***UNEDITED***

Freedom is a fantasy. A sweet illusion.

No human being was born free, although the different intakes on the matter. No mother asked a child before she decided to give birth to it. No father asked if the name given to that child was of his liking. No one ever had a say in the color of his hair, skin, or eyes. No one had a say in such essential matters, and yet, here we are, talking freedom.

It gave you solace to think of all the freedom you were never given. It softened your grief to realize that you didn't lose your freedom because of this marriage but that you never had it to begin with. And no one had it either, for that matter.

When you realized the extent of your corruption, you thought to yourself that it wasn't so bad to seek comfort in other people's despondencies. It gave you the sense of justice that life rarely offers. A fragment of equality.

You were not damned alone, and you were aware of that. It was indeed only a difference in weight, different kinds of problems, different curses. But that didn't mean you were the only one suffering from the harshness of a world that showed little leniency. No, you were smarter than to think like a spoiled brat.

Or so you thought.

Whatever floats your boat.

But no matter what it was or how selfish it was, it still helped you push through your new life, your new routine. It helped you wake up and tidy yourself up for work. It awakened your diligence, which was almost stifled by the solitaire ring you wore, and got you to actually produce for what you had sacrificed yourself for: Your work.

You found comfort in the confines of your clinic, in the busy hours you spent caring for your demanding patients. Not a trace of annoyance was in your countenance, no matter how insolent those patients were. This was refreshing when compared to your old self, who lost many patients due to lack of diplomacy. The long hours you spent reshaping a nose became a leisure you pursued with great passion, even more than the version of you before the vows you took in the Roman Church.

Thinking about it, you didn't even mind the daily commute to your workplace. Taehyung had favored the seclusion from the city, its lights, and unsubtle clamor, opting for the shy tranquility that came with the green scenery of the outskirts of Seoul.

Nothing special. Just another item on the list of reasons why you hated his guts.

But you spared him the rant and instead used the distance to justify why you sometimes came home late and why sometimes you didn't come at all.

Not that you needed to justify, to begin with.

Your vows were to remain pinned in the air. Neither cared about loyalty. Neither cared about the sanctity of the bond with which you shackled yourselves.

You were afraid about the aspect of bending your habits to another person's preferences, but thanks to Taehyung, you were rid of those fears before they could develop. From the first night, you wore your new last name.

They faded when you rode in his car, still dressed in crisp white and high-end glamor, when the car came to an abrupt stop after his commanding tone. The driver had refused to return your glances from the rearview mirror - not like they would have been welcomed, in all cases - and not long after, his voice reappeared to sign an agreement that didn't need to be written in paper, nor did it need ink to be sealed.

"The driver will take you home. Do whatever pleases you. I will not come tonight."

And you did. As soon as he left the car, you did the first thing you wanted to do: You ordered the driver to take you home.

You didn't even wait to see if he had a ride or if he had managed to find a cab in the middle of the highway. Frankly, you couldn't care less.

You had made a promise to Jimin in the past, and now you had to make good on it. Although you were grateful for Taehyung's small sacrifice, you didn't find it in you to spare him time.

This promise sickened you as the car drove through the dark, raven night. The trees that passed you in a blur caused nausea to chime louder,  your breaths to hitch higher. Thoughts of a ruined future and broken promises assaulted you, making the silent drive a frightening trip. A horror of a special kind. A suspense that increased with every chime of the GPS, which signaled the proximity of your destination.

You had promised to wear white for him, and he had promised to capture your image in his mind for eternity. You wanted to be in his vicinity while wearing the color of reunion, even if it was tainted with betrayal and disappointment. Even if it was worn and used by another man.... for another man.

You were sure he wouldn't spare you a glance. You would be grateful if he didn't spit phlegm at you and that gown. Still, the need to see him, even from a distance, was greater than being restrained.

You had felt such a strong sense of revolution during this visit. It was as if you had overcome the threats and intrigues that your family had forged against you before your enemy-turned-husband. You never swallowed his arrogance, nor did you forget the slap in the face - actually, both slaps, the figurative one and the real one. You had meant better for him, even though you had seen how low he was, and the fact that you were with your lover that same night you had promised in front of an audience to preserve his dignity was a perfect revenge.

The only one at your disposal, despite the insignificance.

