Chapter 71

The apartment was dark, the kind of dark that settled thick and low like a second blanket. The only light came from the cracked windows and the faint glow of Beth's phone screen, pale and too bright in the shadows. The bedroom smelled like lavender linen spray and sleep—Alex's version of peace, bottled and sprayed across borrowed sheets. Beth lay on her back beneath one of Alex's absurdly soft down comforters, the kind that felt less like fabric and more like being cradled. It should have been comforting. It should have helped.

But her body wouldn't let go.

The air was heavy with midsummer humidity, the curtains drifting lazily with each slow pass of the Seoul night breeze. Somewhere beyond the windows, a siren wailed—a long, lonely sound that faded before it could become urgent. Otherwise, the world was still.

Except her.

Except the phone in her hand.

Beth hadn't meant to scroll. Really, she hadn't. She'd only reached for the phone to check the time—maybe see if her lawyer had texted, maybe reread something harmless, something numb. But one swipe turned into another. And then her thumb betrayed her entirely, opening Instagram before she even made the decision to.

The screen exploded in front of her.

+99 new tags +48 new followers in the last hour 15 new DMs from people you follow Your name was mentioned in 2,913 posts today

She didn't move at first. Just stared at it. The numbers didn't feel real.

Cassie's breathing came from the twin bed in the corner, light and rhythmic, the kind of sleep only children seemed capable of. Her little form was buried beneath a blanket with her arms flung sideways and Gomi the turtle pressed against her cheek. The sound of her breath grounded Beth more than anything else in the room.

Changbin's arm lay draped across Beth's waist, loose and heavy, the weight of it warm and familiar where it curled beneath the hem of her shirt. He'd been asleep for hours, the lines of exhaustion etched into his face finally softening into something peaceful. He hadn't said a word when they climbed into bed. Just gathered her close, curled around her like he could shield her from everything. His whole body had gone slack the moment his head hit the pillow—like someone had cut the strings and left him to fall exactly where he belonged.

But Beth couldn't sleep.

Not with the world watching.

Not with the echo of Cassie's voice still ringing in her ears, calling Daddy through a terminal full of strangers and security cameras and open wounds.

She scrolled.

The first video that appeared was a fan cam—grainy and vertical, filmed from behind a line of vending machines, the kind of footage that had no business going viral but already had. It had been edited with soft lo-fi music in the background and overlaid with pastel text that read: "This isn't just a scandal. It's a rescue mission. It's love."

Beth stared at it.

The caption made it worse.

She decked him like a Marvel character and then her daughter called Changbin Appa in the same breath. I'm unwell.

She winced, thumbing down quickly, heart stuttering in her chest.

Another video started playing. Slower this time. Darker.

It was the crash.

No music—just slowed piano over dim, zoomed footage of the freeway. Her own limp figure cradled against Changbin's chest, his hands frantic on her face, his mouth moving too fast to follow. Alex was there too, crouched and steady, her hands already bracing Beth's arm to relocate the shoulder.

Beth's throat tightened.

The comments scrolled faster than she could read:

@leeknowingyou: "Y'all. He was crying. That's the love of his life." @cassieswhalesnacks: "I didn't even know Beth existed before today and now I would die for her. She's so real. She's so soft and she punched her ex in the face???" @stay_fam247: "Okay but can we talk about how Chan and Alex showed up like a literal SEAL team. That's FAMILY."

Her hand was shaking now, just slightly. She barely noticed.

The feed kept going.

Photos. Fancams. Slowed reels of her punching Henry at Gate 17. Split-screen edits showing Cassie mid-sprint into Changbin's arms. Headlines layered over shaky footage. Clips of the livestream. Her voice. Changbin's voice. A child's voice calling Daddy.

The hashtags were endless. And climbing.

#DaddyChangbin #ProtectCassie #BethAnders #GoldenStag #FoundFamily #ThisIsRealLove

They were everywhere.

Memes. Reaction edits. Entire threads dedicated to dissecting her military record like it was public domain. Strangers quoting her livestream like it was scripture, cherry-picking lines she barely remembered saying and reposting them over looped clips of her bloody knuckles, her voice breaking, Changbin's arm wrapped tight around Cassie.

