057

Y/N

"Yuck, the last piece of dragon fruit finally ends. Thank f*ck."

I push away the bowl—it clatters against the others still half full nearby—but my stomach twists.feeling overfull.

This is the fourth bowl I eat today, and even the sweetness of dragon fruit can't quite quell my growing nausea.

Layla hovers close by, eyes sharp and a sly smile on her face.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Now you satisfied?"

She nods slowly, Her smile widens. "Um hm. Very good, Mrs. Jeon."

I roll my eyes. "Layla... don’t call me that."

She bursts into quiet laughter—covering her mouth but failing miserably—"Sorry sorry! But come on—it's just habit now." She takes the bowl from my lap and hands me a small cup with white pills lined up like soldiers—my daily meds for the baby."And if I don’t call you Mrs. Jeon?" She lowers her voice and plops down beside us "Boss will cut off my head."

Before that— "I’ll cut his cock off." I mutter under breath.

Layla chokes back a snort and fans herself— “Oho~ Say it louder for the people in back!”

I grin..Just for a second.Because Layla?She’s one of two things in this house that still feels real—the other being Lucas… who’s currently babbling nonsense into my neck while tugging aggressively at one of my braids.

Sigh.“Bub—You’re gonna bald your mama.”

He giggles—a full-bellied laugh—and blows a raspberry against my collarbone.

I glance at Layla—and whisper "...Thank you."

Her smile softens—

"Yeah," she whispers back —"anytime... Mrs.Jeon."  one real moment between girls trapped in different kinds of gilded cages—Then grins again:

"Now eat your medicine before Boss checks vitals through security cam again like some creepy stalker daddy robot!"

I gulp down the pills—with water and dread—and hold Lucas tighter...

"Um—you know you can actually call me y/n when no one is around,"

Layla glances around, her eyes sharp."Mrs.Jeon—you know no one is ever alone in the whole villa. Boss is always watching, especially you."

My eyes flick to the corner.

There it is.

That tiny red light.Unblinking.Always watching.

Like a predator with infinite patience.

My teeth grits hard "He's always watching me... Even when I'm sleeping. Or bathing. Or—" voice drops to a hiss —"pooping."

Layla snorts despite herself—"Oh he definitely watches that part for entertainment—"

I shoot her a glare—

She sobbs hands up laughing— "What- It keeps him human!"

I roll my eyes —staring right at Lucas now chewing his teething toy like nothing’s wrong with this world—i freeze—heart lurching forward with another thought—

“But… can he hear us?” I ask, quietly —

Layla hesitates “Yeah… sometimes.”

Blood drains from my brain—

Did he hear—Did he hear about the scorpions the other day? Please God, don't let that have gotten out—Lucas giggles—one wet drool-covered toothy grin—

"Mrs. Jeon, do you need something, or should I leave now?"

I sigh. "Why are you in such a rush? You can sit here and keep me company, you know—– I'll get bored being alone otherwise."

"I... can't do that... Mrs. Jeon."

"Why not? You know… I’m just gonna rot in silence otherwise."

But she shakes her head—eyes flicking toward the ceiling corner for half a second—"Mrs. Jeon. You know, the other day, boss watched us with you laughing at the kitchen, and then he yelled at us as soon as you left."

My stomach drops.

Right.I remember.

The way he called them into his study later.How they all came out pale-faced, hands shaking slightly— she handed me tea that night with silent eyes…

"Yeah…" My voice tightens—I remember how he stared… my shirt was open feeding Lucas…He probably loved that moment—the way he stared like fire in his eyes when one side nipple slipped during latch-on...Fucking pervert. But no—I couldn’t say that out loud either. Not with ears everywhere.

I sigh deeply“Okay… fine. You can go.”

Layla gives a small bow—not from respect, but survival—and slips out quietly.

The door clicks shut behind her…

And just like that—the silence swallows everything again.

Except Lucas.

He’s still curled against me—chattering nonsense into my chest with wild hand gestures—one minute pointing at Teddy, next kicking his legs and babbling words only baby brains understand—But It sounds almost like storytelling.

Like he’s weaving some tiny tragedy between teething squeals into his teething toy with absolute confidence—as if explaining life’s greatest tragedy:

His father doesn't play with him...Doesn't read him stories...Never changing a diaper...Or even smiled at him...