But you weren't aware. No, you weren't. You didn't know that when you sat in the car, watching Jimin from afar like a creep, your dear husband was nestled in Katarina's neck. That when your face was covered with tears of loss, his face glistened with beads of lust sweat. That when you whimpered from the itch in your heart, he groaned from the twinge in his lower abdomen with the released knots he had formed while watching his lover from the altar as he put the ring on your finger.

No, you weren't aware, and you couldn't care less when Jimin caught sight of your figure from his window. You ran out of oxygen in the enclosed space of the car, so you stood, leaning against the door of the vehicle, watching and giving a sight to indulge into to the man you wished would be the recipient of your vows.

It took less than a minute for him to come out from the warmth of his home to the bitterness of the chilly night. Frustration got the best of him as his fingers searched for rest in the silky curls. As ever, the voracious, lush curls you wanted to bury your fingers in for the rest of your life. Ridden of calm and loaded with inquisitiveness as he looked at you in utter disgust, "I didn't know you had sadistic tendencies, Jae. You never cease to amaze me!"

"Jim...

"Don't you dare say my name."

"I'm sorry."

"Why have you come? To remind me of the dreams you stole from me? Or maybe to prove that I was never enough? That another man, a better one, made you his in the end?"

"I—Jimin, I... I'm...

No, you weren't aware. You didn't know that when your forearm was grabbed with such a venomous vigor, with the resentment of years past and unresolved sentiments, your husband was being caressed with feather-like touches, tales about endless love. You jerked forward as Jimin's gaze pierced through, and past your soul, deep into the heart that knew how to beat for him but died when fate tore you apart. He did not smile, a quality that had escaped his features ever since. He was not protective, nor did he hold back his anger as he let his words complete the murder his eyes had begun, "Wasn't the invitation you sent enough? Did you really have to go that far to feel triumphant? Are you still afraid I might hold on to you and prevent you from starting a new life?"

And then everything settled down, the puzzle pieces fell into place, and the picture was complete. The price for those looks in the back row, the hesitant movements, and the 'I do' you uttered. Such a high price for a forced deal and no profit in sight, no matter how many calculators you used.

When your husband received, although he did not give enough, the little you still had was taken away.

What did the truth ever mean? What did it ever bring? Who believed a person in your position who stood in a white dress in front of a lover she had betrayed? You swallowed the lump in your throat and, with it, the first racket your husband gifted you. It was on you, an oversight and misplaced trust.

"You will understand eventually, you will learn the truth." A few words before you turned to open the door of the vehicle, ready to erase this memory from the souvenirs you had of him.

"I don't want to," Jimin paused, eyes darting from you to his propinquities. A long-drawn sigh escaped his bonds, one hand resting on his hip while the other covered his mouth to prevent others from following. "I think what I've lost because of you is more than enough. I have a sister to protect, and apparently, you now have a husband to look out for."

You turned, and now it was his turn to show his back, eyes still flying over his shoulder, stealing the last seconds of an unwanted encounter, "Don't come back here, don't make me flee this place too."

No, you weren't aware. You didn't know, but you became aware when your dear husband crossed the threshold with a neck marred with bites of possession. You weren't aware, but when you saw his disheveled hair, tie removed, and shirt open to mid-chest, you realized you had no place in his world, despite the importance of the deal.

And you were glad, honestly speaking.

"Don't you dare, Taehyung." Your voice was commanding, leaving no doubt about the authority it held. There was no amusement, no room for retort as you set your terms about a deal you despised. "Do what you want, you can even go to hell for all I care, but don't you dare go near the lines we have drawn."

"It was necessary to show how far my claws can reach. Don't worry about it. It won't happen again." Taehyung chuckled, "Now I have you in the palm of my hand, don't I?"

"Were you with her? The lady from the back row." Your advances toward his body were somber, full of hatred, but passionate in a sense that made his eyes follow your every move.... every breath. They pressed for answers he wasn't ready to give, forcing a conversation he'd rather not have. "Did she like the show?"

The breaths came out heavy, rumbling like a storm in gray weather. Taehyung was robbed of patience, robbed of calm. His vest fell to the floor, as did his mask of unimpressedness that soon followed. You were not shocked when his hand held your forearm in an aggressive grip and brought you to his chest, nor did the slight distance left between you faze you; his words, however, made you understand the depth of your deal: "Keep her out of your mouth to keep him safe. Don't you dare try my patience. Let me remain generous, doctor."

That night you understood your place in his house, your place altogether. The chances of you winning with your wits were slim, which is why you reasoned against meeting your husband, lest you want to see Jimin escape again.

