"Now, honey," Yaroslav said, his voice sickeningly sweet, "pick the goddamn spoon and drink the soup so that you can take your medications."
Beom's teeth ground together, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage. Honey? The mockery in Yaroslav's tone was infuriating, but the image of his sister was all he could think about. The idea of anything happening to her—because of him—was unbearable.
What am I supposed to do? he thought, his mind spiraling. If I don't drink the soup, he'll... he'll hurt her. But if I do, I'm giving in. I'm letting him win. I can't let him win. I can't let him control me like this. But... my sister...
A single tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, not wanting Yaroslav to see it. But it was too late. Yaroslav's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with triumph.
Beom glared at him with all the hatred he could muster, his voice low and hoarse. "You're a monster," he spat.
Yaroslav chuckled, leaning back in the chair with a satisfied expression. "Perhaps. But monsters always get what they want, Beom. Now, are you going to drink the soup, or are we going to have to make a call?"
Beom's gaze flickered back to the screen, his sister's peaceful face filling him with equal parts love and dread. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break everything in the room. But all he could do was sit there, paralyzed by the impossible choice laid before him.
Beom stood by the bed for a moment after Yaroslav left, his thoughts swirling in chaos. He had drained the soup, taken the pills, and let that monster walk away without so much as a fight. His jaw clenched tightly, his fists trembling at his sides. What am I doing? I need to figure this out. I can't stay here—I have to find a way out. But where am I? What even is this place?
The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind against the window. Beom's eyes darted toward it, and he quickly crossed the room, pulling back the curtain. The view outside only deepened his frustration. Snow-covered trees stretched out endlessly, their branches heavy with frost. The pale sunlight glinted off the ice, casting the forest in an almost magical glow. Am I in the middle of nowhere? Beom thought bitterly, his reflection faintly visible in the windowpane.
His breath fogged up the glass as he leaned closer, scanning for anything—a road, a building, a sign of life. There was nothing. Just endless white. No landmarks. No direction. Just... isolation. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This bastard has hidden me somewhere I can't escape easily.
Frustrated, Beom turned away from the window, his pacing starting anew. His footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet as he moved back and forth. I need to get out of here. But how? And what's waiting for me outside even if I do?
Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he made his way toward the door. The hallway beyond was breathtakingly luxurious, a stark contrast to the raw turmoil churning in his chest. The walls were lined with intricate moldings painted in soft creams and golds. Expensive-looking sconces cast a warm glow, illuminating the long corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions.
Beom's eyes roamed the space as he stepped further in, his bare feet soundless on the polished wooden floors. Where is this place? A mansion? A fortress? And why does it feel like a gilded cage?
At the end of the hallway, the space opened up, revealing a grand staircase. Beom froze for a moment, taking in the sight. The staircase was split into two, sweeping in opposite directions before spiraling down into what appeared to be the main hall. The bannisters gleamed with gold trim, and the crimson carpet draped over the steps was so plush it looked like velvet. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals sparkling like diamonds in the faint light filtering through the windows.
As he descended cautiously, Beom's eyes darted around, absorbing every detail. This place is a palace, he thought grimly, but it's as cold as the snow outside. He could hear faint sounds—maybe Yaroslav moving about somewhere. His pulse quickened. He needed to stay alert.
At the base of the staircase, Beom's gaze was drawn to the grand piano sitting in the corner of the hall. Its surface was a pristine white, gleaming under the light. A violin rested atop it, equally exquisite. The instrument was a striking shade of white as well, with intricate blue floral designs etched into its body. For a fleeting moment, Beom felt a strange pang of calm—it was beautiful, a piece of art more than a tool for music. But that calm was short-lived. Focus, Beom. Focus. This isn't a time to admire pretty things.
He moved into the main hall, his senses on high alert. The space was vast, with ceilings so high they seemed to reach the sky. The walls were adorned with large, framed artworks—classical paintings of landscapes and portraits, each more ostentatious than the last. A dining area was visible through an archway on the other side of the hall, and as Beom peered in, he caught sight of Yaroslav.
