The hum of activity returned to my work, and minutes later, Taehyung excused himself from the room. A few moments later, RM and Jimin approached me, engaged in hushed conversation.
RM turned to me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Amle, I’ve misplaced my phone. Could you help me look?”
“Where did you last have it?” I asked, already scanning the room.
RM hesitated. “Here, I think. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll search myself.” He began to meticulously comb through papers and folders.
“Okay,” I agreed, watching him. Jimin, meanwhile, unearthed a scrapbook tucked away on a shelf. His face lit up with delight.
It wasn’t his birthday, not for another three days. Jimin, oblivious to the surprise planned for him, proudly showed the scrapbook to the others. Taehyung’s expression clouded with disappointment that the secret was revealed prematurely.
After a time, I checked on RM. “Did you find it?”
He nodded, a relieved smile breaking across his face.
Taehyung, who had been silently observing, reacted with a surge of frustration. He’d overheard the conversation about the scrapbook, his carefully laid plans disrupted.
At that moment, I was on a video call with my mother. As Taehyung stormed back into the room, he slammed the door shut with such force that it echoed. He stood before the mirror, his breathing ragged, a visible tremor in his hands. The heat of his anger flushed his skin, and he seemed to lose control, consumed by a desire for retribution.
He turned on me, and without warning, pressed a kiss to my lips. I was utterly unprepared, and my phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. I pushed him away, a cry escaping my lips. “What are you doing?”
He didn't respond, simply turned and left. As I stared at my phone, I realized I was still on the video call. Panic seized me, and I collapsed to my knees. I tried to reach my mother, but she didn’t answer.
I wept, her voice ringing in my ears. I scrambled to call my sister, and she picked up as she was walking into her house. But I couldn’t speak, only sob.
“What’s wrong, sister?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
My mother, overhearing, snatched the phone from her hand. Her voice, cold and devoid of emotion, sliced through me. “She’s dead to us now. Don’t ever call her again.”
The words shattered me. I sank to the floor, my heart splintering into fragments. The room spun, and the weight of her betrayal suffocated me. I was left with nothing but a broken heart and the echo of her cruel words.
--- For those who are eager for the next installment of this story, I promise it will appear in two days at the same time. Thank you for your continued support.