5
Third Person Pov
Taehyung hadn’t truly slept, not the way someone rested when they felt safe. He had only drifted hovering in that fragile, weightless space between exhaustion and awareness, where the line between memory and nightmare blurred.
Jungkook’s words had played on a loop in his mind like a cruel lullaby:
You were nothing before I chose you. And you’ll be nothing if I ever stop.
Every syllable had been cold, deliberate a sentence, not a conversation. Even with his eyes closed, even as he tried to focus on his breathing, the weight of those words pressed against his ribs like a vice. He hadn’t spoken back.
What was there to say? In that house, he wasn’t a person. He was a decision a name on paper, a role to fill. A chain, as Jungkook had so eloquently put it.
But somewhere in the early hours of morning, with the moonlight bleeding across the floor, something small and warm shifted beside him.
A little body wriggled closer under the covers, arms instinctively wrapping around his waist, breath soft and steady.
Gyubin.
His son had curled up against him, tiny fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, and Taehyung’s heart had finally stopped aching just long enough to let sleep take him.
It wasn’t rest. Not really. But it made him calm down.
.
.
The morning came gently, the golden light creeping through the heavy curtains in soft streaks. Dust floated lazily through the beams, undisturbed. The house was still quiet not the peaceful kind, but the kind that felt deliberate. Controlled.
Taehyung stirred under the blanket, his lashes fluttering open slightly as the warmth of the sun touched his face. His body was stiff, his head heavy from the unrested night. Still half-asleep, he turned onto his side with a soft sigh and reached across the bed.
His hand met nothing but cool sheets.
Frowning slightly, he patted the space again eyes still closed expecting to find the familiar shape of his son tucked close to his side.
But it was empty.
His brows furrowed as his fingers swept across the bed again, then moved down toward the edge, but there was no trace of that little warmth that had comforted him only hours ago.
His eyes opened slowly.
The bed was slightly rumpled from where he had slept, but the right side Gyubin’s side looked untouched. The blanket was pulled back, pillow barely disturbed.
A quiet dread began to build in the pit of his stomach.
Still trying to reason with himself, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. Maybe Gyubin had gotten up early. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom or wandered off to explore. He was a quiet child, not prone to mischief but children moved with small feet and big curiosity.
Taehyung stood, fingers automatically smoothing the creases in his shirt as he moved toward the bathroom door.
He opened it softly, careful not to make noise in case Gyubin was playing inside but the lights were off.
The sink was dry.
The step-stool wasn’t moved.
Everything was untouched, exactly the way it had been the night before.
The chill that had started in his chest began to spread.
“Binnie?” he called, just above a whisper, voice tentative.
When no answer came, he stepped back into the room, scanning quickly corners, under the bed, behind the curtains. His chest tightened further with every second that passed.
There were no child-sized slippers by the door.
No toy left on the carpet.
The space felt wrong now too still, like something had been removed and the room hadn’t yet adjusted to its absence.
Taehyung moved to the door, pulling it open quickly.
The corridor outside was long, elegant, and utterly silent.
He stepped out barefoot, the chill of the marble floor climbing up through his legs, waking him fully with a jolt of unease. The hall stretched in both directions, lit only by the gentle morning glow filtering in through the tall windows.
There were no footsteps. No voices. No sound of anyone moving through the house.
Just the sharp echo of his own breathing.
“Gyubin?” he called again, louder now. His voice echoed faintly against the walls.
Still nothing.
He began walking quickly now, eyes darting into corners, peeking behind partially open doors. Room after room, he passed silent studies, formal lounges, guest rooms far too large for a child to feel comfortable in. There was no sign of movement. Not even a trace.
The quiet was beginning to feel suffocating.
Taehyung paused at a landing and turned slowly in a circle, trying to decide which direction to go next. He couldn’t understand how in such a massive estate, with supposed staff and guards and cameras, his son could just... disappear.
He walked faster now, calling out again louder, this time, panic tightening every word.
“Binnie, answer me!!”
His chest was heaving, fingers clenched as he moved down another corridor, checking doors, flinging one open only to find another empty space. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, his mind spinning with awful possibilities.
