3
Third Person Pov
The morning had started like any other.
Flickering lights in the corridor. The same half-warm rice ball from the corner shop. Taehyung's mop bucket squeaked faintly as he pushed it across the hallway, humming quietly to himself.
But by 9:07 a.m., everything shifted.
He'd just finished disinfecting the east stairwell when a voice clipped and unfamiliar echoed down the corridor.
"Kim Taehyung?"
Taehyung turned, startled. A man in a pressed blazer, someone he didn't recognize, approached with a company badge and a clipboard.
"Please report to HR. Now."
Taehyung blinked. Something in his stomach sank... heavy and immediate.
"I... did I do something wrong?"
His voice came out more careful than curious.
The man didn't answer. Just gestured toward the elevator. The ride up was quiet. Too quiet. Taehyung's palms itched with nerves, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
He'd never been this high up in the building before the executive floor. Everything was glass, light, expensive. Too clean. Out of place. He was out of place.
He was led into a pristine white room with frosted windows and minimal furniture. A young receptionist glanced at him briefly, then returned to typing.
"Wait here," the man said.
And then he was alone. Taehyung stood in the center of the room, stiff, unsure if he should sit or remain standing. He clutched the hem of his uniform and swallowed hard.
They're firing me. That was the only explanation..He hadn't made any complaints. Hadn't broken any rules. But maybe someone noticed his hours, his second job. Or worse maybe they found out about Gyubin's medical bills.
His thoughts broke as the door clicked open.
Footsteps. Sharp. Precise. A man entered, dressed in a dark blue suit that probably cost more than Taehyung's yearly salary. His jaw was cut clean, hair slicked back, watch glinting on his wrist as he flipped open a folder and closed it again just as fast.
Taehyung lowered his gaze immediately.
The energy in the room shifted.
Cold. Weighted.
"Kim Taehyung," the man finally said.
Taehyung straightened. "Good morning, sir."
The man didn't reply at first.
Instead, he sat... leaned back in the chair across from him, legs crossed, fingers steepled under his chin and just watched.
His gaze was Sharp, but not unkind.
Taehyung stood still, hands clutched tightly behind his back. The silence stretched longer than it should have.
After what felt like hours, the man spoke again.
"I'm Kim Seokjin," he said. "Director of Public Relations. Among other things."
Taehyung finally dared to look up... just for a second. So this is him. The cousin of the CEO. The man who cleaned messes. Who made things disappear.
"Do you know why you're here?" Seokjin asked.
Taehyung's throat tightened. "No, sir. I haven't- I don't think I've broken any rules. I... I always clean on time. I never leave my shift early, I-"
Seokjin raised a hand, stopping him.
"It's not about your performance."
Taehyung blinked.
"Then why...?"
Seokjin smiled, a strange kind of smile. Not warm. Not cold. Just calculating.
"You've caught someone's interest."
Taehyung stood frozen.
The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, catching the shine of the polished floors, the shimmer of Seokjin's watch, and the quiet crumple of Taehyung's clenched fists.
"Huh?"
His voice cracked softly through the silence, a whisper of confusion.
"I... I don't understand, sir."
Seokjin didn't look up at first.
He reached out with one hand, open-palmed, and without a word, his assistant Minho stepped forward from the shadows with a black folder.
He placed it gently on the desk in front of Seokjin, then stepped back.
The Director flipped it open with practiced calm. His eyes scanned the contents briefly, as though confirming something he already knew.
Then... quietly, like he was reciting a statistic... he spoke:
"Kim Gyubin. Eight years old."
Taehyung's body tensed. His spine stiffened, breath catching in his throat.
Seokjin's voice remained smooth, measured.
"Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. First diagnosed eight months ago. Current treatment plan: inconsistent. Cause: financial constraint. No mother listed. Sole guardian: you."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Each one cut cleann... not cruel, but clinical. Taehyung stared at the floor. He didn't move. Didn't blink.
But the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
Seokjin finally looked up meeting Taehyung's gaze for the first time. Not with pity. Not with empathy. Just calm, professional interest, like a scientist observing something valuable under a microscope.
"We keep thorough employee records, Mr. Kim," he said, tone polite but firm.
"Medical. Financial. Psychological. Not for malice. Just... efficiency."
Taehyung's hands curled tighter at his sides.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "My son is sick."
There was no emotion in his voice... only fatigue. Only truth.
"And I'm doing everything I can."
The sentence landed like a stone in a still pond. Seokjin nodded, slowly. Tapped the folder once more, fingertip echoing faintly in the sterile office.
