† 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟲𝟰 †

╭─━─━─━─━─━─╮𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟲𝟰†❝𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙❞╰─━─━─━─━─━─╯

༺ ☠︎ † 𝖁 𝖎 𝖘 𝖎 𝖔 𝖓 𝖎 𝖓 𝕯 𝖆 𝖗 𝖐 † ☠︎ ༻

It was such a busy day.

"Fuck," Jungkook muttered under his breath, voice low but full of frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the messy spread of papers on his desk.

He was still in the office, sitting in his chair while the shattered pieces of his ruined day stared back at him. It was way past midnight–the office was almost silent now, everyone else had gone home but he was still here, neck aching, head pounding, fingers twitching from typing and flipping pages non-stop.

The file—the one she spilled coffee on this morning—it was the reason behind all this.

A stupid mistake that destroyed something he had worked days for. Hours of notes, contracts, details—all smudged and useless now. He had to cancel the whole meeting because of it, push everything back and start again from scratch. Alone.

Nine in hours and now that the adrenaline was fading, the headache was kicking in harder. His eyes kept drifting to the clock, blinking tiredly at the time and every minute that passed just reminded him of how behind he was. And worse—who had caused it.

Evie.

He clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a tight line. She had spilled the damn coffee like fucking stupid and then stood there looking all apologetic, eyes wide with those pathetic tears like she was the victim. Like always.

He hated that. He hated how she fucking cried.

It wasn't guilt she had—it was a mask, a cover and she used it every time things went wrong. Or so he told himself.

"Fucking hell," he muttered again, rubbing his temples.

He was halfway through rewriting a page when Ethan peeked into his cabin. The man looked tired too, coat slung over one shoulder, ready to head out.

"You still here?" Ethan asked quietly, stepping just inside the door.

"Yeah," Jungkook replied without looking up. "Trying to finish this mess."

Ethan didn't ask too much, didn't mention anything about birthday– just stood there for a second, then gave a small nod. "Try to head home soon if you can," he said, before walking off.

Jungkook didn't think twice about it. He was too busy to question why Ethan was asking him to leave early. He didn't even remember the date. Didn't realize what day it was. And Ethan didn't remind him—maybe because he knew Jungkook wouldn't care or maybe because it was already too late..

It was almost 1:30 a.m. when Jungkook finally pushed his chair back and stood up, joints stiff, shoulders tense. His hands were cold, stomach empty, mind still reeling with irritation–not just from the work, but from the way Evie had ruined his day and made herself the victim yet again.

He grabbed his keys and left the office.

The drive home was long, the roads mostly empty at this hour, but his thoughts weren't.

They kept circling back—to her.

To the fight. To the way her face had looked when he snapped at her earlier.

He had twisted her wrist in anger–not hard enough to seriously injure her but enough to leave a mark. He had never gotten that physical with her before. But today... the anger had taken over so completely that he hadn't even thought twice.

She had looked at him with that same expression, the one he couldn't fully understand. Half pain, half something else... maybe hurt, maybe fear. He didn't know and he didn't want to care.

It was her mistake in the first place. He wasn't going to let some stupid guilt trap him.

Still... something about the way she reacted felt off. After he twisted her wrist and shoved her away, there was this strange feeling in his chest- like a part of him wanted to believe he was right. That he was justified.

No. He was justified.

She made a mistake, she messed everything up and ended up acting like the victim. Yet seeing her reaction stirred something he couldn't explain, like maybe he had gone too far again, something not justified enough—

Fuck.

The uneasiness rose quickly, but he crushed it just as fast, burying it under layers of excuses.

She wasn't innocent. Not some saint.

She was the reason he had to do all this shit. The reason he was stuck in this mess, forced to deal with everything.

She wasn't fucking innocent, no matter how she looked.

Just because she had that pretty face didn't mean he'd let her cloud his mind. He wasn't going to fall for that act–that habit of hers, looking so harmless, only to end up playing the victim.

The fucking audacity.

She was anything but a victim.

