Mafia's Caretaker; The Devil's Cure

#17 In Salon

Edited version 🖤🦋

Two days later.

“Y/n, Master is calling you to his bedroom,” Yuna informed casually, stepping into the room where Y/n was laughing softly over the phone. The moment those words fell from Yuna’s mouth, Y/n’s posture stiffened. Her smile faltered. She quickly placed her hand over the speaker, muting the call, and gave Yuna a quick, dismissive wave, signaling she’d come in a moment.

Yuna blinked at the sudden shift in her expression from bright to serious in a fraction of a second  but didn’t comment. With a slight shrug, she turned and walked away.

On the other end of the call, a curious voice spoke up, “Who was that?”

Y/n cleared her throat and forced a laugh, though her heart was now racing with the weight of her half-truths. “Who else? It’s Mia. You know how she always pops up uninvited,” she said, her voice light, casual, practiced. “She was just here to tell me Dr. Kang’s calling. So I’ve gotta go now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Before the person on the line could ask anything else, she quickly ended the call. Her thumb lingered over the screen, hesitating for a second before she finally locked the phone and tossed it onto the nearby cushion. A sigh escaped her lips long and heavy. Another lie. Another layer of secrecy. She hated it. But she couldn’t afford to be honest. Not yet.

Brushing a hand through her hair, Y/n composed herself. She adjusted her clothes, smoothed out the creases in her shirt, and inhaled deeply before stepping out of her room. As she walked through the long hallway toward Jungkook’s bedroom, her thoughts spiraled.

She rolled her eyes mid-stride. “What does that devil want now?” she muttered under her breath, dragging her feet just a little in protest.

But then it hit her. Her steps faltered.

Oh no.

Today was that day.

She groaned internally as the weight of reality crashed down on her. Today was the day she had to attend a formal party with him posing as his girlfriend. His pretend girlfriend, she reminded herself. A charade, nothing more. A twisted agreement she never should’ve agreed to.

“Hush, how could you do this to me, God?” she whispered dramatically, glancing upward. “Am I not already suffering enough?”

Her mental monologue spiraled into pity. How pitiful can I be? And how cruel can this devil get? she mused bitterly. She could almost hear God chuckling at her misery.

By the time she reached Jungkook’s bedroom door, her face was perfectly blank  carefully neutral, betraying none of the inner chaos storming behind her eyes. She knocked once before entering.

“Oh, Miss Y/n, you came?” Jungkook’s voice rang out from across the room smooth, commanding, and laced with a trace of sarcasm that made her want to throw the nearest object at him.

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. She stood near the doorframe, arms folded across her chest, internally muttering, "Nah, it’s my soul you dumb mafia." But outside, her face remained unreadable.

“What do you want?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as her eyes darted to the lavish interior of his room. Her tone was clipped, like she was already running low on patience.

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, one brow arching as he finished adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “What do you mean by ‘what do I want’? Don’t tell me you already forgot what day it is.”

Her lips twitched into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course not,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Good for you.” He walked past her toward the mirror, straightening his collar with a frustrating amount of elegance. “We have a lot to get done before tonight. Clothes. Jewelry. Public rehearsals.”