"I'm sure you are."
He paused.
And then, softer.. sharper:
"But everything... isn't always enough. Is it?"
That made Taehyung look up.. just for a moment. Not to beg. Not to plead.
But to meet the man's eyes with something cold and raw behind his own.
Don't you dare pity me.
Seokjin didn't. Not really. His face was unreadable. Clean-cut perfection, polished edges, and sharp instincts. He was a strategist. A mirror. He saw things and used them.
He saw Taehyung. And he saw what Taehyung couldn't afford to lose.
He closed the file gently, hands folding over it like he was laying a card on the table.
"What if I told you..." Seokjin said, voice low now... almost confidential,
"...there's a way out?"
Taehyung didn't respond at first. Because every part of him knew the second a man in a suit offers something that sounds like mercy,
it always comes with a price.
His heart beat faster. But he asked anyway. Because desperation tastes like salt, and sometimes you drink seawater just to feel like you're swallowing hope.
"What kind of way?"
Seokjin smiled not wide. Just enough to show it wasn't kindness.
"One that starts with a contract."
And ends with something Taehyung didn't yet know would break him.
Taehyung's throat worked around a breath that didn't make it out.
His voice, when it came, was barely there a fragile whisper laced with confusion.
"I... don't understand, sir."
He stood completely still. Not because he was afraid but because something in Director Kim's gaze told him that any wrong move would mean stepping off a cliff he hadn't even realized he was standing on.
Across the room, Seokjin didn't blink.
Then, slowly with a calmness that felt too calculated he brought his hands together, fingertips meeting as he leaned into the silence.
His voice dropped lower. Steadier.
"We'd like to offer you a marriage."
The words were quiet. But they hit the air like a car crash. Taehyung blinked once.
"...A what?"
His voice cracked slightly.
Disbelief rippled across his face not dramatic, but slow and raw. The kind that came from someone who didn't know if he was being tested... or tricked.
Seokjin remained unfazed.
He nodded once. Professional.
"A legally binding contract," he repeated, his tone clipped and cool.
"Twelve months minimum. You'll be compensated generously. Your son's medical expenses will be covered in full. You'll be housed. Protected. In return, you'll fulfill one responsibility."
A pause. Taehyung's heartbeat was louder than anything in the room now.
The silence between the words felt dangerous.
"You'll marry our CEO."
There it was again. Said so simply, like it wasn't absurd. Like it wasn't impossible.
Taehyung stepped back slightly not out of fear, but because the floor didn't feel real anymore.
"Mr. Jeon..." he murmured. "You mean him?"
Seokjin's gaze was razor-sharp.
"Yes. Jeon Jungkook."
The name alone made Taehyung's stomach twist. Not because he knew Jungkook but because everyone knew of him.
The youngest self-made bilionaire in Seoul's corporate history.
A man so far removed from Taehyung's world they may as well have lived in different centuries.
The thought of standing next to someone like that of being married to him felt surreal. Disconnected from reality.
"Why?" Taehyung asked again, more firmly this time. "Why me?"
Seokjin smiled. Not warmly.
But the kind of smile you see on someone who already knows your answer, even if you haven't spoken it yet.
"Because you're perfect," he said.
"You're humble. Invisible. Overworked. Overlooked. You're what the media would call... human."
He tapped a file on the desk.
"And most importantly. You need us."
Taehyung's jaw tensed. Everything about this felt wrong. Unnatural. Like some cruel joke.
But when he thought of Binnie, alone at home with fading energy and untouched toys... when he remembered the price tag on the new round of chemotherapy...
He didn't laugh. He didn't protest.
He just stared eyes dull with the weight of a thousand unspoken fears.
"Why not hire an actor? Or a model? Someone who-"
"Because they'd talk," Seokjin said simply, cutting him off like the question itself was unnecessary.
He didn't raise his voice. Every word felt like it had been sharpened before delivery clean, precise, cruel only in its honesty.
"Eventually, they'd write a book. Or leak a video. Or get greedy. You, Mr. Kim..."
A short pause. "...are too tired to ruin someone else's life. That's what makes you ideal."
Taehyung didn't answer. Because what could he say to that? It wasn't meant to hurt but it did. In a slow, quiet way. Like a bruise that didn't show up until later.
His hands dropped to his sides. He wasn't angry. Not yet. He was just... hollow.
Like the air had been pulled from the room. Like the fluorescent lights above him were spotlighting a man on the edge of a choice he never asked to make.
His breathing grew shallow, but steady trained from years of hiding panic behind politeness.