He repeated it to himself again and again, like a mantra.

She fucking deserved this from the start. She was the one who began it all. The one who challenged everything from the beginning.

That's how he made peace with what he did.

And he refused to let her affect him, refused to let her turn herself into some pathetic victim in his eyes.

When he finally reached, he parked the car, stepped out, and walked toward their apartment. When he got there, it was quiet, not a single light on from outside, which wasn't strange anymore. He didn't ring the bell or knock. The last thing he wanted was to wake her up and see her face, only to start another argument. He just wanted to crash, sleep, and forget the day ever happened.

He unlocked the door with his keys quietly, stepped inside, and shut it softly behind him. The house was completely dark, cold, and still. He kicked off his shoes and walked in slowly, flipping on the smallest light near the hallway–just enough to see where he was going.

He walked into the living room.

There, on the sofa, he saw her lying down, curled up slightly like she had just fallen asleep while sitting and slowly slid into that position. She didn't even have a blanket on, just her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to keep warm.

It wasn't surprising anymore that she had stopped sleeping in the bedroom with him a long time ago. She always ended up on the couch now, which honestly worked better for him because he preferred having the room to himself. He needed the space. The peace. The privacy.

He didn't want anyone in his personal space anymore, especially her, so it was good that she had stopped sleeping in their shared bedroom.

He yawned, ready to go inside because the more he stood there, the more dizzy he felt. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa in front of her, but then he noticed her phone had slipped out of her hand and was lying on the floor, screen down, like she had been using it before sleep took over.

And unknowingly, his eyes briefly glanced at her wrist as he bent slightly to look at it and thankfully, there were no marks, nothing to show from when he had twisted it earlier. It meant he hadn't been that harsh. That somehow eased him a little, though he didn't try to explain why. Maybe he just didn't want to frame himself as someone capable of domestic violence—that's it.

He was too exhausted to fix anything between them, even if he wanted to, and truthfully, he didn't want to.

As he stepped further into the room, his eyes caught something on the center table. A few food containers lay scattered there, along with a cardboard box, half-opened. Maybe she had ordered something for herself.

He hadn't eaten anything all day, so the sight of food immediately pulled his attention. It was almost 2 a.m. and he had no energy or patience left to cook for himself. And he knew very well she hadn't made anything either— she had stopped doing any household work a long time ago. No cooking, nothing.

Now the hunger was hitting him harder than before. Normally, he wouldn't even think about touching something she had ordered. His ego would never allow it. But right now, he was too tired to act tough. If it were daytime, he would've just ordered something for himself. Not now. Not when he could barely stand straight.

Without much thought, he pulled his phone from his pocket and removed his watch, dropping both carelessly onto the side of the table. Then he walked over and leaned slightly, checking what was there– if there was anything he could eat.

There was enough food for one person. Half of it was already eaten, but there was still enough left. Enough for him.

If she woke up in the morning and realized her food was gone, he'd deal with it then. Right now, his hunger mattered more and anyway... she had ordered it with his money. That alone was enough reason for him not to care. If she argued about it later, he'd handle her like always.

When he was about to pick up the box, what really caught his attention was the cake box. A cake box? It had already been opened, and a few slices had been cut.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned in. Written on top of the cake in pink icing was— 'Happy Birthday.'

Birthday?

Whose birthday? He had no idea why the hell there was a cake in his house with that written on it.

He stared at it for a second, confused, looking around the box for some clue. And then... he noticed a small torn piece of paper stuck to the corner of the box. On it, in the same decorative writing, it said, 'Happy Birthday, Evie.'

His frown deepened as he processed what that meant.

Her birthday? Today?

No way. He didn't remember anything like that.

He pulled out his phone and checked the date. It took him a second, but then it clicked— yeah, it was her birthday. He remembered it faintly, a blurred memory from a year ago when they had first started dating. It was the same day. Today was her birthday. Or it had been. Now it was already past midnight. He hadn't had a single idea about it.