He knows already—even at this age—he knows this shouldn't feel quiet or scary or watched every second...So maybe that's why he talks so much?

Because one of us has to scream what they’re afraid to say aloud...I kiss his forehead gently. "Shh"

____________________________________

I lean back—sinking into the couch, arms wrapped around myself , it keep me from breaking apart.

Sigh.

TV? On.

Phone? Charged.Books? Piles of them unread.Laptop? There—but no Wi-Fi, no messages go out anyway. Then what’s the point?

Everything here is for show. A gilded cage with silk ropes and diamond locks.

But none of it touches what I actually want.

I don’t need another designer dress or a new phone that tracks my heartbeat.

I just want—someone to talk to.Really talk.Not whisper secrets in fear like Layla did earlier…

Not pretend-laugh through tears while holding Lucas so he won’t see Mama falling apart…I want to scream without silence falling heavier after.I want to cry and have someone say “me too” instead of “be careful.”

Human touch—not this forced intimacy with Jeon every time he proves I’m his again—

No… a real hug from someone who doesn't gain or lose their job based on how long they look at me.

But.No one.Never anyone anymore since the one maid tried—we shared coffee once, laughed about baby food puree disasters—and two days later she was gone without even saying goodbye—

Jeon fired her before dawn broke, because she smiled too much at me.

He wouldn't allow anyone. If he caught any staff interacting with me...It either ended in termination... or double the workload.That’s all it takes now—one wrong glance—and you disappear like smoke.

So they all walk carefully around me now. Like I’m dangerous… or cursed.And him?He thinks gifts solve everything.

Flowers, chocolates, new phones, dresses and makeup… all in a goddamn heap in the corner. He thought these things would happy me, Happy enough to forgive him.Scoff.Roses delivered daily—even when I throw them into trash.Chocolates piling up till ants crawl over luxury wrappers nobody eats.Dresses hanging untouched in wide open wardrobe doors like skeletons wearing dreams.

He sends gifts every damn day—as if silk will heal trauma or pearls can cover scars beneath clothes only he's allowed to remove...

Like any of this changes what he did…What he still does…

Like any amount of diamonds make r*pe forgivable?

My fingers curl into fists tight nails bite skin—Nothing will change...Not the gifts…Not his quiet threats masked as concern…Not those dark eyes watching through cameras as I feed Lucas.

Nothing will change —until one day—I'm standing over his grave,and whisper: "Now... you feel nothing."

Until then—I stay alive...For Lucas...For the day they bury him first.

"Ma…Mamah…Maaa…"

I look down, and there him, my tiny love, is drooling all over my dress—and squirming restlessly—waving those chubby arms. I hold him closer—he protests and whines, trying to wriggle out again.

I chuckle—wiping his mouth—"what do you want now, baby boy?"

He rocks back and forth with a frustrated expression—like he's trying to crawl onto my bump!

I laugh softly and pull him back gently. "No, baby, no… this isn't a little couch for you…"He pouts dramatically—doe eyes wide—demanding, drool glistening on his chin. my dress now soaked in saliva—

“What? Huh? What now?”

He still trying to squirm down onto my bump.

I hold him tight, shaking my head.

"No, no. You can't sit here."

He frowns—eyes wide as a infant Bambi—and whines again, wanting to explore my stomach like it's some tiny couch built just for him.

“No, no—no sitting here,” I say, holding him tighter.

He whines—a dramatic squeak—and tilts his head sideways with innocent doe eyes. The kind that melt even Jeon’s cold heart in three seconds flat…

I sigh.Lean back.“Fine… but one minute. And if you squish Mama’s insides—you’re grounded.”

He giggles—not understanding a word—but pats my bump like it’s his private couch. Then flops down with a soft plop, curls up like a contented cat, and starts babbling to the ceiling again…

To anyone else—he’d look cute.But I know better.This kid?He knows exactly what he's doing.Using charm as weapons—one giggle at a time dismantling walls even silence couldn’t break.

He lies there—babbling nonsense on top of me—I soothe gently over his back…Feeling every tiny breath rise and fall…And for this one fragile moment?The cameras don’t matter.Jeon doesn’t exist.The world outside this room is nothing…

Just us two…Me— who hates her cage but loves this child more than freedom itself.And Lucas— who believes every bad thing will go away if you blow raspberries loud enough...

