The next morning... the weather was unusually bright, as if the fog had finally lifted. The thick fog that usually smothered Oakhaven began to lift, revealing a clear sky and sunlight across the grass.
Zen woke me with a gentle kiss on the cheek. His clean, fresh scent, mingled with the faint aroma of roasted coffee, pulled me awake with a smile.
"The weather is beautiful today... Shall we go for a picnic?"
"A picnic?" My eyes widened, and I shot up in bed.
"We can go outside?"
"Of course. Just to the hill behind our house, near the lake."
Zen smiled broadly, his large hand affectionately ruffling my hair.
"I heard you complaining about being bored yesterday, so I wanted to give you a change of scenery. I've prepared sandwiches and fresh juice. We can sit and paint. How does that sound?"
"That's great! It's perfect!"
I practically leaped out of bed, rushing to shower and dress in absolute excitement.
How long had it been since I could immerse myself in nature like this? Without the paralyzing anxiety of being hunted or harmed.
At the hill by the lake. We laid a red plaid blanket over the lush green grass, right beneath a towering, centuries-old oak tree that stretched its massive branches to offer shade.
Before us lay an emerald lake, intensely under the sunlight, completely embraced by the majestic mountains guarding us.
"So beautiful..."
I inhaled the fresh air deep into my lungs, spreading my arms to welcome the cool breeze. It felt as though my lungs, once suffocated by misery, had been purified.
Zen sat beside me and handed me a sandwich.
"Eat something first, then you can paint."
We shared our lunch, talking about everything and nothing.
Zen was a phenomenal storyteller with a fascinating worldview. He made me laugh until my stomach ached. The sound of my laughter gone for over a year, finally returned.
"Yurin..." Zen called out softly while adjusting a canvas on the wooden easel.
"Yes?"
"Sit completely still right there. I want to paint you. The lighting is perfect with the lake as your backdrop."
I leaned against the oak tree, adjusting myself into the best posture, and offered him my sweetest smile.
Zen touched his brush to the canvas. His eyes darted intently between me and the painting. His gaze, whenever he was immersed in art, was dangerously captivating.
"You are an incredible artist, Zen..." I spoke up to break my own shyness.
"Where did you learn to paint? I've only ever seen you handle executive work."
Zen's brush stilled for just a moment before a faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
"It is a secret... Truthfully, I have loved art since I was a child. But it is a side of me that I rarely show to anyone. Painting is like venting emotions that simply cannot be spoken."
"Sometimes... it helps keep the demons in my mind caged, preventing them from wreaking havoc."
His words struck a bizarre chord, but I chose to overlook it, blinded by that remarkably warm smile.
"Then you should paint more often. I want to see your artistic side."
"I will..." he answered smoothly.
"But some paintings... You might not like them."
A long time passed. The profound serenity lulled me into a trance. I stared at Zen, watching his absolute dedication.
This man was handsome, brilliant, infinitely kind, and my fierce protector. How incredibly lucky was I to find him? To escape a living hell only to end up somewhere like this.
"Zen..."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you..." I spoke from the absolute bottom of my heart. Tears of deep gratitude welled in my eyes as I continued,
"Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for making me smile again. I am truly happy."
Zen set his brush down. He walked straight toward me, dropping to one knee before lifting my/ hand to press a kiss against my knuckles.
"Yurin's happiness is my ultimate mission. I promise to protect this smile forever."
He leaned in and kissed me amidst the whispering wind and the warm sunlight—a kiss as sweet as something out of a story.
Entirely unaware that this fairy tale was beginning its most horrifying chapter.
...
We returned home at dusk. Zen excused himself to his private study on the ground floor, stating he had urgent matters from the head company to clear.
"Don't wait up for me. If you are tired, go ahead and sleep," he instructed before sealing the study door.
I went upstairs, showered, and changed into my pajamas. But the lingering adrenaline from the afternoon kept me wide awake. I tossed and turned on the bed until a parched throat forced me up in the dead of night.
The entire house was dead silent. Only the dim glow of the hallway sconces illuminated the path.
I walked downstairs to grab a glass of water, but my eyes caught a sliver of light bleeding from beneath the gap of Zen's study door.
He still isn't sleeping? Driven by concern, and a lingering desire to thank him once more for the beautiful afternoon, I approached the door...
Normally, Zen kept this room strictly locked. But tonight, the door was slightly ajar.
Perhaps sheer exhaustion had made him careless?
I gently pushed the door open, intending to surprise him.
"Mr. Zen..."
No answer. The study was empty. Zen wasn't at his desk... Maybe he was in the en-suite bathroom?
Taking the liberty, I stepped inside.