He looked back at her, sleeping silently on the sofa, her face turned to the side. No blanket. An awkward position, like she had been sitting and dozed off before sliding down into sleep. One hand hung off the sofa, her phone lying on the floor- she must have been using it before sleep took over and her face... it looked like she had cried herself to sleep.

It was her birthday, had passed by and she was here, sitting like this at home. And the incident from the morning immediately came into his mind.

Okay, now he had to try even harder to make what happened in the morning feel justified. What the fuck—he just wanted to eat and sleep, not think about ways to convince himself he was right.

He tried brushing the feeling off.

It's just a birthday. Just a fucking birthday. Nothing special.

People have birthdays all the time. They come and go. He had his too and he didn't care much about it. Birthdays were a children's thing, not for grown adults. He never cared about his own, so why should he start caring about hers?

And if she had really tried to make something out of it, then she was just being childish. There was no reason to feel sad over something like that.

That's how he convinced himself.

But still... that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest wouldn't go away–especially when the morning incident kept flashing through his mind. Even though his brain tried its best to justify it with her mistake, telling him she deserved it.

God, he felt like fucking shit right now and he didn't even know why.

It was that same feeling that always showed up when he saw her like this –crying, hurt, but never saying anything. It was the feeling that made him want to walk away before it got worse.

Because he hated that feeling.

The one that made him feel like he was the one in the wrong when he's not.

And then his eyes drifted back to the box, curiosity mixing with confusion. He wondered who had sent it. He looked around the packaging, searching for a sender's name, but there wasn't one. Nothing written. Nothing signed.

Which made it even stranger—who would even send her something like this when she barely knew anyone around here?

His jaw clenched immediately at the thought of someone unknown, someone he didn't even know about, ordering something for her behind his back, when he himself hadn't even acknowledged her.

His gaze shifted to her and then back to the food packages, trying to find any kind of hint that could tell him who had sent all this.

Who even dared?

It could be a friend... but he didn't know her to have any close friends here who would go this far. Or maybe–her father.

Yeah. That could be it.

It had to be him.

He forced himself to settle on that explanation, clinging to it because who else would dare? The fucking thought of some other guy made his jaw tighten instantly.

His entire hunger and whatever sleep he had left vanished because of this shit. Now there was no way he'd be able to rest peacefully without knowing who had sent it.

He couldn't wake her up to ask–not without making things worse. Even though the urge to do it was strong, almost tempting him to shake her awake and ask.

Then his eyes fell on her phone lying on the floor.

With a mix of curiosity and a need for answers, he bent down and picked it up.

It wasn't locked. The screen was still on the gallery.

The last thing she had been looking at were photos– pictures of the two of them from before their marriage, almost six months ago. Back when things had looked... happy. At least to her.

There were selfies. A few candid shots of her smiling while he had his arm around her, playing the part of the perfect man. And she—she had looked genuinely happy. Completely unaware that everything he had said or done back then had only been part of a game. Just to win her over. Just to make her fall.

Maybe she had fallen asleep while looking at those photos. Maybe she missed the version of him that had never really existed.

His eyes shifted back to her quiet figure on the sofa and he knew—this wasn't the first time she had cried herself to sleep. And it wouldn't be the last.

It always happened like this.

And still... she stayed.

He didn't even understand why. How could someone be this foolish in love? So blind? How could anyone let themselves be treated like this and still stay?

Even after everything he had done, she hadn't left. And he knew—she wouldn't leave in the future either. She never did. No matter what he did to her, she always stayed.

Even today, she had been looking at those photos, probably hoping for something better, something that was never going to come.

God, she was so deep into him.

How could someone be this dumb?

Seriously... women in love were the dumbest creatures.

He had hurt her in so many ways, broken her piece by piece, and yet she still cried for him.

And honestly, it was irritating. Not because she was still here... but because it made him feel things he didn't want to feel. That strange, uncomfortable feeling in his chest, the kind that made it seem like he was the one doing something wrong.

Her face did that to him. Made it look like she was the victim for real—when in reality, she wasn't.

