Whispers of Submission jjk

Chapter 21

The morning light spilled into my room, stretching across the floor like golden threads, but I felt none of its warmth. My fingers hovered over the neatly wrapped package sitting on my bed, heart pounding in a rhythm I despised. The moment I saw it, I knew who it was from.

Jungkook.

The name itself was enough to send a chill down my spine, a reminder of the chaos he had woven into my life. I swallowed hard, fingers twitching as I reached for the note tucked beneath the satin ribbon. The paper was thick, expensive, his scrawled handwriting dark against the cream-colored surface.

Wear this for me.

I scoffed, my grip tightening on the letter before I crumpled it in my fist. The audacity. He thought he could fix everything with gifts, like I was some pretty little thing he could dress up and mold into what he wanted.

I tore the wrapping apart, more out of frustration than curiosity, only to find a dress inside. And not just any dress—this was designed specifically for me. The fabric, the color, the way it draped against my fingers like liquid silk—it was perfect. My chest tightened. He had noticed. He always noticed.

I shoved the box away, my breath unsteady. No. I wouldn't let him do this to me. Not again.

The next day, my frustration only deepened when I stepped into my bedroom and found it... changed.

Everything was different. The furniture had been rearranged, the decor altered to match a theme I hadn't chosen. My once simple and cozy sanctuary had been transformed into something out of a designer's catalog—opulent, extravagant, suffocating.

Makeup, perfumes, and skincare products lined my vanity, each item an expensive brand I could never afford. The scent of my favorite perfume—one I'd never told anyone about—lingered in the air. My throat tightened. He had done this.

He had invaded my space, my life, yet again.

Anger simmered beneath my skin, bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He thought he could erase what he'd done with luxury, with material things meant to make me forget. But no amount of perfume or silk sheets could erase the way he had made me feel—powerless, cornered.

A knock at my window made me freeze.

I turned sharply, only to see a single red rose sitting on the sill. And beside it, a note.

Forgive me.

I exhaled through clenched teeth. Every morning, without fail, I woke up to these notes, each one a desperate plea disguised as a love letter. Sweet, apologetic words scribbled in his familiar handwriting, trying to carve his way back into my heart.

I hated him.

I hated how he knew exactly what to do to make me falter.

My phone buzzed beside me, and I hesitated before picking it up. The messages were predictable by now—sweet, teasing, sometimes even desperate. He was relentless, sending a new text almost every hour.

Jungkook: Did you sleep well, princess?

Jungkook: I bet you're wearing that scowl I love right now.

Jungkook: I miss you.

I inhaled sharply, my fingers curling around the device. He was everywhere. In my texts, in my room, in my head. No matter how hard I tried to push him out, he found ways to slip through the cracks.

I deleted the messages without replying.

But deep inside, I knew he had already won. He was still in control—just not in the way he thought.

The following night, another text arrived, but this time, it was different.

Jungkook: I know I messed up. I won't send anything else if you don't want me to. Just meet me once. Please.

I stared at the screen, conflicted. This wasn't the Jungkook I knew. There was no arrogance, no demand for obedience—just a simple request. A plea.

Against my better judgment, I typed out a response.

Y/N: Fine. One meeting. That's it.

The café was quiet when I arrived, the soft hum of jazz music filling the space. My hands were cold despite the warm drink in front of me. I shouldn't be here.

Then the door opened, and in walked the storm.

Jungkook's presence swallowed the room whole. He didn't belong in places like this, among gentle whispers and soft candlelight. He was fire and chaos, and yet, as his gaze locked onto mine, I felt myself burn all the same.

He sat across from me, the usual confidence in his posture tempered by something softer—hesitation.

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

"Neither did I."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before fading into something more somber. He exhaled, his fingers lacing together. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said... about how I made you feel."

I didn't respond, letting him talk.

"I was wrong," he continued, eyes steady on mine. "I thought if I gave you everything, it would make up for the way I treated you. But that's not what you need, is it?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

"No," I finally said, my voice softer than I intended. "It's not."

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the table. "I don't know how to fix this, Y/N. But I want to. I need to. And I don't expect you to forgive me overnight, but... can you give me a chance to prove I can change?"

I searched his face, looking for deception, but found only raw honesty. The man in front of me wasn't the same one who had tried to control me with force, with dominance. He was trying—stumbling, unsure, but trying nonetheless.

A part of me wanted to reject him outright, to walk away and never look back.

But another part of me—the part that still remembered the boy before the chaos, before the fire—wanted to see if redemption was possible.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself.

"I need time," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "And I need to see that you mean it. Not just with words, but with actions."

Relief flickered in his expression. "I'll wait," he promised. "For as long as it takes."

The weight on my chest didn't disappear, but it felt a little lighter. This wasn't forgiveness. Not yet.

But it was a start.