One thread in particular had gone viral—complete with grainy screenshots, side-by-side zoom-ins, and a breakdown of "suspicious" reflections in sunglasses. The caption declared, with faux-journalistic confidence, that she and Changbin had been "soft-launching for months." The post had racked up over 120,000 likes. One of the images was from a blurry airport sighting. Another from a fan cam during a concert in Singapore, where Beth could just barely be seen in the wings, her eyes fixed on the stage like gravity itself lived there.

She shut her eyes.

Her chest ached—not from pain, not from the healing injuries or the shoulder pulled tight in its sling, but from something deeper. Heavier. The weight of being seen by people who didn't know her, who didn't understand that this wasn't a rollout or a fantasy or a dream. It was her life. And now it belonged to everyone.

The phone buzzed again, a sharp vibration against her thigh, and she jumped before she could stop herself. Her breath caught mid-throat, brittle and shaky. She opened her DMs on instinct, before she could talk herself out of it.

The first message was from Alex. Alex: Don't check your mentions. Just sleep. You did the brave thing.

The second, Raven. Raven: The punch was art. You good?

Then Elliot. Elliot: I just blocked 34 trolls and ordered Cassie a plushie turtle. I got you.

Beth smiled faintly. It was quick, tired, gone before it could settle. Her thumb hovered a moment longer, then tapped over to the Golden Stag account.

10.3k new followers. Overnight.

She stared at the number until it blurred. Then scrolled through the comments on their last post.

"Never cared about security firms until I saw a woman dislocate her shoulder, survive a crash, and still save her kid." "Hire me please. I will sign a lifelong NDA." "This is what a boss looks like." "Beth Anders is the CEO of being a badass."

Her throat closed. Her vision went watery.

It was too much.

Too loud.

Too many people she didn't know forming opinions about a moment she hadn't even fully processed yet.

She blinked hard and swiped her screen dark.

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy, threaded with her own heartbeat and the soft exhale of breath behind her.

"Babe?"

The murmur cut through the stillness like a thread through cloth.

She looked down.

Changbin's eyes were barely open, lashes fanned against his cheeks, his voice slurred and rough with sleep. His hand tightened slightly at her waist, pulling her a little closer.

"You okay?"

Beth didn't answer right away. Her thumb still hovered over the locked screen of her phone. The room smelled like rain and shampoo. Her heart was thudding against her ribs like it hadn't decided if it should rest or flee.

"...It's a lot," she whispered finally, her voice breaking on the last word.

Changbin's forehead brushed the slope of her shoulder, his lips barely grazing her skin. "Put it down."

"I can't," she said, too honestly. "It's me, Bin. Out there. Everywhere."

He didn't argue. Didn't push.

"Yeah," he said, his voice lower now, heavier with sleep and something steadier. "But in here, you're just mine. Just Beth."

She swallowed hard.

His words settled into her like warmth in cold bones—too much and not enough all at once.

Slowly, her fingers unclenched. She placed the phone on the nightstand with a trembling breath and let her arm fall back to the sheets.

Changbin shifted behind her, moving carefully beneath the covers. The mattress dipped as his chest met her back, the warmth of him wrapping around her like a promise. His palm found her waist again, then her stomach, spreading wide as he pulled her close. His hand was broad and solid and achingly familiar now.

His breath moved softly against the back of her neck, and she felt it in her chest, in her belly, in the way her skin lit up beneath the touch.

Beth exhaled, slow and trembling. Her body still hummed with the residue of everything—adrenaline, fear, rage, relief. The awareness that her name was now more than just hers. That she was no longer anonymous. That the world now knew what she looked like broken and bloodied and brave.

But then—

He kissed her.

Soft. Unrushed. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for anything, didn't take—just offered. Just was. A quiet press of lips against the skin just beneath her ear, a moment so gentle it almost undid her.

Her breath hitched.

"You're still here," he whispered, voice quiet and close.

She nodded.

"And you're safe."

Another nod. Slower this time. Her body finally easing beneath his.

"Then let me remind you what matters," he murmured.

His hand moved beneath the hem of her sleep shirt, fingers skating across the bare skin above her hip in a slow, reverent arc. The touch was barely there, but it grounded her instantly. It wasn't about sex. Not really. Not yet. It was about presence. About reminding her of where she was—who she was.

Beth turned toward him, slow and careful, her sling pulling gently as her shoulder protested the shift. It didn't matter. The ache was familiar now, manageable. What mattered was the way her heart jumped when her eyes met his in the dark.

He was awake now.

Really awake.

And looking at her like she was something sacred.

