Chapter Seventy-Three: The Mission & The Distraction
The warehouse stank of rust, salt, and desperation.
Taehyun stood at its center, a monument of lethal calm in a sea of chaos. His men moved around him like shadows—checking weapons, securing exits, murmuring into earpieces. The deal was simple. The kind he'd done a hundred times before. Meet the broker. Confirm the shipment. Remind the buyers why you don't cross Kim Taehyun.
Simple.
Except for the buzzing in his pocket.
His phone vibrated again. For the tenth time in an hour.
He didn't pull it out. Didn't check. But his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—flickered toward his pocket for a fraction of a second before snapping back to the scene before him.
Minho noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"You're distracted," Minho said, his voice flat, stating fact rather than accusation. He stood beside Taehyun, arms crossed, scanning the warehouse with the cold precision of a sniper. "You've checked your phone fourteen times in the last hour."
"Twelve," Taehyun corrected without thinking.
Minho's eyebrow arched. "So you're counting."
Taehyun didn't respond. His fingers twitched at his side, the ghost of a movement toward his pocket.
"She hasn't texted back," Minho continued, merciless in his observation. "You sent something before we left. She read it. Didn't reply."
"She's angry."
"She's always angry."
"This is different." Taehyun's voice dropped, the admission slipping out before he could cage it. "She heard things. About Venice. About the accident. She knows I'm hiding something."
Minho was quiet for a moment. Then: "You should tell her."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
Taehyun turned to face his brother, and for a moment, the mask slipped—revealing the exhausted, terrified man beneath. "If I tell her everything, she'll remember. And if she remembers..."
"She might leave."
"She might hate me more than she already does."
Minho studied him with those cold, analytical eyes. "Or she might finally understand why you did what you did. Why you married her. Why you've spent years protecting a woman who doesn't even know her own name."
Before Taehyun could respond, Junho bounded over, vibrating with his usual chaotic energy. "Hyung! The broker's here. Also, why do you look like someone kicked your puppy? You don't have a puppy. Should we get you a puppy? Aish would love a puppy—"
"Focus," Taehyun snapped.
Junho blinked. "I am focused. I'm focused on your emotional wellbeing. That's a thing now. Minho says I need to be more emotionally available."
Minho sighed.
Taehyun pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get into position. Both of you. I want this done in thirty minutes."
"Thirty?" Junho's eyes widened. "That's aggressive. The broker's always long-winded. Last time he talked for an hour about his cat. Remember? The cat with the bow tie?"
"Twenty-five minutes."
"Hyung—"
"Twenty."
Junho opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Minho, who shrugged. "He's got wife problems. Just go with it."
---
The broker was exactly as tedious as Junho had warned.
A thin, oily man with a perpetual smile that never reached his eyes, he spread papers across the makeshift table with theatrical slowness, narrating every detail as if performing for an audience.
Taehyun's gaze kept drifting. To the phone in his pocket. To the dark screen that mocked him with its silence.
He'd sent her a message before leaving. Simple. Honest.
I'm thinking of you. Even in the dark. Even in the danger. Especially then.
Three hours ago. Read receipt. No reply.
The silence was a physical weight, heavier than the gun at his hip, heavier than the responsibility of the men who trusted him with their lives.
"Mr. Kim?" The broker's voice, inquiring. "The terms? Your approval?"
Taehyun blinked, forcing his attention back to the present. "Continue."
But the broker's eyes narrowed, a flicker of calculation crossing his features. He'd noticed. The great Kim Taehyun, the devil they whispered about in boardrooms and back alleys, was distracted. Vulnerable.
Interesting.
---
The Interruption – 12:23 AM
They were finally making progress when the first shot rang out.
Glass shattered somewhere to the left. Men scrambled, weapons drawn, voices sharp with alarm. The warehouse erupted into controlled chaos—his men, trained and lethal, moving to defensive positions.
Taehyun was on his feet instantly, gun in hand, his body responding on pure instinct. But his mind—his treacherous, distracted mind—was elsewhere.
She's safe. The mansion is secure. She's safe.
Another shot. Closer now. The rival faction had found them.
"Hyung!" Junho's voice, urgent. "We need to move. Now."
