C16 - Soul-ed MATE

“My mother killed herself.”

He sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“My dad told everyone it was an accident. Stormy night. Faulty brakes. Drunk driving. No one questioned it. But I overheard the police chief talking to him that night. There was no sign of anything wrong with her brakes nor there was any other car. And the tracks on the road—their forensics determined it was deliberate.”

‘Your mind. Your soul. That’s your leverage.’ Jihyu’s voice echoes in my head.

And I’m giving it up in exchange for the truth.

“Jimin.”

“They kept it on quiet because of her family. Her father couldn’t take it. They wanted her buried in the family crypt. They couldn’t have done that if—”

If people knew she had killed herself.

“Jimin, I’m so sorry.”

I’ve wondered and wondered why she died.

Was she scared?

Was she angry?

I’m a grown up now but there’s a part of me that will always be that broken little lone omega, wondering why his mother left, thinking he wasn’t good enough to make her stay.

“He built that house for my mother,” I say finally. “She conferred with the architect, who designed it for her. I don’t know…I don’t know why she wanted things that way. Or what it means, if anything. But it’s the only thing I have left from her.”

“Her chessboard,” Yoongi says quietly, surprising me. He moves his queen into jeopardy.

“Yes.”

It’s from the beginning of her marriage with Dad, when she was hopeful and in love. That was her opening move. And I already know how it ends. But that murky middle game, the place too wild for theoretical constructs.

What happened to her then?

I pick up my castle, holding it tight. The wood ridges press into my skin, a pain I find comforting. Then I push aside his queen, capturing her with his consent. We play the endgame to the sound of a crackling fire for a few minutes.

The queen has given me an edge that I might be able to carry into checkmate. Though with his skill he can drag it out for some time, maybe even turn the tables.

Unlikely.

I find myself longing to even the score. The queen wasn’t a fair trade.

“A favourable exchange,” I say.

His eyebrows rise. “Your queen?”

“For your rook. Why did you want my father’s business, if it was failing so bad?”

His surprise fills the room, as loud as the fire, as the click of wood against wood. It’s a tangible thing, his shock. His reluctance to answer. But he wants my queen.

“I saw you,” he says slowly. “At your graduation party.”

My eyes widen. “You were there?”

“Your father invited me. It would look less conspicuous if I arrived in a crowd. If I were seen dealing with him directly, people would assume we were working together.”

I remember the cake shaped like the Sorting hat from Harry potter, my elation after four years of preparatory academy uniforms, my excitement over going to college.

So full of hope.

I’d had no idea that a year later I’d be on the auction block.

And I remember the man on the stairs.

“I saw you.”

//~~FLASHBACKS~~//

The party spills over with guests, from the ballroom to the front lawn. It’s night-time, but the house is lit up, bright as the sun. All around me diamonds glitter.

We’ve reached that tipping point where everyone is sloshed enough to smile, but not so much they start to slur. There’s almost too many people. Almost too much alcohol. Almost too much wealth in one room.

It reminds me of Icarus, with his wings of feather and wax. Only if Icarus had a five-hundred-person guest list for his graduation party. It also reminds me of flying too close to the sun.

I snag a flute of champagne from one of the servers, who pretends not to see. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a detour through the kitchen. Rosé stands at the stove, stirring her world-famous jambalaya in a large cast iron pot.

The spices pull me close.

I reach for a spoon. “Is it ready yet?”

She slaps my hand away. “You’ll ruin your pretty dress. It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”

We have caterers who make food for all our events, but since this is my graduation party, Rosé agreed to make my favourite dish. She’s going to spoon some onto little puff pastry cups and call it a canape. I try to pout, but everything is too perfect for that.

Only one thing is missing from this picture. I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Rosé. Have you seen Dad?”

“Where he always is, most likely.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. Then I’m through the swinging door that leads into the private side of the house. I pass Giwon, our event planner, who’s muttering about guests who aren’t on the invite list. I head up the familiar oak staircase, breathing in the scent of our house.

There’s something so comforting about it. I’m going to miss everything when I leave for college. At the top of the stairs, I hear some voices. That isn’t unusual.

I’m around the corner from Dad’s office. There are always men coming to meet with him. Half the people he works with are downstairs right now. But he promised no work tonight, and I’m going to hold him to it, even if I have to drag him downstairs myself.

“How dare you accuse me of…”

The venom in the words stops me on the landing. That doesn’t sound like a regular business meeting. Things might get tense around a contract, but there’s plenty of back slapping and football talk before and after. More heated words hover just below the noise of the party, ominous and indistinguishable.

