The morning after the pantry, Taehyung woke to the violent rebellion of her own body.

She had barely slept—her dreams filled with the phantom sensation of Jungkook's hands, his voice commanding her submission even in unconsciousness, the memory of being bred mere meters from her husband's oblivious presence playing on repeat behind her eyelids like a forbidden film. But it wasn't the exhaustion that dragged her from sleep at dawn; it was the sudden, overwhelming nausea that crashed through her like a wave, sending her scrambling from the marital bed to the en suite bathroom with her hand clamped over her mouth.