The Silent Vows | VSOO (18+)

The road stretches before us, winding through the dense trees. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the damp pavement slick from last night's rain. The weight of everything that has happened presses down on my chest.

Jisoo sits in the passenger seat, her profile barely visible in the dim glow of the dashboard. She hasn't spoken in the last hour, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh in an uneven rhythm.

She's thinking.

Planning.

Bracing for the inevitable.

I tighten my grip on the wheel. "We're almost there."

She finally looks at me, her dark eyes unreadable. "And then what?"

I don't answer.

Because I don't know.

Minho won't stop. We both know that. The only question left is how this ends.

The GPS pings, signaling a turn. The road narrows, twisting into a steep incline as we reach the entrance to an abandoned estate. The house is perched on a cliffside, hidden by towering pines, the ocean crashing far below.

I bring the car to a stop.

Jisoo exhales. "This is it?"

I nod. "Last stop."

She doesn't move.

Neither do I.

The silence lingers, thick and suffocating.

Then—she unbuckles her seatbelt, pushing the door open.

I follow.

The cold night air rushes over me, carrying the sharp scent of salt and pine. The place is old—too old. Wooden shutters hang off their hinges, and ivy creeps up the stone walls. The wind whistles through the cracks, making it sound like the house itself is breathing.

A bad feeling settles in my gut.

We step onto the porch, and I knock once.

Twice.

The door swings open before the third knock.

And standing there—is my father.

"Taehyung."

His voice is low, calm. Too calm.

It's been years since I last saw him. The man before me is older, sharper, colder. There's a gun holstered at his hip, his suit slightly wrinkled, like he hasn't slept in days.

Jisoo shifts beside me, tense and alert.

I force my expression to remain neutral. "Didn't think you'd actually pick up."

His lips twitch, something almost resembling amusement flickering across his face.

"Neither did I." He steps aside. "Come in."

Jisoo doesn't move.

She's scanning him—assessing the risk.

I nudge her lightly, and after a moment, she follows me inside.

The house is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic. The furniture is antique, heavy, like it belongs in another century.

There's a fireplace crackling in the corner, the only source of warmth.

"Drink?" my father offers, already pouring himself one.