Red room
770 Words
Voices reached me before consciousness did.
Low. Controlled. Male.
"…she's waking up."
The words slid under my skin.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Red light flooded my vision—dim, heavy, oppressive. The smell of alcohol and smoke clung to the air, sharp enough to sting my nose. I could hear music somewhere far down a corridor, distant and distorted, like a heartbeat behind walls.
I was slumped in a leather armchair.
Red. Expensive. Soft.
A large mirror on the wall beside me showed a version of myself I barely recognized anymore.
Dark brown hair falling loose around my face, clear skin now marked with fear instead of studio lights. The kind of face people recognized—posted on billboards, screens, magazines.
Tonight, it meant nothing.
I was still wearing black suit pants and a white blouse, stained with some blood from the man I stabbed in his leg. Clothes meant for meetings and cameras. Not for being kidnapped or murdered.
Across the room, men sat spread out on red leather couches, legs crossed, glasses in hand. No masks. Dark suits. Polished shoes. They looked like businessmen—but there was nothing respectable about the way they watched me.
Predatory. Patient.
"…thought she'd start panicking by now," one of them said quietly.
My breath hitched.
I tried to move.
The room tilted violently and I gasped, jerking upright. Panic surged through me as I pressed my back against the chair, dragging my knees up, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
"Don't come closer!" I shouted.
The sound echoed.
One man stood immediately.
"Sit," a voice cut in.
The man froze—then sat back down without a word.
The owner of that voice stepped forward.
He didn't rush. Didn't soften his expression. He moved like he had all the time in the world.
Tall. Broad. Dressed in black. His presence alone shifted the air in the room. When he stopped a few steps from me, the red light caught his face.
Cold eyes. Sharp features. No warmth. No hesitation.
I shrank back instinctively.
"You're awake," he said.
Not a question.
I stayed silent.
He studied me like an object. Like a calculation.
"You know where you are?" he asked.
"A club," I snapped. "Red room, alcohol, and wannabe businessmen?"
One of them scoffed.
The man in front of me lifted his hand.
Silence fell instantly.
He looked back at me. "Good. You're not as fragile as they said."
"They?" My stomach twisted. "So you are involved."
He didn't deny it.
"You already know about the bounty," he said flatly.
"Ten million won."
My jaw clenched. "My face is on every window in this city. Hard to miss."
"Yes," he replied. "And yet you're still breathing."
"For now," I shot back.
A corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile. Something colder.
"For now," he repeated.
I pushed myself further into the chair. "If you're here to collect, then do it."
The room went quiet.
One of the men shifted uncomfortably.
The man in front of me tilted his head slightly, studying my face more closely now. "You don't beg."
"I don't give men like you the satisfaction."
That earned me a long look.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He turned his head slightly. "Leave us."
No hesitation. No questions.
The men stood immediately and filed out of the room. The door closed behind them with a dull click, muting the music even more.
Just us.
"You're calmer than most," he said. "Most people cry by now."
"I already cried," I replied. "Back in my apartment. When a man tried to stab me, and then being kidnapped by some freaks on top of that."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Gone just as fast.
"You should be grateful," he said. "You're alive because of me."
My fingers dug into the leather. "You brought me here."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He stepped closer.
I held my breath.
"Because keeping you alive," he said quietly, "is currently more profitable than killing you."
Ice spread through my veins.
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
"Boss," one of the men said, tense. "They're getting impatient."
The man didn't look away from me. "Tell them the package is ready."
"Yes, boss."
The door shut.
Package.
The word echoed in my head.
He straightened, adjusting his cuffs. "Rest," he said. "We move soon."
"Move where?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He met my eyes.
"To someone who is waiting for their package to be delivered."
And for the first time since waking up—
I realized I wasn't rescued.
I was delivered… to someone far more powerful.
- Writer
