Prologue

Y/n Pov:

After our final assessment, I think it's in your best intrigued we proceed your treatment program here in Seoul.Subsequently, I suggest that you simply don't return to Busan for your considers at Busan College of Music as of however, and your father proceeds to be your lawful guardian. A letter together with your another plan of arrangements will be sent to you afterward within the week.

Yours truly,

Dr.Jung

Consultant Therapist.

As soon as I read the letter my whole world break apart,with tears in my eyes I tear the letter and threw it away.

My entire life I have never been allowed to fly high. It was foolish, but I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, the decision would've been different, and I could leave the asphyxiating gilded cage my father has kept me in for the last two years.

Everything changed by what what happened 2 years ago and I don't know what happened I just have a faint memory of it.

I'm at a pub right now drinking the drink everyone told me was my favourite drink before I lost my memory. I drink it, hoping the taste might pierce through the block in my mind and evoke the other things I should remember.

Like who I am. Who I really am.

My name is Kim Y/n. But I only know that because that's what I've been told.I don't know who I really am.

My mind feels like someone built a brick wall inside it, locking me in a confined space where I am to accept everything I'm told. That wall is so high and so wide I can't see over or around it.

I'm trapped.

That wall and the space inside is all I've known since I awoke from that deep sleep that robbed me of time.

Screwing my eyes shut, I swallow the drink and rest my head against the soft leather of the booth. I then draw in a measured breath and try to calm myself.

When the club music changes to something more upbeat, my eyes snap open, and another tear slides down my cheek. The lively music bounces off the walls in an exaggerated fashion, purposely done to make it sound cooler. The people dancing below on the dancefloor go wild over it and wilder when the DJ cranks the volume.

Suddenly I feel someone watching me.

The feeling is so potent it forces me to look up to the balcony on the third floor. In the flashing club lights, I pick out a face against the sea of people standing there.

It's a man who's the sort of handsome that gives new meaning to the word breathtaking. I'd be compelled to describe him as beautiful if not for the rugged Viking warrior edge in his presence. It tamps down anything that resembles beauty.

Those razor-sharp angles in his chiseled face, his unruly dark shoulder-length hair, and that neatly trimmed but scruffy beard keep the warrior edge going and alludes to something dangerous. They all seem to be a warning not to be fooled by the fairytale prince features in his looks.

It's also clear from the bulk of muscle in his powerful shoulders and biceps that what you should pay attention to is everything else about him that cautions of danger.

My handsome stranger fixes his gaze on me like he wants me to know he's watching me and doesn't plan to look away.

I get looks of admiration from men all the time. It's usually my double D's that catch their attention first before seeing the rest of me. But this guy is looking at my face, not my body. And the way he's watching me, so fixed and unwavering, has my attention in more ways than I'd like.

I have this feeling that I know him even though I've never met him in my entire life.

The longer we stare at each other, the more powerful the sensation becomes, and I think it must be true—the familiarity. I only feel this way when I come in contact with something or someone I should remember but can't.

With him, though, it's different. The feeling is stronger, and there's an unmistakable desire pulsing through my veins, luring me into an enchantment where I wouldn't be able to look away even if I wanted to.

That isn't because the man watching me is drop-dead gorgeous. It's something else.

Something I need to check out, especially since no one else has managed to produce such a strong response to my mind. Not my father, my supposed friends I heard talking shit about me behind my back, and not the thing I was told was my only love in life—music.

We kept on staring at each other then he out of blue signal me to come up to him .I know I was goona regret my decision but I nodded slowly and made my way up.

"I almost thought you wouldn't come," he states in an accented voice. It's slight but very much there. It sounds like Korean. More importantly, my interest in him piques even more because I know I've heard his voice before.

I... recognize it.

The acknowledgment of having recognized something makes me giddy and excited all at the same time. I'm almost weakened from the surge of elation and what it means. If I acknowledge that I've heard his voice before, it means something is happening in my damaged mind. Something good.

My lips part and I gaze intensely at those stormy gray eyes. I try to remember his face but can't.

"Do you know me?" I ask, hoping I don't sound foolish.

"Maybe..." The smile comes now, and I see the dark beauty of this man in full force.

