The heavy gates of the Jeon mansion closed behind Taehyung with a slow metallic groan. The bus driver, Park Hwan, was already gone—driving back into the city’s chaos. The moment Tae stepped through the marble entryway, the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. Her shoulders slumped, her playful mask peeled away.

The mansion was silent, too silent for such a grand place. White marble floors gleamed beneath the chandelier lights. Imported furniture filled every room, priceless art hung on every wall. Yet it felt cold, more like a gilded prison than a home.

She kicked off her heels, carrying her shopping bags upstairs. As she entered the bedroom, her husband was there—Jeon Jungkook, thirty years old, the man the whole city admired: handsome, rich, successful. To the outside world, he was the perfect husband, a man women envied her for. But only she knew what lay beneath that flawless surface.

Jungkook was sitting in a leather armchair, jacket tossed aside, shirt sleeves rolled up. His sharp jaw clenched as he scrolled through something on his phone. When he looked up, his eyes didn’t soften. They hardened.

“You’re late.” His voice was low, controlled, but edged with warning.

Taehyung forced a smile. “I just stopped for some shopping. Thought I’d get us something nice—”

“Shopping,” he cut her off with a sharp laugh, tossing his phone onto the table. “That’s all you do. Spend my money. Parade yourself in those slutty little dresses like you’re single.”

Her fingers tightened on the shopping bag handles. “I was just—”

“Don’t lie to me, Taehyung,” he snapped, rising from the chair. His tall frame towered over her as he closed the distance. He smelled of expensive cologne and bitterness. “I know exactly why you dress like that. You want men staring. You like the attention.”

Her throat tightened, but she stayed calm. “It’s just clothes, Jungkook. Don’t make it more than—”

Before she could finish, his hand lashed out, grabbing her chin roughly. He forced her face up to meet his glare. “Don’t talk back.”

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes stinging. He wasn’t hitting her—not yet—but the bruising grip was enough. He shoved her face away and stepped back.

“You’re mine. Don’t forget that,” he said coldly. “This house, those clothes, the food you eat—it’s all because of me. Without me, you’re nothing. You’d be back in your cheap little apartment, begging for work, like the useless thing you are.”

The words pierced deeper than a slap. She’d heard them before, over and over, until they drilled into her bones. And still, each time, they hurt like the first.

She swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “I never asked for riches. I just wanted—”

“What? Love?” His laugh was cruel, echoing through the marble halls. “You think marriage is some fairy tale? Wake up, Tae. You’re here because I chose you. No one else would keep a girl like you. Too needy. Too fake. A pretty little body with nothing inside.”

Her hands trembled as she set the bags down on the bed. “I… I’ll make dinner,” she whispered, retreating.

But Jungkook caught her wrist before she could leave. His grip was iron, fingers digging into her skin. His face hovered inches from hers, blue veins standing out in his neck.

“You think I don’t see the way men look at you? You think I don’t know what’s going on in that filthy little head of yours?” His breath was hot and angry. “Don’t test me, Taehyung. If you embarrass me even once, I swear—”

Her eyes glossed with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t… I haven’t…”

Finally, he released her, almost shoving her back. She stumbled, catching herself against the dresser.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, grabbing his phone again. “And for god’s sake, cover yourself when you go out. You look like a whore.”

She turned and left the bedroom silently, her vision blurry. By the time she reached the empty kitchen, her knees buckled, and she sank onto the cold tile floor. She pressed her palms against her face, shoulders shaking soundlessly.

Her reflection in the glossy black countertop showed a woman who looked glamorous, enviable—expensive clothes, perfect hair, painted lips. But behind it all was the truth: she was caged, cracked, and suffocating.

For now, she wiped her tears, stood up, and began preparing dinner. Because in this mansion, love did not exist. Only survival.