Then finally, his voice came.
Low. Careful. Almost fragile.
"What does he get?"
Another pause.
"Mr. Jeon. What does he get out of this?"
Seokjin's expression shifted slightly not softened, just changed.
"Redemption."
He rose from the chair in one smooth movement, fixing the buttons of his navy blazer, his posture like a blade.
"He's being crucified in the media for something he didn't do," Seokjin continued.
"You are the story that buries the scandal. The angel in the narrative. The man who saves the monster."
The sentence hit harder than Taehyung expected. Because it was poetic but it wasn't kind.He looked away, blinking hard.
And then Seokjin added -sharper this time:
"And he will not love you."
That caught Taehyung's gaze again.
"Let's be clear," Seokjin said coldly, folding his arms.
"This is not a romance. This is not a fantasy. He does not love. He does not pretend. And you are not to expect anything beyond what is written in that contract."
The room fell into silence again. But this one wasn't heavy. It was cold. Colder than anything Taehyung had felt in a long time.
And in that chill, something inside him shifted. A quiet resignation laced with growing fire.
Then he spoke.
"He won't hurt my son?"
Seokjin's answer came without pause.
Firm. Honest.
"Jeon doesn't hurt children."
A beat. "Adults are another matter. But children? No."
Taehyung's chest rose and fell, slow and shallow. Still motionless. Still reeling.
And then when he finally found his voice it cracked in the middle, thin but determined:
"I... I have to think, Director Kim."
Seokjin didn't argue. He merely nodded, already reaching for the sleek folder and sliding it back into his briefcase.
"Of course."
He stood tall again, like a man who had already won.
"Forty-eight hours," he added. "The offer is off the table after that. Along with the hospital support. So is the housing. So is the chance."
He adjusted his cuffs. Walked to the door. But just before he opened it, he turned back once more.
His gaze was calm.
"This marriage might save your son's life." A pause. "But it will not save you."
Then he stepped out, closing the door with a final, soft click.
And Taehyung was alone in the same uniform, in the same room, but with nothing that felt familiar anymore.
.
.
.
The contract pages lay spread before him like open wounds clinical, worded in sharp, inhuman fonts.
Clause after clause. Line after line.
Cold language, colder intent.
Taehyung sat hunched on the edge of his small couch, a chipped coffee mug long gone cold on the table beside him. His fingers hovered over the signature line, trembling... not with fear, but with something deeper.
Something like surrender. His eyes scanned the words again, but they didn't feel real anymore. His hand gripped the paper tighter. It wasn't just his name they were asking for.
It was his body. His silence. His obedience. His freedom.
His eyes stung, but he didn't cry.
He'd cried too much already behind hospital curtains, in pharmacy aisles, over bills and bedside reports.
But this? This was different.
This felt like selling the last piece of himself that hadn't already been carved away by the world.
"Jeon Jungkook..."
He said the name aloud just to test how it tasted on his tongue.
It felt... cold. Almost foreign.
He had never seen the man up close only glimpses. A silhouette in hallways. A blurred face behind tinted car windows. A storm in a suit.
Jeon Jungkook had never spared him a glance. Not once.
Not even during elevator rides. Not in crowded lobbies. Not when Taehyung had bowed.
And now... He was supposed to marry him? A bitter laugh almost slipped out... dry and cracked.
It was laughable. Absurd.
Would the man even recognize him on the wedding day? Would he even look at his face?
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands fisted in the contract. He didn't tear it. Just held it tightly, like if he squeezed hard enough, the ink would bleed.
He didn't notice the soft shuffle of small feet behind him.
Until
"Appa?"
A small voice. Sleepy. Taehyung froze. Slowly looked up. There, in oversized pajamas and socked feet, stood Gyubin.
The boy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking toward the table.
"You're still awake?" he asked.
His voice was hoarse, like it had just woken up from a dream.
Taehyung blinked rapidly and sat upright, folding the contract shut instinctively.
"Yeah," he said, trying to sound light. "Just... reading something."
Gyubin padded closer and looked at the file curiously.
"Is it a job thing?"
Taehyung smiled faintly.
"Something like that."
There was a beat of silence. Then Gyubin climbed up beside him on the couch small knees tucked, chin resting on his father's arm.
"You're not sad again, right?" he asked softly. "Because I don't like it when you don't talk."
That did it. That shattered something inside. Taehyung exhaled through his nose, pulled the boy into a gentle hug, and rested his cheek against Gyubin's head.
