BANG
Han Yeijin had always been a daughter first, a person second.
A reflection of the perfect image her father crafted.
A symbol of purity, grace, obedience.
A prop in his carefully curated world.
She was seen when necessary—smiling beside him at charity galas, bowing politely in front of flashing cameras, wearing soft pastel dresses that made her look untouchable, untarnished.
The perfect daughter of the perfect Minister.
But that was all she ever was.
A well-behaved doll behind glass.
Kept away from the real world.
Kept away from the truth.
And now?
Now she was living in hell.
Because of him.
Because of her father.
Because he had left her behind.
Because instead of facing his own sins, he had chosen to sacrifice her.
And because of Kang Minjae.
Because he had found her, stolen her, and decided she was his to keep.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the thin blanket around her shoulders, her body curled up against the cold sheets of the bed.
If she could even call it a bed.
The room she had been locked in for days was bare.
No windows.
No clocks.
No sense of time or day or night.
Just four walls, a door that was never unlocked, and the suffocating weight of isolation.
The only piece of furniture was the bed she sat on.
No chairs.
No table.
Not even a fucking mirror.
As if she didn't even need to see herself anymore.
As if she didn't exist outside of this cage.
And the worst part?
Even the bathroom wasn't hers.
She had to knock.
Ask permission.
Be escorted.
Her throat tightened at the thought.
How humiliating.
How degrading, to not even have the basic dignity of privacy.
She curled in on herself even more, pressing her forehead against her knees.
This wasn't life.
This was punishment.
But for what?
What had she done?
Was it because of her father?
Because of his debts? His sins?
Did that make her guilty by blood?
Did that make her deserve this?
Her nails dug into her arms, pressing against her skin hard enough that it almost hurt, but she didn't stop.
Because maybe if she pressed hard enough, the pain would remind her she was still real.
That she was still here.
That she hadn't disappeared.
That she wasn't just some forgotten thing Kang Minjae had locked away, waiting for him to decide whether she lived or died.
A soft, shaky breath slipped past her lips.
Her throat was dry.
She was hungry.
She hadn't eaten much.
They brought her food, of course. Regular meals, placed on the floor before the door shut again.
Like feeding a stray dog.
But she never ate more than a few bites before her stomach twisted with nausea, and the thought of finishing the rest made her want to vomit.
She didn't even know if it was hunger anymore.
Or just something deeper.
Something like grief.
Something like fear.
Her gaze flickered toward the heavy door across the room.
Locked.
Always locked.
And outside?
The shadows that moved back and forth, the soft murmurs of guards posted outside her door.
A reminder that she was never alone.
Even when she wanted to be.
Even when she wished she could just fade into nothing.
Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her nightgown.
Would she die here?
Would she ever see the sky again?
Would she ever breathe without feeling like she was suffocating?
Or would she just rot away in this room until Kang Minjae decided she wasn't worth keeping?
A shiver crawled up her spine.
She didn't know which was worse.
How many days had passed?
She didn't know anymore.
Time had blurred into something unrecognizable, meaningless.
There was no sunrise.
No sunset.
No rhythm to mark the passing of time.
Just this room. This prison.
And the suffocating weight of knowing that outside these walls—
Her life was still waiting for her.
Her university.
Her friends.
Her boyfriend.
Her breath hitched.
Taejoon.
Had he noticed she was gone?
Had he called her?
Sent messages?
Gone to her apartment looking for her?
Or was he still waiting, assuming she was busy?
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers curling into the sheets.
Would he even believe it?
Would he believe that she had been taken, locked away like an animal, forgotten by the world?
Would he even try to find her?
Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.
She missed him.
God, she missed him.
She missed his voice, his warmth, the way he used to wrap his arms around her when she was tired, his stupid jokes that weren't even funny.
She missed normalcy.
Her life had been boring before this.
Quiet. Simple.
And now?
Now she was locked in a room where she had to ask permission to go to the bathroom.
She felt sick.
Would she ever go back?
Would she ever sit in a lecture hall again, surrounded by classmates?
Would she ever drink coffee at her favorite café, walking through campus like she had all the time in the world?
Would she ever curl up in her apartment, scrolling through her phone, texting Taejoon goodnight?
A lump formed in her throat.
No.
No, she couldn't accept this.
There had to be a way out.
