Elsa's POV

The wedding was supposed to be the start of something beautiful.

I remember the way Jungkook looked at me when we said our vows—his dark eyes locked onto mine, his voice deep and steady as he promised forever. His fingers traced over my skin as he slid the ring onto my finger, his grip firm, almost possessive.

"I do" he said before the officiant pronounced us husband and wife.

It should’ve been the happiest moment of my life.

So why did it feel like something was off?

The way he held my hand as we walked out of the grand venue—tight, unyielding. The way his jaw tensed every time someone congratulated us, like he was barely holding something back.

I told myself it was just nerves, that maybe he was overwhelmed. Marriage was a big step, right?

But when we reached his house—our house now—everything changed.

Jungkook barely spoke to me as we walked inside. The moment the doors shut behind us, it was like a switch flipped. His warmth disappeared. The man who had whispered sweet things to me in front of hundreds of people was suddenly... distant.

He didn't touch me. Didn't look at me.

Instead, he grabbed his phone, his expression darkening as he read something on the screen. Without a single word, he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

And he didn't come back.

For two days.

I kept checking my phone, waiting for a message. A call. Anything.

Nothing.

I told myself he must be busy with work. He was an important man, after all, a CEO of One of biggest Companies. There had to be something urgent that pulled him away.

But deep down, something inside me twisted. A gnawing feeling that wouldn't leave.

Because no matter how powerful his job was—no matter how important—what kind of husband leaves his wife alone right after their wedding?

And why did it feel like he was running from me?

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I remember our memories, I remember his Face, the way he Looked at me like I am something special.

His promises echoed in my head, but now... it felt hollow.

Sitting on the couch infront of Television I thought.

Was I imagining things? Was I being paranoid?

I didn’t want to believe that but this uneasy feeling is not leaving me.

My chain of thought break when the front door creaked open and my body stiffened.

I turned quickly, relief rushing through me—until I saw him.

Jungkook stood in the doorway, shoulders tense, his White shirt crumpled and half undone. But what made my stomach drop wasn’t his exhausted expression.

It was the blood.

Dark smears covered his shirt, staining the fabric like an omen. His knuckles were raw, bruised, and his bottom lip was cut.

I gasped, rushing toward him. "Jungkook—oh my god, what happened? Are you hurt?"

His eyes flicked to me, sharp and unreadable. "Go to bed."

Go to bed?

"Are you serious right now?" I reached for his hand, trying to check his injuries. "You’re covered in blood! Tell me what happened—"

He pulled away.

Not just pulled away. Ripped himself from my touch.

"I said go to bed, Elsa"

My breath caught.

The coldness in his voice felt like a slap.

For the first time since we met, I saw something unfamiliar in his eyes. Something darker.

"Jungkook…" I swallowed, trying to stay calm. "Talk to me. You're scaring me."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I'm not doing this right now."

"But we need to—"

"Damn it, just drop it!"

His voice exploded through the room, raw and sharp.

I flinched.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. My heart pounded, a thousand emotions colliding at once—hurt, confusion, something dangerously close to fear.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling heavily. But he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften.

For the first time, I realized…

I married a stranger.

And I had no idea what I had just walked into.

Jungkook's POV

She flinches.

The moment the sharpness of my voice cuts through the air, she shrinks back, her lashes fluttering as her eyes grow glossy. But she doesn’t let a single tear fall.

Instead, she bites her lip, steadies herself, and whispers, "You can yell at me later. Let me clean it first."

I don’t move. I don’t fight her.

I should. I should shove her away, tell her to stay the fuck out of it, remind her of the walls I’m trying to keep between us. But when she takes my hand—when her small, warm fingers curl around my wrist and pull me toward the couch—I let her.

She makes me sit, kneeling in front of me, and I don’t look away as she pulls out the first-aid kit. She doesn’t ask what happened again, doesn’t question why I came home covered in blood. She just presses her lips together, blinking rapidly as she dabs at my wound with shaking hands.

She’s holding back tears.

And fuck, it makes something inside me twist.

I swallow hard, watching the way her brows furrow, the way she keeps her head down as if she’s afraid of looking at me too long. Afraid I’ll push her away again.

She should be.

Because she doesn’t know the truth.

She doesn’t know that I married her for revenge.

She doesn’t know that her father betrayed my father, that this marriage was never meant to be anything but a way to make him suffer. She doesn’t know that I had every intention of using her to break him but instead.

I fell for her.

Somewhere between the late-night conversations, the way she always waits up for me, the soft way she says my name, the way she looks at me like I’m worth something… I fucking fell.

And I hate it.

Because if I let myself love her, if I let myself keep her, it means betraying everything I swore I’d do. It means disappointing my father. It means letting go of the revenge or that's what my father told me Until I find out that that's not the complete story. But i couldn't do anything until I find the truth.

So I do the only thing I can.

I keep my distance.

I shut her out.

I hurt her.

But tonight, as I watch her take care of me—watch her hold back the tears I don’t deserve—I start to wonder if I’m really strong enough to keep doing this.

She finishes wrapping my hand, her fingers lingering for just a second before she pulls away. I expect her to say something, to ask something, but instead, she just stands up and walks away, her back straight, her head high.

And I let her.

Because

it’s easier that way.

To be continued…