Silence.

A tear slips out before I can stop it—Because no matter what comes next—even if we never leave these marble halls—I’ll make sure he knows.You are loved. You are safe. And one day... Mama will grow brave enough to run.

Six endless months of carrying this life inside me—each day heavier, not just in weight… but in dread.

This bump keeps growing—round, heavy, pulling me forward like an anchor tied to my spine. Every day heavier. Every day slower.My legs wobble more when I stand.My breath comes shorter.Even turning in bed feels like a war I barely win.

Freedom?It used to be a dream—Now it’s impossible..

I sigh—stare at the ceiling the red flickering light hums softly above.

Eyes sting again—not because of pain.Not even fear.This bump swells larger every morning I wake, feel weaker—legs shaky just getting up, back aching like it's already broken from running miles.

How can I run… when I can barely walk?

And Jeon? He notices.Of course he does.

He’s more present now—like a shadow. Circling me like prey.

He watches how slowly I rise.How my hand always finds my lower back with a wince.How long it takes me to cross the room when Lucas clings too tight and my feet swell at night like silent protests against this prison.

Tears fall down.

When do I stop being trapped?When do these walls crack open?When does that monster finally sleep with his guard down for me to vanish into the trees beyond this villa’s gate?

I gulp-

After Uncle Park’s death…everything tightened.

The guards doubled. Another by the east garden. One at the service stairs. A new pair during night shift that never blink, never chat—just stand like statues who’ve memorized my face too well.Cameras appeared in places they weren't before—the garden, the kitchen hallways, even near Lucas’ nursery door now even two men standing on either side “for safety.”

Liar.

It's not for safety—it's control.

No exits left unwatched.No calls go unhacked.Not even whispered words between me and Layla are safe anymore—

Please—When… when do I get away from this? This monstrous villa… these walls—I don’t even know how—No contacts left.No money on me—not real cash, not access cards they haven’t tracked since day one…And every window has sensors now—even those fake ones…

I’m trapped…Deeper than ever…In silk sheets and forced peace…

"Ma-ma..." Lucas coos suddenly—he shifts on my bump, turns his big eyes up at me and pats my cheek with sticky fingers—cheeks rosy from drool…

"Yeah baby... Mama's here."

Then he smiles— full-bunny teeth beam of pure joy.I peck his cheek—He squeals—kicks both feet—and curls against my bump again like it’s his kingdom—

The more hatred grows for Jeon.The deeper this love digs for Lucas.

He doesn't deserve being born here—but I love him already beyond reason...

My thumb brushes his soft hair gently,Tears spill over , sunlight slipping through blinds..

How can i run when this child doesn't know what running means?How can i leave someone who calls me mama while sitting on top of hope itself?But one day—

When you're strong enough, We’ll vanish into dawn so quiet no camera will see us leave.

Until then?We survive.

Together.

FLASHBACK —

A Month ago.

Air thick with rain outside—lightning flickers across storm choked skies, casting jagged shadows over marble floors.

I’m on couch—light on my feet. thinking I could win.

Loud footsteps echoes.

He stands in doorway—black suit soaked, hair clings to his forehead. Eyes dark like he’s come back from a funeral…or caused one.

I glance down.

He walks forward—one slow step at a time—the sound of wet shoes echoing.

“I told you… no one helps you but me.”

I gulp—slowly stand—fists clenched on slik covered bump "S-She was kind and—"He pulls me closer."YOU'RE CARRYING MY CHILD”

"Ugh—please—"

"You think this changes anything? That because you're pregnant... I’ll let go?"

His eyes burn into mine— "I don’t care what they told you in whispers behind kitchen doors."I try to pull away—but can't move an inch.

"i don’t care if your fucking freedom begging for mercy under my boot"

I glance down.

A beat.

Thumb trace along my jawline softly —"You should’ve stayed scared,"

I swallow.

—"It made things easier... between us."

“Yo–you killed her” I breathe out—

He leans– lips graze my ear “No” he corrects "They did. But yes...I ordered it."

My breath caught.

His palm slides slowly down—rest over my bump "And next time—There won't be anyone left who wants to save you."

