𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 || 𝐊𝐓𝐇

Chapter-15

Taehyung

What am I doing? Why can’t I control myself? I know exactly why I married her in the first place. I had a purpose, a reason, a revenge to fulfill. But now, something’s shifting—something I don’t want to acknowledge. I can feel myself getting attached to her, and it’s frustrating me to no end.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, I laid down on the bed, my mind in turmoil. The image of her sitting there, clutching her bruised ankle, flashed before me. I remembered how I carried her in my arms—her warmth, her scent, the feel of her against me.

But then, Ava’s face clouded my thoughts. My precious little sister—fighting for her life because of her brother’s enemy. It all came rushing back to me, grounding me in reality. I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening with resolve.

“I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,” I murmured to myself. “And when I leave, you’ll finally understand why I hated you so much.”

Millie

The obnoxious blaring of my alarm yanked me out of my sleep. Groaning, I reached over to turn it off, only to lose my balance and tumble out of bed with an ungraceful thud.

“Ow!” I hissed, clutching my ankle, now throbbing with pain.

Before I could gather myself, I heard footsteps approaching. The bathroom door creaked open, and Taehyung stepped out, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, a towel casually draped around his neck.

He stopped mid-step, his gaze flickering to me sitting on the floor. His eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Can’t you see I need help here?” I snapped, more out of embarrassment than anything else. But he just stood there, his arms crossed, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

“You’re perfectly capable of getting up on your own,” he said coolly.

I glared at him, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’re seriously just going to stand there and watch?”

Before I could say anything else, he strode over, bending down to sweep me into his arms.

“What the—!” I protested, but my words got caught in my throat as he effortlessly lifted me. His arms were strong, steady, and warm.

He carried me to the bed, his movements precise and deliberate. As he placed me down gently, his fingers brushed against my skin, sending an involuntary shiver through me. Without a word, he walked to the dresser, pulling out a tube of ointment. I watched him, my annoyance temporarily replaced by curiosity.

“Don’t move,” he said as he returned, sitting down beside me.

He applied the ointment with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that made my heart skip a beat. I tried to focus on anything else—the texture of the bedsheets, the sunlight streaming through the window—but his touch was impossible to ignore.

When he finished, he leaned back, studying my ankle for a moment before standing up.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, his tone laced with irritation. “You’ll end up hurting yourself again.”