FORCED MARRIAGE WITH BROTHER IN LAW

CHAPTER 60

The morning dragged on under the weight of unspoken words and burning skin. Y/N had managed to wrap a small piece of cloth around her arm, hiding the angry red mark from sight. No one asked. No one cared.

Around noon, her mother's voice called out from the veranda, sharp and commanding.

"Go with the driver and get the groceries. And make sure you don't take too long—we still have guests arriving tonight."

Y/N nodded silently, wiping her hands on her dupatta before stepping out of the suffocating house and into the scorching daylight. The air outside was no freer than inside, but at least it didn't reek of control and judgment.

The driver was already waiting, the engine humming softly. He didn't acknowledge her as she slid into the back seat—just pulled out onto the road with practiced indifference.

They passed through the narrow lanes of the neighborhood, the same ones Y/N had seen for years. Same old shops. Same worn-out signs. Same smells of roasted peanuts and damp earth.

But something felt different today.

As they neared the market, she leaned slightly forward.
"Stop here," she said, her voice low.

The driver blinked, surprised. "This isn't the grocery store."

"I need to pick up vegetables from this vendor," she said calmly. "I won't be long."

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out.

She didn't go to the vendor.

Not immediately.

Instead, she turned the corner, slipping into the narrow back alley that curved behind the market. Her feet moved fast, almost instinctively, like they knew the path before her mind could catch up.

She walked down the shaded alley, heart pounding—not in fear, but in anticipation. Past the small temple. Past the laundry lines and faded posters. Until she reached the street on the other side.

And there, parked near the corner, was a black car.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

The window rolled down slightly.

And through it... a pair of eyes met hers. Wide, curious, innocent.

A small hand pressed against the glass.

And then—

A tiny smile.

A wave.

Not frantic. Not urgent.

Just soft. Full of warmth.

Full of love.

Y/N didn't move. She didn't wave back. But her eyes burned. Not from pain. Not from fear.

From everything she had buried.

The car slowly pulled away, turning into traffic.

She stood still for a long moment, until the weight of time returned to her shoulders. Until she remembered that the driver would be wondering where she was.

She retraced her steps, wiping the tears that dared to escape.

When she reached the main market road again, the driver was standing outside the car, scanning the crowd.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

She handed him a small cloth bag with a few vegetables she'd picked up in a rush. "The vendor was busy. Took longer than I thought."

He didn't ask anything more.

As she sat back in the car, she looked out the window, her thoughts spinning. Her heart still stuck in that moment.

That wave.

That smile.

That child.

The only emotion in his eyes had been love.

And that—just that—was enough to tear something wide open in her.

Each day was the same—yet slowly, everything was changing.

Y/N had been staying at her parents' house for the past few months. Officially, it was for her health. But everyone knew that wasn't the whole story. Not her family. Not her husband. Certainly not her heart.

At first, her days were dull. A blur of chores, criticisms, and quiet meals filled with judgment. Her mother barely looked at her. Her father said nothing at all. Her siblings ignored her entirely unless they needed help. She had blended into the background like a ghost.

But then...

Something changed.

Y/N began finding reasons to go out—small errands at first. Grocery runs. Picking up medicines. Dropping off laundry. And her parents, not wanting the neighbors to gossip about a "lazy daughter," allowed it.

She never stayed out long.
But in those fleeting moments, she felt alive again.

Each outing gave her a sliver of something she'd lost long ago—peace, purpose, even something dangerously close to joy. She wasn't alone anymore. Someone was waiting. Someone who looked at her like she was still worth loving.

But secrets don't stay hidden for long.

Taehyung had been calling more frequently lately. His voice sharp, his questions tighter.

"You're out again?"
"With who?"
"Why so often?"

Y/N always had simple answers. "Amma needed something." "I had to pick up medicine." "The maid was busy."

But Taehyung wasn't buying it anymore.

And neither was anyone else.

Even the other BTS members noticed her shift in energy.
"She sounds... lighter these days," Jungkook had said during a call.
"She never laughs during dinner calls," Jimin added. "Now suddenly, she does?"
Jin, ever observant, had said nothing—but the way he glanced at Taehyung told everyone he was suspicious too.

The real question lingered in the air:
What was making Y/N happy in a house where no one loved her?

Her mother started getting harsher. Her brother whispered to their father. Her bhabi accused her of acting "too proud."

"Don't think just because you're back here that you can do whatever you want," her mother snapped one morning. "You still belong to your husband's home."

But the worst came from Taehyung himself.

"You think I don't see it?" he said one night over the phone, his voice low and cold. "I know you're hiding something. You're not this good at lying, Y/N."

She didn't reply.

Because he was right.

And if he ever found out where she was going...

Who she was seeing...

And especially, who had called her "Mumma" in that quiet market street just days ago—

The fragile thread holding her secret would snap.

She stood by the window that evening, watching the sun disappear behind the old mango tree in her parents' backyard.

The wind was gentle.

But she knew—

The storm was coming.