____________________________________

I try to walk faster—waddling slightly, one hand cradling my bump, the other trying to soothe Lucas as he clings to my neck like a tiny koala with separation anxiety.

“Bub… get down"  I hiss through gritted teeth "Mama’s bladder is gonna burst”—my pussy throbbing from pressure—that deep, insistent pulse that never really goes away anymore. Morning sickness, back pain, and now this? God.

"Layla!" I call out—hobble sideways toward the door.

My bump pulls forward, lower back aching and between my legs—

“Bub… get down” I whisper, waddling toward the bathroom. “Mama has to pee. Like… urgently.”

“Nah...nah...Mama!” He whines louder—kicking his legs even as I try to gently pry his tiny fingers off my hair.

“Lucas Jeon—let go!”He only clings harder.

God. Seriously?

“Layla! —LAYLA!”

She bursts in seconds later—hands clasped together nervously."Yes! Yes, Mrs. Jeon!" She pants— "What happened?"

"Please take him—I have to pee,"

Layla reaches for him—"Come on little prince"

He whines.Then screams.Then launches into full opera-mode the second he realizes what’s happening."Mam—aaaa! Nananana!"

“Dont worry, just Take him,” I beg, already doing the pee dance at this point. She struggles— “Just take him, I need to pee before I lose this baby or wet myself trying.”

I finally peel Lucas off with a heroic effort—and hand him over—

Big mistake.

The second he’s not touching me—he wails. Full-on siren mode. Arms stretched toward me. Face red.“NO- MAMAAA!! MAAAAAHHH!!!”

“I’m right here!” I call over the screaming—but it's no use. This child runs on emotional drama since morning. Layla making goofy faces trying to distract him.He howls louder than ever—as if kidnapped by pirates instead of being handed off so I can piss in peace.

Layla holds him tightly against her hip —jiggles him slightly—"Shhh shh look~ Your mama will be back in two ticks!"

But he howls louder—I glance at her gratefully—and speed-walk as fast as a i can toward the bathroom...

But Lucas's arms stretch out, bottom lip trembling with loud sobs. "Mam...mah...maahhh.."

I slam the door close—ripping clothes off, practically dancing out of them now and collapse on the seat.

Sigh.

My eyes closing, the cold seat such a brief relief on my throbbing lower half.

Lucas' crying echoes through the door "Mam-maaaMaaahh...maah...maah!"

"Ma...mah...mahh..."

I lean back, breathing hard. "Jesus...just hold on."Lucas wails. Loud. More heartbroken.Like I’ve abandoned him.Like I’m gone forever.

Just a few minutes of privacy in a life where nothing is mine.

Sigh.The pressure relief off my poor bladder.

I glance up.The mirror stares back at me.

My heart stops-

This… can't be me.

The reflection is unrecognizable.

Swollen belly straining forward. Breasts heavy, tender—nipples darker, Chubby cheeks—soft jawline—I touch them numbly—as if feeling someone else’s face.

I don’t know this woman standing there.She's a stranger.

My eyes sting—then burn—

She looks broken in places.Looks afraid even when she tries to be fierce.Looks like she survives each day on milk tea, stolen glances with staff, and prayers whispered into baby's scalp at night.

And that belly?

It’s not just pregnancy glow or miracle of life—

No.

It grew from violence that never got justice—from nights locked away in silk sheets while guards stood outside.From him climbing into bed behind me while I pretended to sleep,From silence after he finished.From tears soaked pillows that no laundry ever sees...

Impregnated by r*pe—the truth echoes louder than Lucas’ sobs.

A tear falls before I can stop… then another…I press my palms hard against my eyes—but they keep coming…

Because how do i love something born from hate?

How do i cradle this child, While knowing his father destroyed me.

“Y/N-" i whisper "You’re still alive?”

Am I alive?Or just waiting—for escape?For death?For courage?

Lucas screams for me like only mothers are meant to hear—with soul-splitting need—

without thinking—I wipe my tears fast. Stand up. Flush everything.I scramble to dress again—“Coming, bub…” —– "Mama’s coming…”

Tear-blurred eyes fighting buttons and zippers."Goddammit..."My reflection is still there—tears still fall— And Lucas still screams loud to drown everything else.

