Chapter Fifty-One: The King's Lullaby
♡ Sugar Haze and the King's Lullaby
The city lights streamed past the car window in a hypnotic, golden river. By the halfway point home, the decadent sugar rush from my secret car feast had crested and crashed, leaving in its wake a warm, heavy languor that seeped into my bones. My eyelids were leaden weights, my body a pliant, boneless thing molded against the leather seat. A half-eaten chocolate tart dangled precariously from my slack fingers.
"Hey…" Taehyun's voice was a low murmur, cutting through the hum of the engine.
I managed a slow, lazy blink. "…Hmm?"
"You're going to fall asleep like that," he said, his tone a blend of amusement and something softer, more protective.
A tiny yawn escaped me, transforming into a soft, contented sigh. "…M'sleepy… chocolate coma…"
And just like that, consciousness slipped away. My head, which had been resting against the cool window, lolled gently to the side and found a new, far more solid pillow—the firm expanse of his shoulder. My fingers finally released the tart, scattering delicate crumbs across the white fabric of my dress.
Taehyun went utterly still for a fraction of a second. I felt the subtle intake of his breath, the slight shift of his muscles. Then, carefully, as if handling something infinitely fragile and priceless, he adjusted his posture, allowing me to settle more securely against him. One arm came up, curling around my shoulders in a possessive, sheltering arc.
"Messy," he whispered into my hair, the word a reverent observation. "Adorable. Mine."
Lost in dreams of sugar-spun clouds, I stirred slightly, a nonsensical sleep-mumble escaping my smudged lips. "…mine too…"
A soft, deep chuckle vibrated through his chest and into my cheek. He said nothing more, just held me as the city blurred past, his thumb making idle, soothing circles on my arm. For those quiet miles, there was no past, no danger, no tangled web of lies and obsession—just the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the scent of him mixed with chocolate, and a peace so profound it felt stolen from another life.
---
The mansion's wrought-iron gates swung open, spilling lantern light across the drive like liquid gold. Taehyun didn't attempt to wake me. The moment the car purred to a stop, he shifted, his movements efficient and sure. He leaned over, slid one arm beneath my knees, the other around my back, and lifted me from the seat as if I weighed no more than the discarded pastry box.
I didn't stir. My head nestled into the hollow of his throat, my arms dangling in complete surrender. Chocolate smudges decorated my mouth and cheek like war paint from a delicious battle.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a husky caress meant for the sleeping night. "A beautiful, exhausted, crumb-covered mess. And entirely mine."
He carried me through the grand, silent foyer, my wedding heels dangling from one of his fingers. His footsteps were silent on the marble, his hold unbreakable yet impossibly gentle.
In the dim sanctuary of the bedroom, he laid me on the cool duvet with the care of a curator placing a masterpiece. First, he attended to the mess. A warm, damp cloth appeared, and with a tenderness that belied his usual severity, he wiped the chocolate from my face, his touch feather-light around my mouth and eyelids. He brushed the stray, sugar-dusted strands of hair from my forehead.
I murmured something incoherent, a protest from the depths of sleep.
He chuckled, the sound barely a breath. "Sleep, little chaos-bringer."
Next came the dress. With a surgeon's precision and a thief's silence, he undid the delicate buttons and zipper, peeling the soiled fabric away. He replaced it with the softest cotton pajamas, the kind that felt like being wrapped in a cloud. My treacherous heels were removed, my feet gently tucked under the covers.
Only when I was clean, comfortable, and utterly vulnerable did he join me. He slid into bed, his body a furnace of heat, and immediately drew me back into the circle of his arms. My head found its familiar place on his chest, my ear pressed to the steady, reassuring drum of his heart.
"Sleep," he commanded once more, the word a velvet-wrapped vow in the dark. "I have you."
And I did, falling deeper into oblivion, guarded by the most dangerous man in the city, who, for this night, had chosen to be nothing more than my silent, devoted sentinel.
---
♡ Morning Aftermath
Consciousness returned slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and a familiar, comforting scent—sandalwood, clean cotton, and him. The first thing I registered was a solid, rhythmic thud beneath my ear. A heartbeat. Steady. Calm.
My eyes fluttered open.
I was sprawled across Taehyun's chest like a starfish claiming its rock, one arm flung over his waist, my leg hooked over his. His shirt was rumpled, his dark hair deliciously mussed from sleep. One arm was bent behind his head; the other was a heavy, possessive band locked around my lower back.
