Chapter Thirty-One: The Cute Assassin & Her Zoo
A soft rustle at the door.
We both looked.
Two fuzzy heads peeked around the frame, one golden and crowned with tufted ears, the other striped and wide-eyed. Leo and his tiger accomplice. They didn't bound in, didn't make a sound. They just… appeared. Silent observers from a wilder world, their huge paws planted just inside the threshold.
I froze.
They watched me with unblinking, curious gazes. Leo's head tilted. The tiger cub's whiskers twitched. They were miniature, deadly creatures rendered in absolute, fluffy stillness.
My chest did a painful, traitorous squeeze.
God, they're…
Adorable. They were heart-stoppingly, unfairly adorable.
The tiger cub tilted its head the other way. Leo blinked at me slowly, a gesture of feline trust that felt strangely profound. My lips parted, but the sharp retort I'd prepared died in my throat.
A wave of warmth, soft and insidious, tried to rise in me. I stomped it down, viciously.
No. Absolutely not. I would not love anything that belonged to him. Not the gilded cage, not the dangerous man, and certainly not his menagerie of predatory fluffballs.
Even if they looked at me with eyes like melted amber and innocence. Even if they seemed to regard me as some lost, prickly member of their peculiar pack.
"I love animals," I whispered, the confession a secret told only to the morning air. "But not yours."
They remained statues. Quiet. Strangely respectful, as if they understood the fragile tension in the room.
I blinked.
"…They're better behaved than their owner," I muttered under my breath. "Or… I suppose, their father?"
Leo chose that moment to let out a delicate, squeaking yawn, displaying tiny needle-sharp teeth, before sitting down with a gentle thump. The tiger cub stretched, placing its oversized paws forward in a motion that was both playful and regal, like a tiny prince awaiting an audience.
I stared, disbelief warring with unwilling fascination.
"Are they… trained in royal etiquette or something?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.
Taehyun watched the scene unfold, his expression giving nothing away. But I could feel the shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in pressure. He sensed it—the first, hairline fracture in the fortress of my resentment.
My gaze flicked to the forgotten spoon on the breakfast tray, then to the bandage on my forehead, a stark reminder of their—and by extension, his—chaos.
With a sigh that carried the weight of the world, I pushed the blanket aside and sat up straight.
"I'm not eating because you told me to," I announced, my voice sharp as shattered glass.
He merely raised a brow, a silent challenge.
I snatched the spoon from the tray and pointed it accusingly at the cubs. "I'm doing it because your… your kids are watching. I refuse to be a bad influence."
I scooped a heaping spoonful of soup and shoved it into my mouth, chewing with aggressive, pointed motions, glaring at him as if each swallow were an act of symbolic violence against his soul.
He watched, arms crossed, that infuriating brow still arched.
I chewed faster, with more venom.
"Don't look so smug," I grumbled around a mouthful, scowling. "This is sustenance for my eventual revenge."
His lips twitched, a clear battle against a smile.
"I swear," I growled, scooping another bite with theatrical fury, "once this concussion is fully healed, I will murder you. Slowly. Poetically."
Taehyun leaned forward in his chair, closing the distance between us. His voice dropped to that low, intimate rumble that seemed to vibrate in my bones. "Oh? Do enlighten me, little wife. What's the plan?"
I slammed the spoon down on the tray with a dramatic clatter and puffed out my cheeks in rage. "Poison in your espresso. Your own pistol, turned against you. Maybe my bare hands, if I'm feeling particularly inspired that day!"
A soft, genuine chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. "You're declaring war on a man who controls half the city's underworld… while wearing bandages and with soup on your chin. It's adorable."
"I will end you," I snarled, wiping my mouth with furious haste and brandishing the spoon at him like a shiv. "Don't underestimate a woman fueled by vengeance and… and thwarted cuteness!"
As if on cue, Leo and the tiger cub both gave small, synchronized nods. One let out a soft huff. The other stretched again, yawning widely, as if to say, "Pay attention. She means business."
