"Bang!"

The sound explodes through the hallway of the hospital’s fifth floor. People freeze. A few gasp, a couple of nurses drop their clipboards, and some rush forward to help the man you’ve just slammed against the wall. His body slumps to the floor, groaning in pain.

You step forward, jaw clenched, eyes cold.

“Touch any of my team again,” you say, voice sharp as a scalpel, “and next time, you’ll be eating dirt off their soles.”

The crowd stiffens. Some stare in disbelief. Some in awe. You don’t care. You turn your back to the chaos and walk toward the junior resident who’s trembling behind the nurse’s station. Her hands are shaking, eyes wide with fear.

“Come here,” you say gently.

You wrap your white coat around her shoulders and guide her to your office. Inside your cabin, you make her sit on the small leather couch by the window.

“You okay?” you ask, lowering your voice.

She nods, lips pressed tight, still visibly shaken.

“Take a few days off,” you suggest. “You’ve been through enough today.”

She nods again and quietly excuses herself.

Thirty minutes later, the door to your office bursts open.

You barely have time to turn when the same man storms in and slams the door shut behind him. He twists the lock.

His eyes blaze with rage and humiliation. His shirt is half-untucked, a cut bleeding near his eyebrow. He steps forward slowly, fists clenched, voice low and venomous.

“What do you think you’re doing, lady?” he growls. “You don’t know who I am. And humiliating me? That was your biggest mistake.”

You say nothing. Just stare at him calmly.

“I’m Seo Jin-wook,” he hisses. “Right hand of the mafia boss who owns this hospital.”

He lunges, gripping your neck with one hand, his face inches “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be,” he smirks. His other hand rises, brushing through your hair before yanking it tight in a fist. You wince slightly but say nothing.

Then he shoves you against the wall.

He pins one of your arms above your head, his other hand daring to wander—too far.

Enough.

You slam your knee up into his groin. He groans, stumbling backward in pain. You grab the side vase from your desk and smash it over his head. The ceramic shatters on impact. He hits the ground, clutching his head, blood starting to drip.

You unlock the door, step out, and call for security.

Two guards arrive within seconds. But as they see who’s lying on the floor, their steps falter.

“Drag this trash out,” you order.

Neither of them moves.

The man slowly pushes himself up, wiping blood from his mouth. He staggers forward. His voice is low, but deadly.

“You’ve just signed your death warrant,” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re on your knees. Right here. In front of the same crowd.”

You step closer, your face calm.

“Do it,” you say. Then flick his forehead hard enough to make him flinch.

You shove him back and walk out. Your colleagues stare at you, wide-eyed.

“What the hell did you just do, Yn?” one whispers.

You wipe the dust off your sleeve.

“He tried to harass me,” you reply. “What did you expect me to do? Smile?”

Another mutters, “He works for the mafia… his boss funds this hospital…”

You scoff.

“So?”

“You should apologize,” someone pleads. “He could ruin you.”

You turn your head slightly, eyes sharp.

“Let’s see who ruins whom.”

You sigh, checking the clock on the living room wall for what feels like the hundredth time. 11:34 p.m.

He promised.

"I'll be home by 7:30, baby. Sharp. No delays this time."

You scoff softly under your breath and rise from the couch, stretching out your stiff legs. The TV plays quietly in the background, casting flickers of light across the room. You head toward the kitchen, muttering something about reheating dinner for the third time tonight.

Just as you reach for the microwave, the front door opens with a soft click. A figure slips in—silent, smooth, practiced. Quick enough to avoid anyone noticing.

But not you.

“Stop right there.”

Your voice echoes through the dimly lit room, sharp and commanding.

The figure halts mid-step.

The great Kim Taehyung, CEO of the largest conglomerate in Seoul and second-in-command of Korea’s most feared mafia group—freezes. For a moment, he looks like a high schooler caught sneaking in past curfew.

You flick on the lights.

You step forward slowly, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“What time is it?” you ask, voice low. “Seven-thirty? Like you promised?”

Taehyung gulps. “B-Baby, l-last minute meeting came up. I-I was just about to—”

You raise your palm without a word. He shuts up immediately.

Turning away, you walk to the kitchen and call over your shoulder, “Go freshen up. I’ll heat up dinner. Now.”