I twist my hands together, about to turn around. I won’t bother him after all. A man rounds the corner, almost colliding into me. I gasp, taking a step back. There’s nothing behind me.

The stairs! Then two hands grasp my arms, hauling me back onto steady ground. I have only a glimpse of furious golden cat eyes, almost feline, definitely feral. Then he’s sweeping past me down the stairs.

I cling to the carved banister, my knees weak. It’s another minute before I can detach myself from the wood railing. My breath still feels shuddery from that near miss, from that man’s hands on my bare arms. I find Dad pacing inside his office. He glances up at me with a strange expression—almost like panic.

“Dad?”

“There you are, Jimin-ah. I’m sorry. I know I said no work—”

“Who was that?”

A cloud of desperation crosses over his expression. Only now, in the lamp’s eerie glow, do I notice the lines on his face.

Deeper than ever. “Don’t worry about him. This night is all about you.”

Now that I’ve started noticing his appearance, I can’t stop. His hair. All salt now. No more pepper.

“You know I don’t need all this. This party. Everything. You don’t have to work so hard.”

The smile that crosses his face is wistful.

“What would I do if I wasn’t working?”

I shrug, because it doesn’t matter. My friend Dawon’s dad plays golf every single day. Hoseok’s mom is on his fourth husband. Anything but plant himself behind a desk, eyes soft with strain.

“You could date or something.”

He laughs, looking more like himself. “You’re the only one in my life, sweet cake. Now, come on. Let’s join the party before they trash the place.”

His arm around my shoulders pulls me close, and I curl into his jacket. I breathe in the comforting smell of him—the faint scent of cigar smoke, even though he swears he’s quit. I lay my head on his shoulder as we pass the chessboard where we play together.

“I’ll miss our games.”

He kisses my temple. “Not as much as I’ll miss you.”

“You could download an app on your phone. We could play online.”

“I’m lucky if I can make calls on this damn thing,” he says, laughing. His expression darkens when he looks at the screen of his phone, reading the text across a white popup background.

“Sweet cake, I have to call someone.” Disappointment burns down my throat. Of course, he’s a busy man. Most of my friends barely know their dads. I’m lucky he’s always made time for me. No matter how crazy things get at his business, he always makes time for our chess games.

Every week.

I kiss his cheek, seeing the age spots on leathery skin for the first time. Downstairs I find Namjoon by following the sound of his laugh. It’s a big, booming laugh that I suspect he’s practiced. However, it happened, it’s infectious.

I’m already grinning when I enter the room. He holds out his hand to me. “The beauty of the hour.”

I fold into his side, tickled by the champagne in my bloodstream and the relief of being downstairs. Whatever happened in that office was tense.

Dark.

“I was just checking on Dad.”

“Working,” Namjoon guesses.

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me,” Namjoon says, winking at the couple he was talking to.

I recognize them as a famous neurosurgeon and his wife, parents to a man running for the state senate seat. I make my introductions to them. Of course, this party isn’t only for my high school graduation. Like all the other parties in Daegu society, it’s about networking.

For my father. For Namjoon, who has big plans to follow his father’s footsteps into politics.

“Salutatorian,” Namjoon’s saying. “You should have heard his speech about the way the things we do now are the myths of the future.”

The man smiles, somewhat indulgent. “He’ll be a great asset to you, son.”

I manage to keep a pleasant expression, even though I hope to be more than an asset. I want to be his partner.

He knows that, doesn’t he? Namjoon has that public smile, the one that’s too bright and too white. The one that doesn’t mean anything. By the time we make our excuses, my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Namjoon pulls me behind a screen, nuzzling my neck. “Maybe we can sneak up to your room.”

“Oh,” I say, a catch in my breath. “I think Dad will be down soon…”

“He won’t find out,” he murmurs, his hands sliding over my dress-shirt, under it.

We’re not visible to the party, but anyone could walk back here. My heart pounds. His hands are soft and grasping—and for some reason my mind flashes to the man at the top of the stairs, his firm grip on my arms.

“Namjoon, I—”

“Come on. You turned eighteen two weeks ago. Now no excuse pretty one.”

And okay, I did use that as an excuse before. Because I didn’t feel ready. I was saving myself for my soulmate. And yeah, I kissed Namjoon but I didn’t get anything apart from tingles and saliva. There were no sparks as Rosé says when she kissed Mark.

Namjoon may have rejected his mate because she was some poor from west side and he can’t daunt his family name for a mate. So yeah, it has nothing to do with how old I am or how much I love Namjoon.