Taehyun tilted his head, amusement lighting his dark eyes. "So I've created a tiny assassin?"
I narrowed my eyes to slits. "You've created a war."
He leaned in even closer, his smirk a thing of wicked beauty. "Then let me die by your hand," he murmured, his breath a whisper against my skin. "But only if you kiss me first."
"Pervert!" I yelped, snatching a piece of toast from the tray and hurling it at his face. "Just die now!"
He laughed as the bread bounced harmlessly off his shoulder and landed near Leo, who sniffed it disdainfully before dismissing it as unworthy.
I turned my dramatic fury on the cubs, pointing the spoon at them. "And you two—don't think your squishy faces and big eyes are winning me over. I'm still furious with you."
They blinked up at me, a picture of pure, innocent bewilderment.
"…Fine," I relented, my voice dropping. "I'm marginally less furious. But I'm still… displeased."
Taehyun leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head, watching me with a grin that was equal parts exasperation and fondness.
"I've missed that smart mouth of yours," he murmured, the words soft, almost to himself.
I glared, channeling all my impotent rage into the look.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," I said, taking an angry, defiant bite of the remaining toast. "Because the moment I'm healed? You're a dead man walking."
---
A Week in the Velvet Dungeon
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours in this… palatial fortress? Luxurious prison? It was a dungeon with exquisite taste and a severe black-and-grey color scheme.
The outside world had ceased to exist. No visitors. The ever-present Mrs. Han was mysteriously "on leave." No prying eyes. Just Taehyun, his rotating guard of silent, severe men, the three fluffy traitors, and me.
Him: cooking surprisingly delicate meals, conducting business in low, lethal tones on the phone, then turning to offer me a bowl of fruit with a look that could melt steel.
Me: eating, glaring, and trying to ignore the fact that my primary emotional support system was now a trio of apex predator infants.
Everything here was a shade of dark. Charcoal curtains. Onyx floors. Slate walls. Even the dinner plates were a matte black. It was like living inside a handsome, monochromatic bruise.
"This aesthetic is psychologically oppressive!" I announced from my perch on a massive velvet sofa, the tiger cub—who I'd secretly named Toro—curled in my lap like a striped, purring heating pad. I stared at the vaulted ceiling as if it personally offended me. "If you don't introduce a color that isn't 'sinister shadow' or 'midnight regret,' I swear on my righteous indignation, I will stage another escape!"
Taehyun didn't glance up from meticulously chopping herbs in the open kitchen. "If you run, I'll find you."
"I'll hide in a place you'd never think to look!"
"There is no such place."
"Ugh!" I flopped backward, Toro grumbling at the disturbance. "You're impossible. It's too quiet. Too controlled. Too… mafia in here. I need to see a color that isn't legally defined as 'menacing'!"
His voice floated over, calm as ever. "The point is that no one unwanted steps foot here. It's a deterrent."
"I'm unwanted! I'm your captive audience! And I'm telling you, my mental health requires a throw pillow in sage green!"
Toro yawned in my lap, completely unmoved by my artistic critique.
---
The Forbidden Study
Later, under the cloak of a quiet night, I found myself standing before the one door in the mansion that was always, unequivocally locked.
His study.
The inner sanctum. Where the real business happened. Where low voices discussed things that probably shouldn't be discussed. The heart of his darkness.
I glanced down the empty, shadowed hallway. The cubs were asleep in a pile in the living room. The guards were at their external posts.
"Just a peek," I whispered to myself, the thrill of rebellion a fizzy poison in my veins. "A tiny, harmless act of espionage. For morale."
My hand rose, fingertips brushing the cold, polished brass of the knob.
A presence materialized behind me, warmth and a familiar, clean scent surrounding me before I even heard a sound.
"Are we… snooping, little bird?"
I yelped, spinning to find him there. He was still in his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with dark hair. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a dangerous glint.
