043

Y/N

Room is quiet, too quiet—just the hum of Seoul below and my own breath filling the silence like it’s trying to swallow everything.

Almost two months.

No news from court yet.No word if they accepted or rejected my case.

Just… nothing.

But then—the video.

I never expected it would go this far.Thousands of views in every hours.Millions within days across continents—people sharing, commenting, crying at what i laid bare on screen for all to see...

"Jeon"

The name trended worldwide—not just in South Korea but globally—as public outrage exploded over every accusation made against him.

And comments?

They pour in fast and relentless:"How is this man still free?"

"I’m so sorry she had to suffer alone..."

"This needs international pressure!"

People don’t just support me—they demand justice louder than any lawyer ever could through sheer force alone:

“#ExposeJeon”

#JeonExposed

#EndJeon #Justice #JeonJ#JeonScandall #EnoughIsEnough

These trends daily.

Protests form outside Jeon Group headquarters overnight—despite threats issued publicly by his lawyers warning against “defamation lawsuits” already pending against media outlets daring cover the story further…

But most shocking part?

His empire begins cracking under weight public shame alone.

Shareholders pull investments citing "reputation risk"Brand partners cut ties abruptly ("We do not associate with alleged predators").

Even politicians distance themselves in mid-scandal when leaked audio surfaces where someone whispers:"...we need contain damage before escalates beyond control..."

Yet i sit alone —almost two months—still trapped inside same sterile hotel walls, while world burns behind glass window

My heart races-—Did he see it too?

The thought slithers in sharp and cold.

Of course he did.

Jeon doesn’t miss a single whisper about himself. Not when the world is screaming his name in disgust now.

Not when his empire is cutting off like a rotten limb.

I can almost hear him—his voice low, dangerous through clenched teeth as someone plays my video for him: "This little bitch… thinks she’s won?"

My fingers press against my stomach lightly. No fear here anymore… Just fury wearing silence like armor.

Let him watch. Let every powerful man who ever protected monsters— should finally see what real power looks like.

Not money. Not bribes or legal loopholes buried under layers of corruption...

It's the truth burning bright enough for a blind to see—even kings with their thrones made from stolen blood...

And this hotel room? So quiet compared to screams echoing outside Jeon Group towers tonight where protests grow louder by hour despite police warnings issuing: "Disperse immediately."

For first time since leaving that villa... i feel something unfamiliar crawling up spine —not just hope —but certainty: He will fall.

Maybe not tomorrow... Maybe not next week or month…

But one day soon?

His empire already crumbles beneath weight public rage—shaking foundations harder than any law ever could alone…

_____________________________________

4th hotel this month.

Almost two months since that video spread like wildfire across every platforms.

Yet still no sign from the court or authorities.

I don't know what they're doing.If they're even taking my case seriously or just sweeping it under the rug thanks to his money and influence.

But out there?Jeon is unraveling.His empire crumbling piece by piece, every day on news.But me...stuck here, just waiting.

Just existing in fear while others fight for truth to come out.

But I don't dare step outside anymore—not after everything Jeon's capable of doing, if his rage reached me through the glass walls.

Every day is more of the same: sit locked inside this lonely prison while city lives on without me, waiting for lawyers to make moves that never come fast enough. It's maddening.

Outside window,Seoul glows peaceful again beneath city lights stretching endlessly into horizon—  skyscrapers rising tall beside each other silently watching over everything unfolding, still unfolding.

___________________________________

3:17 AM.

Again.

That sharp, pulsing pain wakes me—my chest aching like it’s being torn from inside. I don’t even need to touch myself before knowing what it is, again.

Milk.

Dripping through my nightgown, soaking into sheets as if my body refuses to forget his demands—Lucas’ soft cries for me echoing in memory,  no matter how hard I try pushing them away…

I sit up slowly, heart pounding not just from discomfort but something deeper —something raw and unnameable that makes fingers tremble— i cup beneath swollen breasts—still full despite days of trying to drain every last drop down in sink, like some sick ritual repeated night after night.

I squeeze my eyes shut.It hurts—not just physically.

Every time I do this… it feels like a betrayal.I squeeze out that thick white fluid—and i see Lucas' face again, Small hands reaching toward me when i found him crying alone before everything fell apart completely…His tiny lips parted in a whimper..And worst part?How badly i want to hold him close right now—to let him nurse without shame while whispering "shh... Mommy's here" against his soft hair, instead of throwing my milk away piece by piece until there's nothing left but emptiness.