Like she was the answer to a question he'd never dared ask out loud.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice low and barely audible, but lined with something deeper. Need. Devotion. Restraint.

Beth didn't answer with words.

She leaned in and kissed him.

It was messy at first—her lips too eager, her breath still uneven—but he met her without hesitation. One hand cradled her jaw, the other still pressed to her bare waist. His tongue swept past hers with the kind of reverence that made her toes curl under the sheets.

And then he deepened it.

His body rolled forward, half-covering her. His thigh slid between hers. The weight of him, the pressure, the heat—it all melted into her like gravity was pulling them closer. Their mouths moved like muscle memory now, her fingers tangling in his damp curls, his breath stuttering every time she made a sound in the back of her throat.

Beth gasped when he bit her bottom lip. Soft, then firmer. Like a dare.

She answered by arching into him.

He groaned. "Fuck, Beth..."

Her hand slid down his back, nails scratching lightly as she pressed her thigh up against him. The friction pulled a gasp out of both of them. He kissed down her throat, then lower, careful not to jar her shoulder as he mapped his way across her collarbone with his mouth. His hands were reverent, worshipful—but the tension beneath them was coiled tight, like a fuse burning low.

Beth's breath caught as his mouth brushed the edge of her collarbone. The tip of his tongue traced the bruise blooming just beneath her skin, and his hands—God, his hands—trailed slow and deliberate up her ribs, lifting her sleep shirt inch by inch. He didn't rush. He didn't need to.

She shifted to help him, arm cradled carefully in the sling, and the shirt slipped over her head with a gentle tug. His eyes never left hers. Even in the dim light, they burned—dark and rich and full of the kind of affection that made her feel like she was something holy.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Deeper. Their mouths moved together like they had all the time in the world, and still it wasn't enough.

His hand skimmed over the curve of her waist, up her side, stopping just beneath the band of her bra. She arched for him, trusting him to be careful, trusting him with her. The kiss broke only long enough for him to whisper, "Tell me what you want."

"You," she breathed, her voice barely there. "All of you."

His fingers unhooked her bra slowly, reverently, like he was peeling back something sacred. When he looked at her again, his gaze dragged over every inch of her like she was the answer to a question he hadn't known he was asking.

Then he kissed her again—and there was nothing slow about it this time.

Beth gasped against his mouth as his palm cupped her breast, thumb circling the peak until she whimpered. Her back bowed. Her body felt like a live wire, her skin lit from beneath.

He kissed down her chest, teeth grazing just enough to leave her trembling. When his tongue flicked over her nipple, she bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark. His hands soothed everywhere his mouth didn't reach, grounding her, anchoring her to him.

"Bin—"

"I've got you," he said against her skin. "You don't have to be strong right now. Just feel."

And she did.

Her hips moved on instinct, friction building where her thighs pressed around his. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her chest, and the way his hands gripped her hips—firm, wanting, careful—made heat unfurl between her legs.

He started kissing lower.

Beth's breath hitched. Her legs parted without thought, and Changbin looked up at her once, checking—always checking. She nodded, cheeks flushed, lips parted around the start of his name.

He kissed down her stomach.

Past the line of her pajama waistband.

And then—

He peeled them down slowly, his hands curling beneath her thighs as he settled between them like he'd been there a thousand times before.

Beth's eyes fluttered shut as his mouth met her.

Soft.

Then sure.

He licked her like he already knew every part of her, like he remembered what she liked, what made her legs twitch and her hands tangle in his hair. She gasped his name, tried to keep quiet—but when he flattened his tongue and sucked just right, her body jolted.

"Bin—oh, God—"

He didn't stop. One hand cradled her hip, the other anchoring her good hand as he pressed two fingers inside her, slow and stretching, his mouth never leaving her. She choked on a sob of pleasure, her thighs shaking. Her body felt like it was coming apart molecule by molecule, all of her dissolving into the bed beneath him.

She moaned again—sharper this time, the sound torn straight from her chest. Her back arched as he curled his fingers just right, finding that place inside her that made the stars behind her eyes explode. Her hand clenched around the comforter, the other still bound by the sling, useless and trembling at her side. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except his mouth, his fingers, the endless litany of sensation dragging her higher.

He didn't stop.

He never stopped.

He knew her now—knew the exact angle, the precise rhythm, the way her breathing shifted just before she broke. And he chased it. Devoured it. Worshipped her like she was something sacred.

