Since Jimin entered into his teenage period, Jack kept calling him every now and then to have sex with him. It was a violence movie on repeat, the one where Jimin was dragged against his will and destroyed on daily basis. But it wasn't like he would be called each day, he was only ordered by Jack once in a week or so for these five years. It was still a little relief in Jimin's world filled with agony as that monster didn't had spare time for Jimin and only called him four times a month which was still horrible for Jimin. But recently, Jack has been demanding a night with him every two days which was enough to heighten the pace of Jimin's gradual death.

Jimin hated him. No, he despised him with every fiber of his being. And more than anything, he hated his own miserable existence. His gaze fell to the small knife in his trembling hands. Should he use it now? Should he end everything in this moment?

He wouldn't be surprised if anyone questioned how he had managed to obtain the blade. It had been two nights ago, during his last horrifying encounter with that wretched man, that he had seized the opportunity. With hands that had barely stopped shaking since, he had stolen the knife, gripping onto it as if it were his only salvation.

At first, his only thought had been to take his own life, to escape the agony in the only way he knew how. But then—Erene.

He could not abandon Erene.

Erene was the only light in this wretched place, the only prisoner locked away in the closet right beside him, the only friend he had in this hellish nightmare. Eren did not deserve to be here—just like Jimin. The injustice of it burned inside him. What was even more shocking, what shook him to his very core, was the revelation that Erene was actually related to Jack. The very same Jack who had condemned them both to this suffocating prison. The cruelty of it all was almost unbearable.

Jimin clenched his jaw, looking through the dim light of the cramped, suffocating space they called a prison. Erene had been cast aside like him, locked away without reason. But despite the hardships, despite the torment that had been inflicted upon him, Eren remained strong. He endured, fought, and clung to life with a determination that Jimin both admired and envied. Erene was younger than him—only seventeen—but his resilience made him seem far older.

Jimin was nineteen, and he had already considered surrendering to the abyss. How pathetic. He was not worthy of Eren's friendship. He was not strong like him.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling his name from beyond the door.

"Jimin."

It was Erene.

He blinked, forcing himself to return to the present. He turned his head toward the closet door, the sound of footsteps echoing outside. As he moved, his gaze flickered to the side, where Erene stood, watching him intently.

"Jimin, what the hell are you doing?" Erene's voice was low, urgent. "I've been calling you for a while now. Where were you, you idiot?"

Jimin hesitated only for a moment before making his decision. There was no point in hiding it from Erene. This guy was like his brother. If there was anyone he could trust with his reckless plan, it was him.

His fingers tightened around the knife. He took a deep breath, then whispered, "We will escape soon."

Eren's eyes widened. A flicker of disbelief flashed across his features before his expression darkened. He hurriedly looked around themselves to make sure no body was hearing them then his gaze fell on the sharp knife in Jimin's hand.

"Jimin, damn it." He kept his voice low, but there was an undeniable sharpness to his tone. "Are you out of your mind? No, you won't. First of all, how do you expect to escape with just a knife? Second, don't underestimate the guards here. They are not fools. You won't be able to pull this off. And if that bastard Jack catches you while trying to run, he will execute you without hesitation."

Jimin could hear the frustration in Erene's voice, the urgency, the fear. But his mind was set. He refused to back down. He had already made his decision. He would chase his freedom or death. There was no middle ground to it.

"Erene, we'll escape together. I told you, I won't leave you behind," Jimin insisted, his voice firm, trying to convince his friend into trusting him.

Eren exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His expression was conflicted, torn between hope and the painful grip of reality. Of course he wanted to escape too but he knew about how ruthless his won relative was.

"I want you to survive," Erene admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not like this. I swear, I'm terrified he'll catch us. He didn't even hesitate to lock me up here. Do you really think he'll hesitate to slit our throats? Please, Jimin... just calm down."

But Jimin wasn't sure he could calm down. Not when the only other option was waiting for death to come find him first.

"No, Erene. We'll run away."

 Erene sighed heavily and said helplessly "Please..." 

Jimin couldn't afford a single word discouraging him anymore so hearing his friend pleading him was very odd to him and he didn't wish to hear anything anymore. "No," he interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. 

"Then how will you escape with a knife, smart guy?" Erene asked in that mocking tone, and Jimin added with a slight smile. "I know very well how to use it.. just wait a little while and you will see". He was really confident about this.

Meanwhile, at Jack's courtroom—

The grand hall was dimly lit by torches lining the stone walls, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows across the throne room. A suffocating silence filled the air, thick with the metallic scent of fresh blood.

That man, named Atara, stood frozen, his wide eyes locked onto the lifeless body of his thirty-year-old son, who had collapsed to the ground, unmoving, beneath the feet of that merciless, greedy king. His breath hitched, his hands trembled, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if the entire world had stopped spinning.

Jack, perched lazily on his ornate throne, regarded the fallen man with nothing but mild amusement. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles, before rising to his feet. With slow, deliberate steps, he approached the grieving father.

