Jaemin stood in the middle of the sprawling property, his eyes scanning the construction site as workers moved around him. The site was a mix of muted gray cement and colorful materials. Despite the workers' progress, Jaemin's mind was already envisioning what it would become: a sanctuary, a space meant to function as more than just a home. It would be a place that could break Sooah out of her emotional cage, a place where her worsening condition could hopefully find some reprieve, where the walls around her mind could crumble a little at a time.
Every detail of the new house had been carefully chosen, from the design of the large windows to the garden paths that wove in and out of vibrant, fragrant flowers. The house was bright, designed to feel open and inviting. It was a balance of form and function, with rooms bathed in natural light, airy and spacious. The roof would be adorned with beautiful creeping vines, and the front yard would be filled with carefully planted greenery, including a tree that would bloom bright pink flowers every spring, symbolizing hope.
Jaemin had always been meticulous, and this home would reflect his desire for control. It wasn't just about the physical design; every element was tailored to trigger feelings of security, serenity, and, most importantly, a chance for Sooah to step outside of her mental prison.
But deep down, Jaemin knew this wasn't about saving Sooah from herself anymore. It was about control. It was about pushing her to come out of her shell—physically, mentally, emotionally—and force her to fight her demons. The house had been designed as a kind of psychological engineering. The spaces had been carefully crafted to invite her into the outdoors, to make her want to spend time in the lush gardens or on the large terrace that overlooked the mountains in the distance. This place would be her new sanctuary, a space where she could heal... or where she could finally confront her deepest fears.
Jaemin's emotions had hardened into something almost mechanical. He had grown exhausted from the endless cycles of therapy, the endless hours of trying to force Sooah to take responsibility for her own healing. He couldn't do it anymore. It was as if their marriage was another prison—a prison he had built for both of them, brick by brick.
Days later, the house was ready, gleaming and alive with color. The rooms were furnished with modern pieces but kept soft tones to make everything feel welcoming. Even the kitchen had a vast window that looked out over the garden, a way to feel close to nature while being indoors.
Jaemin stood in the doorway of their old home, watching Sooah as she stood at the foot of the stairs, her body tense and uncertain, just like the first time they had met.
"We're moving," Jaemin said, his voice cold but steady. His face was unreadable, his eyes steely. There was no room for argument.
Sooah blinked, almost as if she hadn't heard him. "What?" she whispered, her gaze shifting to his. The words had not yet settled in her mind.
"I'm moving," he repeated, this time with more finality. "The new house is ready. And you're coming with me, whether you like it or not."
Sooah took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself in an instinctive gesture of self-protection. "I don't... I don't want to. I... I don't want to leave this place."
Jaemin's lips thinned. "This place is nothing but a cage for you, Sooah," he said, his voice low but sharp. "You don't go outside. You don't interact with anyone. It's only making things worse. The house is already set up—designed specifically for you. You'll have the space to breathe, to walk around, to see the garden. And maybe, just maybe, you'll feel like you're not suffocating."
Her gaze dropped to the floor, a sad resignation creeping across her features. She wanted to protest, to retreat further into her cocoon, but the last few months of struggling, of being trapped in this emotional void, had slowly pushed her to the edge. Every part of her had been conditioned to need Jaemin's affection, to seek his approval. She was desperate. Her body screamed for something that felt real, that felt like love—something that would tether her to the world she feared.
Jaemin's eyes remained cold and unwavering, his stance rigid as he watched her every move. There was no compromise in his tone, no softness in his words.
"If you want to stay with me, if you want to live with me, you'll come. I'm not asking. This is what we're doing. This is your choice: come with me and move forward, or stay behind and remain trapped in this self-made cage."
Sooah swallowed, her throat dry, her heart racing. A small, defeated sound escaped her as she looked up at him, her voice barely audible. "I'll come."
Jaemin nodded curtly, a strange sense of finality in the gesture. The decision was made. There was no turning back.
The next day, they packed their things, and Sooah followed Jaemin, step by step, to the new house. Every step she took, every movement she made, felt heavy and reluctant, but Jaemin remained silent, never once acknowledging the emotional toll it took on her. The house was large and overwhelming, with wide open spaces and rooms that seemed to stretch endlessly. It was bright and filled with life—just as he had designed it.
As they entered the living room, Sooah stood still, taking in the new environment. The sunlight poured in through the large windows, casting a golden glow over the space. The scent of fresh flowers and greenery from the garden wafted inside. It was meant to feel peaceful, soothing, but to Sooah, it felt alien. She wanted to flee, but there was no escape now.
Jaemin turned to her, his eyes intense, as though waiting for a response.
"Well?" he asked.
Sooah hesitated, unsure how to respond. The walls of her own mind seemed too tall to climb, and yet... and yet something in her stirred. Maybe it was the plants in the corner, or the gentle breeze that had filtered in from the terrace, but for the first time in a long while, she felt the tiniest flicker of something... hope?
But it wasn't enough.
She slowly sank into one of the chairs, her fingers curling into the fabric as she gazed at the view outside. The garden was beautiful, the flowers bright and inviting, and yet she felt nothing. No warmth, no urge to explore. Just an overwhelming, crushing numbness.
Jaemin, standing by the door with his arms crossed, observed her carefully. The home he had so meticulously crafted to break the chains that bound her was not working. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to feel disappointment. After all, this was just another step, wasn't it?
This house would break her. And maybe, in breaking her, it would break him too.
The silence between them stretched on, heavy and oppressive, but Jaemin said nothing more. This, too, was part of the plan. The house, the space, the boundaries—they were all part of the careful manipulation he had designed. But deep down, he felt it. He was no longer trying to save her. He was just trying to escape from the trap that had now become his life.
And as he walked away to his study, leaving her alone in that vast, empty space, he couldn't help but feel a small, bitter realization: He was stuck with her. They were both trapped in this endless cycle, forever bound by their own brokenness.