The man was at the far end, his broad figure silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in through the massive windows. He was pulling open the heavy curtains, letting more light flood the room. Beom froze, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Yaroslav's movements were casual, almost leisurely, as though he didn't have a care in the world. It infuriated Beom. How can he act like this? Like he hasn't ruined my life?
His fists clenched tightly at his sides as he took a cautious step back, retreating into the shadows. He needed to think, to plan. I can't let him see me wandering around. Not yet. I need to figure out how to use this place to my advantage.
"Where am I?" Beom demanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he glared at the man who had stolen everything from him.
Yaroslav's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You will understand when the time is right, Beom-ki," he said, his tone condescending, as though Beom were a child asking a foolish question. "For now, you should concentrate on your health."
The words made Beom's stomach churn, but it was what Yaroslav said next that shattered whatever fragile composure he had left. The man leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, predatory whisper. "Because I can't wait to fuck you through your new hole," Yaroslav said, his grin twisting into something far more sinister. He straightened, towering over Beom, his gaze predatory. "I can't wait to put my seed in you, Beom."
For a moment, Beom could only stare, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. Then, something inside him snapped. A bitter, angry laugh burst from his lips, though it was devoid of humor. It was sharp and broken, a defense mechanism against the overwhelming horror that threatened to consume him.
"Seed?" Beom spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief. "How the hell will I get pregnant? I don't even have a womb!" His words were defiant, but his voice wavered, betraying the fear lurking beneath his anger.
Yaroslav's grin didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider, more malicious. "Oh, you sure have one, Beom," he said, his tone calm and patronizing, as though he were explaining something painfully obvious. "Do you really think I'd go through all the trouble of having this surgery done without first running every test and scan on your body? You're so naive."
Beom's breath hitched, his chest tightening as a wave of nausea rolled over him. A womb? How? The thought spiraled in his mind, threatening to drag him into a pit of despair. When I was younger, the doctors told me I didn't have a womb or a uterus—none of those things. Were they lying? Or did Yaroslav somehow… He couldn't finish the thought. It was too horrifying, too impossible to comprehend.
His mind raced, questions and fears colliding in a chaotic whirl. Does this mean I was born with it and never knew? Or did he do something else to me? What even am I anymore? The thought struck him like a blow, and he felt a deep, overwhelming sense of loss. I'm not even myself anymore. He's taken everything from me—my body, my freedom, my dignity. Am I just…a thing now? A vessel for him?
Beom's knees felt weak, and he had to grip the edge of a nearby table to steady himself. His thoughts turned darker, more desperate. Is this what women go through? Is this what it feels like to be reduced to nothing but a body, a means to an end? His heart ached with empathy for anyone who had ever felt this powerless, this trapped. But the realization only deepened his despair. I don't want to be a baby machine. I don't want this. I didn't ask for any of this!
Yaroslav's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, snapping him back to the present. "You should rest, Beom," Yaroslav said, his tone suddenly matter-of-fact, as though they hadn't just had the most horrifying conversation of Beom's life. "I don't want any complications with your body. The doctor will be here tomorrow to check on you."
And with that, Yaroslav turned and walked away, leaving Beom alone in the suffocating silence of the room. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him barely registered as Beom just stood there in the hall.
Rest? How the hell am I supposed to rest after that? After everything he's done to me? His body trembled with suppressed emotion, his fists clenching tightly. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can't take this anymore. I have to find a way out, but how? How do I escape someone like him?
He looked out the window, the snowy landscape outside offering no comfort. Instead, it only reminded him of how isolated he was, how far away freedom felt. He clenched his jaw, his tears finally spilling over as he whispered to himself, "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep living like this."
Beom stood there, frozen, his hand still gripping the cold doorknob of the locked entrance. His chest heaved with anger and desperation, his thoughts a chaotic storm. How did he end up here? How did it come to this—trapped in the middle of nowhere with a monster who seemed to delight in breaking him piece by piece?
"Where are you going?" Yaroslav's deep voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and commanding. Beom turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Yaroslav descending the grand staircase with deliberate, almost taunting steps.