When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 35

The house was quiet when Cheonga returned home, just as it always was. But today, it felt different. The silence wasn't just empty-it was thick, pressing against her skin like something unseen was watching.

But she didn't mind.

Today had been a good day, and she didn't get those often. For once, she felt light-like a feather floating in the wind, like a child who had forgotten the weight of the world. She wanted to hold onto this feeling, just a little longer.

She placed her bag on the table and hummed softly to herself, heading toward her room. Her fingers brushed against the cold doorknob as she stepped inside. The room was just as she left it, neat and untouched.

Had a shower, and was about to take out her note books-

Then the door closed.

She froze.

Not by the wind. Not by accident. The door closed.

Cheonga turned around, her chest tightening. The door was shut. She didn't remember closing it. She didn't-

Her breath caught in her throat.

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for the knob. Her fingers trembled as she turned it.

It wouldn't open.

She tried again, harder this time. The knob didn't budge.

No. No, no, no, no-

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She pulled at the door with all her strength, her breathing quickening. The walls of the room seemed to shrink, the air thinning. The quiet that once felt normal now felt suffocating.

She banged against the wood, her hands shaking.

"Hello?!" Her voice wavered. "Open the door!"

Nothing.

Then, a voice.

Her mother's.

"You're not getting out until you sign it."

Cheonga's stomach dropped.

"What?" Her voice cracked.

"The papers," her mother said. "Sign them. Hand over the inheritance to Harin, and I'll let you out."

Cheonga felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath her.

"Are you serious?" she whispered.

Silence.

Then, a quiet, cold answer. "You know I am."

Something inside Cheonga shattered.

The air in the room became heavier, pressing down on her chest. She stumbled back, her breath coming in short gasps. Her fingers dug into the doorknob, her body shaking violently.

This is happening. This is real.

The door is locked.

She is locked.

She can't get out.

She can't get out.

Memories slammed into her-of when she was small, when the door had shut and she couldn't open it, when she screamed until her throat was raw, when she clawed at the wood until her nails bled, when no one came.

No one came.

No one is coming.

Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled. She pressed her forehead against the door, her body curling in on itself, her hands gripping her head as if she could stop the panic from swallowing her whole.