Stuck With You || Kim Taehyung

PART 72

The casual invitation was enough. With Taehyung gone until mid-day, the thought of spending hours alone in the luxurious, but ultimately isolating, suite felt unbearable. Better to seek out the strange, chaotic energy of Xander than endure the silence.

I approached their door, my hand raised to ring the bell, but paused. The door was already ajar.

"Xander?" I called, curiosity overriding caution, and pushed the door open.

The suite was unnervingly silent. No trace of the usual loud laughter. It was empty. But then I heard it—a faint, rhythmic dripping sound. I followed the noise cautiously, my heart beginning to quicken. The sound led to the washroom. The door was slightly open, and from the crack, a sinister trickle of red liquid flowed.

Terror, cold and sharp, seized me. I pushed the door wide and a shriek tore from my throat.

Xander lay sprawled on the tiles, utterly still. A knife was plunged into his chest. The sight stole my senses. Without thought, fueled by shock and a devastating grief for my cousin, I rushed to him, sinking to my knees in the spreading stain. I pulled his body into my arms. My trembling hand reached out, not to hurt, but to comprehend, and grasped the hilt of the knife still pierced in his chest.

It was in that catastrophic instant the police burst in.

"FREEZE! Drop the weapon!"

I looked up, my face pale, my hands covered in blood, holding the knife. They saw their killer. Before I could stammer a denial, they were on me, grabbing my arms roughly.

"I didn't! I'm innocent! Please, listen to me!" I screamed, but they were deaf to my pleas. They saw the crime and the obvious evidence. Despite the undeniable bulk of my seven-month pregnancy, despite how visibly fragile I was, they handled me with a brutal, careless force.

I was shoved into a car and driven to a remote, derelict police station. The cell they threw me into was a nightmare of filth and despair—dirty, smelling of waste.

"I am innocent! You have the wrong person!" I shouted, pounding the bars.
They simply ignored me, leaving me alone in the wretched cell.

Taehyung returned to the suite, his meeting over, expecting to find me. The empty room hit him with an immediate, sickening dread. He went straight to the hotel lobby. His cold fury was a tangible thing, and he threatened the receptionist with a deadly composure until the CCTV footage was pulled up.

He watched in horror as the police—the very people meant to protect—hauled me away, treating my pregnant body with shocking callousness. The pure, black anger clenched his heart. He dashed out of the hotel, leaving a trail of terrified staff behind.

He tore through the nearest police stations, demanding to see me, but he was met with denials. He searched all afternoon. It was 6:00 PM; five hours had been lost in a helpless, frantic search.
In the filthy cell, my health was deteriorating rapidly. The trauma, the filth, the cold—it was too much for my pregnant body. The contractions were starting.

"Please," I begged the guards, slumping against the bars, "I don't care about me. Think about my babies. I need a hospital. I'm seven months, they won't survive this."

The guards merely laughed, crude and dismissive.

Driven to a breaking point, I screamed at them, my voice cracking with pure, desperate rage.

"I am innocent! You will regret this!"
My shouting for the nth time enraged them. One officer, his face twisted with malice, grabbed his baton. He entered the cell. I instantly curled up, covering my swollen stomach, trying to protect my babies. The baton struck my shoulders, my legs, my back. Blow after savage blow.

He finally stopped, leaving me weeping, curled into a ball on the dirty floor, bleeding and whimpering. The other officers stood outside and laughed. My voice was slow, muffled, barely audible as I clutched my stomach.
"Hospital... hospital... take me..."
They ignored me.

Suddenly, a massive gust of wind roared outside the small station. The ground shook. In seconds, a dark, heavy-duty helicopter descended, landing outside the building with a terrifying grace. The officers scrambled to their feet, staring.
Kim Taehyung stepped out, sunglasses hiding the fire in his eyes, radiating the deadly attitude of a hungry tiger . His lawyer, holding the necessary bail papers, rushed to follow him.

Taehyung strode into the station. His eyes fell on me—my broken, whimpering body on the cold floor. I looked up. Hope, sharp and desperate, flooded my eyes.
"Taehyung!" I shouted, a fresh wave of tears hitting me. "Save my babies! Hospital!"

He ran toward me. He snatched the keys lying on the desk without asking, ignoring the officers' startled shouts. While his lawyer frantically handled the official arrangements, Taehyung unlocked the door. He gently lifted me into his lap. Seeing the bruises, the blood, and the utter pain in my eyes, his entire being combusted with an inferno of rage.

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me out of the cell. As he walked past the terrified officers, he gave a single, chilling signal to his men waiting outside.

They understood. They began dousing the entire police station with gasoline. Before the officers could realize the deadly intent, a match was struck and thrown. The station erupted into a terrifying roar of fire, consuming the structure and the officers inside.
Taehyung carried me into the helicopter, speaking fierce, comforting words over the sound of the blades, promising me safety. Ten minutes later, we reached the hospital. My condition had devastated him.

I was rushed into the Emergency Room. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor hurried out.

"Mr. Kim," he said, his voice urgent, "Her condition is critical. The trauma has caused severe fetal distress. We need to perform an emergency C-section to deliver the babies immediately if we are to save their lives."

The doctor rushed back into the Operating Theatre.

Taehyung stood outside, stunned into silence. Tears tracked down his cheeks. The only clear thought in his mind was the stark, paralyzing fact: She was seven months pregnant.