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

71. Is he back?

Y/n’s POV —

The night was still.

Too still.

The tarrace was lit only by the dim moonlight and the occasional flicker from the fairy lights strung across the railing. I sat on the swing, legs curled beneath me, laptop forgotten at my side as the silence wrapped around me like a blanket I hadn’t asked for.

Downstairs, everyone was either asleep or too tired to speak. Jungkook had gone to take a quick shower and left his phone beside the old clay water pot. He never really left it out in the open, but tonight he must’ve let his guard down.

I wasn’t snooping.
I swear I wasn’t.

But the phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

And something about the sound felt off.
Urgent.

I got up, walked across the tarrace floor barefoot, my anklets barely making a sound. I picked up the phone and turned the screen toward me.

Unknown Number.
And below it—
Images.

I hesitated. My heart stilled.

I tapped it open.

And froze.

Photos of me.
Here. On this very tarrace.
From a few feet behind.
From a strange angle—like someone had been watching. Hiding in the dark. Right. There.

I looked around instinctively, spinning on my heel, eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. My heart pounded like a war drum.

I tightened my grip on the phone and hissed under my breath, “Who the hell—?”

Then came the message.

“You look tired, Y/n. You always looked tired when you were pretending to be happy. That husband of yours really doesn’t know how to protect his queen.”

My breath hitched.

What… what is this?

I pressed reply, my fingers trembling but my jaw set.

"Who the hell are you? You coward. If you’re brave enough, come in front of my husband. He’ll burn you alive.”

My chest rose and fell as I hit send. The rage boiled. I stared out into the trees past the tarrace railings, eyes sharp.

“Freak,” I muttered.

The screen buzzed again.

I almost didn’t want to look.

But I did.

And what I saw made my knees weaken.

Message: “Y/n… you really don’t remember your first love? That’s disappointing. It’s me. Junghyun. Oh… and no, I didn’t die in that fire your husband lit. He tried. He failed.”

The breath in my chest turned cold. My vision blurred for half a second.

Junghyun.

That name. That past. That nightmare.

Gone. Dead. Burned. Over.

He couldn’t be back. He couldn’t.

I dropped to the swing slowly, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

“I saw him die,” I whispered. “We all saw him die. You were in the building. You screamed. You burned—Jungkook said it himself, he was gone—”