Obsessed Boss

Chapter 17

With a smirk, I left my room and made my way to his. The anticipation was a thrilling rush, like the feeling of a hunter closing in on its prey. I paused outside the door, listening for any sound of movement within. Hearing none, I turned the knob slowly, opening it silently. The door glided open, revealing Taehyung's slumbering form, lost in the oblivion of sleep.

He looked so peaceful, so innocent, lying there. For a moment, something strange happened—my heart twisted in a way I didn’t quite understand. Was it pity? Regret? I couldn’t tell. But before I could explore the uncomfortable sensation, I shook my head, banishing the thoughts. I couldn’t let myself feel anything for him other than anger and control.

Careful not to make a sound, I stepped back into the hallway, my eyes never leaving Taehyung's sleeping form.

But as I walked away, my hand paused on the wall, the coldness of the stone seeping into my skin. A part of me—a part I hadn’t even known was there—was begging me to stop. To give Taehyung a break. To not push him further than he could handle. I clenched my fist, fighting the urge to give in to the unfamiliar feeling. No, this was the path I had chosen. I had to stick to it.

In the hallway, I found the maids, their eyes wide with fear as they awaited my instructions. "I'm leaving," I said, my voice cold and calculated. "Prepare his breakfast. Make sure he eats it all. And do not, under any circumstances, let him leave the room."

They nodded in unison. I knew they wouldn’t dare question me. As I walked away, the weight of my decision pressing down on my shoulders, I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to me. Why did the thought of his pain resonate so deeply within me? I had never cared about the feelings of anyone else. Yet here I was, second-guessing my own actions towards Taehyung. It was infuriating—I had to keep my emotions in check, or else I would lose the upper hand.

Taehyung's pov:

Morning came with the shrill ring of an unseen clock, jolting me awake. The maid entered, her eyes avoiding mine as she placed the breakfast tray on the nightstand. Her movements were efficient, almost mechanical, as if she had performed this task a hundred times before. She left as quickly as she had come, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. The smell of eggs and toast filled the air, but my stomach rebelled at the thought of food.

As the day stretched out before me, I found myself pacing the room, searching for an escape. But the windows were sealed shut, the walls unyielding and silent. The maids who brought me lunch were as unhelpful as the ones from earlier, their eyes downcast, their responses curt. It was clear that they were under Jungkook's command, complicit in my captivity.

The afternoon dragged on, the shadows lengthening across the floor like fingers of despair. Each tick of the clock was a taunt, a cruel reminder of the time that was slipping through my grasp. I felt like a caged animal, desperate for a way out, but the bars of my prison were invisible, made of fear and the unspoken threats that hung in the air. The walls seemed to close in around me, each breath a silent scream for freedom.

As the dinner hour approached, the same maid from earlier returned, her eyes averted as she set the tray down. I watched her, hope flickering in my chest like a candle in the wind. "Please," I whispered, the words barely escaping my dry throat. "Can you help me?"

Her gaze snapped to mine, surprise flitting across her features before they settled back into a mask of neutrality. "We are not allowed to interfere," she murmured, her voice so low I could hardly hear it. "We are here to serve."

"But he's keeping me here against my will," I protested, my voice shaking. "Please, help me. I need to go home."

The maid's eyes filled with a sadness that seemed to echo my own despair. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I am sorry," she said, her eyes never leaving mine. "But we can't do anything. We are bound by our oaths to serve." Her words were a dagger to my hope, extinguishing the flame that had flickered so briefly.

Her revelation hit me like a wave of cold water. They were as much prisoners as I was, trapped in Jungkook's twisted world of power and submission. They were bound by duty and fear, their lives as much under his control as mine.

With a heavy heart, I watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her. The night passed in a blur of restlessness, the darkness seemingly mocking my plight. Hours stretched into eternity, each tick of the clock a painful reminder of my confinement. The bed felt like a cage, the sheets a prison of softness that offered no comfort.

The next day's events played out like a grim reenactment of the first. The maids brought me food, took away the trays, and maintained the room with meticulous care—but they were as trapped in this cycle as I was. Jungkook's absence was a cruel trick, the anticipation of his return gnawing at me like a ravenous beast.

As the day dragged on, the weight of my situation grew heavier, pressing down on me like an invisible force. The walls closed in, and the windows remained a taunting mirage of freedom—closed tight, with bars that gleamed like teeth in a predatory smile. I knew there was no escape, no way out of the prison that was now my reality.

And then, as evening descended like a cloak of doom, the maid returned. She spoke softly, almost apologetically. "Please take a shower and get ready." Her voice was a whisper in the suffocating silence, a gentle nudge towards the inevitable. "Mr. Jeon will be here shortly, so we need to arrange the room."

My hopes vanished like mist in the sun, replaced by a cold dread that coiled in my stomach. Jungkook was coming, and with him, the continuation of my living nightmare.

I nodded, the weight of my situation pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. I walked to the shower, the sound of the water hitting the tiles echoing in the stark silence of the room. The shower's spray washed over me, the water's heat a fleeting comfort against the chill of my fear. I scrubbed away the grime of the day, trying to cleanse my soul of the impending horror. The water washed away the last vestiges of my hope, leaving me raw and exposed—ready for Jungkook's next move.

As I stepped out of the shower, I couldn’t ignore the noises outside. The faint sound of footsteps, the whisper of fabric, the soft murmur of voices. I knew the maids were there, doing their duties, but the anticipation of Jungkook’s return made my skin crawl. I hurriedly slipped into the fresh clothes laid out for me, the clothes were elegant, almost mocking in their pristine condition. They were a stark contrast to the tattered remnants of my dignity. I dressed slowly, each movement a silent protest against the role I had been forced to play. I felt like a puppet, dressed for the amusement of a sadistic puppeteer.

My stomach knotted as I emerged from the bathroom. The sight before me was unexpected—The maids had transformed the cold, sterile room into something resembling a romantic dinner setting. A small round table, draped in a crimson cloth, had been set up with gleaming silverware and fine china. Two candles flickered on the tabletop, casting dancing shadows across the walls. A wine bottle sat chilling in an ice bucket, flanked by two delicate glasses. The smell of roasting meat and baked bread wafted from the covered dishes, a tantalizing aroma that clashed with the bitter scent of fear that had become so familiar to me.

What's happening?" I asked the maids as they flitted around the room, placing the last few items with practiced ease. They exchanged a knowing glance before one spoke up. "Mr. Jeon will be joining you for dinner." The words hung in the air, a heavy weight that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. A dinner date? With Jungkook? The very idea was absurd—a twisted joke played at my expense.

As I stared at the table, I couldn't help but wonder what twisted game Jungkook was playing. This wasn't the scene of a typical power play—it was something more calculated, more personal.  Was this a sick attempt at making our arrangement seem...normal? My mind raced with the implications of this gesture, trying to discern his intentions. Was he attempting to win me over, to make me accept my fate with open arms? Or was it just another way to exert his dominance, to show me that even the most intimate moments would be orchestrated by his will?

And then, the sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the hallway. The maids' movements grew more frantic as they put the final touches on the table, their eyes darting towards the door like trapped animals. My heart hammered against my ribcage, a caged bird desperate to escape. The footsteps grew louder, and I knew—it was time.

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