⚠️*This chapter contains physical violence, traumatic scenes, psychotic behaviour, mention of blood and disturbing scenes. Readers discretion is strongly advised. I urge you to skip the scene if it's upsetting.*⚠️
GOALS- 400+ votes and 650+ comments.
Although I am giving comment goal, all I need is your honest reactions, your thoughts towards each paragraph I wrote and your feedback towards it. I set the goal to see you all interacting with the scenes.If you can't do that, it's fine to not be able to do that with some issues.
But I kindly urge you to not already fill comments section with alphabets, dots and lines because if that does anything then only brings disppointment. However, I anyways post the chapters once it's done.
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(This is how I imagine Yn in this book)
——⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆——
“Even my silence chants the prayer of my devotion.”
YN'S POV
I can do this. I told myself and caught his steps as he guided me through the entrance. We entered through arched double doors, and the ship's soul revealed itself.
There was one event staff member who had three different wristbands in a decorated tray. The diamond one is for Kim's family and closest friends, the gold one is for VVIPs, and the silver one is for VIPs.
Taehyung took the diamond one and wrapped it around my wrist and did the same before looking at me. “Don't be nervous. Stay close to me,” he murmurs, kissing my cheek.
I nodded my head and smiled. He nods and guides me towards the crowd. The second I stepped into the grand hall, my breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't the opulence that stunned me—it was the dark opulence. The kind that reeked of money made in blood.
Every inch of the place screamed power, sin, and secrecy, and the man I once saw in shadow. He wasn't here today. dead, yet the whole atmosphere screamed that this belonged to him, proving why he was the second name of death.
The floor beneath my heels was black marble, polished so perfectly I could see my own nervous reflection in it. Above us, massive chandeliers dripped with obsidian crystals, casting an eerie shimmer over the scene like dusk had settled inside.
To my left, a luxury casino sprawled out. Velvet blackjack tables were surrounded by men in dark suits and women in dresses that were more slit than fabric.
The sound of chips clinking together, laughter that felt more like warnings, and cards snapping down on the tables added a sinister rhythm to the room.
I saw a man in a crimson suit throw down a hand of aces, Kim Aran—and just across from him, another man slammed his drink down, clearly furious. His men subtly reached under their jackets, and I knew the tension wasn't just for show.
