Dutchmelon
The first time she called him "Daddy," Kim Taehyung almost dropped the glass in his hand.
Not because he was offended.
Because she had never called him that before.
She had always smiled and whispered, "Taehyung."
Always.
Until the accident.
Now she hid behind him whenever strangers came near, hugged a worn-out stuffed rabbit to her chest, and looked at the ruthless man feared by all of Seoul with wide, frightened eyes.
"Daddy... they're scary."
The boardroom fell silent.
Executives who had witnessed Kim Taehyung destroy billion-dollar companies without blinking watched him kneel before his trembling wife.
"It's okay," he murmured softly. "No one's going to hurt you."
No one dared breathe.
The man who could reduce powerful rivals to tears was carefully tying the ribbon in his wife's hair because she insisted it was "too loose."
Doctors called it trauma-induced age regression.
They said she was emotionally trapped in childhood.
They told him she might never come back.
So Taehyung did the impossible.
He became her protector, her safe place, the steady presence she reached for whenever fear took over.
If reading bedtime stories calmed her, he read them.
If she refused to sleep without the hallway light on, he left it glowing every night.
If she cried over spilled juice, he cleaned it up without complaint.
He would wait forever if it meant getting his wife back.
But every night, after he had tucked her into bed and whispered goodnight...
She opened her eyes.
The fear vanished.
The tears disappeared.
And the innocent little smile faded into something far older.
She remembered.
Every.
Single.
Thing.
Including the face of the person who murdered her family.
And she knew one terrifying truth.
If Kim Taehyung discovered she had been pretending all this time... that would be the end.