The mansion was quiet that night, save for the faint hum of the central air conditioning. Taehyung moved around the kitchen slowly, almost mechanically, setting out the next morning’s breakfast—cut fruit, fresh juice, neatly arranged toast and spreads. She worked in silence, the way she always did when Jungkook was in one of his moods. The smell of grilled meat still lingered from dinner, though she hadn’t eaten much herself.

When she finished, she wiped her hands on a towel and turned to leave. Jungkook was lounging in the living room now, sprawled across the expensive leather couch with a glass of whiskey in hand. His tie was undone, shirt half open, and his sharp eyes followed her every move.

“Taehyung,” his voice cut through the silence.

She froze at the doorway. “Yes?”

His gaze narrowed, then shifted toward the shopping bags she had brought earlier that day. “That top you bought. The lace one. Go put it on.”

Her stomach twisted. She knew which one he meant—an indecently sheer black lace piece she had picked up only because she had no energy to argue when the saleswoman suggested it. She had thought maybe she could hide it away.

“Jungkook…” she started softly, “it doesn’t really cover—”

“I told you to wear it.” His tone snapped sharp, brooking no refusal.

She lowered her gaze, nodding, and padded upstairs on bare feet. In the bedroom, she dug through the bags until her trembling fingers pulled out the garment. It was barely a top—delicate lace that clung to her skin like spiderwebs, transparent in the low light. She slipped it on, her cheeks burning as she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts pushed against the fabric, her nipples visible through the thin lace. The hem barely brushed her navel.

Shame curled in her gut, but she swallowed it down. He was her husband. She had no choice.

When she descended the stairs, Jungkook’s eyes sharpened. He set his glass down, lips twisting into something that was half smirk, half sneer.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Exactly what you are. A slut dressed up in lace.”

Her throat tightened, but she said nothing. He liked it when she stayed silent.

“Come here.”

She obeyed, stepping into the glow of the lamp. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, pulling her down onto the couch. Her body toppled onto him, the lace scraping against his shirt.

“You think you’re clever, dressing like this for other men?” he whispered darkly, his breath hot against her ear. “Parading yourself around? Making them stare?”

Her voice cracked. “No, I—I bought it because—”

“Because you like attention,” he cut her off, fingers digging into her thigh. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her protest died in her throat as he tugged her roughly into his lap, pressing her against the cushions. His mouth was harsh on hers, not tender, not loving. His hands roamed with ownership, not care, tugging at the lace until it bit into her skin.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back. He was her husband. This was her reality. The couch creaked beneath them as he took what he wanted, ignoring the way her body stiffened under his grip. He cursed between ragged breaths, calling her names—slut, whore, ungrateful wife—as if every word was meant to remind her of her place.

She lay beneath him, her mind drifting elsewhere—to the bus, to the small smile she had shared with a stranger just hours ago. For a fleeting second, she clung to the memory of Park Hwan’s awkward, flustered scowl. It was ridiculous, meaningless… but it was the only place her soul had felt light in a long time.

When Jungkook finally finished, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh, not sparing her a glance. “Go clean yourself up,” he muttered, reaching for his whiskey again.

Taehyung slipped off the couch silently, her legs shaky. The lace clung damp to her skin as she gathered herself and padded upstairs. In the bathroom, she turned on the shower, letting the hot water scald her, washing away the tears that had finally spilled free.

Behind the sound of rushing water, she whispered to herself, so quietly even the walls couldn’t hear:

“One day… one day I’ll be free.”