Hiii
Can you do a yandere platonic jeon jae and park jin with daughter reader where she was born when they were in high school so she had to give reader up for adoption,but moon deng adopted her and now reader hates her bio parents with passion
When she goes with her mother to get revenge the bullies get attached to reader because she looks oddly familiar (she has her dads or moms face) and they keep showing up to talk to her
Eventualy they find out the truth
My Sweet Little Baby
Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x Adopted Daughter Reader, Jeon Jae-Joon x Bio! Daughter Reader x Park Yeon-jin
Summary: After being forced to give up her baby in high school, Park Yeon-jin is horrified to discover thirteen years later that the daughter she secretly had with Jeon Jae-joon was adopted and raised by her former victim, Moon Dong-eun.
Word Count: 4.3k
Author's note: Omg I love this request and writing for it. I think this is the longest fix I written so far.
• Next •
“HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID!”
The slap rings out like thunder in the living room.
Yeon-jin’s cheek burns, but not as much as her mother’s voice.
“You stupid, stupid girl!” Mrs. Park screams, yanking the pregnancy test out of Yeon-jin’s trembling hand and holding it like it’s filth. “Two lines?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
Yeon-jin sways on her feet, arms wrapped around her middle as if she could hide the truth with enough pressure. Her voice is small. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to?” Her mother’s face contorts in fury. “I didn’t raise a daughter who throws away her future for some street boy’s baby! Do you even know how this will look? Do you think I’ll let you ruin our name because you couldn’t keep your legs closed?”
Tears spill over Yeon-jin’s cheeks. She hates crying in front of her. It only makes the woman angrier.
“It’s Jae-joon’s,” she whispers, almost too quietly.
Her mother laughs, bitter and sharp. “Of course it is. That arrogant bastard.”
She paces now, heels clicking like gunshots across the hardwood. “We’ll take care of it. Quietly. Before anyone finds out.”
Yeon-jin’s eyes widened in panic. “No—I don’t want to—I want to keep it.”
Mrs. Park stops.
The silence is worse than the shouting.
“You want to do what?”
Yeon-jin’s hands are shaking now. “I’ll raise it. I’ll find a way. I’m not getting rid of it, Mom. I can’t.”
Another slap. Harder.
“You think you’re a mother now?” her mother spits. “You think you’re mature enough to raise a child when you can’t even manage your grades or keep your secrets? You’ve humiliated this family. And now you want to drag a baby into your mess?”
Yeon-jin sobs now, falling to her knees, cradling her stomach.
Her mother’s heels snap toward her again, stopping just in front of her crouched frame. A hand tangles in her hair and yanks her head up.
“There’s no keeping it,” Mrs. Park hisses, her breath sharp with rage. “You will finish school, keep your mouth shut, and thank me for fixing this disaster.”
Tears run hot and thick down Yeon-jin’s cheeks, but her voice comes out broken and small. “She’s not a disaster…”
Mrs. Park goes still.
“She?” she echoes, lips curling.
Yeon-jin clutches her stomach tighter, breath shuddering. She hadn’t meant to say it. She didn’t even know—it was just a feeling. A deep, aching certainty.
Her mother stands up straight and smooths down her blouse, icy calm settling over her like a mask.
“We’ll send you abroad for a while. Somewhere quiet. You’ll give birth there. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“No—please—” Yeon-jin tries to reach for her again, trembling fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. “She’s mine…”
“She’s mine,” her mother snaps. “Everything you are, everything you ruin—it all falls on me. You are still a minor, Yeon-jin. You don’t make the decisions. I do.”
Yeon-jin waits until the bruising on her cheek fades. Until the morning sickness stops long enough for her to walk without clutching her stomach.
The rooftop is empty, as it usually is after school. The sky is gray. A light wind pulls at her blazer, her hair. Everything feels heavier now.
Jae-joon’s already there, leaning against the railing with his tie loose.
She hesitates.
He looks up—and immediately narrows his eyes. “What happened to your face?”
Yeon-jin wraps her arms around herself. “It’s nothing.”
“You look like hell.”
“I said it’s nothing,” she snaps.
He watches her for a bit. Then: “So? What’s so urgent?”