"Atara," Jack's voice was smooth, almost mocking, as he bent down slightly, peering into the older man's terrified eyes. "This is what happens to those who dare to spy on me and my kingdom." His lips curled into a smirk as he grabbed the collar of the fifty-year-old man, yanking him up with a force that made Atara gasp.

The older man's chest rose and fell rapidly, his mind screaming at him to retaliate, to strike back, but his body betrayed him. He could feel his knees weakening beneath him, his breath uneven as he struggled to process the nightmare before him.

Jack let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening. "Who are you," he hissed, tilting his head mockingly, "to think yourself capable of killing me?" He shook his head with a dark amusement before shoving Atara back, watching as he stumbled, barely keeping his footing.

The guards standing by the throne remained motionless, their expressions unreadable, as if they had long grown desensitized to such cruelty.

Atara's lips quivered, his grief and rage intertwining into something dangerous. "You—" he rasped, but the words died in his throat when Jack's boot pressed against the chest of his son's lifeless body, forcing him to swallow his emotions whole.

The air in the courtroom felt suffocating.

They were spies—two men from Duke Hamon's kingdom, a place formed from the remnants of those who had once fled from Jack's iron grip. The very same kingdom that had once stood as a beacon of hope for those seeking freedom.

But Jimin knows none of this.

He doesn't know about this kingdom at all. He has no idea where it is, no knowledge of its people, or whether they are even still alive.

Now, Duke Hamon is their leader—though the kingdom was already rightfully his. A kingdom that now thrives, its people rebuilding what was once destroyed. But he wants more than survival. He wants justice. He wants to reclaim what was taken.

The kingdom where Jimin had once lived.

The kingdom where he had spent the best years of his life.

His home.

And that is why Duke Hamon burns with rage, his desire for vengeance unrelenting. He wants Jack dead. And he is willing to do anything to see it happen. That is why he sends spies—because a war cannot be won blindly. He needs information before he strikes.

Jack let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple as if bored. Then, turning his piercing gaze back to Atara, he sneered.

"You know..." He drawled, his voice filled with faux exhaustion. "I'm really tired of your spies. It's always the same thing—pathetic little creatures scurrying around, thinking they can outwit me." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "But I'll give you one last act of mercy."

Atara flinched when Jack suddenly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up.

"I'll let you go," Jack whispered, his breath chillingly close. "I'll let you run back to your foolish master like the obedient dog you are." He chuckled darkly, shoving Atara back once more. "Tell him everything your weak little eyes have seen here today."

Jack stepped over the dead body carelessly, the sound of his boots against the bloodied floor echoing in the vast chamber.

"Tell him," he continued, his voice growing colder, "that he's nothing but a coward—hiding away all this time, too afraid to face me. Tell him he has wasted his years in exile for nothing."

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement as he delivered his final words:

"And tell him that if he dares to challenge me... I'll crush him just like I crushed his pathetic spies."

Jack turned his back on Atara, motioning lazily to the guards. "Take him away."

The poor father gasped as rough hands seized him, dragging him out of the courtroom. His eyes remained locked onto his son's lifeless form until the grand doors slammed shut behind him.

And Jack?

Jack simply smiled.

AT EVENING-

The dim candlelight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting golden ripples across the surface of the steaming bath. The man, broad-shouldered and exuding effortless power, let out a slow sigh as he sank deeper into the warmth surrounding him. The heat seeped into his muscles, loosening the knots of tension that had built up over the day. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water sliding down his sharp jawline and disappearing beneath the surface.

Silence. Just the way he liked it.

Everyone knew better than to disturb him during his baths. It was an unspoken rule in the palace. A single mistake—an ill-timed interruption—could be deadly.

His eyelids lowered, exhaustion lulling him into a state of near serenity. But then, as if an unshakable habit, a name slipped past his lips—so quiet, so faint, yet dripping with something sinister.

"...Jimin."

His deep voice broke the silence, sending ripples across the water just as he opened his piercing eyes. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he straightened up, abandoning his previous position of comfort. Leaning forward slightly, he lifted a wet hand in front of him, watching the way the droplets trickled down his fingers, his mind elsewhere.

It had been two days.

Two days since he last saw him.

Two days since he last touched him.

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening with amusement. Of course, he will see him again. That wasn't even a question. He would have Jimin exactly where he wanted him—beneath him, trembling, utterly helpless.

It was a game to him. A sick, twisted game.

He always made sure to space out the nights. Always two days in between. Never more, never less. That was enough time for the little one to recover just enough—just enough to survive.

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet chuckle escaping him at the thought. His fingers drummed lazily against the side of the tub before he leaned back once again, his head resting against the smooth edge.

Then, with no rush, no urgency, he called out—his voice smooth, commanding, laced with authority.

"Fuller."

There was a brief moment of silence before a voice responded from behind the thick wooden door. "Yes, Jack?"

Jack hummed in satisfaction. Obedient. Just as he should be.