He didn't want to feel that again. Didn't want to think that she was innocent and he was the one at fault.

He shook his head. There was nothing he could do. She chose to stay. She chose to suffer like this.

She could leave... but she didn't. And there wasn't even a single sign that she wanted to leave him in future too.

So it was her fault and he wasn't doing anything wrong.

He shook his head, feeling like the lack of sleep was messing with it, and that he should just head to bed. The thought of eating was gone, especially when he still didn't know who had sent it. He would try to find out later for now, he needed to go to his room.

He walked towards his room, trying to push all those nonsense, illogical thoughts away.

But halfway there, he paused for a second, staring at the hallway that led to the bedroom. He thought about grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her. Just something small. Just so she wouldn't wake up cold in the middle of the night.

But then he stopped himself. No, he told himself, she can get it herself if she needs it. He's not anyone's servant.

With that, he turned around and walked into his room. He went straight to the bathroom, washed up quickly without much thought and came back out. The bed felt cold but familiar. He lay down, pulled the covers over himself, and closed his eyes.

Sleep came slowly, but he didn't fight it. He didn't want to think anymore. Not about her, not about what day it was, and definitely not about that small voice inside him that kept asking if maybe, just maybe, he was going too far.

⋆༺𓆩✞𓆪༻⋆𝔙 𝔦 𝔰 𝔦 𝔬 𝔫 𝔦 𝔫 𝔇 𝔞 𝔯 𝔨⋆༺𓆩✞𓆪༻⋆

The sleep was so deep, like when you're too tired to notice even the morning arriving and Jungkook felt the same.

He woke up feeling like his body was glued to the bed. It had been such a deep sleep that for a moment, he didn't even know where he was. He was still tired but work wasn't going to wait for him to catch up on sleep.

With heavy limbs and half-lidded eyes, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way downstairs toward the kitchen for a glass of water. His head was still a little cloudy from everything going on lately–the office stress, the messed-up night before and the general heaviness he had gotten used to carrying around lately.

As he walked past the living room, still half under the influence of sleep, his eyes drifted toward the sofa. She was still there, still asleep.

This time, though, she had a blanket wrapped around herself, lying more properly than before-which meant she must have woken up at some point during the night, felt cold, and pulled it over herself.

He didn't dwell on it. He didn't feel the need to.

Without stopping, he moved toward the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and drank it slowly. His eyes flickered back to her once more, still in the same position, still unmoving before he turned away and headed back to his room.

There was no point standing there, he had better things to do.

Inside, he went through his usual routine–shower, change, fixing his hair. Everything is the same as always. By the time he came downstairs again, the maid was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The faint clatter of utensils filled the otherwise quiet house.

And she was still lying on the sofa in the same position. That was strange.

It was already past the time she usually woke up. Even though she had stopped doing any household work, she still woke up around the same hour every day, taking care of her own things at least. But today... she hadn't moved at all.

For a brief moment, something in his mind paused at that.

Then he ignored it completely.

He even told the maid to leave her be, not to bother waking her up. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her anyway. There was no way he was ready for that silent treatment she always gave him after a fight. Or those looks— disappointment, hurt, like he had done something wrong.

It was annoying to him so it was better like this, better that she stayed asleep.

He took his seat at the dining table and ate his breakfast quietly, without thinking much about anything else. His mind was already shifting toward work– meetings, deadlines, things that actually mattered. Anything but the emotional mess waiting right there in the living room.

By the time he returned to the living room to grab his things and head out, he wasn't expecting to see her awake but she was.

She was sitting at the edge of the sofa, still under the heavy influence of sleep, her posture slightly slouched, her face tired and distant, like she hadn't fully returned to the moment yet. Her eyes looked unfocused, her body slow, as if even staying upright was taking effort.

He hadn't wanted this. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and force him into another interaction he wasn't prepared for. And yet... he found himself stopping in his tracks anyway.

Maybe she sensed his presence, because slowly, without looking at him, she pushed herself to her feet. She picked up the blanket from the sofa and began folding it carefully. Her movements were slow but precise, almost like she was holding herself together through that small, simple task.

