MELODY || Jikook ||

♬ deceptive web ♬

Third person's P.O.V:

Within the lavish chambers of the harem, soft silks rustled as a group of concubines sat in a loose circle. The room shimmered with candlelight, golden reflections dancing across jeweled curtains and polished floors. Yet beneath the beauty lingered something sharper—rivalry, ambition, and the unspoken ache for the king’s favor.

Among them sat Kim Heejin, poised perfectly as always, her expression serene but her eyes gleaming with hidden pride.

With a delicate sigh, she leaned forward just enough to draw attention, fingers brushing her robe in an elegant gesture. "Oh, dear sisters," she said sweetly, "you simply won’t believe what happened last night."

Heads turned. Eyes widened. All conversation ceased.

"The king," she began, letting the words linger in the air like perfume, "visited my chamber."

Gasps fluttered through the room like startled birds.

"He came unannounced," she added, lowering her gaze modestly. "Said he was drawn by my presence. That he couldn't resist the thought of me any longer."

A ripple of disbelief and envy spread across the circle.

"Tell us more, Heejin," one whispered, barely able to hide the desperation in her voice.

Heejin smiled, soft and dangerous.

"He said I looked like a painting come to life," she purred, eyes glinting. "He told me I brought him peace—me, of all people. Then he spoke of battles and power and how weary the crown felt upon his head."

She let out a gentle laugh, full of practiced innocence.

The concubines leaned closer, some in awe, others bristling behind calm smiles. Whether they believed her or not hardly mattered—Heejin had already planted the seed. In their world, even a whisper of the king’s attention was currency. And tonight, Heejin owned the room.

But behind her smile, she watched their faces carefully.

She didn’t need truth.

She only needed belief.

"How does he look?" one finally asked, breathless, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

Heejin smiled, slowly, eyes gleaming as she leaned in.

Her voice dropped to a dreamy whisper, her hands clasped delicately in her lap as she continued her tale. "He is tall, with shoulders broad like a warrior's, and eyes...oh, his eyes..dark as midnight, but sharp. Piercing. As if he was born to rule. And when he stands before you, it’s like the world itself bows."

The concubines shivered at the thought, eyes wide with both admiration and envy.

"And his presence," she added, voice dipping low, "so commanding. When he speaks, it's not just a voice, it's a current. Deep. Steady. Like thunder wrapped in silk."

She paused letting the silence stretch as if to savor their longing.But in truth, the king had never once set foot in her chambers. Not last night.

Not ever.

And yet, she spun her tale with such grace, such practiced poise, that even the silence seemed to believe her.

In the harem, where truth often mattered less than perception, she knew exactly how to keep herself shining, if not by the king's affection, then by everyone else's envy.

Among the gathered concubines, Park Jimin sat quietly, his presence almost ghostlike amid the chattering circle. Unlike the others, he paid no attention to Heejin's dramatic tales. His fingers moved gracefully, sewing a delicate pattern into soft fabric, while his thoughts drifted elsewhere, back to the night before, to the moonlight, and the unseen eyes watching him from the shadows.

Heejin noticed.

Her eyes narrowed.

How dare he not be captivated by her story like the rest? How dare he sit there, so serene, so unaffected?

An unsettling fury sparked within her, quiet at first, then burning bright with wounded pride. She had crafted her moment carefully, basking in the envy of others, and yet here he was, unmoved. Disrespectful.

Her voice cracked through the air like a whip.

"Park Jimin!"

Heads turned.

Jimin looked up, startled, his needle pausing mid-stitch. His soft gaze met Heejin's glare, fierce, accusing, brimming with jealousy. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t shrink. He simply waited.

Heejin stood, her mask of sweetness slipping. "How dare you ignore me? Do you think you’re better than us?" she snapped, venom in every word.

Jimin blinked, then responded gently, "Heejin-ssi, I meant no disrespect. I was simply focused on my sewing."

His calm, polite answer only made it worse.

"Focused on your sewing," she sneered. "How fitting. Perhaps that’s all you’re good for. The king wouldn't even notice someone like you."

Jimin stayed composed, his voice steady and kind. "It’s not about being noticed. We all have our place here. I’m happy fulfilling mine."

The other concubines looked on, silent, some watching with awe, others with barely concealed glee at the unfolding tension. Jimin’s grace was disarming. It only made Heejin’s anger more obvious, more desperate.

"How dare you speak to me like this!" she hissed. "I could report your disrespect to the king. Do you think he’d favor you then?"

Jimin’s eyes remained calm. "You may do as you feel right," he replied. "But I trust in the king’s fairness. I have nothing to fear."

Heejin's fury boiled. She had expected fear. Or guilt. Maybe even tears. But this, this quiet, unwavering dignity, only deepened her rage.

She turned sharply, her voice rising as she walked away.

"Mark my words, Jimin. You’ll regret speaking to me like this."

Jimin didn't respond. He simply watched her go, then looked down at his fabric once more.

Around him, whispers filled the space. Speculation. Judgment. Gossip.

He simply rose to his feet with the same elegance he brought to everything he did. Folding the half-sewn fabric neatly in his hands, he turned without a word and walked away.

The silk hem of his robe whispered against the floor as he exited the chamber, not even glancing back.

Heejin stood frozen, humiliated by the silence.

The others said nothing. No one laughed. No one supported her. All eyes followed Jimin’s retreating figure—the only one who didn’t need to speak to be heard.

To be continued...

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Thank you so much for reading!💜