I wipe my eyes.—pull my clothes on—fingers fumbling with buttons, fabric catching on swollen belly.I take a deep breath—but tears stream down nonstop now—hot, silent at first… then breaking into raw, heaving sobs.

Carrying that monster’s child.Living under his roof.Eating his food.Breathing his air.

Even my body isn’t mine anymore—it bends and swells for him, betrays me every time it kicks or hiccups inside like a tiny ghost whispering "You can’t hate me, I’m you."

I press a hand to my mouth—trying to stifle it—but the sound rips out anyway—Lucas still screaming outside.

Ma-ma! Ma-mahhh!

His sobs sharp with panic—My sobs blend with his through the walls—And now i can't tell whose cries are whose anymore, echoing the marble halls like endless wails of trapped hearts.

Me.Him.Us.My body sink against the bathroom door—the cold wood pressing in my forehead—until I’m curled on the floor, knees drawn up as much as this bump allows…

"Shh—shh...we’re o-okay…"

But we’re not.

We’ll never be okay here—Covered in tears,Drowning in hate,Carrying life born from violence—It kicks back.

Softly.Insistently.Like hope refusing to die.

Silence.

I slowly stand, take a deep breath—And open the door...

Lucas launches at me—I catch him mid-air, his face red soaked with tears—wailing like his heart broke in those thirty seconds we were apart.

“Ma-mamaa- maah!”

"Shh shh its okay—"

he's whining sobbing in my neck. I take a seat on bed—My body now braced with this. I bounce him gently, shushing under breath even my own tears still dampen my cheeks.

Layla stands frozen by the crib, hands twisted together. “He wouldn’t stop… I tried everything…”

I don’t blame her.No one can soothe a storm when he wants me—only me. Not comfort. Not toys. Not his asshole father.

He peeks out and glares at her, little fists clenched, like she committed treason just by existing between us.

"Sh—shh...Shh... it's okay… Mama's here"

“Blah! Bah-gah!” He babbles angrily—at her—for daring to hold him—even for a moment.

Layla mouths a silent "Sorry" and backs toward the door.

“It’s okay,” I whisper—but she’s already gone, leaving silence… except for Lucas’ sniffles and the watchful red blink in the corner that never blinks but sees everything anyway…

“Shhh… shhh…” I rub his back in slow circles—"Mama's here... no one takes you away..."

“Blah! Bah-gah!—aghh blagh—blaghh"He still blubbers angrily at the door.

I sigh, undo one button of my gown.Then another.His face turns instantly. Soft fabric parts open—and there im full heavy breasts, blue veined with milk rivers that never rest anymore... nipples pebbled from cold—

Instantly, His eyes lock on target—before I can stop him.

He latches on fast—a hungry pull that makes me gasp—His little hands press against my chest—The angry blabber dies into quiet rhythm:suck-suck-pause...suck-suck-breathe...

His eyelids grow heavy.Cheeks flush pink from effort.Tiny nose nuzzling—sucking desperately, clinging close like he'll never let go...

___________________________________

A beat.

Silk-draping the bed, Pale light filtering through curtains—Sweat drips down my collarbone—warm, sticky—chest rising and falling,  I try to catch my breath.

His head behind—one arm wrapped around me—

The other tracing circles on my hip, fingers rough possessive—

"Please…leave-" I gasp, voice shaking.

The bed feels huge now—soft sheets cool against my skin, sweat drying quickly—goosebumps on my thighs.

He pressed against my back…hand tracing lazy circles on my hip. He doesn't answer—like he hasn't heard me at all.I squeeze my eyes closed—the stretch still throbbing,

"Please… please..." I whisper—

But he just nuzzles in my neck, I take a shaky breath–try to wriggle away—But the grip tightens, one arm encircling me like a vice—I can't move any more—just let out a low, broken sob. "Please… stop..."

His body shift—strong chest pressing firm, hair brushing over my shoulder—slowly lips brushing up my neck then behind my ear…I swallow- His lips skim closer—hot breath over my ear—cupping one breast then squeeze–the milk leaks.

"Mmm…" he hums rough deep—the sound rumbling against my back. I grip the sheet tight—heart hammering.