She didn't glance at him, not even once. Even though she must have known he was there. Even though she must have felt his eyes on her, searching for some kind of reaction, some expression, anything at all.

But she gave him nothing, she acted like he didn't exist and maybe... that was easier for both of them.

He stood there for a moment, watching her, something unreadable passing through his expression. His jaw shifted slightly as if he was debating something in his head and then, almost like he had to force the words out of himself, he finally spoke with a quiet sigh.

"About yesterday..." His voice was low from his usual voice. "That file you spilled coffee on—it was important. Actually, really important. I had to deal with some serious issues because of that."

She didn't respond.

But there was a slight pause in her movements, barely noticeable, like his words had reached her but she refused to let them settle. For a second, her hands slowed but then she continued, faster this time, almost like she wanted to finish and leave as quickly as possible.

There's still no eye contact, nothing from her side.

When she finished folding the blanket, she turned and started walking toward the stairs without a word.

And that...pushed something in him.

Before she could take another step, he moved forward and stood directly in her path, blocking her way so suddenly that she almost stumbled into him. Her body reacted instantly, tensing at the abrupt closeness, a sharp breath catching in her throat.

For a second, he just looked at her. Studied her face like he was trying to read something that wasn't there anymore.

"I..." he started, pausing briefly as thinking about ways to frame them. "I might have overreacted. Maybe. But it was just... heat of the moment. So don't overthink it."

It wasn't an apology but for him... it was close enough. He waited for her, he watched her to expect something, anything. But all he got was her blank stare. No words, no reaction from her. Just silence that stretched too long and it started getting under his skin.

Damn her.

The more he wanted a reaction, the more she refused to give him one.

Without a word, she tried to move past him, brushing her shoulder against his as she stepped forward.

And that was it.

His patience snapped.

Before she could take another step, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist and pulling her back toward him. The sudden force made her gasp, her body stumbling slightly as she collided into him.

Her eyes widened in shock, her body going rigid instantly.

He leaned in slightly, his grip firm, his gaze locked onto hers.

"I didn't know you could stay this mad at me," he muttered, his tone low, edged with something sharp. "Not even looking at me?" His eyes searched hers, intense, probing. "Is it about yesterday... or is it something else I missed?"

He saw it then— her expression shifting, surprise melting into something more guarded, more defensive. She tried to pull her hand free from his grip, her voice coming out strained, "Leave my hand."

But he didn't.

He ignored it completely, tightening his hold just enough to stop her from pulling away as he drew her slightly closer, even as she resisted.

"Are you mad because of what I did yesterday... or because I missed your birthday?"

That made her pause, just for a second. Her resistance stilled, her body going rigid in a different way this time.

He caught that.

Of course he did.

"I didn't know it was your birthday yesterday," he continued, his voice quieter now, but still controlled. "I was... busy. Caught up in things. Didn't realize I missed something like that."

The words sounded like acknowledgment but not regret. Not really. His eyes stayed locked on hers, intense in a way that almost felt deliberate, like he was trying to make it matter without actually admitting that it did.

She just looked at him silent and still. Like she didn't even know how to respond to him anymore.

Then his grip shifted slightly as he lifted her wrist, turning it just enough to check it—his eyes scanning her skin for any marks from the night before.

There were none.

And for some reason... he acts like that mattered to him.

But she noticed it and she didn't like it. Not even a little. Something in her expression hardened instantly, her eyes glossing slightly.

With a sudden pull, she yanked her hand free from his grip and stepped back, putting distance between them.

He was slightly taken aback by her resistance but then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. He knew how defensive her nature had always been from the start. He looked at her for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. From it, he pulled out a black credit card, glancing at it briefly before looking back at her.

"Anyway," he added, holding the card slightly out in her direction as he stepped closer, trying to maintain that same intensity between them, "if you want, take this. You can go out... maybe take Ethan with you, or whoever you want. Buy yourself something. I bet your whole 'mad at me' thing will go away."

