𝓐 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 | 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘖𝘵_13

~17

"sUrPrIsE!" (Minho's voice)

_

His lips trailed down her collarbone, lifting Vernon's loose t-shirt from her shoulder, exposing the delicate skin of her neck. Minghao's breath was heavy, eyes darkened with a hunger that wasn't just physical. He left love bites across her skin as if to claim her—marks of power, of control, not affection. Her body was trembling, not in pleasure, but panic. On the other side of the room, Miso was breaking.

"No," she whispered, tears silently soaking the pillow beneath her head. "No more."

She tried to push him away, using what little strength she had left. But Minghao's grip was relentless, his hands like iron shackles clamped around her wrists.

"Minghao—please," she pleaded, voice cracking.

His eyes glinted coldly. "Weren't you the one trying to escape the mansion? Who do you think you're fooling?"

"I wasn't—I swear—I wasn't trying to—"

SLAP.

The sound echoed in the room like a whip. Her head jerked to the side, strands of hair falling into her stinging eyes. She held a shaking hand to her cheek, the skin already burning red. Her shoulders began to quake, the sobs spilling out now beyond her control.

Pathetic.

That's all she could think. That's what she felt. Helpless. Defeated. Caged in a nightmare that wouldn't end.

She just wanted a peaceful life. A normal life. A part-time job, quiet university evenings, movie nights with Yunhee, her best friend. A stupid, quiet little life. But the gods had clearly chosen her for something crueler.

Who would have thought her father—the man who raised her—would be the very monster to destroy her?

He'd sold her out. Sold her to his enemies like she was some disposable pawn on a chessboard, just to buy a few more moments of his pathetic existence.

All her dreams—graduating with honors, dancing in the rain, holding hands with someone who loved her for real—had been shattered the day Seventeen walked back into her life.

_

Minghao left the room without another word.

He stalked through the dim hallway, steps heavy, shoulders tense. His mind was loud. Chaotic. He tried to shake off the memory of Miso's teary face, her broken voice. He failed.

First it was Park So Hyuk, then his daughter—why did everything about that family leave a bitter taste in his mouth?

But even he couldn't deny it. 99% of his thoughts lately had been about Park Miso.

His phone buzzed with a message from one of the members. He didn't check it immediately. He needed air. Silence. Distance—from her, and from whatever the hell he was turning into.

_

Meanwhile, Miso quietly entered the washroom. She was told Seungcheol might send someone soon, someone to escort her to her father's mansion to collect her belongings. She needed to prepare a list.

The bathroom door creaked open, but she didn't bother closing it. Her body felt too heavy, her limbs too weak to even push the door shut. She reached for the soap and started rinsing her face. The cool water hit her cheeks like a small relief, like someone acknowledging the pain without trying to fix it.

She dried her face slowly, and her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.

"Damn," she whispered to herself. "I've lost a lot of weight."