I want to break free—kick back hard—Instead—I'm frozen—

He holds me close—a cage of muscle and heat. Hand keeps tracing slow, torturous circles on my nipples, fingertips rough.

"Please..." —"Please stop..."

But he doesn't answer—lips tracing up my neck, finding the sensitive place right below my ear, a spot he knows too well.

"Please… stop—Jeon."My voice raw, cracked from crying.

Room too warm, too silent except for the soft hum of the AC and my uneven breaths.

His hand down on my bump, pulling me back into him like i fit perfectly against his chest. Like this is love.

I squeeze my eyes shut—the stretch between my legs still burning from him… raw, tender.And lower… wetness trickles slowly down one thigh—heavy, unwanted.

He cups a breast—and squeezes—Again—again.

“It’s still leaking” he murmurs—voice low, drowsy against my neck— thumb brushes over a nipple lazily. “You always do that after…”

I don’t answer.

Can’t.

Tears spil—silent ones—I stare at the wall across the room.At nothing.Anywhere but here.

He nuzzles deeper—hair tickling, he breathes me in long, deep...“You smell like us now—Always.”

A shiver runs through me—

“I wanted you to beg next time” he whispers— "Beg properly..."

"I w-won't—" My voice breaks— "This wasn’t—”

“What?” He tilts his head slightly, hold tighter. "Consensual?"

Silence hangs—an answer without words…

I gasp- Another slow squeeze on my breast... then fingers trails down over stomach... rests possessively on bump.

“We’re building something beautiful,” he murmurs—kisses below ear— I close eyes.

The length moves deeper, It nuzzles inside—I bite a whimper.

"You like it, don't you?"His chest like a wall behind, skin like fire against my back, wrapped in heat, his scent—

"Still sore?" he breathes into my skin—

I don't answer.

He pushes deeper—thick, unrelenting—nestling into my heat that’s still tender from hours.

Suddenly he pulls the duvet over us like a cocoon—dark. Quiet. Just his breath and mine…

The world outside this bed stops existing.

No cameras. No Layla. No Lucas.Only him.

Arms locked—one cupping my bump, fingers splayed like he's claiming what grew inside as much as he claimed tonight.

"Plea—"

“Don’t move” he whispers—voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. “Stay still… just feel.”

I don’t want to feel.But I do.

Heat pooling low despite everything—the unwanted pulse between my legs responding to him.Shame floods sharp, silent—I squeeze my eyes shut—but tears still slip out, soaking the pillow.

He shifts slightly, pressing deeper— trying to fit all inside—not just physically but emotionally—Like if he stays deep enough…I’ll stop wanting to leave…

“We belong like this”—My breath hitches.“You can't run when you're full of me.”

A sob caught in throat. The child kicks against his palm—as if answering to him.The filth dripping out slowly…

A beat passes—

Then another kiss behind my ear—"Sleep,"

"Don't dream about leaving..."

I close my eyes. The darkness swallows me in..

FLASHBACK:

Room dim—only the faint glow of city lights bleeding through velvet curtains.I’m lying on my side, hand resting on the heavy swell of my stomach, heart pounding too fast in silence.

The door clicks open—

No knock.Just him.Stands there—silhouetted in shadow, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to elbows like he just stepped out of some bloodless war meeting with men who call death as “strategy.”

His eyes on mine.Dark.Unreadable.“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice low—

I don’t answer. Just watch him step inside and shut the door behind.He moves slow—deliberate—i sit up against the headboard.

“You’ve been avoiding me” he stepping closer “Even when I bring you things.”

“I–I didn’t ask for anything,” I whisper fingers curl around bump—

“No?” His head tilts slightly—

Silence stretches thick…

Then—

He walks forward.One step.Two.

Until he’s standing beside me and place the one knee onto it.

His hand reaches out—I flinch back— "Don't!"

He freezes—but doesn’t pull away. Just stares at his palm hovers my bump.

“Is it afraid?” He whispers—

I hold my breath.

He tilts his head again—the gold cufflink catching light— "When you lie awake every night... Does it kick more?" A pause."Does it know what kind of mother carries her?"

My chest tightens—I can't breathe suddenly—"You're sick" i gulp—"You think watching me everytime makes you powerful? That trapping me makes you loved?"