His study was decorated in a sleek, modern style, but the air was heavy with the pungent scent of oil paint. In the corner stood an easel and stacks of canvases. Mostly breathtaking landscapes of Oakhaven... flowers, and various candid portraits of me.
But my eyes snagged on a black leather-bound sketchbook left open on the desk.
The pages laid bare a black-and-white pencil sketch drawn with violent strokes carved into the page.
I slowly approached it. And the moment the details registered, my heart violently lurched.
It wasn't a beautiful landscape. It wasn't an endearing portrait of me. It was a pencil sketch carved with such savage force it nearly tore through the paper.
It was a drawing of a 'man' whose face was unmistakably Ren's.
He was kneeling on the ground, battered and entirely broken, a heavy chain shackling his neck. A mysterious hand reached down from the top edge of the frame, forcing his face into the dirt.
As if trampling his absolute dignity into the dust. The expression in Ren's sketched eyes was completely saturated with agony and utter defeat.
And most of all... standing beside Ren's body was a sketch of a young boy watching the scene. The boy wore a twisted, sadistic smile of pure satisfaction.
Beneath the drawing, scrawled in erratic red ink, read a single caption:
"A broken toy."
"What is this...?"
My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the book. Why would Zen draw something like this?
Why would he depict Ren in such a pathetic, agonizing state? The sheer hatred radiating from the pencil strokes wasn't just corporate rivalry. It looked like a deeply rooted.
With trembling fingers, I flipped to the next page...
It was a portrait of me. But I wasn't smiling. I was weeping, locked inside a gilded birdcage. Zen stood outside, holding the key, wearing the triumphant expression of a conqueror.
Click... The knob of the en-suite bathroom door began to turn!
Gasp! I jolted, my heart plummeting to my stomach. Zen was coming out!
Driven by sheer survival instinct, I slammed the sketchbook shut. My trembling hands frantically aligned it to its exact original position and angle.
I scrambled backward away from the desk, pivoting to feign interest in a landscape painting hanging on the opposite wall. I fought to sculpt my face into a mask of normalcy, even as my soul screamed in pure terror.
Creak... The bathroom door opened.
Zen stepped out, drying his hands with a small towel. He looked up and saw me. His light brown eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch... for a fleeting millisecond.
Before seamlessly melting into the warm, familiar smile I knew. (Though now, it looked utterly terrifying).
"Yurin?" he called out softly.
"You're awake? What are you doing in here?"
I gave a slight jump, feigning innocent surprise.
"Oh... Zen."
I turned and offered him a smile—a smile that required every ounce of strength in my body to forge.
"I... I was thirsty. I came down for some water, saw the door slightly open, and took the liberty of looking at your art. The paintings are so beautiful, especially that mountain one."
I pointed blindly at a canvas on the wall.
Zen stared at me. So intensely still I subconsciously held my breath.
His gaze slid past my shoulder, resting precisely on the sketchbook on the desk, before sliding back to lock onto my eyes. Like he was reading straight through me.
"Is that so..."
He replied flatly. He began a slow, deliberate approach. With every step he took, I felt like something cornered.
"You like that one?"
He stepped directly behind me. His large hands clamped down on both of my shoulders, squeezing gently.
"Yes... it's very beautiful," I answered, a tremor betraying my voice.
"Why are you shaking?" he whispered directly into my ear.
"Are you cold? Or... are you afraid of something?"
My heart hammered violently against my ribs. Does he know? Did he see?!
"C-Cold. I'm cold," I hurriedly excused myself.
"It's quite chilly downstairs. I should head back up to sleep."
Zen chuckled darkly in his throat. He spun me around to face him, using a finger to toy with my bangs.
"That's true... It is late. Good boys should be in bed. And..."
He leaned down until our noses practically touched, boring deep into my eyes.
"Don't come wandering into this room again. Because certain pieces of art... are not meant for outsiders' eyes. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes. I understand." I nodded frantically.
"Very good." He pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Sweet dreams... my love."
I briskly walked out of the study, violently commanding my legs not to run so as not to raise suspicion. But the absolute second I cleared his line of sight and reached the second floor, I sprinted into the bedroom. I locked the door dead, then collapsed against it, sliding to the floor, gasping for air.
Tears of sheer terror blurred my vision. Those drawings... that gaze just now... the truth was agonizingly clear.
This wasn't heaven. It was just another cage.
I sat hugging my knees, weeping silently in the dark. My hands still trembled violently.
God... is this the reward for trying to escape hell?
Why? Why is fate this cruel to me? I fled from a rabid, frantic demon, only to deliver myself to a cold-blooded, calculating one.
And this time, absolutely no one would be coming to save me.
I was permanently trapped here. Inside the most beautiful cage imaginable. Left completely alone to have my soul slowly devoured until nothing human remained.