Great. Poised bridesmaid one moment, drooling dessert zombie the next, and now a full-body limpet in the morning.
I groaned softly and tried to wiggle free, but the arm around my back tightened instantly.
"Oh no," his voice rumbled, thick and sleep-rough. It vibrated through his chest and into my very bones. "Stay. You're warm."
"I have morning breath," I mumbled, my words muffled against his shirt.
He chuckled, the sound low and lazy. "You had chocolate and cream breath last night. This is an improvement."
My eyes snapped fully open. "I—what?"
He smirked without opening his own eyes. "You passed out with ganache on your lips. I had to clean you up before you tried to eat the pillowcase."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Y-You changed me?!"
"Mhm," he affirmed, as if discussing the weather. "You were also attempting to use your dress as a napkin. It was a lost cause."
I slapped a hand over my face. "I hate you."
He hummed, the sound smug. "You said, 'mine too,' in your sleep. Quite clearly."
I froze. "I DID NOT."
"Oh, you did," he said, finally opening his eyes. They were dark, amused, and intensely focused on me. "And I found it… agreeable."
Before I could muster a defense, he shifted, rolling us with effortless grace until he was hovering over me, his weight braced on his forearms, caging me in completely.
"And next time," he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, "don't sulk over pastries at a wedding. I'll buy you the entire patisserie. Hell, I'll buy the chef."
I glared, the heat in my face spreading. "You kidnapped me from the dessert table!"
"I rescued you," he corrected smoothly, his thumb stroking the line of my jaw. "You were moments away from declaring war on a macaron tower. It was a national security risk."
I scoffed and tried to squirm away, but his body was an immovable wall.
"And stop moving," he added, his gaze dropping pointedly. "Your pajamas are… cooperative."
I froze. "…You're a menace."
"A remarkably patient one," he agreed, a proud glint in his eye. "Your unconscious self put up a surprisingly good fight over those shoes. You have a vicious kick."
"I was asleep!"
"And deadly," he said, as if cataloging a charming new skill.
I tried to bury my flaming face under the blanket, but he hooked a finger in the fabric and tugged it down, exposing me to his scrutiny.
His gaze softened then, into something dangerously tender, and he brushed my sleep-tangled hair back from my forehead.
"You looked peaceful last night," he murmured. "A beautiful disaster. But peaceful."
I blinked up at him, caught between profound embarrassment and a warmth that spread through my chest like sunlight.
"…Did you sleep at all?" I asked.
He didn't lie. "Not much."
"Why?"
His eyes held mine, the intensity in them stripping away every pretense, every wall.
"Because you were using me as a mattress," he stated simply. "And I had no desire to let that end." He paused, a flicker of mischief returning. "Also, you snored. Once. It was… oddly endearing. Like a disgruntled kitten."
"I HATE YOU!"
He laughed—a genuine, full-bodied laugh that shook both of us—and pulled me firmly back against him when I tried to bolt.
"Shower," he declared, pressing a swift, firm kiss to my temple. "Then breakfast."
"What breakfast?" I grumbled into his chest.
"The desserts I confiscated for safekeeping last night," he replied, his tone infuriatingly reasonable.
My head shot up. "YOU WHAT—?!"
---
I was scrolling through my phone, still comfortably trapped in the circle of his arm, my hair a wild halo around my head.
Her profile photo appeared—the bride from last night. My newest social media connection. Even in a casual, tagged photo, she was ethereal. Big, soft eyes that held galaxies of kindness. A smile that could disarm armies. She was grace incarnate, feminine warmth personified.
I stared, a little dazzled. "Wow," I mumbled under my breath. "How is anyone that… luminously pretty? I think I might be a little in love—"
A shadow fell over the screen.
Slowly, with a sense of impending doom, I tilted my head back.
Taehyun was looking at the phone. Then at me. Then back at the phone.
His jaw tightened.
"You're in love," he stated, his voice deceptively calm. It was the calm of a glassy sea before a tsunami.
I blinked rapidly. "I meant—love as in aesthetic appreciation! A platonic, supportive, girl-crush kind of—"
"Hm." He leaned in, caging me with one arm. "You blush every time you mention her."
"I do not—"
"You gazed at her yesterday like she'd single-handedly invented peace."
"She's STUNNING!"
He squinted, a predator assessing strange prey. "Unfollow her."
I gasped, genuinely offended. "EXCUSE ME?"
"And unlike those three photos you 'hearted'."
My eyes widened. "You're monitoring my likes?"
