Lines We Cross ||Front Man x Reader||

Chapter 47

And then—click—a single spotlight flickered on above my head.

My arms ached against the restraints. The harsh light carved every shadow across my face. The rest of the room stayed drowned in pitch black, but somewhere off in the corner... I heard clapping.

Slow, deliberate claps. And then... footsteps. Shoes tapping against the cold floor.

A voice followed, rich and smooth and horrifyingly familiar.

"That was phenomenal."

My stomach twisted. I knew that voice.

The footsteps got closer. Slow. Calm. Like he was walking through a fucking gallery admiring his own artwork. And then the figure stepped into the light.

I wished the power would cut again. I wished the lights would explode, plunge me back into the darkness, anything but this.

Because I was hoping I'd never see his fucking face again.

In-ho.

My lips trembled with fury. I was shaking—not just from fear, not even just from adrenaline. No. This was something deeper.

I was mad.
Embarrassed.
Raging.

I didn't even know if Jun-ho was alive or dead. My vision was blurred with tears, but I locked eyes with him and shouted through gritted teeth, "You fucking psycho!"

My scream cracked out of me, raw and filled with rage. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I thrashed against the leather straps holding me in place.

"I'm so fucking sick of this! I'm so sick of fighting! I'm so sick of you!"

And there he was. Standing tall, calm, composed, just looking down at me with that goddamn pity in his eyes. But it wasn't real pity. It was artificial. A mockery. Fake softness wrapped in a mask of power.

He tilted his head.

"Oh, Y/N," he cooed gently, voice as silky as poison. "When will you realize power and control are things I'll always have?"

His tone dropped lower, a venomous whisper:

"Over this place.
Over this situation.
And most importantly... over you."

His words set my blood on fire. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

He was towering above me, while I was tied to a chair. Helpless. It was deliberate. Psychological. Calculated.

He wasn't just asserting power.

He was dominating me. Mentally. Physically. Completely.

And he loved it.

But I wasn't going to give him what he wanted.

I stared him down, straight into his eyes, no hesitation. "No, In-ho," I said, voice calm, even as my body trembled. "You're just a coward."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. "You hear me? You're fucking pathetic. In fact, you're worse than anyone here."

He clenched his jaw. I saw it twitch—the little crack in his mask. I'd gotten to him. He turned his head away for a second. But not for long. Because then the red lights all over the room flicked back on. Harsh. Blinding.

And there—behind a pane of reinforced glass—stood Jun-ho.

Still alive.

My body sagged with relief. I let out a breath that trembled all the way to my bones.

"In-ho..." I whispered under my breath. "You sick son of a bitch..."

He turned back to me slowly. Stepped forward. Then he knelt down right in front of me, pulling my face toward his with two fingers on my chin.

His face was close. Too close. It reminded me of moments before—when he used to kiss me. When I used to let him.

I felt like vomiting.

He looked into my eyes and said it.

"Y/N... I'm not that bad. I wouldn't kill my own brother... especially not in front of the girl I love."

I froze.

He said it so casually, like it wasn't the most fucked-up sentence I'd ever heard.

I stared at him. Heart racing. Then I chuckled in disbelief.

And spat.

Right in his fucking face.

Right next to his lips.

He closed his eyes, holding his breath, face calm. Then he opened them, slowly, and dragged his tongue along the spit near his mouth, before wiping the rest with his sleeve.

"You dare call yourself not bad after doing all this, huh?!" I shouted, my voice breaking again. "You really are fucking unbelievable, In-ho."

He didn't even flinch.

Just chuckled. Shook his head slightly.

"Y/N," he said like I was some naïve little thing. "I did all of this because I wanted to prove something to you."

He stood up again. Circling me slowly. Like a vulture. His voice followed behind me. "No matter how extreme things get..."

He leaned down by my shoulder, whispered by my ear.

"I would never... ever do anything to hurt you."

My body stiffened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"This—this is how you fucking prove it to me?!" I snapped. "Are you insane?! Are you actually fucking crazy?!"

In-ho smirked. That sly, self-satisfied grin that made me want to rip my own skin off.

He leaned in again.

"Crazy... for you."

I laughed. A bitter, exhausted, broken kind of laugh.

Because even though he said it with charm, with sugar, with a tone that might've once made my heart flutter—

Now, I saw him clearly.

This probabaly wasn't even love.

This was obsession.

And while we stood there, in that horrific red room, surrounded by trauma and control and his  games—I realized something terrifying. In-ho was enjoying all of it.

Every moment. Every tear. Every scream.

He got off on this shit. Not just because he was power-hungry.

But because he could.

Because he wanted me to remember him.

To remember all of this.

To carry him in my fucking head until the day I died.

And no matter what, I would.

Not because I wanted to.

But because he'd done enough damage to me—mentally, emotionally—that I'd never be the same again.

And somehow... I think he was okay with that.

Maybe even proud.

He wanted to traumatize me.