That dangerous edge, though, continues to warn me away. Telling me this isn't a man I should be talking to. My curiosity, however, gets the better of me.

"Maybe?" I prod.

He pushes away from the wall and inches closer to me until he's a breath away.

"Dance with me... Y/n," he replies, saying my name, and I gasp.

"You do know me. How?"

"Come with me, and you'll find out."

When he puts out his hand, I take it even though I know I shouldn't. The same warning bells go off in my head, and for some reason, I feel this man and I should never touch.

"What do you know about me?" I ask, eagerness taking over.

"Music. It's a part of you. You play the violin like it was made for you," he replies, capturing my attention.

"You've heard me play?"

"Many, many times."

"When did you hear me play? Where?"

"Shhhh," he whispers and moves closer to my ear. "No more, 공주 just dance with me. We didn't dance last time."

공주, means princess in Korean.

I know that.

I know that... because he told me so. Although I can't remember being told, I know it was he who told me.

When though?

He said we didn't dance last time. When did I see him?

Where?

The scruff on his jaw tickles my cheek, snapping me from the reverie of him. We're so close, his lips are inches away, and I almost believe he's going to kiss me.

Our eyes lock, and I'm trapped in the storm of his gaze.

The push and pull of the force drawing me to him is so strong I have to fight against it to make my mind work.

I try, I do. God help me, I do, but when he leans in closer and closer, and his lips brush over mine, everything fades into the ether. All my worries, my thoughts, my wishes, my hopes.

What takes over is raw desire, and I'm lost in his kiss. His tongue swoops into my mouth and claims me.

I melt into his hard body when the kiss turns greedy and fills me with an insatiable hunger for him and that taste. That raw masculine taste of need and sex and everything I want but never knew I craved.

The kiss sings through my veins, and as he cups my face, a flash of memory sparks in my mind, and I see him. I see him clearly, not blurry, or vague like everything else that's come to me. There's no mistaking that it's him.

I see him in my mind, touching my face and holding me. But I'm hurt. Something bad happened to me.

"I'm Jimin."

His words come to my mind, and the intense blast of memory is so strong I pull out of the kiss, but he's still holding me, holding my face to him.

"Ji...Jimin?" I whisper, and his eyes become sad for a fraction of a second.

"Yes,honey, that's right," he answers, and as he rubs over the edge of my neck, something sharp stings my skin.

It makes me jump, but he holds me still.

"What was that?"

"Sorry baby, maybe it's best you don't try to remember me. I'm not here to save you this time. And there's no one who can save you from me."

My eyes widen with terror and fright that closes my throat.

The first thing I think of is Dad's paranoia and overprotective nature. This is why he's like that. It's for this very reason. Danger.

My mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words don't come.

I move out of his grasp, but the movement is too sudden and whatever he put on my neck makes my vision blur. And, damn it, I can't talk. I can't call for help even though I try my best.

The words just won't come. I stumble backward, and he allows me to back away from him. I use the chance to look around for my bodyguard , but I can't see him anywhere. The only thing I can think to do is to try and get away. Run and try to save myself.

Jimin watches me unfazed with the confidence of a man who knows he's just caught his prey.

Panic carries me toward a set of steps in the corner. I take them, hoping they'll lead me out of the club.

I move as quickly as I can against the darkness threatening to take over and send me to the ground.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and open the door, grateful it leads outside.

But when I turn the corner, I stop short right there in my tracks as my gaze lands on a man wearing a hooded sweatshirt, crouched over my bodyguards body. His knife is in His heart, and dark red blood mingles with the silver moonlight as it gushes out of him.

I want to scream, but I can't, and I only back away into the arms of the beautiful devil as he catches me when I crash into him.

I want to tell him to let me go. I want to run away and scream.

But I can't do either of those things, and we both know it.

He touches my cheek, and I have that memory of him again.

How strange.

In two and a half years, my first memory is of this man, and I think he's going to kill me.

The darkness comes, and I fall into it, allowing it to take me the same way I fell into that kiss of doom.

———

A lot just happened in a prologue 😱😱

Read the next chapter what else is there for you guys😊