"I'm okay," he whispered. "I'm just thinking about our future."
"Our garden?"
Taehyung blinked.
"Yeah," he said quietly, voice thick. "Our garden."
Gyubin smiled against him.
"Then don't be sad, Appa. I'll help. I'll plant the stars."
Taehyung swallowed hard.
And he didn't say it... but in that moment, he knew:
He would sign the contract.
Not for himself. Never for himself.
But for the little boy in his arms who still believed gardens could grow on rooftops.
And that maybe... monsters could become people.
The apartment was quiet... save for the soft hum of the night outside and the gentle rhythm of Gyubin's fingers playing with the zipper on Taehyung's worn-out jacket.
Taehyung had just begun to close his eyes when his phone buzzed sharply on the table beside him.
He flinched, carefully shifting so as not to wake Gyubin completely.
The screen read: Unknown ID
His brows furrowed as he picked it up.
"Hello?"
A smooth, clipped voice responded.
"Mr. Kim. Good evening."
Taehyung straightened slightly.
"Yes, speaking."
He ran a calming hand through Gyubin's hair as the boy yawned quietly, curling more into his lap.
The voice on the other end continued, professional and tight.
"Mr. Jeon would like to speak with you."
That made Taehyung freeze.
What?
He barely had time to form the thought when the voice added:
"I'm forwarding this call to him now."
"W-Wait, I-"
But the line went silent.
His heart slammed against his chest like it wanted out.
And then, after what felt like an eternity,
a voice low, deep, unhurried slid through the speaker.
"Hello."
One word. Just one.
But it was enough to make Taehyung's grip on the phone tighten knuckles white, fingers shaking.
The voice was cold. Smooth like glass.
Heavy like thunder in a sealed room.
His throat went dry.
"...Good evening, Mr. Jeon."
He managed barely voice clipped by nerves.
A pause. Then:
"Come to the office."
The silence that followed felt endless.
Until the line went dead. No goodbye. No explanation. Nothing.
Taehyung blinked at the screen in disbelief.
9 PM?
He glanced at the clock.
8:07. Absurd.
He looked down...Gyubin was still half-awake, tiny fingers tracing circles on the fabric of his sleeve.
He couldn't leave him. Not alone.
Not at night.
Taehyung swallowed and smiled gently, brushing a thumb over the boy's cheek.
"Binnie..."mHis voice was soft.
"Would you like to come with Appa to his office tonight?"
Gyubin blinked sleepily.
"Office? At night?"
"Mhm," Taehyung said, trying to keep the nervous edge from his tone.
"Just for a little while. We'll go together. Maybe... stop for ice cream?"
That did it. Gyubin's eyes lit up, a quiet little spark dancing in them. "Strawberry and choco swirl?" Taehyung chuckled.
"Both. Promise."
Gyubin gave a tiny fist pump and slid off the couch.
"Let me wear my dinosaur hoodie!"
Taehyung watched him shuffle off, smile lingering despite the nerves gnawing at his insides.
He had no idea what waited for him in that glass tower tonight.
But he knew one thing.
If Jeon Jungkook was the storm...
then Gyubin was the only thing keeping him grounded in it.
And tonight, they'd face it together.
.
.
The building felt different at night.
Not quieter just heavier.
Like the silence didn't mean rest... but warning.
Taehyung stepped through the towering lobby doors, fingers tightly curled around Gyubin's small hand. The boy clung to his father's side, wide eyes scanning the dim, high-ceilinged space as though they didn't belong.
They didn't.
Taehyung knew it. The men in black suits seated near the elevator knew it too they looked up, unsmiling, their eyes raking over him like he was the mistake in their perfect symmetry.
These weren't employees. They weren't receptionists or late-working staff.
They were higher. Important. Unsmiling. Suited. Cold.
One of them a broad-shouldered man with a tablet tucked under his arm approached as Taehyung hesitated near the elevators.
"Mr. Kim?"
Taehyung nodded politely, clutching Gyubin's hand a little tighter.
The man didn't return the gesture.
He merely glanced at the tablet, then motioned toward the elevator with a slight tilt of his head.
"Take it to the top floor. The CEO's office."
Taehyung swallowed, his stomach tightening. He started to step forward when the man added...
"Leave the child."
Taehyung froze.
"Excuse me?"
"Leave the child here."
The voice was firmer now. Sharper.
"Mr. Jeon doesn't like them around. Distractions aren't tolerated at that level."
He said it like Gyubin was noise. Like he was clutter. Taehyung looked down. Gyubin looked back up eyes confused, but trying to be brave.
