The news that famous tycoon Jumin Han was getting married took all of Korea by storm. Not much was known about the bride he jealously hid, which drove the media wild. Some speculated you were a rich heiress from a foreign country; some spun a rags-to-riches story; some gossiped the elder Mr. Han only agreed to the match because you were already pregnant.
To be honest, you had no idea how Jumin had convinced his father, but the latter explanation was painfully untrue. Nothing had distressed you more on the night of Jumin’s transfer of office than the red spots appearing on his plush white carpet.
“Shhh, don’t cry, Elizabeth, it’s alright” had soothed Jumin tenderly while you kept sobbing in his shirt —well, after a panicked call to his doctor to confirm you were not slowly hemorrhaging to death from some rare internal condition—but you were inconsolable. How could he be so indulgent when you failed at your role so badly? You were not worthy of being called his pet. Cats were meticulously clean creatures that didn’t bleed all over their owner’s furniture. Cats conceived easily and didn’t require tampons and pads. The real Elizabeth 3rd would never have subjected her master to something so inelegant. Why couldn’t you be more like her?
Worse than your self-esteem though, was the fact it made Jumin hold back in his affections as if you were actually injured rather than menstruated. Try as you might, you were not able to find comfort from his obvious thrill at providing for your new need; no amount of massages, hot baths, or expertly crafted Belgian chocolates could make up for your desire to feel him move in you again, and it wasn’t long before your craving bordered on desperation.
“Patience, my love” would repeat Jumin each time you would try to appeal your case by mewling and rubbing your face against his, like a baby animal would request food of its parent by licking its snout. At first he’d give you quick kisses to appease you, but he soon discovered giving you his fingers to suck on instead worked much better to calm you down. Once (eleven days, short of two weeks; an eternity ago to your mind), you would have felt ashamed, but now you just welcomed the relief flooding your veins at having some part of himself in you. It didn’t help that Jumin would look at you with utter adoration then and encourage you to depend on him even more, like a loving snake hypnotizing its prey in an ever-deeper sleep. Your eyes would close, your muscles relax, and you would suckle lazily, a satisfied purr rumbling through your frame for the brief time the taste of his skin filled your mouth.
The event at least had the advantage of setting you both into a domestic routine, letting you glimpse what the rest of your life at Jumin’s side would be like. He would wake up around 6h30 and gently untangle his limbs from yours to go make breakfast; if you stirred, he would hush you back to sleep until he returned with the food. Feeding from his hands lasted about half an hour, followed by his careful brushing of your teeth and hair, and a thorough inspection of your health. If there was still time, he would consider which outfit would suit you best for the day and take a few pictures to create what he called a catalogue of looks; you had to stifle your giggles the first time he showed you the gallery, for they were all adorably blurry or shaky. The unexpected quirk was terribly cute, but Jumin wasn’t amused at all by his own lack of skill.
“I’ll hire a professional photographer to capture your beauty” he would grumble after each attempt, dejected at his poor results. Of course, he never did, choosing to claim he just didn’t find the right clothes yet rather than exposing you to another man; you eagerly agreed and suggested he try again. You didn’t mind playing the doll, dressing and undressing in more poses than an art model; the process had an almost ritualistic quality, invariably ending up with you back naked—or in this case, in silky embroidered underwear—with your collar as the only accessory. Jumin would nod his head each time he would instruct you to strip bare to that single item, reaffirming his preference for the possessive necklace over any expensive fashion he could acquire. Both showcased marvellously well his ownership, but the red band made it undeniable. He had attached a cute tag made of pure gold on it, stating “Property of Jumin Han”; it made you feel very proud and cherished.
At 9 o’clock sharp, you’d both move into his newly installed office. Jumin would read reports, sign contracts, review the company’s performance, participate in conference calls and process all paperwork less than five feet away from you, while you’d curl on your reserved papasan chair for a quick nap or slide on the ground to play with some cat toys. If Jumin judged that you needed more stimulation, he would turn on the flat television on the wall for you to watch some selected programs on mute, mostly documentaries of the natural world with no human host to distract from the scenery; if his phone schedule permitted it, he would add classical music in the background for additional enjoyment.
Honestly, you thought it was a waste that he didn’t use the occasion to make you learn some wifely talents like flower arrangement or tea brewing, but Jumin seemed perfectly content to have your whole attention on him. He would stop his work sometimes just to look at your big sapphire eyes blinking curiously at him, and he would smile—a warm, happy smile that would make you smile back with all your might and curl your toes in giddiness. You suddenly understood how couples could declare they only needed each other to be fulfilled and whole; Jumin was your entire world, and his world was complete as long as he could see his reflection in your eyes. Your presence alone was enough for his adoration to peak, regardless of the qualities or the flaws you could develop, and in return you let your soul dissolve in his gaze with blissful relish. In this bubble he created, it seemed possible to achieve this ideal of a cat pretending to be human rather than the reverse, and you sought it passionately. No more fears, or doubts, or pain; only the pleasure of being Jumin’s pet in a continuous loop of ecstatic dependency.