He stood there for a second, wallet still in his hand, the credit card extended halfway toward her—like it could somehow balance things out. In his head, it wasn't a big gesture, just something practical. His way of making up for yesterday. Not an apology but something close to it in his own way. Maybe he thought it would help.

Evie had been about to walk away, but the moment he said that, she stopped.Slowly, she turned and looked straight at him.

She didn't say a single word. Just stared at him, her eyes heavy—like there was too much in them to even put into words. It wasn't clear if she was too angry to react or too hurt to even try. But the disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable.

Jungkook's fingers around the card loosened slightly. He didn't know why, but the way she was looking at him suddenly made him feel uneasy about what he was offering. Her expression was too strange—he couldn't figure out if she was angry, sad, or on the verge of tears. And he didn't like it the way she's judging him. Not one bit.

It made him feel... self-conscious.

Like he had done something wrong.

His jaw tightened slightly at the thought. Was she going to argue with him again?

Her eyes flicked down to the credit card for a brief second, then back to his face. No words but her look said enough. The kind of look that didn't need explaining.

He stared at her, unsure whether to say something else or just stay quiet. But before he could decide, she suddenly lifted her hand and jerked his hand away—the one holding the card. The movement was sharp enough that the card slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

The suddenness of it caught him off guard.

And before he could react, she pushed past him, her shoulder hitting his firmly as she walked ahead without a single glance back, leaving him standing there.

For a second, he just stood there, stunned.

Woah. That was harsh for no fucking reason.

He blinked, staring at the empty space she had left behind the card lying on the floor. The air around him suddenly felt colder than before. Still, he shouldn't have been surprised. Not after seeing how defensive she could get.

He bent down, picked up the card and slipped it back into his wallet with more force than necessary before shoving it back into his pocket. His jaw clenched as irritation settled in.

Instead, he let out a small scoff under his breath, brushing the whole moment off.

"Didn't want it, just fucking say it. Why had to act so dramatic?" he muttered, annoyed.

He grabbed his things and walked out of the house without looking back but the look in her eyes—that silent, disappointed look—stayed with him.

Even when he was halfway to the office.

The whole drive to the office, her eyes wouldn't leave his mind. No matter how loud the traffic was or how many work emails kept popping up on his phone, her silence stuck to him like something unfinished. The way she had looked at him-just staring without giving him any hint of any reaction-it kept coming back. Over and over.

But he pushed it down. Again and again.

She had done this. Not him.

She was the one who started all of it—from the very beginning. She had provoked him, got under his skin in ways no one else dared to. She mocked him, insulted him, made him feel something he didn't want to feel.

If she had never gotten involved, if she had never tried to stand up to him, maybe he would've ignored her completely. Maybe he wouldn't have even remembered her name and her existence. But she did. She made herself a problem. And now, she was dealing with the consequences.

So no, he didn't feel guilty. Not even a little.

Whatever that uneasiness was lingering around him, he refused to name it. He buried it under work, emails, calls, meetings—whatever kept his hands moving and his brain busy. He convinced himself that he had nothing to feel bad about. She deserved it. She had made her bed.

By the end of the day, he still wasn't in the mood to go home. He didn't want to see her sitting there with that quiet expression, making him feel like he had done something wrong when he hadn't.

So instead of driving back, he took a turn and went to his parents' house. They didn't ask many questions and he didn't offer any answers. He stayed the night and told himself it was just more convenient, that the office was closer from there anyway.

But it wasn't just one night. He didn't go home the next day either. He let the time pass like that. Just work, sleep, repeat. No calls, no messages to her about his absence for days. He didn't feel like explaining himself and he didn't even feel like checking in. She'd be fine. She always acted like she didn't care, right? Then let her live in that silence which she had begged for.

And Evie—she didn't expect him to come back home, not really. The first night, she noticed the time slipping away. At first, there was a passing thought-maybe he got stuck at work. But as hours stretched into the next day, she figured it out. He wasn't coming back.