She doesn't answer right away.
Instead, she pulls something from her blazer pocket and holds it out with trembling fingers.
A crumpled, used pregnancy test. Two bold pink lines are still visible.
Jae-joon stares at it. His mouth opens. Closes. Then it opens again. “Is this a joke?”
She shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m almost three months.”
He turns away from her, dragging both hands through his hair. “Fucking hell, Yeon-jin.”
“I didn’t tell anyone else—just my mom.”
He turns back sharply. “And?”
“She wants to send me away,” she says, voice cracking. “Somewhere far. Hide me. Make me give the baby up. She’s already calling people.”
Jae-joon’s face darkens.
“She’s going to take her,” Yeon-jin whispers. “Our daughter. She’s going to get rid of her like a problem.”
Jae-joon lunges forward suddenly, grabbing Yeon-jin by the shoulders, too hard. “You let her do what?”
“I don’t have a choice!”
“Like hell you don’t!” he shouts.
His voice echoes across the rooftop.
Yeon-jin flinches, shoving at his chest until he lets go. Her voice is shrill. “You think I want this?! That I’m okay with it?! She slapped me—she’s handling everything and she won’t let me decide!”
Jae-joon steps back, shaking, chest heaving with adrenaline and disbelief.
“A daughter,” he mutters. “You said it’s a girl?”
Yeon-jin nods slowly. “I just… know.”
He stares out at the horizon, knuckles white where he grips the railing.
And then, in a tone she’s never heard from him before—low, dangerous, trembling with something more than anger—he says:
“She doesn’t get to take our kid.”
Yeon-jin looks up, startled.
Jae-joon turns to her, eyes burning. “I don’t care what your mom says. I don’t care what she’s planning. That baby is ours. Mine. She doesn’t get to erase that.”
“She said it’s already decided—”
“Then we’ll undecide it," he growls. “You’re not going alone. I’ll find a way to get to you. I’ll fight her. I don’t give a shit if it costs everything—”
“She’s going to give her away, Jae-joon,” Yeon-jin whispers.
That’s what breaks him.
The image of his child—his daughter—growing up in someone else’s arms. Laughing at someone else’s jokes. Calling someone else Dad.
Jae-joon’s fists tremble at his sides. The tension in his jaw is palpable, like he’s grinding his teeth down to nothing. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again.
“No one’s taking her from us.”
“Jae-joon—”
“I mean it.” His voice cracks. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find her. I’ll find a way. Even if they send you to another country. Even if they erase your name from the birth certificate. She’s ours.”
Yeon-jin doesn’t answer. She only sinks down beside the rooftop fence, curling in on herself. Her palms press flat over her stomach, fragile and instinctive. Protective.
Jae-joon drops to a crouch beside her and, without thinking, covers her hands with his. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle.
“We’ll get her back,” he whispers.
She says nothing, but doesn’t pull away.
Months Later
The labor is long. Painful. Brutal in a way Yeon-jin hadn’t prepared for.
No family allowed. No visitors. Her mother arranged it so no one could take photos or ask questions. Her name wasn’t even on the room registry. Just an anonymous girl tucked away in an expensive, cold facility for girls like her.
The moment the baby’s cries fill the room, something in Yeon-jin shatters.
“A girl,” one of the nurses confirms.
Yeon-jin weakly reaches for her, but the swaddled infant is already being handed to another nurse across the room.
“W-Wait—” she gasps, eyes wide and wet with exhaustion. “Let me—let me see her—!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Park,” the head nurse says with sterile sympathy. “It’s been arranged. No contact.”
“No! No, no—please—” Her voice dissolves into sobs, raw and broken as she tries to push herself off the hospital bed. Blood, sweat, and tears mix as she fights the hands holding her down.
Across the room, the baby cries louder, as if in answer.
Yeon-jin screams.
But the nurse with the child disappears out the door, and just like that… her daughter is gone.
The room was quiet, suffocating in its stillness.
Moon Dong-eun sat across from the adoption agency director, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. A single file rested between them, thick with papers and secrets, and it had taken all her restraint not to grab it the moment she entered.
“This is unusual,” the woman began, tapping the file. “There are… complications.”
Dong-eun raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen worse.”