There had to be something she could offer.
Minjae—Kang Minjae.
Her captor.
The man who held her life in his hands.
He was a businessman, wasn't he?
A man who dealt in power, in wealth, in things he could use.
Maybe… maybe if she gave him what he wanted, he would let her go.
Her inheritance.
The money her father had set aside for her.
She didn't even know how much it was, didn't care. It didn't matter.
All that mattered was freedom.
If she offered it—would he take it?
Would he let her walk out of here?
Would he let her go home, let her fix this nightmare and pretend it never happened?
Her breath was shaky, uneven.
Hope was dangerous.
But what other choice did she have?
She had to try.
She had to believe there was still a way out.
Because the alternative?
The alternative was too terrifying to accept.
She couldn't be trapped here forever.
She wouldn't.
Would she?
Her fingers clenched around the sheets, nails digging into the fabric.
She had to try.
Before it was too late.
Before Kang Minjae decided she was never leaving.
༺♰༻
Kang Minjae laughed.
Not just a chuckle. Not a smirk.
A full-bodied, genuine laugh.
The kind that rumbled deep in his chest, rich and mocking, filling the room like an echoing reminder of how utterly pathetic he found this moment.
Han Yeijin sat across from him, small, trembling, fragile—her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white.
Her head was bowed, her shoulders tense, as if making herself smaller would somehow make this easier.
And still—her voice had been steady.
"I'll give you my inheritance" she had whispered, each word deliberate, careful. "All of it. Just… let me go."
And that?
That had been the funniest thing Minjae had heard in weeks.
So he laughed.
Because she truly had no idea who she was dealing with.
He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, fingers tapping against the polished wood of the desk.
Yeijin flinched at the sound.
Good.
She should be afraid.
Because what the fuck was she thinking?
Did she really believe that money—her little fortune, the trust fund her father had left in her name—meant anything to him?
A few billion won?
Please.
He spent more than that in a week just cleaning up messes like this.
"You think I need your money?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.
Yeijin didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just sat there. Frozen.
His smirk widened.
"Let me guess" he mused, tilting his head, "you think this is about money, don't you?"
Silence.
Then—slowly, hesitantly—she nodded.
His grin sharpened.
Pathetic.
Minjae exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair as if this conversation was physically exhausting him.
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Still, she didn't look up.
It pissed him off.
"Tsk." He clicked his tongue, then leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, closing the distance between them.
"Look at me, Yeijin."
She didn't.
His eyes darkened.
"Now."
A sharp inhale.
Slowly—so painfully, reluctantly—she lifted her head.
Big, glassy blue eyes.
Eyes that had once been full of life, full of privilege, full of things he had never been allowed to have.
Now?
Now they were hollow.
Scared.
He liked them better this way.
His smirk softened—just slightly, just enough to make her more afraid.
"Sweetheart" he drawled, voice almost gentle, "I'm still deciding when and how to put a bullet in your pretty little head."
Her breath shattered.
She jerked back instinctively, fingers curling tighter into her lap, eyes going impossibly wide—a deer caught in the sharp glint of a hunter's knife.
Minjae lifted a hand, index finger pressing against his temple.
And then—
"Bang."
The whispered mimic of a gunshot snapped through the air, soft but merciless, his finger curling like a trigger.
Yeijin flinched so hard she nearly fell off the chair.
Minjae chuckled.
"Relax" he murmured, dropping his hand. "I wouldn't waste a bullet on you just yet."
Her lips parted, something desperate, something breathless trying to claw its way out of her throat.
He waited for it.
Waited for her to beg.
Waited for her to plead, cry, break.
Instead—
"What do you want from me?" she whispered, voice hoarse, cracked, but still standing.
Minjae exhaled slowly.
Now that?
That was a better question.
What did he want from her?
Her father.
Her useless, cowardly fucking father.
The man who had chosen his own survival over hers, who had thrown her into the fire just to save his own miserable skin.
He was still out there.
And without his precious daughter, he had no reason to come crawling back.
Minjae smirked.
"Daddy needs to pay his debts" he murmured. "And without you, that wouldn't be possible."
Yeijin's breathing shook.
"I—" She swallowed, hard, struggling to get the words out. "He's not coming back."
Minjae sighed, stretching out his legs.
"Then you better pray I stay entertained."