"Changbin—" she gasped, voice wrecked and trembling. "I'm gonna—"

That was all it took.

He moaned against her, and the vibration sent her over the edge like a match dropped on dry kindling.

Beth shattered.

Her whole body locked, pleasure ripping through her like lightning, white-hot and endless. Her cry echoed off the bedroom walls, raw and breathless, her thighs squeezing tight around his shoulders as her vision blanked out. She trembled through it, every nerve lit up, every breath a gasp.

He didn't move right away.

Just pressed a final kiss to her inner thigh, slow and reverent, before easing himself up the bed with a gentleness that made her heart clench. His hands framed her face as he kissed her again, slower this time, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

She pulled him down with her good arm until his body covered hers, solid and warm and real. She could feel the strain in him—his arousal pressing hot and desperate against her hip—but he didn't ask. Didn't push. He just held her, breathing like he'd run a marathon and looking at her like she'd hung the moon.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, fingers skating along the waistband of his briefs.

He stilled.

Just for a moment.

Then he dipped his forehead to hers, chest still heaving, voice rasping, "You don't have to—"

"I want to." Her hand slipped lower. "Let me."

His breath hitched.

And then he kissed her.

Not slow. Not tender.

Hungry.

The kind of kiss that burned.

The kind that poured gasoline on already smoldering skin.

His hand tightened in her hair. She tugged his briefs down with her good hand, slow and fumbling, until he shucked them the rest of the way, pushing them to the floor. His arousal pressed hot and heavy against her hip, flushed and aching.

She wrapped her fingers around him and he gasped—full-bodied, startled, like her touch short-circuited something in him. His hips jerked. His mouth tore from hers. And when he looked down at her, it was all heat.

"You're sure?" he rasped again.

She nodded. "Need you."

He groaned.

"Come here," she whispered.

He settled between her thighs with agonizing care, propping himself up so her injured arm wouldn't jostle. Her legs wrapped around his hips without thinking. His head dropped to her shoulder. One hand cradled her jaw.

And then—

He slid into her with one long, slow thrust.

Her breath left her in a single broken sound. His hissed between his teeth.

"Jesus—Beth—"

He didn't move for a moment.

Just stayed there, buried deep, her walls pulsing around him. Her thighs squeezed tight. Their breaths tangled in the dark.

When he moved again, it was with reverence.

Each thrust slow, deliberate. His hand cupped the back of her neck. His mouth found hers again. And again. And again.

She was already wrecked, nerves raw and tingling, and every slow drag of his hips sent another tremor spiraling through her. He moved like he was trying to memorize her. Like he already had.

She met him stroke for stroke, her good hand clutching his shoulder, nails biting into skin. Her body welcomed him like it had been waiting. Like it had always known he'd come.

"Mine," he whispered against her lips.

"Yours," she gasped.

He picked up the pace, breath catching, hips stuttering as she squeezed around him. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm—an ache, a burn, a claim.

Beth moaned as he angled deeper. The stretch, the slide, the heat—it was too much and not enough.

"Bin—"

One hand slid beneath her thigh, angling her just enough to hit deeper, and the moan that ripped from her chest was animal—raw and needy and unrestrained. Her head tipped back against the pillow, throat arched, eyes fluttering shut as he drove into her again, again, again. Every stroke was devastating. Every drag of his hips made her walls tighten, her breath stutter, her body writhe beneath his.

"Fuck, you feel—" he gasped, losing the sentence in a groan. "So fucking perfect. Always."

She couldn't speak. Could barely think. Her body had gone electric, nerves buzzing, every cell lit with him. He filled her so completely she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.

His hand found her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "You're mine," he whispered, desperate now. "Say it."

"Yours," she gasped, tears biting at the edge of her vision. "I'm yours, Changbin. I—God, I love you—"

He broke.

With a guttural sound, he thrust deeper, faster, burying himself to the hilt and grinding in tight circles that made her cry out his name. Her whole body was shaking now, legs trembling, breath gone to pieces in her throat. Her hand clawed at his back, trying to pull him closer, closer, closer.

"I'm gonna come," she sobbed, wrecked and wild. "Bin, please, I can't—"

His rhythm faltered—but not from weakness.

From control.

He pulled out almost all the way, dragging his length slowly through her slick, trembling walls, and Beth's breath hitched like he'd ripped the air out of her lungs. Her thighs clenched instinctively, trying to draw him back in, but he stilled—just the tip inside her now, throbbing and cruel.

