive long enough to know what real fear feels like."
The men didn't flinch. They were trained for this. But I could feel their fear at my edge, their hesitation at my obsession. Good. Let them understand why I was a storm.
"She made a mistake," I said, voice dropping lower, darker. "But no one… no one plays a hand on what's mine."
I stood, black coat brushing the floor, heart beating fast enough to make the room pulse with it. My eyes burned across the men, across the weapons, across the map spread on the table. Every location, every contact, every shadow of the city—the pieces were moving, but none moved fast enough for me.
"She may hate me," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. "But she trusted the wrong man once. She won't make that mistake again."
I could feel it—the storm building, the fire that had been dormant for too long. My mind raced through possibilities, contingency plans, exits, traps, the paths her captor might take, the lies the detective could tell, the illusions he could weave.
And still, nothing mattered more than her.
Black gloves tightened over my fists. My men understood then: I wasn't asking. I was commanding. And when I moved, the world would move with me.
"She's mine," I said quietly, almost tenderly, the edge of obsession and devotion blending into one. "And no one—no one—will touch her again."
♡The Locket
I had placed the locket around your neck the night of our wedding, despite your protests. You had pushed back, fingers trembling, eyes defiant. "I don't need this," you had whispered, almost accusing.
I had pressed it onto you, my hands lingering on your collarbone. "You'll need it," I had murmured. "Even if you don't know it yet."
Now, I knew exactly why.
"Where is she?" I growled, the single word enough to make the room freeze.
My men, stationed in the command room below the mansion, were already keyed in. Three screens lined the wall—digital maps, code strings, and satellite feeds flickering in cold green light. The locket's beacon pulsed faintly on one of the monitors, blinking like a heartbeat.
"She's moving," one of the tech guys said, voice steady but tense. "Coordinates locked. Someone is forcing her into a vehicle, sir."
My hands clenched the edge of the table. "I want visuals. Every camera feed. Every street camera in the vicinity."
Another man, fingers flying over the keyboard, responded, "We're triangulating her position through the locket's microtracker. GPS is weak, but it's enough. Thermal cams activated. Motion sensors online."
I paced. My mind raced—there you were, out there, alone, and someone had dared to touch you.
"She's scared," the tech whispered, almost to himself. "Her heart rate spiked in the last five minutes. Could be physical stress, could be panic. We're getting multiple signals."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Every second you spent out of reach felt like fire in my veins.
"Sir," another voice called. "The locket's signal is bouncing. Someone may have shielded her temporarily. We're tracking a vehicle now. Digital footprint minimal, but we can lock."
I leaned over the console, jaw tight, eyes sharp as daggers. "Lock on her. No margin of error. I don't care who sees us tracking her, as long as she comes back safe."
A tense silence followed. The hum of servers and blinking monitors filled the room. Fingers tapped, codes scrolled, cameras rotated. And through it all, the small, familiar pulse of the locket on the monitor reminded me: you were alive. And I had a chance to get you back.
Every alert, every movement, made my chest tighten. Even though I wasn't there physically, my mind was with you—every heartbeat, every breath. My men moved like extensions of me—silent, precise, trained.
"She's in the basement," one technician reported finally, voice almost shaking. "Signal confirmed."
I exhaled, barely. Relief mingled with fury. My hands didn't unclench. My teeth ground together. Whoever thought they could play with you… with us… would pay.
"Prepare the extraction," I said. My voice low, deadly calm. "And double the perimeter. No mistakes. I want her back before anyone even knows she was gone."
The room moved faster, the tension electric. Every digital feed, every satellite feed, every sensor in the city bent toward one purpose: bring you home.
The storm had already begun.
And this time, it wore a name.
Kim Tae-hyun.
He will let the the world burn before something happening to you!