knock broke the silence like a gunshot.
It was barely dawn. The sky outside was still a dull, bruised gray, not yet ready to rise.
“Yn?” her mother’s sleepy voice called from beyond the door. “Another one of your book deliveries? It’s too early for this…”
The door creaked open before she could respond. Her mother placed a box gently on the floor without looking too closely.
“Must be important,” she mumbled. “Courier said it was urgent.”
Urgent.
That word stuck like glass in Yn’s throat.
She waited until the footsteps faded down the hall before moving. Her fingers hovered over the package. The air around it felt… wrong. Like it was humming with something dark.
She opened it.
And her breath caught.
No books.
Just blood-red silk. A dress—sleek, expensive, slithering across the box like it knew who it belonged to. The kind of dress that wasn’t worn. It was wielded.
It glimmered like danger itself.
And then… the envelope.
She tore it open, knowing exactly whose words she would find. But even expecting it didn’t stop the chill.
Get ready by 8 p.m.
Wait at Gwanak-ro 11-gil.
Don’t be late, babygirl.
Her hands began to shake.
The paper crackled as her fingers clenched it into a fist. Her heart thundered in her chest—rage and fear and the sick taste of powerlessness bleeding together.
He had planned this. Down to the hour. Down to the color of her skin under silk he chose.
He was pulling the strings.
And she was dancing.
Yn stood abruptly, knocking over the chair behind her. She paced, breath ragged, dress still spilling out of the box like a threat.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn the dress. Burn the entire box.
But Harin’s face flashed in her mind. Her mother’s sleepy voice. The silence in the hallway.
He was already inside her life—twisting it, infecting it.
And 8 p.m. was coming like a countdown she couldn’t stop.
The dress hung on her like a dare.
Yn stood in front of the mirror, fists clenched at her sides, the crimson fabric hugging every curve like it was designed to seduce fear itself. Her makeup was sharp. Her lips were the same shade as the dress—a warning, not an invitation.
The clock ticked louder with each passing minute.
7:30 p.m.
Her hands were steady now. Rage had burned away the tremble.
Let him think she was folding. Let him believe he’d won.
She would go.
But she wouldn’t be going alone—not inside.
The street was almost empty.
Gwanak-ro 11-gil was narrow and dimly lit, flanked by old brick buildings and flickering streetlights that buzzed like broken promises. The silence was thick, humming with unease.
YOU ARE READING
𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 │𝗸𝘁𝗵 ✅
Fanfiction"You think you can escape me? You can run, but I'll always catch you. You're mine now, and no matter how much you fight it, you'll learn to crave me." "You can hold my body captive, but you'll never control my spirit. I'll fight you, even if it's in...
