Days blurred. Tae avoided Jungkook, ignoring his confused texts. Each buzz felt like a physical blow. She spent hours cleaning, scrubbing the couch, the hallway floor where he’d taken her, trying to erase the traces of Mr. Jeon’s invasion. But the phantom smell of his cologne, the echo of his harsh voice, lingered.

She kept the hoodie on constantly, a protective shell smelling of Kookie, even as she showered obsessively. She avoided windows, fearing the neighbors' judgmental stares, fearing Mr. Jeon’s coming in. The constant, low hum of dread was worse than any physical ache. Was she waiting for him? Dreading him? Her treacherous body clenched at the memory of his brutal possession.