unseen ties

In the dim glow of the car's interior, a man in his early thirties sat with a rigid posture in the passenger seat.

Shadows played across his sharply defined jawline, casting a chiaroscuro over his dangerously handsome features. His fingers, adorned with a silver ring, pressed rhythmically against his temples, betraying the stress that clouded his thoughts.

Worry etched deep lines across his brow, revealing the storm raging within. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, tailored to perfection.

The light caught on a subtle piercing on his eyebrow, glinting with a hint of rebellion. His aura was dark and horrifying, a tempest of charisma and menace that could make anyone who faced him start to tremble.

Beside him, a woman whose gaze danced between impatience and concern studied his troubled expression. Her beauty was breathtaking, a stark contrast to the night that enveloped them.

She was clad in a black outfit that complemented her form, a blend of elegance and power. Her manicured hands with long, polished nails tapped on the steering wheel, breaking the heavy silence.

"Lance, can you stop worrying about her? She'll be fine," she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and reassurance.

Her facial features were a symphony of allure, from her high cheekbones to her full lips that held a promise of both danger and delight.

Yet, despite the man's dark aura, she remained unaffected, her presence an unyielding force that could weather any storm.

Lance's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to keep his roiling emotions at bay.

"I'm not worried about her, Andrea, I'm just..." His voice, usually so commanding, now wavered, trailing off into the shadows that seemed to press closer against the windows of the car.

The silence that followed was thick with his unvoiced fears, the kind that clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to spill forth.

Andrea's gaze lingered on him, her eyes a kaleidoscope of moonlight and empathy. "I know what you're worried about," she said, her voice a soothing balm laced with the strength of steel.

"But as I told you,... she promised me that she won't try to do anything stupid." Andrea's breath left her in a slow exhale, fogging the glass briefly before dissipating into the night.

She turned her attention back to the road, her eyes reflecting the flickering streetlights, a hint of doubt shadowing her features.

"Even I don't trust her in this matter, but I trust her promises." Her voice firmed, a testament to her unwavering belief. "She will never break her promise, and you know that, right?"

A heavy breath escaped Lance, his silhouette framed against the blur of city lights that raced by. "I'm aware, but still," he said, his voice a low rumble of frustration, turning back to face her.

His eyes, usually so piercing and confident, now echoed with a deep concern that seemed out of place on his formidable visage. "I've scoured every corner, every hidden haunt from last night till now, but she's vanished like a wisp of smoke."

He pondered aloud, the words heavy with the weight of his defeat, "Where could she have gone?"

Andrea's response came with a roll of her eyes, a bold gesture that few would dare in the presence of a man whose very name evoked fear.

Her smirk was laced with sarcasm, yet it held no malice-only the audacity of one who knew him too well. "And what makes you think you can find her against her will?"

Their conversation was severed by the piercing ring of Lance's phone. With a swift, predatory movement, he snatched it up, his voice deep and cold on the phone, "Speak"

Hearing the response, he let out a roar laced with incredulity. "WHAT THE F**K?!" The sudden ferocity of his voice caused Andrea to flinch, but only momentarily.

Lance's face twisted into a visage of pure fury, his aura darkening into something lethal, a testament to the danger he embodied.

Yet, Andrea remained as composed as if this were an everyday occurrence, her sigh barely audible as she refocused on the road ahead.

Lance's voice boomed into the phone, a thunderous sound that seemed to shake the very air around them.

"THEN WHAT THE F**K WERE YOU DOING? CAN'T YOU MANAGE SIMPLE TASKS WHILE WE'RE AWAY?"

His words were a barrage, a string of curses that painted the night with his wrath before he ended the call with a decisive click.

Andrea, her voice a mixture of concern and curiosity, pierced the silence that followed. "What's wrong?" Her tone was steady, unafraid, as if the storm of his anger was incapable of touching her.

Lance exhaled, a long, drawn-out breath that signaled the ebbing of his rage. "Her slaves, they've escaped," he admitted, his voice now grave, the earlier tempest of anger giving way to a somber reality.

In Andrea's presence, his anger could not sustain itself, she was his anchor, the calm in his storm. Despite the fury that still simmered within him, he fought to keep it at bay, to not let it spill over onto her.

She was the one person who could stand in the eye of his hurricane and remain unscathed, the one person for whom he would always strive to be better.

Andrea's reaction was immediate and intense. She slammed on the brakes, and the luxury car screeched to a halt, the tires protesting on the road. Lance's body lurched forward, the seatbelt biting into his chest. "What? What did you say?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic.

Lance took a deep breath, composing himself. If it were anyone else, he would have killed that person by now. But this was Andrea, his wife, and she had a hold on him that no one else did. He couldn't help but surrender to her.

Regaining his composure, he sighed deeply and looked at Andrea, her eyes fixed on him with a mix of shock and disbelief. Her brows were furrowed, her hand gripping the steering wheel tightly.

He took her small hand in his large one, caressing it gently. "You heard it right, Andrea. They both escaped," he said in his deep, husky voice.

Andrea's eyes widened in shock, her face clouded with disbelief. "They both escaped? How? That's impossible!" she exclaimed, her voice dropping to a whisper of dread.

"No, no, no this can't be happening!" she shook her head repeatedly, her mind reeling with the implications.

Andrea's mind raced with thoughts, her eyes fixed on Lance as she pondered every possibility of how the slaves could have escaped.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles white with tension, as panic constricted around her like a vice. Her hands shook as she reached out to Lance, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Could we have been nurturing a viper who helped them?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she considered the possibility. As she thought about the possibility, anger rose within her, her face flushing with indignation.