What if he’d gotten lost somewhere in this maze of cold, unfamiliar rooms?
And worst of all what if Jungkook knew?
What if this was part of whatever sick power game he’d started the night before?
Taehyung’s voice broke as he called again, barely holding it together now, breath hitching.
“Please... Binnie, just say something...”
But still, all he got was silence.
The kind that echoed.
And then he froze.
Mid-step, breath still caught in his throat, Taehyung’s body stilled like someone had pressed pause on time itself.
At the far end of the corridor, just outside a partially open door, stood a tiny figure leaning softly against the wooden frame small shoulders hunched forward slightly, head tilted as he peered inside with quiet curiosity.
Gyubin.
Taehyung’s chest finally moved again one long, slow exhale leaving his lips as his heart began to beat properly for the first time that morning. Relief didn’t come in a flood. It came in fragments, loosening his muscles one by one as the fear began to ebb.
He pressed a hand against the wall for balance and shook his head, both in disbelief and exhaustion. Then, steadying his breath, he walked toward the little boy with quiet steps and tapped a hand gently against his shoulder from behind.
“Binnie,” he murmured, voice still hoarse from worry.
Gyubin jumped a little, eyes widening in surprise as he turned around.
“Appa…” he breathed, almost guiltily, as if he knew he had scared him.
Taehyung dropped to his knees immediately, arms opening. He didn’t scold him. He didn’t question him. He just exhaled a soft, broken sigh and pulled his son close, brushing a hand over his hair, grounding himself in the weight of him.
“I was searching for you everywhere…” Taehyung whispered, voice frayed at the edges.
Gyubin leaned back slightly, head ducking down as he pinched both his own ears lightly with little fingers a silent apology the boy often did when he knew he’d done something wrong.
“Sorry, appa,” he said softly.
Taehyung couldn’t help the tired smile that tugged at his lips. He gently kissed the top of Gyubin’s head and wiped at the corner of his eye, where fear had almost turned into tears earlier.
But Gyubin ever gentle, ever observant tugged lightly at his father’s sleeve.
“Appa…” he whispered again, turning his head to peek back into the room.
Taehyung followed his gaze instinctively, tilting his head to see what had captured his son’s attention.
And then he saw him.
Inside the room surrounded by sunlight filtering through high windows and the soft echo of early morning stood Jungkook.
His back was half-turned, a sheen of sweat on his neck. He was lifting weights, the slow, precise kind of repetition that spoke of routine, not aggression.
A black t-shirt clung to his frame, loose yet somehow still revealing the strain beneath. Black sweatpants hung low on his hips, and a thick band wrapped around his forearm. His dark hair, damp and messy, clung slightly to his forehead, shadowing his eyes as he adjusted his stance.
He hadn’t noticed them.
Taehyung immediately averted his eyes, gaze dropping to the floor as his throat tightened. There was something about seeing Jungkook like that raw, unaware, powerful in his stillness that made the ring on his finger feel heavier.
Gyubin, still wide-eyed, tugged on his father’s shirt again.
“Who is he?” he asked innocently, voice hushed in awe, like he’d just seen a superhero training behind a curtain.
Taehyung parted his lips to answer.
His throat was dry, his mind tangled.
The truth felt too complicated. Too bitter.
Too sharp for a child’s mouth.
Binnie…” Taehyung’s voice came low and soft, carrying a quiet tenderness as he finally spoke after a brief pause.
The name slipped from his mouth like a secret meant to soothe: “He’s Mr. Jeon.”
Gyubin’s brows furrowed slightly, his head tilting in cautious curiosity as he glanced toward the imposing figure across the room.
“He lives here?” Gyubin asked quietly, barely above a whisper, his voice threaded with disbelief and a trace of fear.
His gaze flickered back and forth between Taehyung and the man in the corner, trying to reconcile the warm security he felt in his father’s presence with the sharp unease that the stranger’s presence stirred within him.
Taehyung nodded slowly, carefully maintaining his soft smile even as a knot tightened in his own chest. “He’s helping us,” he said simply, keeping the explanation brief and neutral. “This is his house.”
He deliberately chose his words with care. There was no reason to cloud Gyubin’s young mind with the complexities the contracts signed in cold, ruthless calculation, the undercurrent of power and control that clung to Mr. Jeon like a second skin.