“I love you, Master” you would mewl then when this feeling would dominate all your thoughts and overflow out of you, in your voice and through your tears; unfailingly Jumin would drop everything he was doing and attend to you. Depending on his mood, he would read translations of old French poems as if the words of love were his own and just as immortal for the centuries to come; or he would caress you with a perverted form of intimacy that left you more languid than a vampire’s embrace.
An onlooker would have seen no difference between his actions then and a regular form of foreplay; he would have told about deep kisses and hands feeling the pertness of your breasts and the roundness of your butt. But Jumin’s touch then wasn’t as your lover, torrid and hungry for your moans; it was as your master, calm and soothing like a forest’s spring. He would give you his mouth to swallow your cries; his lips to seal their outpour; his tongue to silence your words. His hands would roam over your body to reassure your heart in a way mere promises couldn’t. I’m here, would say his fingers to your stiffening nipples; you’re mine they would add as they traced the lines of your trembling hips; I own you was the message sent as they pushed the fabric away to knead your ass cheeks. If you were lucky, he would brush and play with the ring of nerves hidden between them to remind you of his right to touch you everywhere he pleased, and delight in your submissive mewls. “What a good kitty you are, Elizabeth” he would murmur then, the praise intoxicating you like wine.
Despite this, his insecurity remained, making you wonder if he’d ever trust you more than two minutes alone; any outing, be it a lengthy meeting with his father or a short interview with the press, would see you restrained in the bedroom. They were mercifully rare though; Jumin became busy planning your marriage, and canceled anything that wasn’t related to it. He was investing himself in the preparations with the same zeal he usually reserved for his previous cat projects, and you could only share his enthusiasm for it.
“Look, Elizabeth” he had said once, pointing to various plans for the wedding on his desk. “You’ll wear this dress for the photography shoot to distribute to the press, but we’ll have our own private ceremony here. I also have had official papers forged for you in case we need to travel again.”
“…We? So we’ll never have to be separated again, Master?” you had questioned, barely daring to hope.
“That’s right” replied Jumin fondly, and you had squealed in delight loud enough to deafen him, then crashed your mouth against his, hugging him with all your might. Jumin had indulged your excitement for a few minutes, a laugh of happiness rumbling in his chest, and you had continued to purr on his lap for an hour while he revised one document or another, his left hand idly petting your hair.
Lunchtime and evening would arrive with meals delivered by the chef, followed by nights repeating a similar pattern from mornings, except for the bath, which you now took together. Jumin would let you shampoo his hair sometimes, giving you the opportunity to gift him with much needed scalp massages; mostly though, he had sit you between his legs while he took care of everything. He would wrap you in a fluffy towel for the brief trip to his bed, where you would curl up on his chest, safely locked in his arms, until the clock hit 6h30 again. The sun rose and set in a blur, until Friday’s dawn pointed over the skyscrapers.
“Are you going anywhere today, Master?” you inquired inconspicuously during the daily health inspection, biting your lip in worry.
“I’m not, my love, so stop hurting yourself” replied Jumin tenderly, mistaking your sudden unease with simple neediness. “Besides”, he added, a dark flame lighting in his orbs as his hand trailed on your thigh, “I believe your body is ready for me now. Are you…?” he trailed off, catching you in his arms as you launched yourself at him, a smug smile floating on his lips at your eagerness.
This is paradise, you thought hazily as your frantic kisses escalated in desperate moans, mingling in the air with the jingle of your collar tag. How could it go wrong..?
That was the last time I checked on those two, swore Seven while clicking the window shut, hiding his embarrassment by busying himself on his hacking assignment instead. Seriously, who knew Jumin could be such a beast? Even if he trained for a million years, he’d be lucky if he could ever get the stamina to satisfy his own girlfriend like he did.
Not that you’ll ever get a girlfriend, he reminded himself sternly. It was the ransom of the deal he made long ago, and he wouldn’t regret it; it was enough he could enjoy it vicariously. Jumin and Elly looked thoroughly smitten with one another (an understatement, if ever there was one), and he was proud to have helped them both with their lives. Plus, it was hilarious to read Jaehee freaking out about it in the chatroom. He was ready to bet she wouldn’t try to interfere again after her last attempt backfired into a proposal, of all things, though he almost wished she would. Her scream of horror if Jumin ever told her to cancel his appointments because he had to attend to the urgent needs of his lustful cat bride would probably be heard in the next galaxy—scratch that, the next dimension.
