The veil of lies

Episode 5: The Dark Truth

Jungkook’s Apartment

The room was pitch dark, save for the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Jungkook sat slumped on the couch, a bottle of whiskey clutched tightly in his hand. The taste was bitter and sharp on his tongue, but he welcomed the burn, hoping it would numb the agony churning in his chest.

“She was a loose end.”

His father’s words echoed in his mind, cold and indifferent, like the man himself. Jungkook’s grip tightened around the bottle until his knuckles turned white, the glass threatening to shatter under the pressure. How could he say it so casually, as if he were discussing some trivial business deal? How could he speak so lightly about the life he’d stolen, the life that had left Yura shattered and broken?

His own mother had suffered at his father’s hands. And now, to learn that Yura’s mother had been another victim…

A low, guttural growl of rage tore from his throat, and he hurled the bottle against the wall. It shattered on impact, the sharp sound reverberating through the silence. Shards of glass and amber liquid rained down around him, but Jungkook barely noticed. His chest heaved, his heart pounding furiously.

He’d been protecting the wrong person all this time. All his life, he’d been blinded by the twisted, fucked-up sense of loyalty to his father. The man who’d destroyed his family. The man who’d destroyed Yura’s family.

And Yura… Yura had known, hadn’t she? She’d known there was something more, some dark truth lurking beneath the surface. But she hadn’t told him. She’d kept him in the dark, let him wallow in his own paranoia and self-doubt.

Why, Yura? he thought bitterly, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. Why didn’t you tell me?

He grabbed his phone off the table, his fingers hovering over her name. A part of him—the rational, sane part—knew he shouldn’t call her. Not when he was this unhinged, this angry. But the alcohol roared in his veins, clouding his judgment, pushing him to do something—anything—to ease the pain.

Before he could stop himself, he hit the call button. The phone rang once, twice, and then—

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

Jungkook let out a strangled laugh, dropping the phone onto the couch beside him. Of course. She’d probably blocked him. Or maybe she’d changed her number, cut off the last thread connecting them. After all, what reason did she have to stay?

You’re a fucking idiot, he berated himself. She’s gone. She’s—

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the doorbell. Jungkook frowned, glancing toward the front door. It was nearly 3 a.m. Who the hell would—

He stumbled to his feet, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. The room seemed to spin around him, but he forced himself to keep moving, one hand braced against the wall for support. When he finally reached the door and yanked it open, he froze.

“Dad?”

Jungkook’s father stood in the hallway, his expression cold and detached as always. There was no hint of remorse or guilt in his eyes, no sign of the man who’d just confessed to murder. He looked the same as he always did—impeccably dressed, perfectly composed. But to Jungkook, he might as well have been a stranger.

“What do you want?” Jungkook growled, his voice slurred and thick with alcohol.

“I want to talk,” his father said calmly, stepping into the apartment without waiting for an invitation.