POMEGRANATES AND TULIPS: Book 2 (Jeon Wonwoo) EDITING

38 | Monster

~~~ Lizbeth ~~~

Silence had layers, I learned that quickly. There was the silence of abandonment, the silence of waiting. And the most terrifying of all—the silence of being watched.

I didn't know how long Jinyoung had been gone this time. Minutes. Maybe hours. The light in the corner of the room flickered weakly, throwing warped shadows across the concrete walls. Every sound felt amplified: my breathing, the small shifts of my body, the quiet tremor in my hands.

My wrists were no longer restrained, that alone felt wrong. Too intentional, as if Jinyoung liked choices. Maybe watching people decide, slowly, I stood up.
My legs shook, threatening to give out, but I forced myself to move anyway. I tested the door. Unlocked.
My stomach twisted, this was never going to be that easy. I stepped into a narrow hallway, walls lined with metal shelves. At first, I thought they were full of tools.

Then I realized—they were full of memories. Photographs, IDs, Jewelry. Phones. Shoes. Dozens of them. Maybe more.
My breath hitched violently as I took a step closer, every item was labeled. Names. Dates. Locations.
This wasn't just an obsession, this was a collection.
A soft clap echoed behind me, "Most people admire that wall for a long time," Jinyoung chirped. "You barely hesitated. Impressive." I spun around, fear crashing into my bones. "Why do you do this?" I whispered.

Jinyoung tilted his head as the question delighted him. "Because people are fascinating when they're desperate." He walked closer, slow, unhurried.
"You're different from the others." He says, "Because of Wonwoo," I said. He smiled, "Because of what you do to Wonwoo." My chest went tight.

"You soften him. You stabilize him. You make him hesitate." Jinyoung's voice darkened with wicked delight. "And I wanted to see what he'd become without you." Tears stung my eyes. "You're destroying him." I said, "Yes," Jinyoung said happily. "Isn't it beautiful?" His voice was too cheerful then he leaned closer. "But here's the truth you don't know yet, Lizbeth." My blood turned to ice. "I didn't choose you only because of him." My heart slammed hard.

"I chose you because you're like us." He says, My breath shook. "I'm nothing like you," I uttered, Jinyoung laughed softly. "You really think good people don't survive monsters?" He questions, he leaned in close enough that I could smell his breath. "They become them." He whispers.

~~~ Wonwoo ~~~

"Stop the vehicle." Jeonghan turned sharply, "Wonwoo—" Cutting him off: "I said stop." The van screeched to a halt. I tore off the seatbelt and shoved the door open before anyone could react. "Wonwoo!" Mingyu shouted. "You can't just—"
"I already am," I said, Minghao grabbed my arm. "You don't know where she is!"

"I know Jinyoung," I said, eyes dark with something feral. "And I know where he'd hide something precious."
Jeonghan stepped forward, voice sharp. "If you leave now, you obstruct an active investigation." I didn't turn around. "If I stay," I said quietly, "I lose her."

~~~ Lizbeth ~~~

Jinyoung led me to another room, not a torture room. A bedroom, neat and almost gentle. A desk sat in the corner, covered in notebooks. My name was written on the top one, my hands shook as I opened it. Every page was filled with my routines, favorite books, fears, smiles, and habits. Even the ones I thought no one noticed, "I've been watching you longer than you think," Jinyoung said softly.

My knees nearly buckled, "You're not my victim," he murmured. "You're my experiment." Shivers run down my spine.

~~~ Wonwoo ~~~

The abandoned old house loomed ahead, I felt it in my bones. This was Jinyoung's signature, clean, hidden, and calculated. I didn't hesitate, breaking the lock. Stepping inside, the darkness welcomes me, and my eyes inspect the room.

The wooden floorboard creaks under my footsteps, and a hush fills the quietness. Halting in the middle of the hallway, tainted memories of my childhood rush in.

I remembered the smell of pine and chalk dust, the faint sweetness of the soap my mother used when she scrubbed Jinyoung's scraped knees. Her voice drifted through the summer air as she stood between us, hands gentle but firm. "Wonwoo, let him speak."
Jinyoung glared at the dirt, jaw clenched. I stood taller, older by a year but infinitely quieter. Observant. Careful.
My mother smiled softly at Jinyoung, brushing his hair back. "You're both smart. You're both good boys. But you don't need to compete." I nodded politely, but Jinyoung didn't.

Because he heard what adults didn't say.
Wonwoo is the good one.
Wonwoo is gifted.
Wonwoo stays calm.
Wonwoo listens.

And him? Jinyoung was the "difficult" one.
The fire to my still water, he storm to my silence.
That day, the jealousy in Jinyoung's eyes had teeth.
Later that evening, we had argued in the kitchen. A childish fight—who solved the puzzle faster, who remembered the answer first. Nothing important. Nothing that should've mattered.

We were sixteen, and the fight started over something small. It always did, "You think you're better than me," Jinyoung sneered, shoving me near the staircase. "I think you're spiraling," I snapped coldly. "And someone finally needs to stop pretending you're fine."

Our voices echoed through the house, "Stop acting like you're my savior!" Jinyoung screamed. "You took everything from me without even trying!"
"You're doing this to yourself!" I shouted back. "You're sick—and you refuse to get help!" The words hit like a trigger, Jinyoung laughed. Then pushed, I stumbled back —he had reached for a knife.

My mother yells for Jinyoung to stop, my hand holding his wrist. She rushed between us, shoving Jinyoung away from me. Then there was a cry—the knife hit the floor tinted with red. Fear rushed in and silence afterward, not the peaceful kind. Jinyoung stared in horror, I had screamed for my mother as she collapsed onto the ground. Our hands covered in her blood as we tried to stop the bleeding, her whispers of wanting me to live an honest happy life.
And the adults would later call it an accident, Jinyoung's lawyer had used the mentally unstable rule.  But Jinyoung knew better, so did I.

My pulse thundered as the memory clawed at me as I opened the basement door,  Jinyoung stood there, leaning casually against an old wooden table, like he'd been expecting me for years.

"Cousin." Jinyoung's smile was soft, mocking. "You look like you've seen a ghost." I didn't answer.
Because the ghost was standing right in front of me.
"Let her go," I said, voice low and lethal. "Lizbeth has nothing to do with our past." At that, Jinyoung laughed—bright, delighted, cruel. "Oh, but she has everything to do with our past. You've always had something that makes you... whole." He tilted his head.

"I wanted to see what happens when I take it away."
I lunged—but Lizbeth appeared between us.

~~~ Lizbeth ~~~

I didn't know how my legs carried me. Didn't know how courage-filled a body still trembling from fear.

But I saw it, the look in Wonwoo's eyes. A darkness I didn't recognize, like someone who lost too much—and he did. And now he was breaking apart right in front of me.

"Stop," I whispered, placing my hands on his chest.
Wonwoo froze, chest heaving under my palms. "Lizbeth," he breathed, voice cracked open. "He took you. He could've—"
"I know," I said softly. "But if you hurt him... You lose yourself. And I lose you." His eyes snapped to mine, wild, wounded.

Behind us, Jinyoung made a small, amused sound. "Look at that. She knows exactly how to control you." He says, my grip on Wonwoo tightened. Because I understood something terrifying, if I let go—Wonwoo would destroy Jinyoung. And he would never come back from it.