He scurries away like a puppy that just got scolded for chewing on the wrong slipper.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns—clean, in pajamas, hair damp. He finds you already at the table, eating quietly, not even sparing him a glance.

He raises an eyebrow. Aha. A small opening.

He pulls out the chair next to you with flair. “Yah, how many times have I told you not to wait for me to eat you dinner—”

He stops mid-sentence when you slowly raise an eyebrow.

“Were you saying something, Mr. Kim?”

He swallows thickly and slides into the seat beside you, laughing nervously. “No, nothing at all, baby. I was just saying… I love you. So much. And thank you! For this delicious food.” He flashes his most charming grin.

You nod without responding and keep eating.

A beat of silence passes before he clears his throat. “So… how’s the hospital going?”

Your hand pauses mid-air. You haven't told him yet. Not about the incident a month ago. Not about the board meeting. Not about how your medical license has been temporarily suspended.

You force a small smile. “It’s going well.”

He doesn’t catch the lie in your voice. You’re still trying to handle it alone. You want to fix it your way.

After dinner, you clean up in silence. Then you walk toward the bedroom, Taehyung following closely behind like a tail-wagging retriever.

Until—

Whump!

A pillow and blanket slam against his face as the bedroom door shuts in front of him.

“Do you really think,” you call from inside, “that after making me wait all night, I’m letting you into this room?”

You hear his defeated whimper.

Then your voice softens, just slightly. “Good night, hubby.”

You smile as you click the lock.

Outside, Taehyung mutters into his pillow, “She’s scarier than half the underworld."

Taehyung slumps on the living room couch with a dramatic sigh, arms spread out like he just fought a war. His hair’s a mess, shirt wrinkled, and exhaustion paints his face.

“I should’ve married you instead,” he mutters to the ceiling. “I’ve slept beside you more this month than with my actual wife.”

He pouts at the thought, but it quickly fades when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps.

Exactly thirty minutes later, the bedroom door creaks open.

You walk out half-asleep, wrapped in a thick blanket like a sleepy little cocoon, eyes barely open. You stumble toward the couch without a word and flop right on top of him with a sigh.

Taehyung lets out a soft grunt as your body crashes into his.

You melt against his warmth, sighing again. “You’re warm.”

He chuckles softly, adjusts the blanket around both of you, and pulls you in until you’re nestled perfectly against his chest. His fingers move to your hair, stroking it gently as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Why do you always want me home early these days?” he asks in a whisper.

You snuggle closer. “I want to go to the hospital with you.”

He pauses, confused. “Why? For what?”

“Just… for a check-up,” you mumble.

His hand stills. He quickly sits up and holds your shoulders. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay? We can go now—”

You grip his wrist gently and tug him back down.

“We’ll go tomorrow. I already took the appointment,” you say softly. “It’s not serious. Just routine.”

He watches you carefully, then nods, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

You both lie still, wrapped in warmth and quiet comfort.

And slowly, sleep takes you both under.

Your eyes flutter open to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains. For a second, you're confused—this isn’t the couch. You’re in bed, tucked under the covers, head resting on the pillow you swore you wouldn’t share last night.

You sigh quietly.

He moved you here.

Of course he did. Kim Taehyung—the man who leads with both power and softness. Mafia underboss outside, stubborn husband inside.

You sit up, brushing sleep from your eyes, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The blanket slides off your shoulders and pools at your waist. It still smells faintly of him—cologne and warmth.

After a long stretch, you move through your usual routine: brushing, washing, tying your hair loosely into a bun, slipping into a light beige sweater and black slacks. You pat down your pockets, grabbing your phone just as a notification pings.

It’s from the hospital’s appointment app.

Your check-up has been confirmed. 11:30 a.m. | Dr. Min Ji-soo | Seoul Medical Center

Pick-up: 10:40 a.m. from KTH Group HQ entrance.

You blink at the screen, then frown.

KTH HQ? He arranged for you to be picked up from his office?

You glance at the time. It’s just after 10. If you hurry, you can get there before the car even arrives.

Without wasting another second, you grab your bag, slip into flats, and head out.

As soon as you step onto the grounds of KTH Group Headquarters, the watchmen at the entrance straighten and bow instantly.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kim,” one of them greets, smiling warmly.

