May Devil Take Your Soul?

five

A week later, there had been no call from Maya. Taehyung was thankful for it, yet her request still echoed in a corner of his mind, a faint, cold ripple that made him shiver. He pushed it away, again, sealing it into the quiet dark where it belonged.

It was 6:29 AM. He tiptoed into his daughter’s room, closing the door with a soft click, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. Today was Lily’s birthday.

At exactly 6:30, the alarm buzzed. Lily stirred in her sleep, turned once, then slowly sat up, eyes still heavy.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Taehyung shouted.

Lily flinched, then broke into a wide, sleepy smile. He moved forward and engulfed her in a warm hug. “My princess is twenty now,” he whispered, his voice thick. He kissed her forehead. “May God bless you.”

She melted into his embrace, but then her shoulders hunched. A pout formed on her lips.

“Oh, my baby, it’s okay. We talked about this,” Taehyung said, rubbing her back gently.

“But, Appa, I want to spend my birthday with you,” she whined.

“It’s just one day. And remember—tomorrow, Seokjin uncle is coming,” he said, rising from the bed.

Lily’s face instantly lit up. “Yahhh!” she shouted, springing up on the mattress.

“Oh god, Lily, my ears,” Taehyung said, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Okay, now get ready. You can’t be late,” he smiled, heading for the door. “I’m making breakfast.”

Lily bounded toward the bathroom. She had an important all-day seminar at the university, with a famed architect speaking about the future of the field—an opportunity too crucial to miss, even on her birthday. Taehyung had convinced her to go, promising they would celebrate properly the next day. He had already reserved a nice restaurant for her and her closest friends that evening.

As he cracked eggs into a bowl, the kitchen filled with the familiar, comforting sounds of morning. But in the quiet between the sizzle of butter and the hum of the stove, the echo returned—a whisper of Maya’s voice, a world of trouble pressing at the edges of his peace. He shook his head, focusing on the task in front of him: perfect fluffy eggs for his daughter, a small act of love on the day she turned twenty.

Today was for Lily. Everything else could wait.

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The clock on the workshop wall read eight in the evening. Taehyung should have been gone hours ago, but here he was, bent over his work. The only sounds were the steady hum of the sewing machine and the soft rustle of expensive fabric. He was finishing a gown—a custom piece for a VIP client. His hands moved with practiced precision, guiding the dark purple silk under the needle, stitching layer upon delicate layer. Each seam was secured, each pin carefully removed as he worked. The silk was the colour of a midnight bruise, cool and shimmering under the workshop lights.

Finally, he lifted the completed dress and placed it on the mannequin. He stepped back, eyes critical. It was perfect. The design was dramatic: the silk swept from the left shoulder to the right hip in elegant folds, then cascaded down to the floor. One side of the gown pooled in a luxurious train, while the other side was fitted to the ankle. The back was a breathtaking plunge of bare skin, with criss-crossing straps studded with dark crystal beads that glittered like captured starlight. They traced the lines of an hourglass figure, emphasizing the waist before disappearing into the lower back. Taehyung’s eye caught the one unfinished detail—a cluster of crystals meant for the right side of the bodice. But his mind was elsewhere.

He didn’t start on the beads. Instead, he methodically tidied his tools, folded scraps of silk, and switched off the machine. After hanging the gown in its protective cover, he grabbed his coat and keys, flicked off the lights, and locked the workshop door behind him.

Lily had promised she’d be home by nine. “The celebration won’t be long,” she’d said.

Half an hour later, he was in his apartment. He changed into soft, worn clothes and moved to the kitchen. His movements there were as expert as they were at the sewing machine—chopping vegetables with quick, even strokes, the sizzle of oil in a pan a familiar comfort. He ate at the kitchen counter, washed his dish, and wiped the surface clean. Neat, habitual motions.

He turned on the TV in the living room, flipping through channels without seeing them. He needed the noise, something to fill the silence and keep his thoughts at bay. But it was useless. His mind kept circling back to his earlier conversation with Maya, her words looping like a broken record. He inhaled sharply, a loud sound in the quiet room.

His eyes drifted to the digital clock on the shelf. Its numbers glowed a relentless, bright red: 9:30.

He picked up his phone and called Lily.

“The number you are calling is switched off.”

A frown creased his brow. Lily never switched off her phone. She was obsessive about her battery, always charged. He tried again. And again. The same automated message. He set the phone down, forcing optimism. Maybe a dead battery. Maybe poor signal at the venue.

But the clock kept turning.
10:00.
10:30.
11:00.
Midnight.

Each passing minute tightened a coil of dread in his chest. His calm composure shattered into restless pacing. He could sit still no longer.

He drove to the hotel where Lily’s dinner was held, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. At the grand entrance, he approached the manager, his voice tighter than he intended.

“I’m looking for a reservation under Park Lily. She should have been here tonight.”

The manager, impeccable in his suit, consulted a tablet. His tone was polished, devoid of warmth. “Yes, sir. The table was reserved for eight o’clock. It was held for thirty minutes, as per policy. No one ever arrived. The reservation was ultimately released.”

“No one?” Taehyung’s face lost all its colour. The elegant lobby seemed to tilt around him. “Are you certain? No message? Nothing?”

“Quite certain, sir. I was on duty myself. The table remained empty.”

The words landed like physical blows. Taehyung managed a stiff nod before turning away. Back in his car, the silence was deafening. He gripped the wheel, his earlier worry now a cold, full-blown fear.

“Where are you, Lily?” he whispered to the empty night, but only the echo of the manager’s professional, chilling confirmation answered him.

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