Served in Silence (ch~4)

Morning didn’t feel warm.

It never did in this place.

Your eyes opened slowly, the faint light slipping through the curtains falling across your face. For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your body still, your mind quiet.

Not peaceful.

Just… empty.

The memories were still there. Your grandmother. The fear. The pain.

But the tears didn’t come this time.

You had nothing left to cry.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up. Your body ached, every movement reminding you of yesterday, but you ignored it and walked toward the bathroom.

The water ran over you, warm and steady.

For a moment, it felt like relief.

Like everything could be washed away.

But it couldn’t.

Nothing here was that simple.

You stepped out after a few minutes, drying yourself quietly. And then you paused.

You had no clothes.

Your eyes moved around the room until they landed on the bed.

A white shirt.

Neatly placed.

Your brows furrowed slightly.

“Did someone leave this here…?”

You didn’t think too much. You couldn’t afford to.

So you picked it up and wore it.

The fabric was soft, oversized. It slipped over your body, the sleeves covering your wrists, the hem falling mid-thigh. It smelled faintly clean… unfamiliar, yet oddly comforting.

You tied your damp hair loosely and stepped out.

The hallway felt different today.

Not empty.

Servants moved around quietly, guards standing at their usual spots.

But the moment you stepped out—

Their eyes turned to you.

You felt it instantly.

The stares.

The silent whispers.

You kept walking, ignoring them, your expression blank.

But one person didn’t look at you like the others.

The old maid.

She stood near the corner, her soft eyes meeting yours. Relief flickered across her face—but then her gaze dropped to your shirt.

And something changed.

A quiet surprise.

A silent understanding.

You didn’t notice fully.

You just kept walking.

Inside his office—

Jungkook stood near a large table, files spread in front of him.

His expression was cold. Focused.

Untouchable.

“Shipment arrives tonight,” one of his men said.

Jungkook nodded once.

“And the deal?”

“Handled.”

A pause.

Then Jungkook spoke, his voice low, calm—but dangerous.

“Any mistake… and you won’t get a second chance.”

The man swallowed slightly.

“Yes, boss.”

Jungkook didn’t react further.

Didn’t soften.

This was who he truly was.

Not the man who argued with you.

Not the one who almost smiled.

This was someone else entirely.

The kitchen felt oddly quiet when you entered.

You moved slowly, preparing food again, your hands still a little weak but steadier than yesterday. You focused on the simple rhythm—cut, stir, breathe.

Trying not to think.

Trying not to remember.

Footsteps.

You didn’t turn immediately.

But you felt it.

His presence.

Closer.

He stopped.

And for a moment…

There was silence.

Different from before.

You frowned slightly and turned.

And there he was.

Looking at you.

Not cold.

Not sharp.

Just… staring.

Like he forgot something.

Your brows furrowed.

“What?” you asked.

That snapped him back.

His expression hardened instantly.

“What are you wearing?”

You blinked.

“Clothes.”

His jaw tightened.

“I know that. That’s mine.”

You looked down.

Then back at him.

“Oh.”

A pause.

Then casually—

“Then don’t leave it lying around.”

His eyes darkened.

“Take it off.”

You stared at him.

“…seriously?”

“Yes.”

“And wear what?” you tilted your head slightly. “Your ego?”

Silence.

For a second—

he didn’t respond.

Then—

“Brainless bunny.”

You froze.

Slowly turned toward him.

“…you just called me that again?”

He crossed his arms.

“If it fits.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still wearing my shirt.”

You stepped closer slightly despite your weak body.

“And you’re still talking like I stole it.”

A pause.

Then you smirked faintly.

“Relax, icy prince.”

His gaze sharpened instantly.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” you shrugged lightly. “It suits you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does,” you repeated, more amused now.

He exhaled sharply, clearly irritated.

“You talk too much.”

“And you don’t talk enough,” you shot back. “Balance.”

For a split second—

his lips twitched.

So slight.

So fast.

But you saw it.

Your eyes widened slightly.

“…you almost smiled.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

He stepped closer.

Dangerously close.

“Keep pushing,” he said quietly, “and you’ll regret it.”

You held his gaze.

Not backing away.

“Then stop reacting,” you replied.

Silence.

Thick.

Charged.

You placed the food in front of him.

“Eat.”

Your tone was flat.

Tired.

He looked at you for a second… then sat.

Took a bite.

Chewed slowly.

“It’s better,” he said.

You crossed your arms.

“I didn’t cook for compliments.”

“And yet you’re waiting for one.”

“I’m waiting for you to finish so I can sit.”

He glanced at you again.

Then continued eating.

After a moment—

“You’ll clean again.”

Your shoulders dropped slightly.

“…of course I will.”

“The whole mansion.”

“And what else?” you muttered.

“The garden.”

You looked at him.

Blank.

“You really don’t get tired of this?”

“No.”

You let out a small breath.

“Figures

*At garden

You stood in the garden, a cloth in your hand, cleaning slowly.

The air here felt lighter.