The director’s eyes narrowed. “This child was given up immediately after birth. No names on the paperwork. The birth certificate was filed by a lawyer on behalf of someone anonymous. It’s clear someone wanted to erase her existence.”
Dong-eun’s voice was calm. “And yet she exists.”
The woman didn’t respond right away. After a pause, she slid the file forward. “Why this child? Why now?”
Dong-eun opened the folder and pulled out a photo clipped to the first page.
A baby, only days old, wrapped in a hospital blanket. Her eyes were open. Clear, sharp, unblinking.
Even then, she looked too alert.
Too much like her mother.
Dong-eun had seen that look before—once in a mirror, once in a school hallway.
The hallway was quiet, too quiet for this time of day.
Moon Dong-eun wasn’t supposed to be wandering alone. The nurse’s slip in her hand was just a pretense to get out of class, to get a moment of silence after the latest round of humiliation. She walked slowly, eyes on the floor, stomach tight with anger that always smoldered just beneath her skin.
The restroom door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
And froze.
Park Yeon-jin stood by the sinks, back to the mirror, shaking. Her head was bowed low over something in her hand—a white stick.
Dong-eun’s eyes landed on the object first. Then the second line.
Yeon-jin was crying. Not like she did when cameras were on her, not like the crocodile tears she used to manipulate teachers or boys or her gang of sycophants. This was raw. Desperate. Silent, shameful sobs.
Dong-eun stopped, invisible in the threshold.
She didn’t know what she was seeing—didn’t want to understand it—but the truth hit her like a punch.
Pregnant.
Park Yeon-jin was pregnant.
Dong-eun took a shaky step back and quietly slipped out the door.
She never said anything.
Not then.
She didn’t pity Yeon-jin. Not exactly. But the image stuck with her—haunted her, even years later. Because at that moment, Yeon-jin didn't look powerful.
She looked terrified.
And now, here it was again, innocent and unknowing.
She didn't need a DNA test. Not when the curve of that tiny mouth and those deep, curious eyes told her everything.
She looked like Park Yeon-jin.
And her jawline?
That was Jeon Jae-joon’s.
A child born from cruelty and pride, left in silence and shame.
“I know who she is,” Dong-eun said quietly. “And I want her.”
Three Days Later
The nurse brought her in slowly, arms cradling a small bundle. The baby made a soft, curious noise—neither crying nor cooing. Just existing.
“She doesn’t talk much,” the nurse said softly. “Barely cries. Just watch.”
Moon Dong-eun stepped forward.
The baby turned her head, locking eyes with her new mother for the first time.
And Dong-eun felt it—something breaking loose in her chest, something ancient and aching and unfamiliar.
She’d carried rage and grief for so long that she forgot what tenderness felt like.
She reached out slowly. The baby didn’t flinch. Her tiny hand lifted, fingers spreading, reaching toward Dong-eun’s face like she somehow knew her.
Like she’d chosen her too.
Dong-eun took her into her arms.
The weight was barely anything—and yet, it grounded her like nothing else ever had.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
The nurse hesitated. “She doesn’t have one.”
Dong-eun looked down at the child, whose small eyes blinked up at her with quiet trust.
“Y/n,” she said softly. “Her name is Y/n.”
It had been nearly thirteen years since Moon Dong-eun first held her in her arms. A tiny, wide-eyed baby wrapped in a hospital blanket, abandoned by the very people who once made Dong-eun’s life a living hell. It felt poetic, almost cruelly so, that fate would drop their child into her lap. Dong-eun hadn’t sought it, hadn’t planned it. But she hadn’t walked away either.
And now, that baby was nearly a teenager.
Y/n sat at the kitchen table of their quiet, modest apartment, legs curled under her in a chair too big for her frame, flipping lazily through a worn-out manga volume. She glanced up as the door opened and Dong-eun stepped in, the summer sun chasing shadows behind her.
“You talked to him?” Y/n asked, as if they were discussing homework instead of a decades-old vendetta.
Dong-eun set her bag down, walking past her daughter to the kitchen sink. “I did.”
Y/n closed the book, lips pursed. “Was he scared?”