Room dark, quiet.

Only the faint glow of Seoul’s skyline through half-drawn curtains. The sink hums softly as another stream of milk washes away down the drain.

Lucas should be here.Not left behind in that cold villa with nannies who don’t care, nurses paid to stay silent while his father ignores him completely...

He used to cry so hard when he couldn't nurse—tiny hands gripping my shirt like i’d disappear if he lets go for even one second...

And now?All his mother can offer is empty sorrow and lost milk where no baby will ever drink again.

My chest aches worse everynight— Boobs are getting full in time to time. I squeeze and drain out all the milk in sink.

This kind pain cuts deeper than bruises or burns ever could.

Night air is thick with silence—only the drip of milk in the sink, slow and steady like a wound refusing to close.

I squeeze again. Another rush of white spills over my fingers, pain flares across my chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Lucas.

His name hits me like a punch every time he crosses my mind—which is too often lately.

Even now… even after everything Jeon did to me…

I wanted him.

Wanted this.

My body betraying loyalty by producing milk for someone who isn't even here anymore... Someone whose father never loved him right from beginning till end.

Not knowing if they're taking care of him. If he cries alone in his crib because no one picks him up.

Jeon doesn't care.Of course he doesn’t —love was never part of him.

So why do I keep squeezing until hands tremble?Why does my throat tighten remembering how small Lucas looked curled beside bed before everything burned down around us?

I lean against the cold bathroom wall—milk dripping faintly from breasts on tiles below.

Why does Jeon hate him?Why doesn't he care?His own flesh and blood?

Is Lucas too soft? Too innocent? A living reminder that power alone cannot fix broken things?

Or maybe... maybe seeing a piece of himself reflected in those wide, trusting eyes, which makes rotten man tremble with fear.

Beep!

A text from Uncle Park."We have to move in two days."

No details. No explanation. Just that same cold efficiency he’s used since i left the villa.

I stare at it, tears still wet on my cheeks, stomach tight beneath trembling fingers—My body isn't mine anymore. It's just a cage carrying a new life that doesn't seem deserved in anyway considering how it came into being.

Abort. Abort.The word burns hotter.Every time Jeon touched me—every drop of milk spilled down the drain because Lucas isn’t mine, not really—not when his father owns even this…

But no.Not yet.

The baby is evidence now—the proof that Jeon didn't just rape and torture… He marked what was never his to claim at all.

A child forced into existence by violence alone...And if court accepts case? Then maybe —just maybe —it won’t be wasted pain after all...

Those ultrasound photos are not just medical records— but weapons against the monster who thought power could erase everything.

______________________________________

Rain starts falling softly over city lights— skyscrapers rising tall beside each other silently.

The TV flickers—some random drama playing in the background, voices too loud for comfort. I don’t even register the plot. The warmth of the duvet is all that matters now.

Uncle Park has done everything: He moved me four times without question—each hotel colder than last but safer too despite how trapped i still feel inside these walls.

The series plays—laughing characters, perfect families. None of it matters. Mind losts in thoughts—Jeon. The upcoming court case. That baby inside.

I curl deeper beneath duvet. Hours feel slower than they should.

Sigh—deep heavy —fingers curl around edge blanket.

Uncle park's motives still unclear.Why does he hate Jeon so much? Why help me specifically when there are others who suffered same fate?

No answers given no matter how many times i tried ask directly during late-night phone calls or brief moments alone before next move begins...

Maybe he sees himself in my pain...Or maybe old grudges run deeper.

Either way?

It doesn't matter. I just want to get away from all of this and leave Seoul immediately.

Beep.

A single sound.

Laptop screen glows bright in dim room. A email notification—cold, unblinking.

My heart stops.

TV’s muted voices fade in silence, i click the email—

Subject: Case Accepted – File #J-2471.

My breath stops.

Body: We hereby confirm your case against Jeon J. has been accepted by Seoul Central District Court for review and prosecution proceedings…

I read it.Again.And again.

The words blur—fast.

They accepted it.

I drop back on pillows—loud sobs escapes.

He will stand in trial.People will see what he did.Tears flood countlessly. I wipe them away— "I-it’s only the  beginning, Jeon"

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