A flicker crosses his face—not anger…Something worse.

“Yes.” His palm rest against my belly—warmth spreads under touch“It doesn't matter what kind of mother you are …”  thumb glides across my tight curve—"...because you’ll never leave me, neitherthis child."

A tear slips free—I hate myself for letting him see it—but more than that:I hate how calm he sounds saying these words like its my fate.

"Let go" I choke out—

But instead—He leans closer until lips hover my ear:

"You ran once""And look where that got you now"

Time stops.

Blood turns ice.

I glare at him "You monster"—

He pulls back slowly—then—kisses just above my belly button."Welcome to hell little Jeon."

My tears fall—He rises without another word, closing door softly behind- leaving only red blinking light.

Silent tears cutting down my face.The tiny foot pressing against spot where the devil kissed goodbye...

_______________________________________

"Shh... shh, bub..." I murmur, carefully descending the grand staircase with Lucas on my hip, i grip the railing for support. His little face is still flushed from crying, breath hitching in tiny hiccups. I walk down slowly —"Look, Mama's here now," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. ButBut he just buries his face in my shoulder, sulking—lower lip trembling, eyes red-rimmed— accusing, for don't know what.

"Mrs. Jeon, please be careful—" one guard murmurs from the base of the stairs.

I nod without looking. They’re always watching—stationed in every corner, eyes tracking my every move.

The villa hums with silent surveillance—cameras blinking red from the ceilings, guards shifting subtly to keep me in their periphery. Even now, as I reach the bottom step, I can feel their gazes pressing into my back from every corners, lurking in doorways, watching from the shadows. Their eyes follow my every move, tracking the sway of my hips, the way Lucas clings to me, the exhaustion in my steps.

Always watching.

Always reporting back to him.

Lucas sniffles, I adjust him higher on my hip and walk downstairs.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

The marble floors cold underfoot, stretching out in all directions—beautiful, polished, suffocating.Lucas nuzzles‐ tiny fingers twisting into  my dress.

"It's okay," I murmur and keep walking until reach the final step into the grand living room, the transformation hits in rush—the entire space now a sea of blue balloons and fresh flowers.  Servants and maids buzzing like bees—arranging everything with swift precision.

I just stand there—frozen at the foot of the stairs, Lucas still clinging to me, his sniffles still not quieting.

The entire living room transformed into a sea of blue.Balloons float near the ceiling, ribbons cascade down the walls, and elaborate floral arrangements bloom across every surface. Maids rush, adjusting centerpieces and smoothing tablecloths, their movements precise and hurried.

What's all this?

I swallow, adjust Lucas higher, he lifts his head slightly—peeks—then buries his face again.

"Um Hey—" I call a nearby servant who comes forward, bowing low.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Uh... is... is this something special today?" I ask.

His eyes widened—a look of disbelief passing over his face. Like i don't know about something serious.

"Ma'am, i-it's...today is little master's  birthday."

My heart skips a beat.

Wha—

Today Lucas's birthday?

I stare down—the boy still curled against me, cheeks tear-streaked, lashes damp—completely unaware that today is supposed to be his day.

How did I not—

How could I—

But yeah—I’ve been so lost in survival, in counting days just to endure, that I didn’t even—

The staff member shifts awkwardly, clear his throat. “M-Ma’am… Boss arranged everything. The cake, the gifts… guests are arriving soon—”

Guests.

Of course.

Jeon wouldn’t just forget.

Not when it’s about control.

Because he wouldn’t just celebrate his heir’s birthday—he’d turn it into a spectacle. A performance. Proof that his family is perfect, happy, his.

Lucas whimpers—still sulking—I press my lips to his hair.

A party—blue balloons, flowers, staff scrambling to make it perfect—for a child who doesn’t even understand what a birthday is yet.My arms tighten around him instinctively—his small warm body, damp cheeks, tiny fingers clutching my dress like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.

One year.

It's been one year.

The monster planned this whole charade while I—didn’t even remember the date.

My throat burns.

Lucas sniffles against my neck, I press my lips to his hair, breathing him in.

Happy birthday, my love.

The staff clears his throat. “Should I… inform Boss you’re here?”

No.Don't say anything to the monster.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I force a smile—the kind that feels like breaking—and nod.

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