Gyubin chewed on his lower lip, absorbing the unfamiliar reality. His small voice trembled as he muttered, “He looks scary…”
Taehyung’s heart clenched at the boy’s honest fear. The rawness of it struck a chord deep inside him.
“Don’t be scared, my love,” Taehyung whispered, his voice a soft lullaby meant to shield Gyubin from the cold edges of the world. “You have Appa by your side. Always.”
The words wrapped around the boy like a comforting blanket, seeping into him like gentle sunlight breaking through a cloudy day. Gradually, the tension in Gyubin’s small shoulders began to ease, and he let himself melt into the safety of his father’s arms once more.
“But… what if he scolds Binnie?” Gyubin’s voice was muffled as he buried his face in the warmth of Taehyung’s collar, uncertainty lacing every word.
Taehyung’s smile deepened with quiet confidence, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the crown of Gyubin’s head. His hand moved slowly through the boy’s curls, fingers tracing delicate, protective patterns along his scalp.
“Then I’ll scold him back,” he answered with calm assurance, the serious tone in his voice just enough to coax a small smile from Gyubin’s lips, breaking the lingering edge of fear.
That soft, trusting giggle that followed was like music to Taehyung’s ears a sound born from pure belief in his father’s strength and love. In that moment, the shadows of their surroundings seemed to dissolve, and the coldness of the world faded away.
Until a shadow stretched over them, breaking the fragile peace.
Taehyung sensed it before he even turned an almost tangible shift in the atmosphere, like the sudden chill when a door slams shut on a warm room. The presence was heavy, oppressive, and it swallowed the sunlight that had just begun to warm their little haven.
His eyes lifted, and time seemed to slow.
Jungkook emerged from his private gym, a towel draped casually over one shoulder, his damp hair clinging unevenly to his forehead.
His bare arms gleamed faintly with sweat, muscles defined from the exertion, yet it wasn’t the physical sight that cut through Taehyung’s cheswt it was the look in Jungkook’s eyes.
Jungkook’s gaze didn’t acknowledge them as people he didn’t see them as father and son, as guests or even as intruders. Instead, his eyes passed right through them, indifferent and distant, as if they were mere shadows on the wall.
Taehyung quickly stood, brushing off his pants, trying to compose himself. Gyubin followed suit, standing straight beside his father, uncertain but watching closely.
“Good morning,” Taehyung greeted, bowing slightly in instinct not out of respect, but survival.
Gyubin mirrored his father, bowing awkwardly but sincerely. “Good morning,” he echoed softly, repeating what he’d heard, like he was learning a new ritual.
Jungkook’s gaze moved to them briefly, eyes pausing on the child for half a second long enough to make Taehyung’s heart beat faster but his expression didn’t change.
No greeting.
He simply walked past them.
As though they were just part of the furniture.
Taehyung released a quiet breath, chest sinking slightly once Jungkook disappeared down the hallway.
Gyubin stood still beside him, small fingers brushing against his father’s palm as if to check if it was okay to breathe again.
Taehyung smiled gently, brushing a hand over his son’s hair before guiding him by the shoulders. “Come on,” he murmured, voice lighter now, though the tension in his body hadn’t quite left. “Let’s get you freshened up.”
Gyubin giggled, hopping a little as he followed his father back down the corridor. As they walked, the little boy glanced over his shoulder, eyes landing briefly on the tall man disappearing into the shadows of the other wing of the estate.
Jungkook didn’t look back. His figure was already distant, back rigid, stride precise, as if nothing behind him deserved a second glance.
The boy turned forward again, pressing closer to Taehyung’s side.
.
.
Back in the room, Taehyung helped Gyubin into the bath, humming quietly under his breath as he scrubbed the little limbs clean, rinsing shampoo from the soft curls.
There was a familiarity in the way Gyubin babbled about how long the hallway was, or how the carpet tickled his feet little observations that filled the silence like sunlight filtering into a cold room.
By the time Taehyung had dried him, helped him change into fresh clothes, and combed his hair gently with his fingers.