"It's okay, Appa," he said softly.
"I'll wait here. I'll... draw stars."
He held up a small notebook and a blue crayon from his pocket.
Taehyung's heart clenched.
He crouched, brushing the boy's hair back gently.
"Just stay here, alright?"
"I'll be back fast."
Gyubin nodded, trying to smile.
Taehyung stood slowly, casting one more glance over his shoulder before stepping into the elevator. The doors slid shut with a cold hiss.
And the silence inside... was deafening.
Each floor ticked by like a countdown.
The numbers glowing red above him:
47... 48... 49... 50.
Ding.
The doors slid open to the topmost floor.
The lights here were different warmer, dimmer. A sleek hallway stretched before him, silent as a tomb. No nameplates, no chatter. Just one large, black double door at the end, trimmed with gold.
In elegant script above it, the words:
"Chief Executive Officer- Jeon Jungkook"
Taehyung walked slowly, steps quiet on the expensive marble flooring. His heart hammered in his chest - a thick, uneven rhythm that felt too loud in this kind of silence.
He stopped in front of the doors.
Hesitated. Then raised a hand, knuckles tapping once...twice.
A pause.
Then from inside, a voice.
"Come in."
Low. Icy. Controlled.
The kind of voice that didn't rise in volume to command a room because it didn't need to.
Taehyung opened the door. The office was cavernous. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, the city skyline glittering behind them like a thousand cold eyes watching. Every surface gleamed... dark wood, chrome, leather.
And there- seated at the massive desk facing the window... was Jeon Jungkook.
At first, all Taehyung could see was his back- tailored black suit sharp against the glass as the chair slowly turned.
Then:
He saw him.
Fully. For the first time.
Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. Blank expression.
A face too perfect... sculpted in ice and silence.
Those eyes locked on him.
And Taehyung... despite everything, despite all the strength he'd learned to fake... felt his fingers twitch.
Like prey meeting the eyes of a predator.
Jungkook said nothing.
Just stared. Like he was deciding what Taehyung was worth... without ever needing to ask.
And Taehyung...stood still. Not out of fear. Not exactly.
But because when the devil looks at you, you don't move until you're told.
The silence stretched for a moment too long. Then Jungkook leaned forward elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled, eyes locked on Taehyung with the precision of a blade.
"I'm sure you've been briefed about the contract."
His voice was low.
"And I'm sure we both know what you're going to say."
Taehyung opened his mouth a reflex, half a breath of protest but Jungkook didn't stop speaking.
Didn't even blink.
"Let's not waste time."
The words landed heavy, without space for argument.
"Tomorrow," Jungkook continued, his tone clipped, "you'll come here and sign the contract."
It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't even an instruction. It was a declaration as if the papers had already been signed, and Taehyung's resistance was just a formality that would resolve itself by morning.
Taehyung stared at him.
For a beat, he didn't breathe. Didn't blink. Was this man even real?
This- this cold, composed figure seated like a king on a throne of silence... this was the man he was meant to marry?
The same man who never even looked at him when they crossed paths?
He swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper.
"I... I haven't agreed to it yet, Mr. Jeon."
Jungkook didn't react.
Just leaned back in his chair with a calmness so sharp it felt like violence.
"You are going to."
There was no arrogance in his tone.
No smug smile. Just certainty.
A man who had already run the numbers, considered the outcomes, and knew the result was inevitable.
Taehyung's chest tightened.
He wanted to argue. To demand something anything that made this feel less like being owned.
But... He couldn't.
Because Jeon Jungkook was right.
He had no choice.
Binnie's face flashed in his mind... that soft, sleepy smile, the quiet hope in his voice.
Taehyung looked down. Then nodded. Once. Slow. Heavy. A quiet surrender.
"Yes, sir."
From across the room, Jungkook's gaze didn't soften. Didn't shift. Just remained unmoved. Like victory had never been in question.
"Leave." The words struck like a closing gate.
Taehyung's eyes lifted slowly meeting Jungkook's gaze for the first time without flinching.
And for a second, neither of them moved.
Taehyung swallowed thickly.
"Thank you," he murmured though for what, he didn't quite know.
He bowed once. Stiffly. Then turned. His fingers curled around the cold metal of the doorknob. He paused something in him pulling back for just a moment and glanced over his shoulder one last time.
Jungkook was still watching him.
Like he hadn't just rewritten the course of someone's life in a single sentence.
Taehyung looked away, jaw tight.
And without another word...he stepped out, shutting the door quietly behind him.