He closed his eyes once more, the smirk never leaving his lips as he tilted his head slightly to the side, the warmth of the bath doing nothing to cool the heat of his sadistic thoughts.

Then, in a tone dripping with cruelty, he issued his command—slow, deliberate, each word rolled off his tongue with wicked pleasure.

"Bring me my little whore."

His smirk widened as he heard the hurried footsteps fade into the distance, anticipation curling in his chest. Tonight, Jimin would be his again.

On the other hand-

 "Shut up, you two are annoying!"

The guard's voice echoed harshly through the dimly lit cell, his patience stretched thin by the endless chatter of the two prisoners in front of him. His glare settled on them, warning them to stop testing his temper.

Erene, ever the cautious one, nodded silently, wisely choosing not to provoke him further. Her hands clenched together on her lap, resisting the urge to speak. Seeing her compliance, the guard scoffed and turned on his heels, intending to leave.

But before he could take another step—

"Shut up, you disgusting idiot."

A quiet, venom-laced hiss.

The guard froze. His fingers twitched at his side. A slow inhale, his jaw tightening. He turned around sharply, his face twisting with rage as his eyes locked onto the source of the insult.

Jimin.

The little one stood there, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly upward, meeting the guard's glare without a hint of fear.

"You little bastard," the man snarled. "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that, huh?!"

Jimin's lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. His voice, calm and laced with deliberate arrogance, came out like a blade.

"It's none of your business," he replied, tilting his chin up just slightly. "It's my tongue, not yours."

A dangerous game.

The guard's nostrils flared. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to rip the brat apart.

"Jimin, please shut up," Eren whispered, his voice tense with worry. His grip on Jimin's wrist tightened ever so slightly—a silent warning, a plea.

But Jimin ignored him.

Instead, he rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, a look of complete indifference crossing his features. Without another word, he turned on his heels and sauntered back to his spot in the cell, as if the conversation had already bored him.

The guard exhaled sharply, his teeth grinding together.

"If I had the keys instead of Mr. Fuller," he growled under his breath, his voice dripping with frustration, "I'd open this damned cage and devour you myself... Hah. Stupid little brat."

The words were muttered low, but not low enough.

Jimin heard them.

His fingers twitched. His lips parted slightly, the sharp retort already forming on his tongue—he was so close to turning around and firing back. He wanted to push him further, wanted to anger him just to see how far he could go before the bastard snapped.

But then—

Eren's eyes.

A silent warning. A quiet plea.

Jimin sighed heavily, forcing himself to drop the fight, even though every fiber of his being wanted to do the exact opposite.

Instead, his gaze flickered upward.

The window.

The only glimpse of freedom in this godforsaken place.

It was too high for him—just barely out of reach. But that never stopped him.

He rose onto his tiptoes, stretching as far as his small frame would allow. His fingers barely brushed against the stone, but he managed to lift himself just enough for his wide, innocent eyes to peek through the bars.

Outside.

There was life out there.

It was pathetic, really—how something so simple, something so small, was enough to bring him even a flicker of comfort. But he had so little left.

He always had to reach for it.

He had always been small. Always had to stretch just to see, just to exist among those who towered over him. Some things never change.

And that's exactly why Jack wouldn't kill him.

Because Jimin was beautiful.

Beautiful enough to be used, to be desired, to be kept rather than discarded.

Jack had laid with many before, but none had ever felt quite as perfect as him.

And Jimin knew that.

He knew.

And yet, he endured.

Because this was temporary.

Because he had a plan.

Because soon, he and Erene would be free.

Jimin exhaled softly, his gaze shifting from the window to the unlit chimney in the corner.

It had been cold for days. The chill seeped into his bones, but he barely felt it anymore.

He was used to it.

Just as he was used to waiting.

"Jimin," Eren's voice broke the silence, softer this time, filled with something unspoken.

Jimin didn't look away from the window. "What?"

"You're shaking."

Jimin blinked. He hadn't noticed.

His hands, gripping the stone ledge, trembled slightly, the cold finally registering as it seeped into his fingers. But that wasn't the only reason. A wry chuckle escaped him.

"Does it matter?"

Eren didn't answer right away.

Jimin finally turned, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes made something twist inside Jimin's chest—something he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Just—" Eren hesitated. "Come sit down."

Jimin scoffed but obeyed, stepping away from the window and lowering himself onto the cold stone floor. His legs folded beneath him, his arms wrapping around his own frame in an attempt to trap whatever little warmth he had left.

Eren watched him carefully.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Until Jimin muttered, "It won't be like this forever."

Eren glanced at him.

Jimin didn't look back. His gaze was fixed on the unlit chimney, his voice quieter now. "We're getting out of here."

Eren exhaled. "I know."

"You better."

Silence.

The cold remained. The walls remained. The chains and the bars and the suffocating weight of their reality remained.

But so did the plan.

And so did hope.

I AM SORRY. DUE TO SOME TECH ISSUES I COULDN'T SEE THIS BOOK. I WILL UPDATE REALLY SOON.