"Not yet," he whispered, voice ruined. "You're not ready yet."

Her moan turned into a gasp. "Don't—please—don't tease—"

"I'm not teasing." He kissed the sweat-damp skin of her temple, voice low and reverent. "I'm worshipping. I want to feel you fall apart over and over until you forget why you ever felt broken."

Then he thrust again—slow, torturous, dragging the head of his cock over that perfect spot inside her before retreating again, shallow and aching. Her hips bucked on instinct. Her hands scrabbled for purchase—his shoulders, his arms, anything—but he stayed steady, holding her just on the edge.

"I need—" she choked, barely able to breathe. "I need to come—please, Bin, I—"

He kissed her—long and deep, muffling her whimper—and his thumb dipped between her thighs to circle her clit in slow, maddening strokes.

Her entire body arched. She was trembling. Shaking. Right there.

And he pulled his hand away.

"Bin!" she cried, eyes flying open, glare hazy with tears and fury. "What the fuck—"

He kissed her again, this time softer, coaxing. "I've got you. I promise. But I want this to last."

"I'm gonna die—"

He laughed, low and breathless. "No. You're gonna survive. You always do. But this time... I want you to survive and feel it."

She whimpered, her whole body vibrating like a wire strung too tight.

He rocked into her again—slow and deep—drawing another broken sound from her throat. And again. And again. Then stopped, just when she was about to fly.

Again.

And again.

Every time she climbed too high, he changed the angle. Slowed the rhythm. Took her to the edge and pulled her back. His hands were everywhere—anchoring, guiding, praising—and his lips never stopped murmuring her name.

"You're mine."

"You're perfect."

"You've got this."

"You're safe."

By the third time she almost came, she was crying in earnest—silent, breathless tears slipping down her cheeks, her body wracked with tension, pleasure wound so tightly inside her it felt like it might tear her open.

He kissed each tear.

Then, finally, he whispered, "Now."

And fucked her like he meant it.

Beth didn't breathe.

Couldn't.

The only thing in her chest was fire—stretching, burning, clawing toward release. Her back arched off the bed, fingers locked around Changbin's shoulders as he finally let go.

He moved like a storm unleashed—steady, unrelenting, devastating in his control. The stuttered drag of his hips turned relentless now, deep and rhythmic, perfectly angled to hit that aching spot inside her again and again and again.

Her eyes flew open. She saw stars.

"Changbin—oh God—"

He didn't stop. Didn't falter.

He just kissed her—fevered, claiming, all breath and teeth—and she shattered.

Her whole body convulsed, muscles locking tight as the orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave finally given permission to crash. She cried out, a sound torn straight from her core, and this time, he didn't pull back. He held her through it. Rode it out with her, his name like a benediction on her lips.

She was still trembling when the second one hit.

No warning—just a tidal pull, a surge of sensation as he shifted his angle and pushed her right back into it. It wasn't even a climb this time—it was a freefall. She bucked beneath him, cried out again, half-sobbed something that might've been his name.

Her body was beyond hers now. Just wreckage and ruin and heat.

And through it all, he was there. Steady. Fierce. Worshipful.

"I've got you," he whispered again, over and over, voice breaking with the weight of it. "I've got you."

Beth could only nod, dazed and breathless, her body limp beneath him.

Then she felt him start to lose control—the twitch of his hips, the quake in his arms, the desperate sound low in his throat. He was close. So close.

"Come inside me," she whispered, wrecked. "Please—need to feel all of you."

His hips stuttered once.

Twice.

Then he buried himself to the hilt and broke.

The sound he made was almost a sob. His whole body locked against hers, every muscle taut, his forehead pressed to her collarbone as he spilled inside her in wave after wave of heat and relief and something close to reverence.

Beth held him.

Tight.

Unmoving.

Just breathing.

It took long minutes for their bodies to settle. For their hearts to slow.

Eventually, he eased off of her with careful hands, guiding her gently to her side, adjusting the sling so she wouldn't strain. He lay there, pressed against her back, arms wrapped fully around her like he needed the contact to keep breathing.

"I love you," he murmured into her shoulder, lips brushing sweat-damp skin.

Beth didn't speak right away.

She just reached for his hand. Threaded their fingers.

Then whispered back, "I know."