Dong-eun didn't answer immediately. She poured a glass of water, her back to the girl. “He recognized me.”
Y/n’s expression twisted into something bitter. “Good.”
Dong-eun turned, leaning against the counter, eyes on the girl she raised—not with lullabies, but with hard truths and unflinching honesty.
“You don’t have to do this with me,” she said quietly, not for the first time. “This… this isn’t your burden to carry. It’s mine.”
Y/n stared at her for a long time before responding. “They made me too. Then they threw me away.”
Dong-eun’s chest tightened. She had never told Y/n the full truth. She hadn’t needed to.
Children are smarter than people give them credit for. Y/n knew. The girl had grown up piecing it together: the way Dong-eun’s hands shook after certain phone calls, the stack of documents she tried to keep hidden, the names she sometimes muttered in her sleep like curses.
And the photos. Y/n had found those one rainy afternoon when she was ten. The smiling faces of her biological parents, younger and crueler. The bruises on Dong-eun’s younger self, frozen forever in glossy print. She hadn’t asked questions then. But her silence had been louder than any scream.
Dong-eun pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “I hate them. I won’t deny that. But I never wanted you to.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you to grow up free of that poison.”
Y/n snorted softly. “You raised me. I’m not poisoned.”
Dong-eun looked at her hands. “But you’re angry.”
“So are you.”
They sat in silence. Outside, the cicadas hummed like an omen.
Dong-eun reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “Just promise me something.”
Y/n met her eyes, dark and reflective like her own.
“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this. That if you ever feel like it’s too much, you’ll walk away.”
“Would you?”
Dong-eun faltered.
Y/n leaned forward, her voice low, serious. “I’m not doing this because you want revenge. I’m doing this because I want them to know they don’t get to hurt people and walk away clean. Not you. Not me.”
Dong-eun’s throat tightened with something fierce and painful—pride, sorrow, love.
“You’re not a weapon, Y/n.”
“I know. I’m your daughter.”
Dong-eun reached across the table and took her hand. “You are. No matter how this ends, you’ll always be that first.”
The sound of Yeon-jin’s stilettos clicking against the marble floors echoes through her penthouse as she storms in, clutching a sealed envelope thick with information. The private investigator had said it was thorough—everything he could find on Moon Dong-eun.
She rips it open with manicured fingers, flipping through the dossier with the cold detachment of someone hunting prey.
Employment history. Current residence. Financial records. Medical visits. Travel patterns.
She scoffs. “So boring,” she mutters, tossing aside irrelevant pages.
Then something catches her eye.
A section titled:
DEPENDENTS: ONE (1)
She frowns.
Moon Dong-eun has a child? She flips the page.
> “Adopted female child. Name: [Y/N] (new surname redacted).
Age: 13
Adoption Type: Closed.
Year of Adoption: 2011.
Agency: Everhope Children’s Services.
No available info on biological parents. Sealed record.”
“Closed?” Yeon-jin mutters. “Useless.”
She moves to the next page—then freezes.
A photo.
A candid, long-range shot. Moon Dong-eun holding a girl’s hand as they walk through a crosswalk. The child is mid-laugh, her dark hair spilling out behind her. There’s something about her. Yeon-jin can’t stop staring.
She flips to the next image—this time, the girl is looking directly at the camera.
Her heart slams into her ribs.
That face.
That face.
She drops the file. Papers scatter across the table.
She staggers backward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady herself.
The girl—no older than thirteen—has her eyes. Jae-joon’s jawline. Her own exact smile.
“No,” she whispers. “No, it can’t be...”
She lunges back to the file, flipping back to the adoption date.
2011.
She does the math quickly. Thirteen now. Born in late 2011.
Her breath catches in her throat.
That’s the year. The year her mother dragged her out of the school restroom after she found the test. The year she was sent to a hidden clinic, and the child—the baby—was taken from her arms before she even had the chance to look.
The child she never held.
The one her mother made disappear.
Moon Dong-eun adopted her.
Of all people.
Of all the people in the world.
The file trembles in her hands as she stares down at the photo. The girl—her daughter—smiling up at Dong-eun like she’s the only mother she’s ever known.
Yeon-jin screams, a raw, wounded sound that rips through the luxury silence of her apartment.