"Why is this the only locked door?" I demanded, lifting my chin to hide my jumpiness. "What's in there? State secrets? Piles of ill-gotten cash? Photographs of your other wives?"
He took a step closer, forcing me to tilt my head back further. "You really want to see what's behind that door?"
"Yes."
He leaned down until his lips were a breath away from my ear. "Be careful. Once you walk through that door, you can't unsee what's inside. And you can never truly walk away from it—or from me."
I shivered, but met his gaze. "Is that a threat or a sales pitch?"
"A promise."
A slow smile spread across my lips. "Good. I've always had a taste for forbidden fruit."
He matched my smile with a darker one of his own. "Then don't come crying to me, little firecracker, when you discover the monster's true face."
---
The Midnight Feeding
I hate him.
I repeat it like a mantra every morning when I wake to find him already watching me, his gaze a physical claim in the dawn light.
But those three furry, four-legged accomplices of his?
I… may have developed a clandestine feeding schedule.
Only because they looked at me with those pitiful, hungry eyes! (Never mind that they were objectively the most well-fed carnivores in the city.)
Tonight, I was a shadow in the kitchen before sunrise. The mansion was a tomb of silence. He was asleep. This was my time.
Crouched behind the massive island, I whispered into the dark. "Leo… pssst… come here, you fluffy golden menace."
Leo padded around the corner, his movements silent, his eyes glowing in the dim light from the fridge. I produced a piece of boiled chicken from my secret stash (the "healthy snacks" drawer I'd commandeered). He purred, a rumbling sound of pure pleasure, and nudged my hand for more.
"Shhh," I whispered, stroking his head. "This is our secret. Don't tell your dictator dad."
Next came Toro, who sat with improbable regality, waiting for his tribute. I tore the chicken into delicate strips, placing them before him like offerings to a tiny, striped god.
Finally, the sleek black jaguar cub—Jett—padded over. He was the quietest, the most observant. He nudged my leg with his head, and I scratched behind his ears, my voice dropping to a coo. "You're not so tough, are you? Just a big, shadowy baby."
Click.
The kitchen was flooded with light.
I froze, a piece of chicken pinched between my fingers, Toro licking my other hand.
Taehyun stood in the doorway. Shirtless. Sleep-tousled hair. Arms crossed over his bare chest. His mouth was a firm line, but his eyes were sparkling with barely-contained mirth.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice sleep-rough and devastating. "I was under the distinct impression you 'despised' my babies."
I shot upright, the chicken falling to the floor. "I do!"
"Really?" He strolled forward, his gaze sweeping over the three cubs now happily devouring the evidence. "From my perspective, this looks remarkably like… maternal instinct."
"I was… conducting a behavioral experiment! Positive reinforcement for… not mauling me!"
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of my sleep-mussed hair behind my ear. "You use a softer tone with them than you've ever used with me."
"That's because they don't kidnap people, or make vague threats, or breathe in that specifically villainous way you do when you're thinking!"
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "So you love them."
"I—" I was trapped. Cornered by my own actions and three pairs of innocent animal eyes.
As if to seal my fate, Leo let out a tiny, perfect sneeze.
My resolve shattered. "…Maybe," I mumbled, looking away.
He smirked, a triumphant, beautiful thing. "They love you too, you know. They told me."
I frowned up at him. "You're multilingual in predator now?"
He shrugged, the motion fluid and graceful. "We have an understanding. It's a… syndicate thing."
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "You're insufferable."
"And you," he said, pulling my hands away and leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the top of my head, his voice a warm murmur against my hair, "are secretly feeding our children in the middle of the night. That, my angry little wife, is practically a declaration of love."
My entire face flamed. I grabbed the nearest thing—a cucumber slice from the abandoned salad prep—and shoved it into his smirking mouth.
"Shut up," I muttered, unable to suppress the embarrassed smile tugging at my own lips.
He crunched the cucumber, his grin widening. "Yes, ma'am."