Secret Husband✔️

17

As the clock crept past 9:00 p.m, I lounged in bed, pondering the curious case of the elusive Taehyung. Missing from dinner, I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ditched us for a soirée with the high rollers, living out a life straight from the pages of a melodramatic script. Was he the hotel's suave CEO or just the hardworking general manager with a knack for disappearing acts? It was a mystery begging to be solved.

A sudden knock interrupted my musings, and in barged a frazzled messenger. “Madam,” she blurted, eyes wide with worry. “Mr. Kim.” Her unfinished sentence hung in the air, pregnant with ominous possibilities. With a gulp, I dared to ask. “What's up with Taehyung?”

With all the urgency of a soap opera plot twist, she led me to the fifth floor—a realm of opulence I'd need three lifetimes to afford. Inside, a doctor awaited, looking as if he'd stumbled onto the set of a medical drama. “Where's Taehyung?” I inquired, trying to keep my cool amidst the escalating drama.

He nodded towards the bathroom, where the sound of flushing hinted at a less-than-glamorous revelation. “Taehyung's indisposed,” the doctor declared, his bedside manner as stiff as his starched lab coat. “Is he alive?” I blurted out, half-joking, half-terrified.

“He's got a case of indigestion,” the doctor explained, scribbling notes like a detective on the trail of a culinary culprit. “What did he eat?” He probed, his pen poised for truth.

“We dined on rice cakes and dumplings.” I recounted, trying to keep a straight face. “And he went rogue with some wontons.” As the doctor furrowed his brow, I couldn't help but add, “the dumplings had a hint of chili, but I swear, they weren't that spicy.”

With a chuckle, the doctor acknowledged. “Mr. Kim's delicate palate cannot tolerate even the slightest hint of spice, hence his current predicament. I've prescribed some medication here. Ensure he takes it regularly, and everything should be fine.” The lady who had escorted me here promptly ushered him out, leaving Taehyung and me to confront his gastrointestinal woes.

“Who knew you couldn't handle a little spice, Taehyung?” I quipped, unable to contain my amusement as the sound of flushing continued unabated. “Hey, do you know where they keep the air fresheners? I can't breathe with this smell.” I joked, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear.

Suppressing a burst of laughter, I teased. “Stop being so dramatic, Taehyung.” There was a pause before the flush sounded again, punctuating his discomfort. “We might need to call the air conditioning company later to purify the air.” I added mischievously, knowing full well that Taehyung would not appreciate the suggestion.

Predictably, he cursed at my words, his frustration palpable even through the bathroom door. “I'm starting to think it's more than just indigestion.” I mused, unable to stifle my amusement any longer. “Food poisoning doesn't usually keep you in the bathroom for this long.”

At my teasing, Taehyung's patience finally snapped. “Kim Y/N, enough!” He yelped, his voice strained with embarrassment. Poor guy, he was clearly not having a good time in there. But sometimes, in life's most absurd moments, laughter was the only appropriate response.

With a knowing nod, the doctor jotted down my confession, his diagnosis imminent. Amidst the chaos and confusion, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all—because even in the lap of luxury, life had a way of serving up its own brand of slapstick comedy.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all—because even in the lap of luxury, life had a way of serving up its own brand of slapstick comedy.