[ complete ] 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅

55. Her Guilt.

Y/n's POV –

I stood there, frozen. The third tape had ended, the room was silent now, but my heart—it wouldn’t stop screaming. My body trembled. My fingers were still curled into fists, nails digging into my own skin. Maybe if it hurt enough, it would distract me from the war that had just erupted inside my head.

“No… No…” I whispered, stumbling backward, my knees threatening to give out beneath me.

I had watched it. All of it.

Suyeon.

Tears blurred my eyes as I slumped to the floor. My breaths came in short gasps, each one sharper than the last. It felt like the air itself had turned to thorns.

"I believed him," I choked, pressing my palm against my mouth as a sob tore through me. "I—how could I?"

I remembered every word I’d thrown at Jungkook in anger. Every accusation. Every doubt. The look in his eyes when I said, “If you’re innocent, prove it.”

He didn’t deserve that.

“Jungkook…” I whispered his name like a prayer. My husband. The man who would’ve burned down the world for me. The one who cried beside a dead girl’s body… and I—I turned my back on him.

The images from the tape haunted me: Junghyun’s voice, his mocking tone, the way he filmed her—like a scene, a puppet in a sick performance. The way Suyeon looked… lifeless and small.

“I should’ve known,” I muttered, wiping at my face even though fresh tears replaced the old ones instantly. “I should’ve known what kind of monster he is…”

I had defended Junghyun.

He had looked me in the eye. Told me Jungkook had secrets. That Jungkook had done things no one knew about. I remembered the way Junghyun leaned toward me and said, "He's not who you think he is."

And I—God—I believed him.

"How could I not trust the man who stayed up at night just to hear me breathe?" I asked myself aloud, rocking slightly, grasping at the fabric of my shirt like I could somehow hold onto something real.

“You believed the devil and questioned the angel,” my own voice echoed cruelly in my head.

I could see Jungkook’s face in my mind. The quiet devastation in his eyes when I doubted him.
How could I ever look him in the eyes again?

He had always told me, “I don’t need the world to believe in me. Just you.”

And I failed him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry, Jungkook.”

I curled tighter on the floor, pressing my forehead to the cold marble. “I should’ve been the one by your side when you found her. I should’ve believed you when you said something felt off. I should’ve protected you from this pain, not added to it.”

The weight of my mistake was unbearable. Not because of what it made me feel, but because of what it made him go through—alone.

He cried alone.
He bled alone.
He broke alone.

Because I chose to believe the mask of a monster over the soul of the man I married.

A voice inside me kept whispering, “You let him down when he needed you most.”

I sat up slowly, clutching my chest like I could physically pull out the regret festering inside me.

I didn’t care about my pride anymore. I didn’t care about being right. All I cared about was making this right, if that was even possible.