You pause and smile back, recognizing the older man.

“How’s your daughter doing, Mr. Park?” you ask gently.

His face lights up like the morning sun. “She got into Yonsei University, ma’am. Full science scholarship!”

You nod with a pleased expression. “I’m glad. Tell her to keep going. She’s got the spark.”

He bows again, his eyes a little misty. “It’s all thanks to the fee help you gave last year. We’ll never forget it.”

You nod once more and continue walking, steps graceful but sharp, heels tapping against the polished floor.

The receptionist desk comes into view.

You slow down.

A familiar face looks up from behind the counter. Seo Jin-wook.

The man who had the audacity to grab you.

He stands stiffly for a second, not recognizing you immediately.

“Hello, ma’am. What can we—”

He stops mid-sentence. Recognition flashes in his eyes. His smile twists into something venomous.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls under his breath, leaning slightly over the counter.

Then, suddenly, he straightens, smirks, and says, “Wait. You’re here to apologize, aren’t you?”

His eyes rake over your body without shame.

“I’ll forgive you,” he sneers, “but only if you spend the night with me.”

You let out a short scoff, head tilting slightly.

Seriously? In your husband’s company building? In front of the reception desk?

You lean in, voice low but deadly calm. “I thought you were the right hand of a mafia, Mr. Seo.”

Your eyes flick down at his uniform, lips curling.

“But here you are—checking ID cards at the front desk.”

You click your tongue twice. “Tsk. Too bad.”

You turn your back on him without waiting for a response and walk straight to the private elevator, hips swaying with elegant defiance.

Just as your finger hovers over the button, a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back, his grip tighter than necessary. You don’t flinch.

If anything, you smirk.

This is entertainment.

Your life has been boring lately. Taehyung hasn’t stirred drama outside of the bedroom in weeks. No late-night shootouts, no warehouse brawls. You missed this kind of spice.

“Do you have an appointment?” he spits.

You yank your wrist back smoothly and raise an eyebrow.

“No. I don’t need one.”

He scoffs. “Still walking around like you’re above everyone, huh? That arrogance will get you killed, princess.”

You smirk. “No worries. My husband kills better.”

Seo Jin-wook glares at you, his pride already bruised, but his mouth still bold.

“What are you, huh? One of his bed warmers?”

You smile slowly, the kind that makes men feel like they’ve just stepped on thin ice in a storm.

You lean in, voice low and venom-laced.

“Only thing warm I’ve ever been is the fire under worthless insects like you.”

Just then, the elevator dings.

The tension breaks as a man steps out—well, more like skids out, nearly tripping over himself in excitement.

Jin-wook bows at a sharp 90 degrees the moment he sees the man.

But the man ignores him completely, walking straight past without even a glance.

Instead, he goes directly to you and pulls you into a tight bear hug, wrapping you in his large arms. His body practically swallows your smaller frame.

You sigh into the hug.

Then pinch his arm—hard.

“Ow!” he yelps, wincing. “Noona!”

But before he can recover, Jin-wook explodes.

“Are you crazy?! How dare you hurt him?!”

He grabs your arm roughly and starts dragging you toward the entrance. “I don’t care if you’re the boss’s side fling or someone else’s whore! You don’t lay hands on my tea-”

Before you can reach the end of the hallway, a gunshot echoes through it.

Bang!

Jin-wook drops to the floor with a cry, clutching his leg. Blood seeps through his suit pants. Chaos erupts in the lobby.

Jihoon lowers his gun.

Still hugging the weapon like a toy, he shrugs and walks over casually.

You roll your eyes. “Tch. You just ruined the show.”

Jihoon grins and pulls you into another hug.

“Noona,” he whines, dramatically wiping invisible tears, “your old man yelled at me. Called me names. Look how badly he treated your poor dongsaeng.”

You cup his face with a sigh. “Did he?”

He nods with a fake sob.

“Well then,” you say, turning on your heel, “time to throw trash out of my house.”

You march through the building, heading straight to Taehyung’s office. No knocking. No waiting.

Thud!

You slam the doors open like thunder rolling through a silent sky.

Inside, Taehyung sits at his desk, mid-call. He pauses, expression unreadable then he continues to talk.

Jihoon follows you in, dragging a limping Jin-wook behind him like an offering at an altar.

