064

JEON

Another glass.

The other one.

Then another.

The last—

The burn rolls deeper–-past my throat, past my lungs-–settling like a hot blade between my ribs. Clenching. Throbbing.

I lean back, gulp the last one-

"Boss-" Wooshik mumbles, from somewhere to my left. "It's almost three bottles.....I think you should stop now."

The bottle tilts-amber liquid arcs into the glass-half-missing, half-splashing onto the mahogany.

Silence.

A beat.

CRACK—

The glass shatters–-blood, liquor dripping in equal measure on the desk.

The room spins-walls tilting-ceiling warping-but the pain?

It still sharp.

Always sharp.

I swipe my hand across my mouth-the red smeared on my skin.

She rejects me just like that.Like I'm nothing.Less than nothing.

Like we aren't fucking married.

Like she's not 8 months pregnant with my child, her not milk leaking onto my sheets-her body not begging under my hands even as her mouth spits venom—

Like she didn't come on my face, on my tongue-

The glass shatters-

"Boss—-"

But nobody touches me.Blood drips sharp, bright red-but it's nothing compared to the fire in my chest.

She spat on me.

She pushed me away.

And the worst part?

The fucking worst part?

I still want her.

I still crave the taste of her defiance-–her hate–-her tears-–because at least when she's screaming, she's looking at me.

when she's clawing my skin, she's touching me.

But this?

This cold silence?

This rejection?

It's worse than a bullet in skull.

I swipe the bottle––-glass shattering against the wall, liquor splashing across the floor.

They flinch.

Good.

Let them fear me.

Let everyone fear me.

[FLASHBACK]

Months ago.

The summer heat clings to everything—sticky, suffocating—but she barely notices.

Her bump still small, just beginning to round-presses against Lucas's legs as she carries him, one hand clutching him, the other instinctively cradling her bump. Her steps slow-careful-waddling slightly with the extra weight.

The guards trail behind her, shadows in suits, eyes scanning for threats she doesn't even care about anymore.

Lucas babbles against her shoulder, tiny fists gripping her shirt-already possessive, already a little beast just like his father. She adjusts him higher on her hip, ignores the way her back aches and keeps walking.

The hallway stretches forever-marble floors gleaming under chandelier light-cold, empty, just like the man who owns it.

Lucas squeals-excited-as they pass a painting. His chubby hand reaches out, smacking the canvas with a wet slap.

My potrait—The one gifted by previous political parties.

One of the guards stiffens.

She doesn't stop.

Doesn't apologize.

Just keeps walking-her hips sway with each step.

The hoodie slides up her thighs with every step-like it's trying to taunt me, to draw attention to every sinful eyes on her hips.

Hair is pulled back, but there's stray locks framing her face, sticking to her neck. Skin glistening with sweat trail —the summer heat making her clothes cling to her like a second skin-

God, she looks good.

Lucas wriggles—fat cheeks puffing as he babbles nonsense at the guards trailing behind her-none of them daring to step too close.

I lean against the doorframe—-arms crossed–-watching.

A loose hoodie hangs off her hoodie.Lucas tugs at the strings-chewing on them-drool soaking into the fabric.

She doesn't scold him. Just adjusts him higher—wincing slightly-—before continuing her slow waddle toward the nursery.

One of the guards glance—-just a flicker of his gaze.

"Eyes forward."

The guard stiffens–-snaps his head straight-–pale.

She doesn't flinch. Just keeps walking-ignoring me-like I'm part of the damn wallpaper.

Lucas, though-the little traitor-spots me and squeals, arms flailing toward me.

"Dah-dah!"

Her grip tightens-subtle-

Like she's considering bolting.Like she could even run in her state.

I push off the doorframe–-striding toward them–-her breath hitches, but she doesn't turn.

Just stops.

Waits.

I step up behind her-—close–-so close my chest brushes her back and she stiffens.

Lucas giggles-reaching for me-and I pluck him from her armsShe exhales–-slow-–like she's been holding her breath. I lean to her ear-"Next time, look at me when I'm talking to you."

She shudders.

Good.

At least she still reacts.

Tap Tap The little brat grins-slapping his pudgy hands against my face.He mess up my expensive suit with slobber and baby-drool.

