By the time Taehyung stepped back into the mansion that evening, her mask had already slipped off. The light from her laughter on the bus still clung faintly to her, but it faded quickly within the cold, echoing walls of the house.

She expected the usual sharp words, the usual scorn waiting for her. But instead, she found Jungkook in the living room, standing by the wide windows, phone pressed to his ear, a glass of whiskey untouched on the table.

His voice was different—calm, confident, smooth like the man he portrayed to the world.

“Yes, that’s right… the contracts are signed. Delivery begins next quarter. Mm, of course. It’s a win-win.” He chuckled, deep and easy. “Yes. Cheers to us.”

When the call ended, he slid the phone into his pocket and turned toward her. And to her surprise, there was no scowl, no glare. Instead, a genuine smile curved his lips.

“Taehyung,” he said, his tone softer than she’d heard in weeks.

She froze, startled, clutching her purse tighter. “Yes…?”

“I closed the deal,” he said simply, stepping closer. “Months of work, and it’s finally done. You should be happy for me.”

“I am,” she whispered truthfully, though her voice carried uncertainty.

He stopped right in front of her, studying her face. For once, his eyes weren’t sharp with suspicion. They were calm, almost tender. Then, without warning, his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her gently into him.

Taehyung stiffened at first. His touch usually meant control, not comfort. But tonight, it was different. His grip wasn’t bruising, it was steady. His head dipped into her hair, his breath warm against her ear.

“I worked so hard for this,” he murmured. “And you’re here. My wife. The one by my side.”

Her chest tightened. She hadn’t heard him call her his wife in that tone before—not possessive, but almost proud. Slowly, against her own caution, she let her arms rise and rest against his chest.

“Congratulations,” she said softly.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, and then his lips pressed against hers. Not rough. Not punishing. Gentle. His mouth moved slowly, tenderly, as though he meant it.

Her heart squeezed painfully. This—this was the Jungkook she had fallen in love with at the beginning. The man who had charmed her, wooed her, made her believe in a life together. For just a moment, the years of venom and cruelty faded, and she melted into the kiss, tears pricking her eyes as she clung to him.

He stroked her hair, his lips brushing her cheek. “You’re mine, Tae. Don’t forget it. But tonight…” He kissed her forehead. “Tonight I’ll be good to you.”

She swallowed hard, pressing her face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to push him away, remind herself of the insults, the pain. But she couldn’t. He was her husband. And in moments like this, when he chose kindness, her broken heart still responded.

They spent the evening quietly—dinner together, Jungkook in unusually high spirits, even making small jokes. When he reached for her hand across the table, she let him. When he kissed her again later on the couch, slow and careful, she melted all over again.

Poor thing, she thought of herself bitterly, always falling back into his touch. Always hoping this version of him would last.

But deep down, she knew. The sweetness would fade. The cruelty would return.