Jihoon just grins and pats his sister on the shoulder.

“I brought you entertainment, noona. Just sit back and enjoy.”

And just then;

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

Your voice thunders through the office like a grenade. Taehyung visibly flinches, head snapping up as his full name echoes off the walls.

You stomp toward him, “Did you just raise your voice at my baby?!”

Taehyung glances between you and Jihoon—who now stands proudly beside you, grinning like a kid who just got chosen first in dodgeball.

“Baby, he ran into a rival’s house. Barehanded,” Taehyung explains, voice strained. “No backup. No weapons. Nothing but vibes!”

Jihoon pouts. “That’s a lie. I had a penknife.”

Taehyung throws his hands up, slumping onto the couch like a defeated man. “See?! This is what I’m dealing with.”

You turn sharply to Jihoon, eyes narrowed, your tone dead serious. “You ran into a rival’s house alone?! What were you thinking?! You’re not in a drama, Jihoon!”

The younger man gulps, the grin fading quickly from his face. He slowly turns to Taehyung with a hint of betrayal on his face.

“I just wanted to scare them…” Jihoon mutters under his breath, shrinking under your glare.

Before you can continue your lecture, a low groan cuts through the tension.

Jin-wook.

He shifts on the floor, holding his injured leg, blood still seeping.

Taehyung’s expression turns cold. The teasing is gone.

Jihoon’s smile drops instantly.

The mood in the room shifts like a knife pulled from velvet—suddenly sharp.

Taehyung stands slowly, his face unreadable. “Call the medical team.”

Jihoon straightens beside you, looking at Taehyung with a shocked face.

As Jihoon disappears through the hallway, dragging a half-conscious Jinwook toward the medical wing, the door gently clicks shut behind him. The chaos fades.

Taehyung doesn’t waste a second.

He pulls you by the wrist, seating himself in his office chair and slipping you effortlessly onto his lap. His arms lock around your waist like a fortress. You don’t resist.

You feel his breath graze your collarbone as he nestles his face into your neck, inhaling deeply, almost tiredly.

His hand finds your stomach.

Gentle circles. Soft pressure. Protective touch.

“Do you think…” he begins, voice quiet, “you need to tell me something?”

You freeze for a second, but your shoulders drop. You let out a sigh, eyes glued to the window as the Seoul skyline burns under the afternoon sun.

“…Nothing,” you murmur, avoiding his eyes.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you speaks. The air between you is too full of unsaid words.

After a while, you turn slightly. “How did you find out?”

Taehyung chuckles lowly, but there’s no humour in it. He raises his head, gaze meeting yours. His thumb brushes under your eye.

“Baby,” he says, “that hospital belongs to me. You know that, right?”

You blink, startled.

He continues, tone even, “How could I not know when I sign every file? Including your license cancellation.”

Your eyes widen.

“They can suspend your license temporarily, sure. But to cancel it permanently?” He raises an eyebrow. “They need my sign before they can send it to the Health Ministry.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. His gaze pierces you—not angry, not cold, but… hurt.

You look away.

“I’m angry,” he says, softer now. “We promised, didn’t we?”

You nod slowly.

“We promised we’d share everything, that we wouldn’t hide things from each other.” He rests his forehead against yours. “But you didn’t tell me. I had to find out from someone else. Baby, that’s bad.”

You bite your inner cheek. The guilt bubbles in your chest.

“I barely see you at home,” you snap, not harsh but honest.

He blinks, stunned.

“You forgot?” you whisper, locking eyes with him now. “You come home when I’m asleep, you leave before I wake up. You spend more nights in this office than with me. When exactly was I supposed to sit you down and talk about the life growing inside me?”

He swallows hard.

Silence. Heavy. Real.

You see it now—the regret forming in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he mutters.

“And I didn’t mean to hide it,” you reply. “But when I held that test in my hands, I… I didn’t know what to feel. I needed a moment.”

He presses his lips to your temple, lingering there.

“Then let’s stop hurting each other,” he whispers. “No more secrets. No more silence. You’re not alone in this, baby. We’re in this together.”

You nod slowly, heart finally unclenching.

“You still angry?” you ask quietly.

He looks up with a smile, boyish and soft. “I was. But now… just feeling stupid for missing it. You glowed. I just didn’t see it.”

