Your hands trembled as you typed the message. “Let’s break up.”

A notification popped up instantly. Gun park: “Say it in front of me.” Gun park: “Meet me at the usual place.”

You typed quickly. “No need. I just want to break up. Not meet you.”

His reply came so fast it felt like he was staring at his screen, waiting. Gun park: “Then don’t break up.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

A few seconds of silence. Then— Gun park: “Say whatever you want.” Gun park: “But don’t think you can get away from me.” Gun park: “Or your parents die by my hands.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a second. You didn’t reply. You set your phone down and tried to calm yourself.

But only minutes later, you heard a soft tapping outside.

You turned toward the window. Someone was standing there.

Gun park.

He smiled. A thin smile with no warmth. In his hand… a small knife. Not pointed at you—just held loosely, like a silent threat.

“Baby,” he said softly. Too softly for a moment like this. “What was it you said earlier? Break up?”

He stepped inside without waiting for permission. His gaze pierced through you. Calm… but chilling.

“I’m here,” he said, twirling the knife between his fingers. “Let’s talk. In front of me. Like you’re supposed to.”

You stepped back. “jonggun… the knife. What is it for?”

He let out a low, dark laugh. “To make sure you don’t run away before I finish talking.” His eyes dropped to the knife, then back to you. “You think I’d hurt you?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. But I could hurt myself if that’s the only way to make you look at me.”

His breath came out heavy, almost like a confession. “I’m not letting you go. Even if it takes blood.”

He stepped closer, locking eyes with you. “You’re mine. And I’m here to make sure you remember that.”