The engagement to Sera was a high-society event, all champagne and flashing cameras, but for Y/N, it was just another layer of her nightmare. The ring on JK’s finger didn't stop the routine. If anything, the secrecy made it more frantic.

"I don't care if you're bleeding," Jimin would hiss, his voice thick with lust as he pinned her to the office desk. Squelch. He drove into her, the copper scent of blood mixing with their sweat. "I actually like it more this way."

They took her everywhere. In the back of the tinted limousine, in the sterile silence of the office, or in the dead of night when she thought she could finally sleep. Her body began to change under the relentless attention. Her breasts grew heavy and sensitive from hours of daily sucking, and her hips widened, her gait becoming heavy. People noticed. The whispers started in the hallways—cruel judgments about her appearance and her sudden, desperate clinging to JK.

The breaking point came with the client.

"Please, JK, I'm begging you," she sobbed, her forehead pressed against the cold floor of his study.

JK didn't even look away from his tablet. "He's a primary investor, Y/N. You're going to make sure he leaves this city happy."

The hotel room smelled of stale cigars and expensive cologne. The client was over fifty, with skin like parchment and a grip that left bruises. All night, Y/N was ruined, her cries ignored as the man used her body as a playground.

When she returned, the torment continued. If JK had a fight with Sera, Y/N paid the price.

Slap!

"You think I care about your tears?" JK roared, his palm landing hard against her backside. Slap! He didn't stop. He counted them out, one hundred stinging strikes that left her skin a violent shade of crimson.

Jimin sat in a nearby chair, leaning back with a wide, mocking grin. "Hahaha! Look at her face, JK! She looks like a broken doll."

After seven months of living in that gilded prison, Y/N found a sliver of opportunity. She stole a stash of cash and a fake passport, fleeing the country under the cover of a storm. She changed her name, moved to a distant city, and tried to scrub the feeling of their hands off her skin.

Back at the mansion, JK and Jimin didn't mourn her loss; they simply replaced her. They held "interviews" for a new assistant.

"Strip," JK commanded the latest candidate, his eyes cold and calculating.

The girl trembled but obeyed, exposing her breasts and pussy for their inspection. Jimin stepped forward, his gaze clinical. "She's a bit thin, but the chest is decent. Let's see if she can take it."

They fucked her right there on the office table to test her endurance. She was selected, serving them for another six months in a cycle of mindless pleasure.

But JK had never stopped looking for his original toy.

One afternoon, Y/N was walking home from her new job when a black SUV screeched to a halt beside her. Before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth.

She woke up in the mansion, the familiar scent of musk and expensive leather filling her nose. She tried to move, but her wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the bedposts with heavy leather straps.

"Missed us, sweetheart?" JK’s voice purred in her ear.