No, really, all that left to do was keep an eye on the Agency’s next move until they dropped the matter. Hurting Jumin sounded impossible with the swarm of bodyguards surrounding him whenever he set foot outside of his lair, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling he was overlooking something.
“Do you have to be this messy?” chided Vanderwood upon entering his bunker, a dismayed look on his face. “Even pigs are not so dirty!”
“You wouldn’t understand” replied Seven with a wicked smile, enjoying his maid’s bulging eyes as he crammed a fistful of Honey Buddha chips in his mouth with no regards to the flecks falling everywhere on his desk. “I’m God 707, and the colony of microscopic creatures living in my keyboard await their daily rain of food!”
“You disgust me—“ started Vanderwood.
“—can you hear them? Makumba! Makumba!” chanted Seven while approaching his ear from the keys. “It means Feed us, Great One! I can’t disappoint them!”
“I suggest you do and finish your work” grumbled Vanderwood, wearily massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been told all agents are to be on standby to deal with the collapse of a big company.”
“On standby? That’s strange” mused Seven out loud while focusing back on his work. “Aren’t they usually more precise, down to the very minute? What are they waiting for?”
“Mail delivery? Apparently, the target has a gifted hacker on his side, so there’s no choice but to use such an outdated method—and before you ask me, no, I don’t know who that great genius is, and I don’t care to know if he’s better than you either” concluded Vanderwood with a shrug, but Seven wouldn’t even have heard him. White noise filled his head as the most horrible guess came to his mind, and he lunged for his cellphone.
Please let me die, thought Jaehee upon entering her office. If she felt life had been hell when Mr. Han had been worried sick about his cat, it was nothing to the maelstrom created by his decision to marry her. The company was quickly turning into a capharnaum where reports and contracts were flying all around like bullets on a battlefield—with everyone looking to her for directions now that their boss was permanently holed in his penthouse.
I need a raise. And vacations. And an ocean of coffee! she dreamed while leaning on the closed door for a short break. Just a few minutes of blissful silence amongst the chaos—
What now?! she fumed while checking her cellphone, about to dismiss the caller until she saw his name.
“Luciel? Is everything okay?” Even as she said it, Jaehee knew the answer was negative. Luciel never called her unless it was an emergency.
“Jaehee! Stop the mail! Jumin must not open his mail!!”
“What? Why? What’s wrong?” she asked, already fearing his next words.
“Remember when I said you didn’t want to know how I could be sure of Elizabeth’s death?” spouted Luciel, so fast she could barely make out the words.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” How could she not? That’s when the whole trouble had started. “What about it?”
“Jumin is about to receive a copy of it. You must stop the mail!”
“What are you talking about? Didn’t you…take care of it?” she fretted, her tone borderline hysterical as she lowered her voice. Not that she wanted to assume, but wasn’t that was Luciel did, hacking and destroying evidence?
“I did! I wiped the web clean of it and put bots to destroy any reuploads and—aaaaaaaaah never mind that now!! I was an arrogant idiot, okay? I never thought about the original copy! And now they found it and Jumin is about to receive it and see his cat die horribly and kill Elly and kill himself and—just STOP THE MAIL!”
“Oh my god” murmured Jaehee, her knees going weak in shock. “Luciel, I’m sorry. I sent it to Mr. Han fifteen minutes ago.”
“Now for the mail” announced Jumin, carrying back a box full of parcels and letters in the office you were waiting in. “I’m expecting a sample of the fabric the Italian designer will use for your dress, my love—maybe this package?” he guessed, picking a small bubble envelope. “Here” he added, throwing you the strips of padded paper as he shredded it open, “do you want to play with it?”
You couldn’t have told what instinct warned you of the danger as the pieces fell to the floor. Beware, it said as Jumin sat down and frowned at a black DVD case, reading its label with growing confusion. “ ‘To watch with Elizabeth 3rd?’ Why would I do that? I don’t remember ordering us a video—”
His cellphone rang then, a shrill sound that was obviously reserved for the strictest emergencies, and you had no trouble recognizing the panicked tones of his assistant when he took the call. Mr. Han, open the door! This is an emergency! We’re under attack! she had said then, making you fear the worst; now she was shouting, screams that were trying too hard to sound calm and posed, and her words were freezing your blood cold.
“Mr. Han? I just got note of a horrible prank hidden in the mail I sorted for you. This is entirely my fault and I assume full responsibility for it! Would you mind not touching anything while I come to take it away?”
“What are you talking about, Assistant Kang?..” wondered Jumin, his puzzlement now bordering on annoyance. “What is it? Why are you so upset?”
