Fatescript

"Disarmed and Protected"

His thumb tapped the screen, rewinding, pausing, zooming in on footage. For hours, he had stared at near-empty frames of streets, trees swaying in the wind, and passing cars. But then—suddenly—something different.

His pulse sharpened.

A figure clothed entirely in black stood at the edge of the mansion’s driveway, motionless. They weren’t pacing, they weren’t lurking in the shadows. Just… standing. Almost statue-like, posture rigid, unmoving, as though watching. Taehyung leaned forward, heart thumping in his chest as he increased the resolution, trying to catch anything that could give the person away.

The footage ticked by. One hour. Then another. Still, the stranger didn’t shift. Not a single twitch of the shoulders, not even a visible turn of the head. Taehyung’s stomach churned at the unnatural stillness. He had seen stalkers before, seen obsession play out in ugly forms—but this was different. This wasn’t frantic or chaotic. This was patient. Calculated.

And then, almost three hours later, the figure finally moved. They turned and began walking away from the mansion, slow and steady, until Taehyung’s eyes caught it—

A limp. On the left foot.

His hand froze mid-motion over the tablet, the memory of Jisoo’s words flashing in his mind. The stalker in the footage was limping. His jaw tightened. She hadn’t been mistaken. She hadn’t been imagining things. This—this was the real one.

Immediately, he saved the clip, labeling it separately from the dozens he had collected already. He went back, scanning for details—anything at all. Clothing? Face? Height? But the stalker was meticulous. From head to ankle, everything was concealed in black: hood drawn up, baggy jacket hiding the frame, gloves covering the hands. The only slip was at the feet.

White shoes.

Ordinary. Common. And yet, unmistakable against the rest of the outfit.

Taehyung rewound, watching frame by frame, memorizing the gait, the limp, the angle of the body. He scoured through days’ worth of footage, eyes burning, refusing to miss a single detail. And there it was again. Another day, another time—white shoes, black clothes, lingering near the same gates. Sometimes just after dawn when Jisoo’s car left for the office. Other times on a Sunday when she stayed home, curtains drawn, unaware of the silent watcher outside.

He found six separate appearances. Each time the same eerie stillness. Each time disappearing without a trace. No pattern of date or hour—only one constant: the stalker always appeared when Jisoo was most vulnerable. Either leaving home or remaining inside it.

Taehyung’s grip tightened around the tablet. His chest burned with equal parts fear and fury. This wasn’t coincidence. This was someone studying her. Knowing her schedule. Testing how close they could get without being noticed.

But why the limp? he thought, eyes narrowing as he watched the slowed footage again. Was it an injury? A disguise? Or something permanent?

The thought made his skin crawl.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed against the desk, the vibration sharp in the quiet of his office. Taehyung tore his eyes from the tablet, and when he glanced at the glowing screen, his lips curved instantly.

My Woman 🐯💜🐰

The name alone shifted the tension in his chest, softening the hardness that had been carved there all morning. Without hesitation, he snatched up the phone and swiped to answer, his voice light, almost unrecognizably warm compared to the grim focus he’d been locked in moments earlier.

“Finally,” he said with a small laugh, leaning back in his chair. “You remembered me.”

On the other end, Jisoo’s soft scoff rang out, laced with that familiar bite. “Don’t act like that. Who said I forgot you?”