The scent of soil, leaves, flowers—it reminded you of home.

Of your grandmother.

Your hands slowed for a moment.

A small ache formed in your chest.

But you forced yourself to continue.

From the distance, a servant approached quickly.

“The inside cleaning will be handled,” he said. “Boss’s order.”

You frowned slightly.

“…what?”

Before you could question it further—

Footsteps.

You turned.

And there he was.

Walking toward the garden.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t acknowledge you.

He simply walked past, calm as ever, and stopped near the plants.

Then—

He picked up a watering can.

And started watering them.

You froze.

Your eyes followed his every movement.

Careful.

Slow.

Gentle.

The same hands that—

Killed.

Threatened.

Controlled.

Were now adjusting leaves, pouring water like it mattered.

Your brows knitted slightly.

“A devil… who loves plants,” you muttered under your breath.

Your gaze stayed on him.

Since the day you arrived…

He came here often.

You had noticed.

And now—

It made even less sense.

Your lips moved unconsciously.

“Is his life hidden inside these plants… the way demons hide their life in something fragile?”

A faint, confused smile touched your lips.

“Strange…”

“Say it louder.”

You froze.

Your head snapped toward him.

He hadn’t turned.

Still watering the plants.

But he heard you.

Of course he did.

“…nothing,” you said casually.

Now he turned.

Slowly.

His eyes met yours.

Sharp.

“You don’t look like someone who says ‘nothing.’”

You crossed your arms slightly.

“And you don’t look like someone who waters plants.”

A pause.

“And yet,” he replied calmly, “here I am.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he poured water slowly over another plant.

“Because unlike people…” he said quietly,

“…they don’t betray.”

Silence.

Your expression shifted.

That line carried weight.

You studied him.

“They also don’t lie,” you replied softly.

His hand paused for a fraction of a second.

Then continued.

“They don’t need to.”

You stepped slightly closer, ignoring your weakness.

“Or maybe they just don’t have a choice.”

Now he looked at you fully.

Your eyes locked.

Something shifted.

Something deeper than anger.

Then—

“You’re done cleaning?” he asked.

The moment broke.

“No.”

“Then finish it.”

You sighed.

“Of course.”

You turned away.

But your thoughts didn’t leave him.

He’s not just a monster…

And that thought—

Was dangerous.

Hours later—

You stood in the hallway, mopping the floor slowly.

Your body was already exhausted again, but you kept going.

Back and forth.

Focused.

Until—

Footsteps.

You didn’t turn.

You knew.

And then—

He walked across the freshly cleaned floor.

Dirty shoes.

Mud.

Ruining everything.

You froze.

Slowly looked down.

Then at him.

“…seriously?”

He stopped.

“What?”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I walked.”

“You ruined it.”

He shrugged slightly.

“Clean it again.”

Your grip tightened on the mop.

But you said nothing.

You started cleaning again.

Harder this time.

More force in your movements.

A few minutes later—

Again.

He walked across it.

Same way.

Same mess.

You stopped completely.

“…don’t,” you said quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that again.”

“Or?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Or I won’t clean it.”

Silence.

Then—

He stepped forward.

And did it again.

Slow.

Deliberate.

That was it.

You lifted the mop—

And threw it toward him.

It landed near his feet.

“You clean it,” you snapped.

And walked away.

Without looking back.

Behind you—

He didn’t react immediately.

Just looked at the mop.

Then at the floor.

Then at you.

And for a brief second—

A faint amusement crossed his face.

“So stubborn…” he murmured.

A guard stepped forward.

“Sir—”

“Clean it.”

“…sir?”

“I said clean it.”

The guard nodded quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

Later—

You lay on the bed again, exhausted.

Barely able to move.

The door opened quietly.

The old maid entered, carrying a tray.

Her eyes softened when she saw you.

“Oh, child…”

She sat beside you gently.

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” you whispered.

“You are,” she said softly. “You just don’t feel it.”

She lifted the spoon.

“Come on.”

This time…

You didn’t resist much.

You let her feed you slowly.

Carefully.

Like you mattered.

Tears slipped down your face silently.

She noticed.

Her hand rested gently on your head.

“Let it out,” she whispered.

And you did.

Quietly.

After a while, she spoke again.

“You know… you’re the first girl he has ever brought here.”

Your eyes shifted toward her.

“…what?”

She nodded.

“I’ve been here for years. I’ve never seen this before.”

“Then why me?” you whispered.

She paused.

“That… I don’t know.”

A moment passed.

“But maybe,” she added softly, “there’s something about you he hasn’t figured out yet.”

You shook your head faintly.

“That’s impossible.”

She smiled gently.

“You’d be surprised.”

Outside—

He stood again.

Listening.

Thinking.

Watching.

Your voice.

Your defiance.

Your strength.

“She should have broken…” he muttered.

But you hadn’t.

And that—

was becoming something else.

🖤

“She wasn’t weak…”

he realized quietly, watching you from afar,

“…she was enduring.”

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