✨THE CALM BEFORE REVENGE✨

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By the time I arrived, the house was quiet. Cold. Empty.

Jungkook wasn't here.

Hana, one of the housemaids, was at the entrance when I stepped in. Her expression flickered with surprise, then concern.

"Madam, where have you been?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I simply walked past her, my feet dragging as if I had been carrying the weight of my grief on my back.

I needed to clean myself.

I needed to rid myself of the feeling of death clinging to me.

I went straight to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in, not even bothering to undress properly.

The water was scalding.

But it wasn't enough.

Nothing would be enough.

I pressed my forehead against the cold tile, fists clenched as my body shook with sobs.

I cried.

I cried until my throat felt raw, until my chest ached from the force of it.

I cried for my father.

For the man I lost.

For the love I had once hoped for—now shattered beyond repair.

Jungkook killed him.

Jungkook, my husband.

The man I was slowly starting to care for.

I gasped, choking on my grief, my fingers digging into my arms as the water continued to pound against my skin.

I stayed in there for what felt like hours.

When I finally stepped out, my eyes were swollen, my body drained. I wrapped myself in a towel, the fabric heavy against my damp skin, and left the bathroom.

I didn't want to see anyone.

Didn't want to hear anyone.

But as I descended the stairs, I saw the house staff gathering their things, preparing to leave for the night.

They were laughing softly among themselves, unaware of the storm raging inside me.

The world hadn't stopped.

Not for my father.

Not for me.

I forced myself to move.

My body felt robotic as I walked to the dining table, seating myself in front of a simple meal. I barely had the energy to eat, but I forced a spoonful of rice into my mouth, chewing slowly.

The food was tasteless.

Lifeless.

Like me.

The door creaked open.

I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Jungkook.

His presence filled the house, suffocating me.

My grip on my spoon tightened, but I didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him.

He walked straight past me, his steps firm, purposeful. He didn't stop.

Good.

I didn't want to see him.

I didn't want to hear him.

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