Mr and Mrs Sim ⋆ s.jake

Chapter 36

Jaeyun's POV

I know what you're thinking, Riki, and I never meant to trick you.

"Sim Jaeyun, if you insist on wearing that face, perhaps I'll take it a step further—and you'll offer me the head as well," Kim remarked with an unsettling calm, his hand resting on my hair like he owned me.

I spat on his pristine, waxed loafers, my jaw tightening as I fought to keep that body still. It used to be mine. Every muscle ached, every nerve screamed with the effort to resist jerking against the ropes that held me at his mercy. My expression was torn between a soporific dissociation, contagious rage, and swallowing terror.

I was stronger than my inner demons, I thought—except for the one standing inches from my face.

He stepped back, his lips curling and his brows furrowing as his gaze fell on his soiled shoes. For a moment, I thought I was safe, but then his hand shot out, wrapping tightly around my throat. He wrenched my chin upward at a sharp 90-degree angle, forcing compliance. Mechanically, I followed the movement to avoid the snap of my neck, my wide eyes fixed anywhere but his.

I begged, I prayed, I invoked for Riki to come and put an end to this nightmare. But how could he, when it was my message that had likely condemned him to be tortured like some vicious dog?

I'm sorry, Riki. I'm so fucking sorry.

"You know, Jaeyun, it doesn't matter how many hands touch you or how many bodies break you. What matters is that you'll feel filthy—marked—for the rest of your life," the governor said, calmly, his words slicing through me like a blade to the carotid artery.

I screamed.

It didn't hurt. It did hurt.

My fate had been sealed the moment I agreed to work for the governor. The only way out had always been through ruin—through rape. At the cost of my blood, my life, my marriage, there was no escape. No matter what I could've done: be a saint, pray every day, or surrender to the devil—it wouldn't have mattered. I couldn't. This night was always meant to happen, and my body the price for the dirty game I chose to play.

It was written. In hell, in heaven—they knew.
They always knew.

And I lived. God knows I've lived. But I never thought that this... this would be my destiny.

I screamed. Non-stop. For what felt like hours. I desperately attempted to annihilate the pain. To silence the voices. I wanted to break my voice, shatter my eardrums, crush my jaw. Forget everything—except the meaning of it all.

At first, Kim laughed, amused by my suffering. But when he saw the terror in my eyes, his amusement shifted, and his hand tightened around my neck. Yes, my voice fell silent, but the voices inside me grew louder, ravaging my mind, consuming it. I gasped for air, my vision beginning to fade at the edges. And then, only because he could, he spat into my mouth, forcing my head back—still trying to make me swallow.

I was dying. I knew it.

Whether it was suicide or assassination, justice wouldn't care to rule, Sim Jaeyun ceased to exist right then. The body I had once inhabited would be nothing more than an empty shell.

It jerked forward, despite the ropes, desperate to expel the pain. Muscles convulsed, feverish and teetering on the brink of rupture. I forced myself to cough, spitting out bloody mucus from the back of my throat, trying to clear it, to rid myself of the foreign saliva.

Around this disaster, I could hear doors opening and closing, henchmen coming and going, all of them realizing the victim was just me. If I'd been given the chance to witness this scene from another perspective, I would have ignored myself too.