Cracks Beneath the Mask

The car ride back was quiet. Too quiet. Mr. Park didn’t scold, didn’t say a word, and that silence pressed heavier on Jimin than any outburst would have. He sat with his arms folded, the chain against his bare chest still cold from the night air. Yoongi’s words replayed in his head, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

Let’s see how long you last.

Jimin exhaled through his nose and leaned his head against the glass. He wouldn’t let Min Yoongi’s smug calmness get under his skin. He couldn’t.

Back at the Park mansion, he went straight to his room, ignoring the eyes of the servants and the faint sound of his uncle’s voice in the study. He dropped his suit jacket over the chair and sat at his desk. A blank sheet of paper stared at him. He picked up a pencil and started sketching rough lines—shapes without meaning, just something to pour the restlessness into. But every line came out sharp, jagged, like cracks across a glass window.

His hand stilled. The words returned again.

How long will you last?

He pressed the pencil so hard it snapped.

The next morning, he wasn’t spared. His uncle’s voice carried through the dining hall, smug and sharp as ever.

“You think dressing like a delinquent at such a dinner helps our standing? You’re lucky the Mins didn’t walk away entirely. Perhaps they still might.”

Jimin didn’t look up from his plate.

“If that’s what they want, they can walk.”

His uncle scoffed, but before he could retort, Mr. Park spoke quietly. “That’s enough.”

The quietness in his father’s voice hurt more than his uncle’s words. Jimin glanced at him and caught something in his eyes—not anger, not disappointment exactly, but a kind of tired weight. For the first time, Jimin wondered what else was tied to this marriage that he didn’t know.

He set down his fork. “If it’s only me they’re after, then they’ll be disappointed.”

His uncle gave a bitter laugh. “It’s always only you.”

—

At the Min estate, Yoongi sat with a glass of whiskey in hand while Seokjin leaned against the window with his usual amused smile.

“You didn’t tell me your fiancé had claws,” Seokjin teased.

Yoongi didn’t bother looking at him. He took a slow sip instead.

“He’s reckless,” was all he said.

But later, when he was alone, his mind went back to the look in Jimin’s eyes, the way his voice didn’t tremble even when the whole room was against him. Reckless, yes. But not weak. And that difference made Yoongi pause longer than he wanted.

—

It didn’t take long for another meeting to bring them face to face. Smaller this time, fewer people—some business talk about properties, land contracts. The kind of thing Jimin normally tuned out. But Yoongi was there, seated at the end of the long table, calm as always, black suit sharp and his gaze unreadable.

When Jimin finally spoke, it wasn’t to agree or nod politely.

“You mean expansion,” he said, cutting through one of Yoongi’s measured statements. “Not relocation. Don’t twist words just to make it sound cleaner.”

The room went stiff. Even Mr. Park’s hand twitched, as though warning him. But Yoongi didn’t flinch. He only looked at Jimin—quiet, steady, eyes darker than the ink across the contracts.

“You listen closely,” Yoongi said, voice even. “That’s good.”

Jimin’s lips twitched. “And I speak what I see. That’s better.”

Something flickered in Yoongi’s gaze. Not anger. Something else.

Later, when most had left, they crossed paths in the hall. Jimin tried to walk past without a word, but Yoongi’s voice stopped him.

“You keep burning like this, you’ll scorch yourself before anyone else.”

Jimin turned sharply, eyes locked on him. “Then I’ll burn brighter. And longer. Until there’s nothing left to silence me.”

For a moment, neither moved. Then Yoongi walked away, footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving Jimin standing there with his heart pounding against his ribs.

When he finally stepped outside for air, the night sky was wide open above him. A storm was building at the horizon, clouds stitched with lightning. Jimin tilted his head back, lips parting in a faint, bitter smile.

So this is how the game begins.

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