Maybe if mum were still alive, if she could have told me the secrets of a soulmate and true love’s kiss. The internet is a terrifying teacher.

I turn in his arms, pushing him to arms’ length. “I love you.”

He frowns. “Jimin.”

“But it wasn’t just being seventeen. It’s everything. I want…I want to wait.”

His eyes narrow, and I’m sure he’s going to say no. He’s going to storm off.

What if I ruined everything?

By degrees he seems to relax. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He sighs. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m willing to wait. You’re worth waiting for.”

My throat feels tight. I know it’s a lot to ask for, but he’s the best boyfriend I can imagine. And Dad loves him, which is a huge plus. This fall I’ll start school at Daegu College, the same private all-omegas college where Hoseok’s going.

Everything is perfect.

That’s how it feels in this moment, like flying.

//~~FLASHBACK ENDS~~//

“And I wanted you,” Yoongi says.

My breath catches at the raw truth of him. He’s exposing himself. It’s worth so much more than my queen.

“What did you do?”

“I’m not a monster, despite what you think. I could have had you. Could have forced your hand even then. But I wanted you to come to me.”

Oh, but he did force my hand. With patience, with cunning patience. He moved the chess pieces around, blocking me in from behind until there was only one path open to me.

I move my rook out of safety.

“That’s why you ruined my father,” I whisper.

“I’m patient, when I need to be.” He captures my queen, turning this into a race to the end. “When your father’s business was struggling, he needed a buyer. It was his choice to cheat me.”

“That doesn’t explain why he invited you to my graduation party in the first place. What were you working on with him? What didn’t he want people to know about?”

Yoongi studies the board. “How much do you know about your father?”

“I went to the trial.”

Even though it had felt like a punch in the gut, every dark revelation about him, every former colleague that stood on the witness stand to testify against him. So many secrets.

“I heard what he did.”

“Not everything.”

“Then what?”

“Your bishop,” he says softly.

I look down at the board, denial in my hands, my arms. Clenched in my chest. I can still win this. I know I can, and I think he knows it too. Except if I give him my bishop, I’ll be leaving my king exposed. Checkmate in two moves.

I’ll lose.

How much is this information worth to me?

My heart beats a frantic rhythm as I reach the end. I move the bishop into jeopardy.

“I’ve known your father for years. Who he is. But I hadn’t worked with him before. He invited me to your graduation party to see if I’d be willing to work with him, like my father did.”

Dread is a cold fist around my heart.

“What did your father do with him?”

“He bought things. Sold things.” Yoongi uses his knight to take my queen. Only one move left and he’ll have my king. “Like most businessmen do.” Except that his father was a liar, which is why Yoongi hated him so much.

“Drugs. Guns?”

Golden eyes meet mine. “People.”

I suck in a breath, horrified, disbelieving. “No.”

He means that his father dealt in darkmoon trafficking. That my father had too.

“Move,” Yoongi says softly.

My fingers feel numb as I nudge a pawn forward. I ought to just knock over my king. I know what’s coming, but I need to hear him say it. I need to know the truth. Maybe I’m just like Min Yoongi, after all.

Myths can tell you about the people who make them, who believe them, but it’s the truth that matters.

His rook crosses the board to the first row.

Jiàng sï.

Checkmate

The word comes from ancient Persian. According to Barnhart etymological dictionary it means the King is frozen, but the translation is a little less dire—depending on how you look at it.

The King is helpless.

The King is defeated.

When there are no moves left, the only option is surrender.

“I don’t deal in people,” he says. “I made that promise to myself when my father died. Never. Not ever. And then you were there, desperate and broke. God, you’d actually gotten thinner.”

“You could have helped me!”

“That’s not how this works.”

The auction had been brutal. Being purchased like an object. The brief moments of kindness he gives me.

“You bought me, but you haven’t fcuked me.”

“Is it killing you, the wait? Are you imagining the worst-case scenario with that beautiful strategic brain of yours? Would it be better if I came to your room tonight and broke you, Virgin lily?”

Yes, God help me.

I can’t manage words, and it comes out as a sob. My father was the monster in the Labyrinth all along. That’s who I put my virginity on the auction block for, someone who had bought and sold people.

That’s what had paid for my tuition, my Dior and Tiffanies.

I feel sick.

Did my mother know about this?

Was this why she killed herself?

The last thing I see before I flee from the room is my king, fallen over on the board.

!~~~~~!!!!!~~~~~!