𝓐 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 | 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘖𝘵_13

~9

Miso covered her mouth, muffling the quiet sniffles that broke the silence of the lavish living room. Her body trembled slightly, knees drawn together as she sat beside Wonwoo on the ornate dining chair. Not one person made a move toward her. If this had been the past—their past—they would've crowded around her, comforting her in a flurry of worried hands and warm voices.

But this wasn't that time.

Now, they just watched her. Detached. Cold. She wasn't their friend. Not anymore. She was the mistake they hadn't forgiven. The betrayal they hadn't moved past. The person they once protected, now deliberately left to crumble.

She lowered her head further. Her eyes felt swollen, her shoulders hunched and tight. She had no strength left to explain herself, not after all the hatred she'd already received. Wonwoo's stare bored into her from the corner of her vision. Unreadable. He was always quiet, always detached. He had been the last to open up to her in school, and perhaps the one she had trusted the most. Books had connected them. Long, peaceful hours in the school library had stitched something quiet and warm between them.

Now, even he was a stranger.

Seungcheol's low voice broke the stillness.

"Joshua, escort her to her room. Everyone else, meeting room. Five minutes."

Joshua didn't hesitate. No one did when Seungcheol gave orders.

He rose from his seat without looking at her, walked around the table with firm, unfaltering steps, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched.

The contact, though light, felt wrong—too sudden. But she couldn't find the voice to protest. She was exhausted. Hollowed. Before she could say a word, Joshua bent down and lifted her into his arms. She tensed, arms hesitating before wrapping around his neck for balance. Her ankle still ached from earlier, rendering her useless and heavy in his arms.

They said nothing as he carried her down the hallway. The sound of his shoes echoed softly against the marble floors. In the silence, Miso stared at his collar, her eyes unfocused. Her mind had long drifted elsewhere—past the pain, past the betrayal, to something far darker.

But Joshua... Joshua wasn't lost in thought.

He looked down at her, his gaze trailing over her face—her hollow eyes, the curve of her cheek, the way she bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. Something tightened in his chest, but it was a bitter emotion. A war between resentment and longing.

He hated her for what she'd done. For tearing apart what they once had. But even now, some part of him still remembered the way she used to laugh with her whole face, the way she used to trust him blindly. And that was what made everything worse.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, revealing the corridor to her assigned room.

Once inside, Miso slid from his arms and stood unsteadily on her own, limping forward to look at the room. It was beautiful—soft pastels, warm lighting, everything like a dream—but she felt none of it. Her chest was too heavy.

She walked a few steps, running her fingers along the edge of the bedframe when she froze. Cold hands slid around her waist from behind.

Her breath caught. Her entire body went stiff. It was Joshua.

"What are you—" she barely managed to say, but the words dissolved as his fingers grazed her side and his chin rested on her shoulder, his breath hot against her neck.

"Long time no see, Miso," he whispered, voice low.

Her knees buckled slightly, but she stayed upright. The words—those same exact words—were the ones she'd heard when she was tied up in the basement. Her eyes widened. She tried to step forward, to escape the suffocating closeness, but his grip only tightened.

"Let go," she whispered, her voice hoarse, shaking.

But he didn't. He turned her around instead, his eyes boring into hers. She barely had time to brace herself before he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, pushing her gently but firmly against the wall. She gasped, the impact sending a jolt up her spine.

"I said, stop—!" she cried.

Joshua leaned in, so close that their noses almost touched. She looked away, trembling, avoiding his gaze. His fingers reached up, tilting her chin roughly toward him.

"Why do you still pretend you're not scared of me?" he murmured, voice lined with something twisted—anger, or maybe something darker.

She didn't answer.

"Do you think you're still that same girl who ran around our campus with her sketchbook and bubble tea?" he said with a cold chuckle. "You're not. You're nothing like her now. You're quieter. Duller."

He leaned closer still, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. His lips brushed her cheek—a ghost of a kiss, more cruel than intimate.

"That's your punishment," he whispered. "For leaving us. For ruining everything."

With that, he let her go. She stumbled forward, catching herself on the edge of the dresser. Joshua walked to the door, his steps unhurried. But before stepping out, he turned one last time, gaze sharp and merciless.

"So pathetic for a daughter," he muttered, and shut the door behind him.

The silence that followed swallowed her whole.

Miso sank to the floor, her back sliding down the wall until her knees hugged her chest. She buried her face into them, sobs wracking through her body in silence. The pain in her ankle was nothing compared to the sting in her chest. She felt small. Filthy. She hated herself. She hated the way she'd frozen, the way her body refused to react.

She had survived worse. Her childhood had been full of shadows. Of violence. Of survival. But this... this was different.

This was betrayal wrapped in false comfort.

She clenched her fists against her knees, digging her nails into her skin to ground herself. Her tears soaked through the fabric of her pants.

Her voice trembled against her arms. "You can do this, Miso... you've survived worse..."

But it felt like a lie.

For now, she was just a broken girl, curled in a beautiful room she didn't ask for, surrounded by ghosts of the people she once loved.

And they all wanted her to break. Things like these happened to her on daily basis in her teens. Her teens went horrible for her. Everyday she got a new scar on her body, and a taunt on how useless she is. This made her weak and insecure about herself. 

She hated to show her skin. Because all her trauma was imprinted upon her body. All those hurtful scars.

***