You roll your eyes but smile back, gently brushing his hair back. “You better not miss the next glow-up.”

He chuckles, pulling you in tighter.

“No chance,” he promises. “From now on, I see everything.”

And as for Jinwook?

He no longer had those hands.

The ones he used to touch you—the ones that disrespected you. Jihoon made sure of that.

No one talks about it, but everyone knows. In the underground world where rules are made in blood and silence, people learn fast. You don’t touch what belongs to Kim Taehyung. And you never mess with Kim Jihoon’s sister.

Later that night, you find yourself curled up on the plush grey couch in the living room, legs tucked beneath you, sipping warm barley tea. The soft glow of the floor lamp casts shadows on the walls, and your eyes linger on Jihoon, who paces the room like a man in crisis.

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!" he wails for the third time, voice echoing off the walls.

You cover your ears dramatically. “You say that one more time and I swear the baby will come out screaming in protest.”

Jihoon ignores your threat completely. He stops mid-step, plants his hands on his hips, then grabs a tissue from the box like a man who’s just received a life sentence.

He blows his nose loudly—too loudly.

Sniff. “So you're telling me… I’m gonna be an uncle?”

You nod cautiously.

Jihoon’s eyes fill again. “I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility, noona!”

“Jihoon, you’re not raising the baby—”

“BUT WHAT IF HE CALLS ME APPA BY MISTAKE?” he yells, his voice cracking like glass.

You groan and sink further into the couch, resting your hand on your stomach.

Jihoon flops beside you, his head falling into your lap, arms hanging limply like he’s lost the will to live.

“If it’s a boy,” he says through muffled sobs, “I’ll name him Thunder Punch Kim.”

You blink. “I beg your pardon?”

“And if it’s a girl…” He lifts his head, face glowing with excitement, “… Princess Rainbow Sparkle Kim.”

You blink again. “You want my child to get bullied before they even take their first breath?”

Jihoon looks betrayed. “What’s wrong with Rainbow Sparkle?”

“Everything,” you reply.

Across the room, Taehyung leans against the wall near the fireplace, arms crossed, shoulders shaking slightly. You glance at him.

He’s trying so hard not to laugh.

Jihoon narrows his eyes, spotting him. “YOU! Don’t laugh, you mafia husband man. This is serious.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in defense. “I’m not laughing.”

“You ARE,” Jihoon says, pointing an accusing finger, his eyes watery but full of fire. “Your nose crinkled. You always do that when you’re holding back laughter.”

Taehyung clears his throat. “Your name suggestions just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Jihoon sits up dramatically. “Fine, then YOU name the baby!”

Taehyung smirks. “Well, I was thinking something classic. Like… Jae.”

“Boring,” Jihoon deadpans.

“Yuna?” Taehyung offers.

Jihoon gasps. “Too pretty. The kid will outshine me in every family picture!”

You roll your eyes so hard they almost stay that way. “You’re not even in half the family pictures, Jihoon.”

He clutches his chest. “That’s because you crop me out!”

You smirk. “Because you keep photo-bombing in banana suits.”

He looks at Taehyung again. “See what I live with?”

Taehyung nods solemnly. “I married her, remember?”

Both men turn toward you with a weird sense of solidarity.

You stretch out on the couch, ignoring their dramatic glares, and smile softly. The weight of the last few days presses less heavily now. Despite all the chaos, there’s laughter in your home again. Family. Peace. A baby on the way.

Jihoon wipes his nose and stands. “You know what? I’m going to be the best uncle this world has ever seen. This kid will have matching suits with me. I’ll teach him judo. I’ll be his hero—”

“Jihoon,” you interrupt, “you can’t even do five pushups.”

“EMOTIONAL strength, noona! I meant emotional!”

Taehyung finally lets out a full laugh. Deep. Warm.

Jihoon points again. “There it is! The mafia husband laugh!”

You sigh and shake your head, but your heart is full.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.

But Jihoon grins proudly. “And still your favourite brother.”

You rest your hand on your stomach. “Well, not for long.”

“HEY!”

Taehyung leans over and kisses your temple. Jihoon groans loudly.

“I am never babysitting,” he mutters, grabbing another tissue.

But you know he will.

You all know he will.

THE END~