Hostage Handbook

Chapter Twenty-Five | Yellow and Rose

YEOREUM

The castle continues to be empty. I thought Jungkook would summon back the maids and security guards after his sudden change in attitude, but my guess is wrong. I continue to be stuck with Ms Kim's boring company.

Ms Kim cooks tangsuyuk for lunch. The sweet-sour pork she modifies to suit my liking for spice speaks to my tastebuds so well that I almost shed a tear.

The sweet smell of powdered sugar and maple syrup from the breakfast pancakes hangs in the air, calming the sorrow that lingers in my mind from the melodramatic movie I watched. It feels nice, so dangerously nice.

"I am going to take my afternoon break now, Miss Song," Ms Kim says. She finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to me with a faint smile. "Is there anything else you would like me to do before I leave?"

I shake my head. "No, it's fine."

Ms Kim nods before she drags her legs away. Her uneven footsteps expose the limp she has learnt to hide with a graceful disguise. I watch her shut her bedroom door and release the yawn I have been holding back.

I didn't sleep well last night. The long shower I took drained my energy, and I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. But almost instantly, I had a dream, a horrible, obscene dream that replayed what happened in the corridor at Fever Moon—Jungkook's face, his rigidness and the vicious joy he inspired.

My underwear was dripping wet when I woke up.

I wanted to dig out my vagina. I spent the rest of the night lying in the bathtub to wash away that feeling, almost drowning myself in the peony-scented bubbles.

I shamble to the bedroom and throw myself on the mahogany lounge. I don't want to touch the bed after last night's incident. I am sure the sticky fluid has dried now, but my humiliation knows where it is no matter what.

Suddenly, the door swings open with a heavy set of footsteps I am unfamiliar with—it isn't Jungkook or Ms Kim. I prop myself up and notice a security guard standing in front of the closed door.

There is a warped, eerie look in the man's eyes that seems hauntingly familiar to the unhealed wound in my heart. I tug my body backwards until my back hits the corner of the lounge.

"Why are you here," I say as calmly as I can. "Is Jungkook looking for me?"

The tall man shakes his head and treads to me, slow but quick. It's almost as if he already knows I won't be able to fight him.

"I don't think so," the man says. "But I am here for you."

The man clenches my hair and throws me to the floor with one hand. I feel my skull rock against my scalp.

The left side of my body hits the timber panel with a muted slam. A gasp escapes through my gritted teeth as my vision falters out of focus.

"What are you doing?" I mutter.

The man kneels down and locks me between his legs, pressing his knees against the two sides of my waist to pin me within a firm seize. I am once again a capsule between someone's fingers.

"Miss Song, you know what I'm trying to do," the man says. He wrenches at my gown until the lace fabric tears down my abdomen, exposing my thighs. "You are a hoe anyone can fuck. It is only natural for us to fuck you while you're still alive now that Mr Jeon is done with you."

The man grabs my breasts, groping and squeezing to simulate his lower body. My instinct urges me to push him away, to do something to defend myself from this blatant assault. But the logical part of me stops my arms from doing anything.