Three days had passed since the Chuseok celebration, three days since Jungkook had fucked her against the ancestral pillar in the courtyard, three days since he had marked her shoulder with his teeth and filled her womb with his seed. Three days of pretending, of smiling at her husband across the breakfast table, of making polite conversation with the household staff, of being the perfect daughter-in-law while her body screamed with the memory of his possession. Three days of waiting, of anticipating, of touching herself in the shower with the water running loud enough to muffle her whimpers, bringing herself to the edge again and again but never crossing over, because he had told her—commanded her—not to come without his permission, and she found, to her shame and her arousal, that she could not disobey him even in this.