Lance observed her every movement, his gaze intent on hers. It was a rare sight to see the composed doctor so openly concerned. A tiny, almost nonexistent shallow smile appeared on his lips, a subtle sign that he was secretly enjoying her frustration.

Lance's words quenched Andrea's burning anger like a splash of water. "Do you think this is what you should be worried about right now?" he asked, raising one eyebrow, his voice calm and soothing, but laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Andrea looked at him, confusion giving way to realization. Panic seized her again, and she muttered, "We have to find them before she returns! Or else we're done for sure." She glanced back at Lance, who nodded in agreement.

However, Lance's tiny smile, which looked almost like a smirk, didn't escape her notice, and anger surged within her again. She started hitting him on the arm, letting out her frustration.

"This is all your fault! If we had returned yesterday like she told us to, we wouldn't be in this mess now!"

Lance caught her hands with one of his, grabbing her neck from behind, and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. His touch was gentle, a contrast to the urgency of their situation, his voice a low whisper. "Calm down, Andrea. We will find the slaves before she returns."

Andrea looked at her husband, unable to bear his intense gaze, and pushed him back. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths, calming her racing heart.

Meanwhile, Lance observed the faint marks of Andrea's nails on his hand, a testament to her earlier distress. He glanced at her, who was now trying to steady her breaths, and shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Wild cat!"

After a moment of contemplation, Lance asked, "How much time do we have? Did she mention when she'll be back?"

Andrea leaned back in her seat, recalling the conversation. "She was crying at first... then she instructed me abort the mission and return." Andrea turned to face Lance. "She said she'd come back after she's calmed down."

Lance repeated her words, mulling them over like a code to be deciphered. "After calming down... That means she won't return soon unless there's an emergency."

Andrea snapped her fingers, agreeing with his conclusion. "Yeah, right! Now all we have to do is catch those bastards as soon as possible." She reignited the engine with determination.

"Let's go back first," Lance suggested, earning a slight nod from Andrea. "Has our jet arrived?" he asked, but Andrea shot him a glare. "It has,"

she replied firmly, her focus returning to the road ahead. "It arrived yesterday." She shifted gears fiercely, her anger evident.

Lance regretted asking the question and chose to keep quiet, not wanting to provoke her further. Andrea retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm,

"If you weren't so preoccupied with your search for her yesterday, we might have made it back by now." With that, the car sped off into the night, racing towards their destination.

---

In the hushed tranquility of the VIP ward, Jungkook sat perched on the edge of a plush couch, bathed in the gentle embrace of the morning sun.

The rays filtered through the window, casting ethereal shadows that adorned him like a halo, an angelic presence in the soft luminescence. His gaze remained fixed on the girl lying there—a stranger, yet somehow not.

Her complexion, a stark contrast to the crisp white of the hospital pillow, bore the pallor of worry that had not yet faded. A faint furrow of concern etched itself between her brows, a silent testament to the battles waged within. The room, sterile and unyielding, resonated with the mechanical rhythm of the ventilator.

Jungkook had come to complete the hospital forms, not knowing that good news awaited him. The doctor informed him that last night there was movement in her body—a sign that she might soon wake up from her coma.

This possibility promised to dissolve many looming problems effortlessly. No fabricated identities would be necessary, nor would there be any dread of the media uncovering the accident.

Yet, uncertainty clouded Jungkook's mind. How would she grapple with reality upon waking? The unanswered questions about her past attempts to escape life's pain lingered heavily in the air. What if she had attempted suicide just because he had confessed his love for someone else?

As he watched her, a faint movement caught his eye. It was subtle, but to Jungkook, it was as if thunder had rolled through the quiet room.

Her lips parted, a muffled sound escaping them, a wordless plea that tugged at his heartstrings.

Her head turned from side to side, a silent refusal of some unseen nightmare. Her brows furrowed, etching lines of distress across her forehead.

He leaned in, drawn by a force he couldn't explain, his ear close to her lips to catch her faint words. "No… It can't be… No…" The distress in her voice was palpable, her body squirmed, a physical manifestation of her inner unrest.

Without a second thought, Jungkook reached out, his arms enveloping her in a gentle embrace.

"Shh…" he soothed, his voice a soft caress against the sterile backdrop of the hospital room. "It's okay. You're safe. Everything is fine now." His words were a gentle caress, a promise of protection.

His words seemed to weave a spell of tranquility, and slowly, her body ceased its restless movements.

Her expression softened, the lines of pain and fear smoothing away as she drifted back into the depths of unconsciousness. Jungkook held her, his own heart aching with a mix of relief and an inexplicable sorrow.

In the quiet of the room, the tension slowly dissipated as she found her peace. Jungkook, who had been a silent sentinel by her side, stood up, his movements gentle so as not to disturb the tranquility.

He walked back to his seat, his gaze drawn to the world outside the window. The city was waking up, but his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in a web of what-ifs and maybes.

The sudden chime of a notification sliced through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. He reached for his phone, the screen lighting up with a message from RM. The words on the display told him the fabricated identity for the girl was ready.

Now, it was time to fill out the form with this persona. He acknowledged the message, knowing the gravity of the steps he would have to take next.

Before he could sink further into his concerns, his phone rang again. It was Taehyung. In the early morning, Taehyung was back from his trip to Tokyo.

After learning about the accident from Jimin, he decided to accompany Jungkook in the hospital.

But still, he was not here. Maybe he was tired. However, Jungkook's response was curt, a reflection of his inner turmoil. Slipping on his earbuds, Jungkook answered, "I was waiting for you."