The uneventful life your marriage entailed took the form of habits, of things repeated daily with minimal changes. You would go to work, he would do the same. He would come home early, drink some wine, read a few chapters before going to his room, while you would go every night to a different bar, drink more than usual, and get fucked senseless in the car before heading back home.

Taehyung never made it to your doorstep, nor did he bring another woman to your house. For that, you were grateful. He respected an unspoken pact, and that was a plus for him.

But your peace was a far cry from the chaos that descended upon his life when you entered it. Taehyung had wanted nothing more than to protect his beloved from his father's clutches, even if that meant entering into a sham marriage. Hearing the pretenses of his father, who had promised not to ask for anything more, was what crumbled the routine he had established.

It was not difficult to survive once Katarina accepted his reality. In fact, they became closer, the wounds mended with the days that passed. He visited her daily, faithful to her legs like a subject to a king. Couldn't care one bit for a wife he could feel nothing for when Katarina was constantly moaning his name. He would dissolve into nothingness many times before crossing the threshold, male perfume mixed with the scent of flowers and musk reserved for women. It was his preserver of sanity, the fragment of hope, that made him survive another night away from her embrace.

There was a routine that came to life in order to maintain peace, and you almost got used to the hints of it, the repetitions. But the peace never lasted, and neither did the tranquility.

You had wished you could have declined the invitation to that dinner. You even went so far as to decline your father's in-law request and hung up without regret. You were still at work, fully scrubbed for an upcoming surgery. Nothing urgent, but you didn't want to cancel on your patient as a favor to your family or your husband's, and you were not in the mood for fake pleasantries and scenarios about a happy marriage. "I'm sorry. I will try to make it next time, Mr. Kim."

It was a little over fifteen minutes before your phone rang again. Without the giant digital clock calculating the time remaining in the surgery and the time of the anesthesia, you would not know the exact time. You inspected the device, ready to turn it off without giving the unknown caller a chance to present himself until the ringtone stopped and a message lit up on your phone's display.

"9 PM. Don't be late if you don't want to see him struggle again."

Your heart pounded loudly as you reached for your hair cap and took it off in frustration. The glass wall represented what was behind closed doors: heavy rain and cloudy weather, a replica of your head.

You needed no explanation when the first threat arrived, though you were not sure who had sent it. For all you knew, it could be your father; he hated Jimin from the beginning. Torturing him was nothing he had not already done. But when the unknown number rang again, you were not sure who to blame anymore.

You never would have left Jimin if it hadn't been for your father. He had made the man's life unbearable to an immeasurable degree. He had never been able to come to terms with the idea that you were with a normal boy from a poor background. This had hurt him deeply. He had always expected something greater from you, something of importance for his business, for your future. When you came home linking hands with a man who could barely afford to buy a pair of shoes, your father lost the last vestige of sanity.

Your father didn't shout, didn't insult him, nor you. In fact, he was so kind that you thought he had blessed your relationship with his acceptance. And you remained inattentive until Jimin's absence from school became worrisome and repetitive. He was the top of the class, the brightest, with a remarkable attendance record that made him class president. Every time you entered the class, you were alarmed because his chair was empty.

A few months before you decided to leave home, you had found out what your father had done to him. A shell of a broken person who had no more dreams, he had left him. The school had accused him of sexual harassment, relying on tapes from his dance class that were completely innocent and beyond reproach. He had already left town by the time you figured out the deal, and when you gathered your courage to meet him, fled the school to catch the bus, and leave town, you realized what your father had broken.

Part of you left home because of what your family had done to Jimin. Something you thought would stop as soon as you disappeared from their sight. But it didn't. Jimin never found mercy in your father's punishment. When you were studying, he was rejected from college. When you struggled to keep up with your part-time jobs, he wished the struggle could be his so he could pay his sister's tuition. And with each additional struggle, Jimin made sure that he escaped you before he escaped your father.

The phone felt cold against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you clutched it tightly. No word came from the other side as you waited, losing patience as time wore on. And just when you decided enough was enough, as curiosity got the better of you, a stranger's voice filled the line. "Don't be late, Miss Lee. I don't want to hurt him."

The look you cast at the glass wall was forlorn, solemn, and unaided. You sensed your struggle before his, your weakness. Jimin never asked for your help, never signed for your downfall either, and yet here he was, submitting to the consequences of your stubbornness.

"Let's not keep the sweet lover from his work. Change your clothes and meet me in ten, Miss Lee."

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