“Nothing that matters, Mr. Han! It’s just important you don’t touch it! It would frighten Elizabeth 3rd very much! Is—is she with you, with any chance?..” she risked, and you mewled loudly in reply, ignoring the irritated look Jumin threw at you for acknowledging someone else. “Was that her? Elizabeth, can you hear me?” she screamed in earnest, using Jumin’s phone as a speaker. “Destroy it or get out of there! Get out—!!” The line cut brutally as Jumin hung up, by now profoundly upset.
“I can’t believe she actually asked you to get away from me” he seethed in betrayal. “As if I would let you get hurt by a prank! Does she think me so stupid as to—”
He stopped, his frown deepening as the faint sound of another ringtone reached both your ears.
“Is that your cellphone?” inquired Jumin. His eyes were blackening, and you could feel his aura swell in fury. “Did you give your number to someone else while I was away? Who is it?”
“I don’t know, Master. Maybe a wrong number” you replied, holding back your fright. You guessed it was the Defender though, which only meant one thing—
“Won’t Jumin Han find his real cat at some point, though?” you had asked the Defender in the guest room as he finished explaining his plan, but he had shaken his head. “Elizabeth 3rd is dead, and Jumin will never know about it, trust me—”
“…Master, won’t you give me the DVD?” you asked, fighting back your tears as your body started to tremble. “That…must be the prank, right? Since you didn’t order it. Please, Master, I’m afraid” you added in misery, extending your hand. You were suffocating, hallucinating visions of Jumin murdering you and throwing himself off the bay window right after. The world had become a nightmare in a blink, and you desperately wanted to wake up back in the cocoon of bliss you shared with him. And you would, as soon as you’d feel the disc crack in your palm—
“…What’s your name?” asked Jumin instead. His face had drained of all emotion into an unreadable mask of stone as he kept glancing at the DVD and your expecting hand, and your heart petrified in incertitude. Did he suspect something?… What should you tell him?
1) Tell Jumin your real name (jump to NORMAL END)
2) Tell Jumin your name is Elizabeth (jump to BEST END)
[TELL JUMIN YOUR REAL NAME - NORMAL END]
This is it, the choice between life and death, you thought in horror. Delusions were easy to maintain when there was no proof to shatter them, but now that he held one in his hands, could you really take such a big risk as to claim you were Elizabeth 3rd? What if he had figured it out or decided to watch it? Wouldn’t that make him angrier? Wasn’t it safer to fudge the truth into an acceptable compromise? What did Jumin want to hear? You couldn’t tell, and it was killing you.
“…that’s my name, Master. Or Eleanor. Or Esmeralda. Or Elizabeth 3rd” you replied at last, shaking like a leaf. “My name is whatever you want it to be, Master” you reminded him, grabbing his hand to nuzzle at his palm.
“I see” he replied a bit sadly, pushing the DVD away on his desk as he repeated your name a few times, as if to test it on his tongue. “It’s a pretty name…but I think Elizabeth 3rd suits you best” he decided. His hand slid down your throat to tip your chin up, and you looked up straight in his crazed eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, his question almost a dare.
“Yes, Master” was the automatic answer on your tongue, and Jumin smiled in satisfaction, bending down to kiss you.
“Don’t cry, Elizabeth. You’re such a good kitty. We’ll be happy together” he murmured against your mouth, an eerie smile floating on his lips.
For I love you, forever and ever.
[TELL JUMIN YOUR NAME IS ELIZABETH - BEST END]
This is it, the choice between life and death, you thought in trepidation. Your hesitation melted as the last two weeks flashed in front of your eyes. Being Jumin’s cat had become your life goal, and if he decided to watch the video to confirm his suspicions and kill you, it wouldn’t be because of your lack of commitment. You were going to win it all or lose it all; you wouldn’t accept a compromise, not even to stay alive. I love you, Jumin Han, you prayed internally, then dove in.
“What do you mean, Master?” you mewled in anguish. “Of course it’s Elizabeth 3rd!”
“Yes…yes, you’re right. For a moment I thought…” he glanced at the DVD case, then shook his head as if awakening from a bad dream. “But that’s foolish. How could I..? No, don’t make that face, my love” he cajoled, taking in your pouting lips and tearful expression. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Of course your name is Elizabeth 3rd! Here, you wanted this, didn’t you?” he offered, giving you the black case, and you crushed it instantly, not even looking at its pieces crumbling on the floor.
“Make love to me, Master. Right now” you whined like a child would request a candy to be consoled, tugging on his hand to bring him down as you rolled on your back and cradling his head closer as his mouth descended on your left breast. If Jaehee called again, you’d take the phone to tell her everything was alright—and tomorrow, you’d convince Jumin to take you against the bay window and hope those bastards saw you come at the top of the world.
I’m Jumin’s pet. Forever and ever.