Bitter Honey Vows

The silk of my wedding dress whispered against the leather seat of his car. I pressed my palm to the cool glass, watching Seoul blur past in a smear of neon and rain. Kim Taehyung sat beside me, his hand resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric. He smelled like sandalwood and something darker, something I couldn't name.

I turned to look at him. The streetlights caught his face in flashes, honey skin and that fall of dark hair, those eyes that always seemed to hold a secret I wanted to be the one to unlock. He caught me staring and smiled. That soft, boyish smile that made my chest ache.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"No," I said. And I wasn't. I was married. To him. After two years of dating, of him being the perfect gentleman, opening doors, remembering every small thing I mentioned, holding my hand like I was something precious. My father had approved. My father had been thrilled. A Kim marrying a Patel, two empires colliding in a wedding that made the business papers.

I thought I was the luckiest woman in Seoul.

The car pulled through iron gates that opened without a sound. The mansion rose before us, all dark stone and warm light spilling from tall windows. I'd been here before, but never as his wife. Never as someone who belonged.

He helped me out of the car. His hand was warm, his grip firm. I leaned into him as we walked up the steps, and he let me. He even pressed his lips to my temple. I closed my eyes and breathed him in.

The hallway was lined with art. His art. Dark canvases full of broken things and bleeding colors. I'd always thought they were beautiful, but tonight they felt different. The way the shadows fell across the paintings made them look like they were watching.

His hand left my back.

I turned. He was already walking ahead, his shoulders set, his stride longer than before. Not the gentle amble of the man who had held my hand in the car. Something harder. Something colder.

"Tae?" I followed him up the stairs, my heels clicking on the marble. "Is everything okay?"

He didn't answer.

The master bedroom was enormous. A bed that could swallow two people whole, curtains the color of blood, a balcony that looked out over the Han River. I'd imagined this room. I'd imagined us in it.

I stepped inside and turned to face him, arms open for a hug.

He didn't move.

"Taehyung?"

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. That soft smile was gone. In its place was a flat, hard line, and his eyes, those eyes I'd drowned in a hundred times, were empty.

"You think this is real?" His voice was low. Not the warm baritone that sang to me in the dark. Something scraped raw. "You think I wanted this?"

My arms dropped. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped into the room and the door clicked shut behind him. The sound was final. Like a lock turning. Like a cage closing.

"I spent two years playing a role," he said. "Two years being the man your father would trust. The man you would love." He said the word like it tasted bad. "Every kiss, every date, every time I told you I loved you. All of it. A performance."

The room went cold. I felt it in my fingers first, then my chest, then my throat. "That's not true."

"You don't know me." He walked past me, slow, circling. "You know the character I wrote. The gentle artist. The soulful lover. The man who would never hurt you." He laughed. It was ugly. "I spent months studying you. Learning what you needed. What you'd fall for."

I couldn't breathe. The silk of my dress felt like a shroud.

"Why?" The word came out small.

He stopped in front of the window. The river glittered below, indifferent. "Your father destroyed my family. Took everything. My uncle's company. My father's reputation. My mother's sanity." He said it flat, like he was reading a report. "He didn't just ruin us financially. He ruined us. My father drinks himself to sleep every night. My mother hasn't left her room in three years."

I shook my head. "My dad wouldn't. He's not like that."

"He's exactly like that." Taehyung turned to face me. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists at his sides. "And you're his payment. His daughter. The thing he loves most." He took a step toward me. "I'm going to take you apart. Piece by piece. And he's going to watch."

I backed up until my legs hit the bed. "You're insane."

"Maybe." He kept coming. "But I'm also your husband. Legally. Bindingly. Your father signed everything over when he agreed to the merger. Your name is on the papers. Your life is in my hands."

I wanted to run. But the door was behind him. The windows were three stories up. And the man I thought I knew was standing in front of me with murder in his eyes and something else, something worse.

Hunger.

He reached out and grabbed my chin. His grip was bruising. He tilted my face up, forced me to meet his gaze. Up close, I saw the cracks in the mask. The rage. The grief. The want.

"You're going to hate me," he said. "Before this is over, you're going to hate me more than you've ever hated anyone."

Tears burned my eyes. I hated that I was crying. I hated that my voice shook when I spoke. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know." His thumb traced my jaw. Gentle. Cruel. "I want you to know exactly who I am before I destroy you."

He let go. Stepped back. His expression shifted, the anger settling into something colder, more controlled.

"Get changed," he said. "You sleep on the floor tonight. Tomorrow we start the real work."

He walked to the door and paused. Didn't look back.

"Welcome to your marriage, Yashasvi."

The door closed. The lock clicked. And I stood in my wedding dress in the middle of his room, shaking, my hands pressed to my mouth, the silk wet with tears I couldn't stop.

I had walked into this house holding his hand.

I didn't know if I would ever walk out.