Taehyun nodded, but his eyes flickered to his phone, still on the table. Still dark. Still silent.
He grabbed it, shoving it into his pocket as he moved toward cover.
That split second of distraction was all it took.
The bullet came from nowhere—a sniper's shot, precise and devastating. It caught him in the side, spinning him, sending him crashing against a stack of wooden crates. Pain exploded through his ribs, hot and sharp, stealing his breath.
"TAEHYUN!"
Junho's scream was distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears. He pressed a hand to his side, felt the warm, wet spread of blood. His phone. His phone was still in his pocket. He had to—
"Don't you dare move!" Minho was there suddenly, pressing something—a cloth, his jacket—against the wound. "You idiot. You absolute idiot. You got shot because you were checking your damn phone!"
Taehyun's lips curved, a weak, bloody smirk. "Worth it."
"You're bleeding out!"
"She still didn't text back."
Jinwoo appeared, gun raised, covering them as Minho worked. "He's delirious. Loss of blood. Or just permanently insane."
"Probably both," Minho muttered.
The gunfire continued, a symphony of violence around them. But Taehyun's eyes were fixed on the warehouse ceiling, his mind a thousand miles away—in a bedroom where a girl in his shirt slept alone, unaware that her silence had just cost him a bullet.
---
MANSION – SAME TIME
I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding, my skin slick with cold sweat.
Something was wrong.
I didn't know how I knew. Didn't understand the instinct that clawed at my chest, screaming that the world had tilted off its axis. But I felt it—a tearing, a loss, a wound somewhere in the dark that belonged to me.
My hand reached across the bed. Empty. Cold.
He's not here. He's on a mission. He's fine.
But the dread wouldn't release me.
I grabbed my phone, the screen blinding in the dark. No messages. No missed calls. Just his last text, still unanswered, staring up at me like an accusation.
I'm thinking of you. Even in the dark. Even in the danger. Especially then.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard. What could I say? I was angry. I was confused. I was terrified of how much I needed him.
But I was also terrified for him.
I typed: Come home safe. Please.
Then I deleted it.
Typed again: I'm still angry. But come home.
Deleted.
Finally, just: Are you okay?
I stared at the message, my finger trembling over send.
Then I put the phone down and curled into myself, pressing my face into his pillow, breathing in the fading ghost of his scent.
Come back, I thought, the words a prayer to a God I wasn't sure existed. Just come back. We'll fight tomorrow. Just come back tonight.
---
WAREHOUSE – 1:47 AM
The gunfire had stopped. The rivals were neutralized, their bodies removed, their presence erased as if they'd never existed. Taehyun's men worked in efficient silence, cleaning the scene, erasing evidence.
Minho had done what he could for the wound—a field dressing, tight and professional—but Taehyun needed a real doctor. Needed a hospital. Needed to not be bleeding out in a warehouse because he'd been too busy thinking about a girl who wouldn't answer his texts.
"You're an idiot," Minho said again, helping him toward the car. "A lovesick, reckless idiot."
"Not sick. In love. There's a difference."
"You got shot."
"Minor detail."
Jinwoo appeared, opening the car door. "The doctor's waiting at the mansion. Junho's already there, pacing holes in the floor and threatening to adopt another cat in your honor."
"I don't want a cat."
"The cat's for his Angel. Junho says it'll cheer her up."
Taehyun groaned, the movement sending fresh pain through his side. "I'm going to kill him."
"Get in line."
As they drove, Taehyun's hand found his phone. The screen lit up—still no message. Still nothing.
He typed, his fingers clumsy with pain: I'm coming home. Try to hate me tomorrow. Tonight, just let me hold you.
He pressed send and closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him.
---
MANSION – 2:34 AM
The vibration woke me.
I grabbed the phone, my heart in my throat, and read his message through blurry eyes.
I'm coming home. Try to hate me tomorrow. Tonight, just let me hold you.
Something cracked inside me. The wall I'd been building, brick by stubborn brick, crumbled at the edges.
I didn't reply. But I didn't delete it either.
I just lay there, holding his words like a lifeline, waiting for the sound of his footsteps.
Waiting for him to come home.
Even if I wasn't ready to admit why.