Because the moment he got bored?
She was gone.
And that?
That terrified her more than anything else.
Good.
She should be scared.
Because Kang Minjae wasn't a businessman.
He wasn't a savior.
He was a wolf.
And she?
She was just a little dove with broken wings, trapped in a cage she would never escape.
Yeijin's breath was shallow, uneven, her hands trembling in her lap as she stared at him, wide-eyed and desperate.
She already knew the answer.
But still—still—she had to ask.
Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"B-but if I help you… you'll kill him."
Minjae didn't blink.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't offer even a second of false comfort.
"Yes, yes, I'll kill him."
Yeijin's body jerked, as if the words had been a physical blow, as if saying them aloud had made them real.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing fast, erratic.
"No—" she whispered, shaking her head, like she could erase what had just been said.
Her father.
Her father.
The same man who had left her behind.
The same man who had disappeared without looking back.
The same man who had chosen his own survival over hers.
And yet—
"He's still my father!" she choked, her voice rising, strained, panicked. "How could I—?"
Minjae tilted his head, watching her, fascinated.
How adorable.
Even now.
Even after everything.
After he abandoned her.
After he let her be taken.
After he didn't even bother to send someone to look for her.
She was still trying to hold onto him.
Pathetic.
He exhaled, dragging a slow hand through his hair, annoyed now.
"Sweetheart" he murmured, voice smooth but mocking, "isn't it a little late to be playing the devoted daughter?"
Yeijin's head snapped up, her lips parting, her face twisted with something raw, broken.
Minjae smirked.
"Let's be honest, hm?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping into something softer, darker, more cruel.
"If he cared about you, you wouldn't be here."
Her breathing stuttered.
"You wouldn't be locked in a room, begging for scraps."
Her hands curled into fists.
"You wouldn't be sitting in front of me, offering up your little inheritance like a good, obedient girl—"
"Shut up."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Minjae raised a brow.
Oh?
Interesting.
He leaned back, arms draping lazily over the chair, amused now.
"I hit a nerve, didn't I?"
Yeijin's body shook, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.
"Shut up."she whispered again, her voice breaking.
Minjae chuckled.
"But it's true."
Her breath shattered.
He watched her, letting it sink in.
The truth.
That no one was coming for her.
That her father had left her to rot.
That the only reason she was still breathing was because Kang Minjae found her interesting enough to keep alive.
She inhaled sharply, her body rigid, her chest rising and falling too quickly.
She was breaking.
Good.
But not enough.
Not yet.
He leaned forward again, slow, deliberate.
His voice dropped just above a whisper.
"Tell me, Yeijin" he murmured, mocking, amused.
"When was the last time he called you?"
Silence.
The kind that stretched.
Suffocated.
Made it impossible to breathe.
Minjae watched her carefully.
Her lips quivered.
Her eyes shone.
She was trying so hard to hold onto something that no longer existed.
To a father that never really saw her as more than a liability.
Pathetic.
Minjae sighed, rubbing his temple, almost bored now.
"Blood is just blood, sweetheart." he said finally.
And then—
"Get over it."
That did it.
Yeijin let out a soft, choked noise, her shoulders shaking.
And then, without another word—
She stood up and ran.
Or tried to.
The moment she moved, the moment her foot slipped from beneath the chair, Minjae was already in front of her.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her body jerked to a stop, her breath catching as she found herself caged in, his presence overwhelming, suffocating.
She didn't dare look up.
Didn't dare meet his gaze.
Because if she did—
She might actually shatter.
Minjae exhaled slowly, dragging a hand along the back of his neck, mildly irritated now.
"Sit down, Yeijin." he murmured.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Her chest rose and fell, her hands trembling by her sides, but she didn't move.
Minjae's jaw ticked.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Still, she stood there.
Shaking.
And for the first time—
She wasn't afraid of him.
She was angry.
She was furious.
Minjae watched, intrigued, as her entire body trembled—not with fear, but with something closer to rage.
He had torn away the last thing she had left.
The last illusion.
And now—
Now she had nothing.
His lips curled.
Good.
Maybe now she'd finally start to understand.
That the world wasn't kind.
That people weren't loyal.
That love and family were just illusions for the weak.
And Han Yeijin?
She wasn't weak.
Not anymore.
She just didn't know it yet.