⚠️TRIGGER WARNING:
[This chapter contains scenes of violence and mature content.]
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YN pov
And I knew that whatever I said next would change everything.
I tried to lie, swallowing the truth because fear tangled my tongue. "I don't know," I whispered, hoping to buy some time, to keep whatever this was from spiraling further out of control.
But he cut me off sharply, his voice cold and merciless. "If you lie to me, it'll be worse." There was no room for argument, no space for excuses. "I've had enough of games."
Panic flared inside me, but I forced myself to push back, to draw a line I wasn't ready to cross. I shoved against his chest, breath trembling but voice firm. "You can't behave the way you're doing--this isn't right."
His eyes flickered with something darker--amusement? Danger?--before he leaned in even closer, his body pressing into mine, power radiating off him like a storm ready to break. His hand shot out, capturing both my wrists in one iron grip, pinning them above my head with terrifying ease.
"Nobody sneaks into my property, little vixen," he said, his voice low and dangerous, like a promise wrapped in a threat. "And if they do... well, they have to bear the consequences."
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang between us, suffocating and undeniable. "So," he added, voice barely more than a growl, "either you tell me... or----"
I swallowed hard, heart hammering. "Or what?" I dared to ask, even as every instinct screamed at me to stay silent.
Without warning, his grip tightened, fingers curling around my neck with a pressure that stole my breath. My legs tightened instinctively around his waist, still wrapped around him as I dangled there, helpless and vulnerable.
Then, cruel and relentless, he bent forward and sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of my neck, sucking sharply--drawing blood, and pain, and a burning heat that radiated through me.
I winced, a sharp sting exploding beneath his mouth, my body trembling with a mix of shock and something darker I couldn't name. The cold tile pressed against my back, the pounding shower forgotten as his dominance swallowed everything whole.
In that moment, I wasn't sure if I was fighting to survive or surrendering to something I never expected to crave.
Seeing no way out, I was on the verge of telling him when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled away just enough to answer it, his voice low but sharp. I caught snippets of the conversation-- someone saying, "Boss, it's urgent, we got the information." He replied with a single word, "Coming," and ended the call.
His eyes locked onto mine again, cold and unreadable. "I will be back for my answers," he warned before releasing me and walking out of the bathroom.
Later, when I finally slipped into my room, I noticed the balcony door was wide open. Assuming he had slipped out that way, I felt a mix of relief and dread swirl inside me. He was gone-- for now--but the storm wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
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I changed out of my damp bathrobe and into my softest pajamas, the fabric barely comforting against the lingering sting on my neck. My fingers hovered over the spot he'd bitten, now tender and throbbing beneath my skin. I didn't look in the mirror. I couldn't.
Curling up under the covers, I tried to will myself into sleep, but my thoughts wouldn't shut up. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his grip, heard his voice, saw those eyes like storm clouds about to break.
Eventually, exhaustion won over adrenaline, dragging me into restless, fractured sleep.
The next morning, college passed in a blur. Lectures, notes, group chats--all of it floated past me like smoke. I couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe properly either, not with that tension coiled in my chest like a live wire waiting to spark.
By the time my last class ended, I couldn't take it anymore.
I needed air. I needed something real-- something gentle.
So, I found myself walking the familiar cracked path that led to the little bird shelter tucked behind the old train tracks. I'd volunteered there since sophomore year, drawn in by the quiet flutters of wings, the broken creatures slowly healing under patient care.
Today, I wasn't there to help them rather I was hoping they'd help me.
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As I stepped into the shelter, the familiar scent of birdseed and wood shavings wrapped around me like a comforting hug. The air was filled with the soft rustle of feathers, the occasional chirp, and the low coo of doves nesting in their corners.
"Echo," I murmured, smiling faintly.
The bright green parrot perched near the entrance let out a thrilled squawk and flapped his wings in excitement. His eyes sparkled with recognition as he bobbed his head, hopping closer on the branch. I raised a hand and let him perch on my forearm, his claws curling around my wrist like it was home.
"You missed me, huh?" I whispered.
He nuzzled against my cheek, and for a moment, the tension in my shoulders eased.
I moved deeper into the shelter, Echo still balanced on my arm, and made my way toward the food stock room. The shelves were lined with bags of seeds, jars of mealworms, and bins of assorted grains and fruits. And there, clipboard in hand and brow furrowed in concentration, stood Fallon.
She glanced up, and her expression shifted instantly from focused to amused.
