Chapter 9:- Damaged Control
568 Words
The morning after tasted like guilt.
Not because I regretted the kiss.
But because I didn’t.
Jungkook had already left the room by the time I woke, as if distance could erase the way his lips had claimed mine beneath starlight. The sheets were cold. The air, colder. I sat up slowly, fingers brushing my own mouth like I could still feel the weight of his.
I replayed the kiss in my head. Again. And again.
And again.
Until it ached.
The kitchen in the villa was quiet when I padded in. He was already there, mug in hand, scrolling through something on his phone. His jaw clenched the second he looked up.
"Morning," I said, voice tentative.
He nodded, not meeting my gaze. "There’s a press dinner tonight. We need to look convincing."
So we were back to that.
Back to acting.
"About last night—"
"Shouldn't have happened," he said too quickly, too stiffly. "We crossed a line."
I stared at him, heart tight. "So what? We just go back to pretending it didn’t mean anything?"
His eyes finally met mine. And for a moment, just a flicker, I saw it—the panic, the hunger, the ache. But it vanished behind his CEO-mask.
"It was a mistake, Y/N."
I swallowed hard. "You didn’t kiss me like it was."
Silence stretched between us like a blade.
That evening, we walked into the press dinner arm in arm, all smiles and soft touches, the perfect power couple. But the space between our fingers felt like oceans.
Cameras flashed. Journalists buzzed. Champagne clinked in crystal flutes. I smiled, laughed, leaned into his shoulder like nothing was broken beneath the surface.
Halfway through, while pretending to be enthralled by a story from some investor’s wife, Jungkook leaned down and whispered into my ear, his voice barely a breath:
"Stop looking at me like you’re hurt."
I blinked up at him. "Maybe because I am."
His jaw clenched. "You knew the rules."
"You broke them first."
He looked away, shoulders tight. The cracks in his armor were starting to show again, but this time he was trying harder to patch them up.
Later that night, back in the suite, I sat at the edge of the bed, slipping off my heels, when the door clicked behind him. He stood there in his suit, looking as exhausted as I felt.
"You didn’t deserve that," he said quietly. "Earlier."
I looked up.
"It wasn’t just the kiss," I said. "It was how you made it feel real. And then you pretended it wasn’t."
He walked forward slowly, like every step toward me cost him something.
"I’m scared, Y/N."
My breath caught.
"Of what?"
He sat beside me, hands clasped. "Of how much I want you. How easy it is to forget that this marriage has an expiration date."
I turned to face him. "Then don’t forget. Let’s stop pretending. Stop fighting it."
His eyes searched mine. He lifted a hand, brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb lingered at my cheek.
"What happens when the contract ends?"
I leaned into his palm. "We rewrite the terms."
He didn’t kiss me that night.
But he stayed.
Curled beside me.
Fingers interlaced.
Hearts beating a little too loud in the quiet.
And for the first time since this charade began, the silence didn’t feel like war.
It felt like peace.
- Writer