I feel her shift infront me-still refusing to look at me. Like I don't exist.

I bite back a snarl-–force my eyes on the brat.He grins wider-babbling nonsense syllables and tugs my tie.Then- yanks my tie hard enough to choke me—"ugh" -little demon strength in those sausage fingers-

"Tch-" I glare at him, but the brat just giggles, kicking his feet against my stomach. Drool drips from his mouth on my ruined silk tie. "Aish—"

A giggle—Infront of me— she stifle a laugh?

That sound-

Fuck.

My grip tightens around Lucas, he squeal in delight.

"Ap—pa!" he shrieks, slapping both hands against my cheeks like I'm his personal drum.

I should be furious.

I am furious.

And then-

I hear it again.

A soft, breathy laugh-from her.

Just once. Just a slip.

"Boss-You should stop now-"

The ceiling looms above white, endless. I close my eyes.

"Wooshik."

"Yes, boss?"

Silence.

"What is love?"

Gasps.

A beat.

Then another.

Silence stretches.

The pain increases. Hard to breath.

I wait for his answer-

"I–I think.." he croaks. "I think love is ... seeing someone, and accepting that that's it"  A pause  "That there's no one or no place you would rather be— I...i think that's love."

My heart clenches.Its stupid.He is stupid.

That sounds so simple.

So uncomplicated.

I don't feel like that.

But i feel like i'm going to die because of her—like I'm drowning.

Like ribs are cracking open-

Like I'd set the world on fire just to watch her scream my name one more time-

Not "Jeon."

Not "boss."

Jungkook.

Her lips around my name—bruised, trembling as I ruin her.

That's not love.

That's madness.

I press my palm heel into my eye–-hard- until colors burst behind lids.

A beat.

I take another bottle—The liquor burns as it slides down my throat-hot, punishing.

Fuck-

"Boss-you're drunk. I think you shoul-"

I glare him. His throat bobs.

"So now you'd tell me what I should or shouldn't do?"

"N-No, boss, I didn't mean-" he pause."You have a meeting tomorrow," he blurts out-

Fuck That meeting.

I slam the bottle down-who the fuck cares?

"Tell Minho to handle it."

"O-Okay boss."He takes out his phone and types fast.

I lean—cold leather biting into my skin.

Just like her.

Cold.

Hard.

Unforgiving.

I close my eyes.

The silence stretches.

Does she still think I'm a monster?A sip–-slow—-the liquor burning not enough.

Outside, the rain falls without mercy. Drenching. Relentless.

Cruel.

Just like her words.

Sharp. Cold. Precise-like she knows exactly where to stab to make me bleed slow.

She still thinks she can escape?

Like I'd ever let her vanish into the storm with my son in her arms?

Click-

The door opens.

"Boss-" Minho hurries in "the guy from Scorpions... they're still on Winston Road,"

Eyes sting worse.

Silence.

"BOSS-"

"WHAT?"

My eyes shot open-—They freeze in the doorway, fools in black suits, looking like deer caught in flames.

"CAN'T YOU GUYS HANDLE ONE DAMN THING WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?"

He ducks his head "B-Boss, it's just..."

"JUST WHAT‐?"

Silence.

Glass trembles in my grip.

"LET THOSE BASTARDS STAY, WHATEVER THEY WANT—"

They glance down -backing away.

I take another sip.

"If they... try anything shoot them. All of them."

They bow and vanish through the door like shadows.

Peace settles again.

Heavy.Empty.

I lean—the cold leather beneath.Like her skin when I touched her last.And she whispered "never."

The rain keeps falling.

Silence.

Whispers slip under the door—hissing, venomous.

"Boss became crazy..." Minho says

"No-boss is in love."

"Love? My foot. He's obsessed. And one day-this obsession will drown everything."

The words sink into the silence.

I don't move.

Yes, you're right, Minho— I'm already drowned by her.

A warm drip rolls down my cheek.

I reach up-–fingers brushing wetness.

Water?

Then another.

Then another.

I look up to the ceiling, blinking.

No leaks.

Just water from my eyes.

Tears?

Am...am I crying?

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