And strangely, she felt relief. She moved through the house like usual, going from room to room with no one breathing down her neck, no footsteps behind her, no tension in the air. It felt strange at first, but not bad. Just silent.

And that silence gave her space.

Space to breathe.

Space to think without the pressure of his eyes watching her every move.

And the audacity of him—to hold out a credit card like it could fix anything. Like she could just buy something for herself and replace what she had lost. Like dignity, like hurt, like everything he had broken could be covered with money.

It didn't make things better.

If anything, it made something inside her snap even harder.

That was the exact moment she wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.

She didn't care about his absence anymore. If anything, she was grateful for it. For the first time in a long while, she didn't have to stay alert all the time, didn't have to measure every word or movement around him. She wasn't walking on eggshells anymore.

And for now... that was enough.

The house felt different without him. Bigger. Emptier, yes—but quieter in a way that didn't suffocate her.

She didn't get his calls and messages. She didn't want to know where he was or what he was doing. She didn't want him near her and clearly, he didn't want her either.

Maybe this distance was exactly what they both needed.

Neither of them would ever admit it out loud, but they were both using it like a shield.

Especially her.

Because somewhere between the silence and the distance, she had started finding small ways to stand on her own—to pull herself back together, piece by piece. To build something that didn't revolve around him.

Something that could one day help her leave.

Leave this... hell.

And just like that, two days passed. Jungkook buried himself in work. Evie buried herself in silence. And neither of them tried to fix anything.

Because maybe, somewhere deep down, they both believed—it wasn't worth anymore.

†

The evening was quiet.

Evie sat curled up on the sofa, her phone resting loosely in her hands. The house felt empty again, filled with a kind of silence that had become familiar over the past two days.

Every few minutes, her eyes drifted back to the screen. Waiting.

For one call.

And finally... it came.

Her screen lit up: Ethan calling.

She picked it up almost instantly. "Hello?"

"Hey," Ethan's voice came through, calm but carrying a hint of something lighter. "I've got good news."

She straightened up immediately, her grip on the phone tightening slightly. "Yeah?"

"I talked to a friend," he said. "Pulled a few strings. That job you asked about—it's yours. You'll just need to go through a basic interview, but it's already pretty much sorted. If everything goes smoothly, you'll start next month."

For a second, she just blinked then her eyes lit up, a smile finally breaking through.

"Oh my God, Ethan... thank you. Seriously, I don't even know what to say."

"It's nothing," he replied easily. "You wanted it, and you're more than qualified. It's a good place—decent salary, solid reputation. You'll do great there."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I'll give you all the documents when you're back. Everything's ready."

"Alright. Just tell me when you want me to take you for the formal stuff."

"I will. And... thank you again."

They exchanged a quick goodbye, and Ethan was just about to hang up when—

"Ethan. Wait."

There was a small pause on the other end.

"Yeah?" he asked, a slight frown in his voice. "What happened? You want to say something?"

She hesitated.

For a moment, she wasn't sure if she should say it or not. But she had known Ethan long enough to trust him.

"There's something I need to ask you," she said quietly. "It's important."

"Okay..."

"Please don't tell Jungkook anything about this. Not the job, not the interview—nothing." Her voice softened further, almost careful. "And please... don't ask me why. I just—I don't want him to know until everything is final. Until I actually get the job."

There was silence on the other end.

For a second, she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Then she heard him sigh lightly.

"Alright," Ethan said. "I won't say anything. Your secret's safe with me, don't worry."

She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

She didn't know how much Ethan truly understood about her and Jungkook, but she knew one thing—he knew enough. Enough to realize things weren't right. Enough not to question her too much.

And she needed that.

Because if Jungkook found out... he could ruin everything before it even started.

"Thank you, Ethan," she said softly. "I really mean it. I don't know how I'll ever return the favor. You've honestly been like... a well-wisher to me."

A quiet chuckle came from the other side.

"Hey, don't make it sound so formal," he said lightly. "You don't owe me anything. Just focus on yourself for once, alright? That's more than enough."

