Later, in their bed, Namjoon cuddled Koo tightly—his arms warm around her waist. She pretended to sleep. Every brush of his skin felt like sandpaper. Her mind replayed Taehyung’s touch—the painful scrape of tile, the brutal fullness—not gentle like Namjoon. Taehyung’s voice echoed—*Whose slut are you?* Her pussy throbbed—empty and sore—yet wet. She squeezed her legs together. Namjoon murmured in his sleep—nestling his face in her hair. Koo stared at the ceiling—counting breaths—until dawn painted the room grey.

In the morning, when the door clicked shut—Namjoon gone—Koo froze. Silent footsteps approached—barely audible—from the hallway. She spun—just as Taehyung pinned her against the fridge door. Steel dug into her spine.