"Well, look who finally crawled out of the emotional abyss," she said, tucking a pen behind her ear. "I thought you'd vanished off the face of the earth."
"I needed air," I replied, letting Echo fly off to a nearby perch.
Fallon's gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You okay?" she asked, but not like she expected a full answer but more like she was planting the question and giving me time to water it later.
"I will be," I said, not quite lying, not quite telling the truth.
She didn't push. That was Fallon. Observant, steady, always more comfortable showing she cared with actions than words.
"Grab a basket," she said instead. "We need to restock the feeder crates. Misselle forgot to log the millet again, and Kyra's too busy trying to name every pigeon in the coop."
I gave a small laugh, quiet but genuine.
Normal. This was normal. And right now, that's exactly what I needed.
I grabbed a basket and joined Fallon, her scribbled inventory list already halfway filled. She passed me a sack of sunflower seeds without looking up.
"She's naming the new grey one 'Sir Pecks-a-lot,'" Fallon muttered, deadpan.
A snort escaped me before I could stop it. "Of course she is."
We worked in silence for a few minutes, the kind that didn't feel awkward, just easy. Familiar.
Fallon always knew how to ground things, how to bring you back to earth when your mind was spinning off into dangerous places.
A flutter of wings signaled Kyra's arrival, bursting into the food stack room with her usual whirlwind energy. Her hoodie was covered in feathers and bits of straw, and her cheeks were flushed.
"You guys won't believe it!" she said breathlessly. "One of the baby doves tried to fly today! It only made it like, a foot off the ground, but still--progress!"
Fallon arched a brow. "You cried, didn't you?"
Kyra lifted her chin defiantly. "I teared up. There's a difference."
Behind her, Misselle appeared, more composed but with a faint smear of bird poop on her sleeve she didn't seem to notice. She was holding a clipboard too, though hers looked more like doodles than notes.
"I logged the millet," she announced proudly.
"No, you didn't," Fallon said without even looking.
Misselle pouted. "Okay, but in my head I did."
They bickered lightly, voices overlapping in a way that filled the room with life. I leaned back against a grain sack, letting their chatter surround me. For a while, I didn't have to think. Didn't have to remember the cold grip, the threat in his voice, the mark on my neck that still throbbed beneath the collar of my shirt.
Here, in this messy, feather-filled chaos, I could breathe again. Even if just for a little while.
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The sky had already begun to darken by the time we stepped out of the bird shelter, the last traces of sunlight melting into soft amber over the horizon. Our baskets were empty now, our arms a little sore, but the weight in my chest had lifted--at least for a while.
We walked the cracked sidewalk back toward the dorms, our usual chatter bouncing between us. Kyra was humming some ridiculous pop tune, Misselle quietly sipping on a bubble tea she'd bought from the vending machine near the shelter, and Fallon was telling some outrageous story about how she once tried to smuggle a rabbit into the dorms because "he looked lonely."
I should have been laughing. I almost was. But that's when I felt it.
A low rumble. A subtle presence. The faint hum of an engine trailing just a little too close behind us.
I turned my head slightly, heart skipping a beat.
A black motorbike. Sleek, unmarked. The rider wore a dark helmet, face completely obscured, but something in the way they slowed whenever we slowed, stopped when we paused to cross the street--it didn't feel random. It felt deliberate.
Cold fingers traced down my spine.
I quickly looked away, forcing a light laugh at something Fallon said, pretending not to notice while my mind raced.
Was it him?
Had Jungkook really put someone on me?
Or worse... was he following me himself?
I clenched my fists, trying not to show the sudden spike of panic. My neck still ached, the skin there raw beneath my collar--a burning reminder that he wasn't the kind of guy who made idle threats.
We turned the corner onto the main road leading to campus, and I hoped-- prayed that the bike would go another way.
But it didn't.
It stayed with us.
Fallon noticed first. Of course she did.
She slowed down, glancing over her shoulder with narrowed eyes. "Creeper alert, five o'clock," she muttered under her breath. "You know him?"
I shook my head quickly. "No. Maybe just someone taking the same road."
Fallon wasn't convinced. Her jaw set.
Kyra noticed too, voice suddenly more serious. "That's the third block now. You think they're...?"
Misselle didn't say anything. She just shifted closer to me, silent and protective.
My stomach turned. Jungkook's words came back like smoke choking me: "I will be back for my answers."
This wasn't over. He was watching me.
And now..... I wasn't sure what scared me more--the fact that he wanted answers.
Or the fact that part of me still wasn't ready to give them.
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