Her smile softened at his words.

"I will," she said.

"And Evie?"

"Hmm?"

"You deserve this. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Her grip on the phone tightened slightly, her voice giving it a way.

"I won't."

"Good. Now go get some rest. Big things ahead."

"Yeah... goodnight, Ethan."

"Goodnight."

The call ended, and the silence returned but this time, it didn't feel as heavy. For the first time in a while... there was something close to hope.

She had made up her mind.

She was going to work again– not because she needed a distraction, but because she needed her life back.

Her real life.

The one she had before everything got tangled in the mess called marriage.

A few days ago, she had quietly asked Ethan if he could help her find a job. She didn't expect much. But just like always, he didn't ask unnecessary questions–he just understood. And within days, he actually found something for her. A real job, in a well-known company, based entirely on her qualifications. Not some pity opportunity, not something handed to her because of someone else's name.

Unlike the last time, when Jungkook had "arranged" a position for her in his company—it was clear she got it because of him–this one mattered.

This one was her own. She had worked hard for her degree, she had dreams of her own. She didn't want to be the kind of woman who sat in a house all day waiting for her husband to come and go. She didn't want to live like that. Not anymore.

She knows he won't react positively when he gets to know about it.

But why should she have to wait for that? Why did everything have to revolve around him and his timeline? She had already sacrificed too much—her father, her job, her plans, and most painfully, her peace.

Now she didn't even see a future with him and she didn't want one.

She had tried. She had done everything she could to make this marriage work. She stayed quiet when he lashed out, gave him space when he was cold, and kept giving him the benefit of the doubt. For six months, she held on to the hope that maybe he just needed time. Maybe he was adjusting, maybe this was all temporary.

But how long is someone supposed to keep waiting?

He wasn't like this before marriage. He was the one who chased her, who kept showing up when she's not even interested in him, who begged her to marry him. He used to act like she meant everything to him.

And now? He acts like he has some kind of authority over her.

Six months may not sound like much, but when every day feels like you're walking on eggshells, it's a lifetime. She had lost her voice in this relationship. Her self-worth had crumbled bit by bit.

But now, she was done. Truly fucking done. She wasn't going to let herself become a woman who keeps breaking herself just to keep a broken relationship going.

She'd be a fool to sit here crying over a man who never once took a moment to see how badly he was hurting her. And she wouldn't do that anymore. She didn't want to keep any hope that he would change or that one day he'd suddenly become the man he promised to be. That kind of hope was more damaging than anything else.

She didn't want him. She didn't want any man.

Men were nothing but walking disappointments.

First Taehyung, now Jungkook—both of them had made her believe in something real, only to rip it away when she got too close. She didn't have the strength to keep going through this cycle. She was exhausted—not just emotionally, but mentally.

She had given everything to this marriage. Left her only family, her father—the one person in this world who truly loved her. She didn't even want to leave him in the first place. But marriage traditions, expectations and pressure had forced her to. And for what? To end up in a relationship that made her feel like hell every single day?

She gave up her job, her freedom, and her peace—all for him. And he didn't even realize what that meant. She became completely dependent on him after marriage, trusting him, hoping he'd protect that trust. But instead, he used it to control her. Now, she knew better.

Now, she knew she didn't owe him anything.

Not her time, not her emotions, not her loyalty—nothing. She was going to take her life back, and this time, it was going to be on her terms.

She didn't want Jungkook to know anything-not now, not even at the very end. More than anything, she wanted to secure the job first and then quietly slip away from his life without leaving a trace. No explanations, no warnings. Just gone.

She would start over on her own terms, rebuild everything he had broken, and take back control of her life. And when the time came, her disappearance would be the only answer he'd get.

This time, she wouldn't wait for anyone.

She would get herself out of this hell.

She didn't need anyone to save her.

She would save herself.

★ ★ ★

A\N: I'm really excited for the upcoming plot—this is where the real twist begins. I can't wait for what's coming next, so buckle up for an unexpected twist.

—𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾        𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍···୨ৎ