She throws the file across the room, then rips open her phone, calling the investigator.
He answers on the first ring.
“You said the records were sealed,” she hisses.
“They are. I told you—”
“Then how did she get her?!” Yeon-jin roars. “How did Moon Dong-eun end up with my daughter?!”
She hangs up and stands there, heaving.
Her nails dig into her palms. Her throat burns.
“Of all people,” she whispers. “You had to end up with her.”
The backroom is dimly lit with golden fixtures and walls lined with expensive bottles. It reeks of wealth and concealed agendas.
Yeon-jin sits at the head of the table, legs crossed, expression sharp and cold. She slides a thick manila envelope across the table to Son Myeong-oh, who picks it up with a raised brow.
“Is this about Moon Dong-eun again?” he asks, half-smirking. “You’re really not over her, huh?”
Yeon-jin doesn’t answer. Just lifts her chin and stares.
He opens the file lazily, flipping through. His eyes pause on something inside.
“Wait a minute…” he frowns. “She has a daughter?”
Yeon-jin’s eyes flicker. Her fingers tighten around her glass.
“She adopted?” he adds, more amused than concerned. “Since when is Moon Dong-eun playing mommy?”
“Focus,” she snaps. “I don’t pay you to ask questions.”
Myeong-oh squints at her, picking up on something she didn’t mean to show. “You’re weirdly tense about this. Who is the kid—?”
“I said focus, Myeong-oh.”
Her voice is ice. Her jaw locked.
He raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll find out everything. School, friends, daily routine. No problem.”
Yeon-jin turns away, eyes cold and distant.
Myeong-oh meets Jeon Jae-joon in his boutique, chatting over drinks. Jae-joon is distractedly checking fabrics when Myeong-oh mutters offhandedly:
“Hey, did you know Moon Dong-eun has a kid?”
Jae-joon pauses. “What?”
“Yeah. Apparently she adopted a girl. Weird, right? Didn’t seem the type.”
Jae-joon slowly lowers the fabric. “How old?”
Myeong-oh shrugs. “Eleven? Twelve, maybe.”
Jae-joon narrows his eyes. “Where’d you hear this?”
Myeong-oh realizes too late he’s slipped. “Forget it. Yeon-jin asked me to dig around. Probably nothing—”
But Jae-joon’s already moving.
The usual suspects are gathered—Yeon-jin, Hye-jeong, and Sa-ra.Tension is thick as they discuss Moon Dong-eun’s most recent moves.
Then the door SLAMS open.
Jeon Jae-joon storms in, facing thunder.
Yeon-jin stands, startled. “What—”
“You knew.” His voice booms through the room. “You knew exactly where my daughter was, and you didn’t tell me.”
Everyone freezes.
Hye-jeong stares. “Wait. Your daughter?”
Sa-ra blinks, wine glass halfway to her lips. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Jae-joon growls, pointing at Yeon-jin. “The kid you gave up in high school. The one your precious mother made disappear. You never told me you knew—”
“This is not the time or place—”
“No, Yeon-jin, this is exactly the time.” His voice cracks with rage. “For years, you let me believe you didn't know where she was. And now I find out the child we had together—the one I never even got to see—was adopted by Moon Dong-eun?”
Hye-jeong gasps. “Wait... wait, you two had a baby?!”
Sa-ra laughs under her breath. “Is this a soap opera?”
Hye-jeong turns to Yeon-jin, offended. “You didn’t tell me I had a niece! I would’ve gotten her matching clothes, Yeon-jin!”
Yeon-jin snaps. “Shut up, all of you! This has nothing to do with any of you.”
“Oh, now it’s nothing,” Jae-joon spits. “Now that it’s blown up in your face.”
Yeon-jin throws her hands in the air. “I just found out she was adopted by Dong-eun. What did you want me to do? That child was taken from me before I even knew what she looked like—”
“You could’ve told me,” he says, quieter now. “I had a right to know.”
Silence hangs. Heavy. Personal.
Then Sa-ra hums. “Well, Moon Dong-eun certainly knows how to hit where it hurts.”
Yeon-jin glares at her. “Don’t even start.”
“Too late,” Hye-jeong mutters. “You brought this on yourself.”