He was silent for a beat, his expression inscrutable. Then: "Unlike. Them."
"I will not participate in your jealous, anti-woman agenda!" I huffed, lifting my chin.
His eyes narrowed to slits. "You don't even post pictures of yourself. But you're composing sonnets to another man's wife at seven in the morning?"
I bit my lip, trying and failing to suppress a giddy smile. "Are you… are you genuinely jealous of a woman?"
His answer was immediate and utterly serious. "I'm jealous of the sunlight if it touches your skin before I do."
I blinked, disarmed. Then a slow, smug grin spread across my face. "I should tell Jihan that his best friend, the terrifying Kim Taehyun, is threatened by a bride."
He leaned in until our noses almost touched, his voice dropping to a low, lethal purr. "Try it. See what happens. I'll block her from your Wi-Fi, your data, and if I could, from your subconscious."
I burst out laughing, the sound bright in the quiet room. "You can't block someone from my dreams!"
His smirk was sly, confident. "Don't test me."
I fell back against the pillows in a dramatic swoon. "My God. I've married a possessive, paranoid, psycho."
"You've married your consequence," he corrected, plucking the phone from my hand and tossing it carelessly onto the far nightstand. "Now stop mentally eloping with someone else's wife when you are irrevocably mine."
I snorted. "Relax, she's happily married."
"So. Are. You." The words were a growled reminder as he hauled me into his lap without ceremony.
And just like that, my morning of innocent admiration dissolved into me being thoroughly, breathlessly kissed by a man whose jealousy was a dark, all-consuming flame.
When he finally allowed me air, I was gasping. "You're insane."
"Noted," he said, his thumb tracing my swollen bottom lip with possessive satisfaction. "You said 'I do' anyway."
He released me—physically. His claim, however, was as palpable as a tattoo. I slid off the bed and padded toward the bathroom. I could feel his gaze on me, hot and watchful, as if I might try to escape through the plumbing.
At the doorway, I turned and shot him my most defiant look.
"I'm still going to like her posts."
He didn't blink. "I'm still going to change your passwords."
"You wouldn't."
"I already did."
I froze mid-step. "WHAT?!"
He just leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, the picture of smug, untouchable authority—a mafia king in rumpled pajamas.
I stomped into the bathroom, muttering a stream of creative curses. The moment the door clicked, his voice, perfectly deadpan, came through the wood:
"And don't lock the door. If you take too long, I'll assume you're drafting her a love letter."
I screamed soundlessly into a plush towel.
---
After cleaning up, I emerged, ready to re-engage in the war of wills, and stopped short.
He wasn't in bed. He was standing in the walk-in closet, silhouetted by the soft lights, holding a small, velvet-lined box.
I squinted. "What are you doing?"
He glanced at me once, then turned his attention back to the box. He lifted out a pair of diamond studs, delicate and brilliant. Then a slim, perfect necklace. Then a bracelet that seemed woven from moonlight and platinum.
"Choose one," he said, his tone casual, as if offering a choice of toast.
"For what occasion?"
"For existing. For wearing white last night. For falling asleep on me. Pick a reason. Just take it."
I eyed him with deep suspicion, crossing my arms. "Is this guilt-bribing because you got jealous of a perfectly lovely woman?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Choose. One."
A slow grin spread across my face. I stepped closer. "The necklace."
He moved behind me, his body a warm presence at my back. He gathered my hair in one hand, sweeping it over my shoulder, his fingers brushing my nape. The cool metal of the necklace settled against my skin, and he fastened the clasp with deliberate slowness. His lips grazed the newly exposed curve of my shoulder—a whisper of a touch.
Then he bent, his mouth close to my ear, his voice a soft, dangerous vow. "If you must have an object of fascination… let it be the woman who belongs to me."
The realization hit me like a lightning strike.
He didn't want me obsessed with her.
He wanted me obsessed with myself—or more precisely, with the version of me that was his.
I stared at our reflection in the closet's mirror—him behind me, tall and possessive, me with the glittering necklace like a new collar of stars. My blush returned, fiercer than before.
"Did you," I whispered, my voice shaky, "just indirectly command me to be narcissistic?"
"No," he said calmly, his dark eyes holding mine in the glass. "I'm reminding you to always remember who holds the deed to everything you see."
Damn.
I burned from the inside out. With a sound of pure, flustered agitation, I shoved past him. "I'm eating breakfast! Alone!"
He simply smiled, that slow, victorious smile of a man who has won every battle without firing a shot, and followed me out anyway.