Yeon-jin turns, eyes blazing. “If any of you say one more word—”
Jae-joon cuts her off.
“I’m going to find her,” he says quietly. “My daughter. And if Dong-eun’s already turned her against us... that’s on you.”
He leaves.
The room remains in stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Yeon-jin’s shaky breath and Hye-jeong whispering:
“I could’ve been the fun aunt...”
Jeon Jae-joon had never felt this out of place.
He stood at the edge of the school courtyard, where parents with sensible clothes and worn umbrellas waited for their children. His tailored blazer, Italian loafers, and gold watch glinted under the Seoul sun. He wasn’t used to waiting for anyone. Certainly not outside a public school.
But today, he waited.
He had finally found it—her school.
Y/n.
His daughter.
He rolled the name in his mind like a forgotten song lyric. It felt foreign on his tongue, something he’d never had the right to say but now couldn't stop repeating to himself.
“Y/n.”
The name brought a tremor to his fingertips. He tried to appear casual, leaning against the fence, pretending to check his phone. In truth, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd of school uniforms spilling out of the building.
She’d be in eighth grade now.
He had missed everything. Her first steps, her first words, her first day of school. All while he was parading around as a man in control, oblivious to the child he helped create and abandon.
But now, he knew. And he wasn’t going to let her slip away again.
A group of girls came out, laughing and jostling each other. His heart skipped a beat.
There.
He saw her.
Slender frame. A dark school skirt, cardigan slightly crooked. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had that same half-wary expression he remembered seeing in the mirror as a boy. She was walking beside a classmate, talking softly.
Then she stopped.
She looked up.
Right at him.
Their eyes met.
It lasted less than a second, but he felt it—recognition. A jolt that punched straight through his chest.
Her eyes widened.
Then, she turned.
And walked faster.
Not a fluke. Not a coincidence.
She knew who he was.
And she wanted nothing to do with him.
“Y/n!” he called, weaving through students, ignoring the judgmental glances from other parents.
She picked up her pace.
Jeon Jae-joon cursed under his breath and followed.
His polished shoes clacked against the pavement, loud and unnatural against the scuffed sneakers and light chatter of students around him. He caught a few stares. A mother nudged her child protectively out of his way.
He didn’t care.
Y/n ducked behind the courtyard fence, heading toward the back alley—an old, narrow lane lined with vending machines and delivery crates, probably a shortcut home.
He turned the corner and saw her again, ahead of him, almost jogging.
“Y/n!” he shouted, desperation bleeding through. “Please. Just wait—”
She didn’t.
She kept going, jaw tight, back stiff like she was bracing herself for something worse than a man calling her name.
Jeon Jae-joon broke into a half-run. The bricks passed in a blur. A distant dog barked. The hum of a refrigerator from the nearby corner store filled the air.
He finally caught up when she reached the end of the alley and stopped at the small crosswalk.
He reached out gently, breathless. “Please. Can we talk?”
Y/n turned slightly.
Her eyes flicked to his outstretched hand.
And then up to his face.
Expression blank. Cold.
There was no hesitation, no confusion, no curiosity.
Only disgust.
“You don’t get to talk to me,” she said quietly.
He froze.
Her voice—young but firm—cut deeper than a blade. She didn’t scream or cry. There was no drama. Just finality.
He stepped back as if hit.
“I just want to explain—”
“You don’t get that either,” she said, turning back to the sidewalk.
He followed again, this time slower. More cautious.
“I didn’t know,” he said, voice trembling. “I swear to you—I didn’t know you existed. Not until—”
“I don’t care.”
He stopped.
Y/n kept walking.
“I don’t care if you knew or didn’t. You’re still him.”
“Him?”
She finally looked back again, only briefly. “The man who hurt my mom. The one who left me.”
His chest tightened. “Moon Dong-eun isn’t your real mom.”
“She’s more of a mother than Yeon-jin ever was,” she snapped. “And more than you ever were a father.”
He felt like he was drowning. His hands hung helplessly at his sides, the weight of his choices crushing every breath.
“You hate us,” he whispered.
“I didn’t,” she admitted, halting.
He blinked.
“But I do now.”