Gyubin looked like a little doll again soft cheeks, tidy curls, small hands fidgeting with his bunny’s ears.
Taehyung quickly washed up after, moving through the motions with the ease of habit. The ring on his finger caught his attention as he dressed. It had pressed against his skin all night, too tight, too sharp. When he tried to shift it, he winced slightly.
The skin beneath was red swollen.
He sat on the edge of the bed, quietly unscrewing the cap of a small antiseptic cream.
Dipping a finger in, he rubbed it gently over the irritated skin.
His motions were careful, precise. The sting made him inhale softly, and he leaned forward, blowing a stream of cool air across the spot until it calmed.
Only then did he slide the ring back on, slower this time.
“This might leave a mark,” he murmured under his breath, almost to himself.
Gyubin, sitting nearby, was too busy trying to get one of the bunny’s floppy ears to stand up straight.
Once they were both ready, Taehyung stood and dusted off the creases from his slacks. “We’ll go to the hospital today,” he said as he fastened his bracelet and adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror. His voice was soft but sure, a plan spoken aloud, mostly to center himself.
Gyubin nodded, still focused on fixing his bunny’s lopsided ear, before hopping off the bed to follow his father.
Together, they left the bedroom and walked quietly through the corridor. The estate was brighter now with the sunlight fully streaming in, but it still felt... hushed. As if the walls themselves were waiting.
They stepped into the kitchen.
To Taehyung’s mild surprise, the room had signs of life warmth, even. Mr. Haenam was standing by the counter, quietly giving instructions to a woman who stood beside him.
She wore a light apron and moved with practiced grace, stirring something in a wide ceramic bowl. The smell of chopped herbs and something savory filled the air homely and comforting in a way the rest of the house wasn’t.
Taehyung lingered at the entrance for a moment, unsure if he should interrupt. But then he stepped in softly. “Uhm… may I help with something?”
Mr. Haenam turned at the voice. For once, the stern lines of his face relaxed slightly into a smile brief but genuine.
“It’s fine,” the older man replied calmly. “You’re our guest.”
Taehyung shook his head, already walking toward the counter. “No,” he said gently but with insistence. “I’ve done nothing since I came here. Let me help.”
Before either of them could object, Taehyung reached for a clean knife and took one of the vegetables set aside a bundle of spinach and began chopping, his motions precise and practiced. His fingers moved with ease, muscle memory from simpler times guiding his hands.
Gyubin climbed into one of the tall chairs near the kitchen island, resting his bunny on the counter. He kicked his legs lightly and smiled shyly when the female chef smiled at him in return.
“Your son is so cute, Mr. Kim,” she said kindly.
Taehyung turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Please… call me Taehyung. Thankyou he is Gyubin.” he replied, lips curving into a soft smile.
He looked back at the cutting board, focused on the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting wood.
Mr. Haenam nodded faintly. “Very well, Taehyung-ssi.”
The kitchen filled with a soft, quiet calm the sound of water running, ingredients being stirred, the soft exchange of words, and Gyubin humming a little tune under his breath.
For the first time since entering the estate, it almost felt like morning in a real home.
Almost.
The rhythm in the kitchen shifted the moment sharp footsteps echoed down the staircase.
It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the warm hum of conversation like a razor. Even the clinking of utensils and the soft bubbling from the pot on the stove seemed to hush in response.
Taehyung looked up instinctively, brows slightly furrowed, as he noticed the sudden stillness settling over the room the kind of silence that arrives with someone important, someone not to be disturbed.
And then he saw the reason.
Jeon Jungkook.
Descending the staircase with calculated calm, the man was now fully dressed in a crisp black shirt tucked into tailored slacks, his every movement exuding power and discipline.
He was holding a phone to one ear, speaking in a tone that was both low and commanding casual, yet clipped in that way that told people what to do without ever raising his voice.
A cigarette burned lightly between the fingers of his free hand, its faint trail of smoke curling upward toward the high ceiling.
“Finalize it." was all Taehyung caught.
Then the call ended. Just like that.
The phone slid into the pocket of Jungkook’s blazer as he stepped into the room like he owned not just the house, but the air in it.
Taehyung immediately turned back to the cutting board, eyes lowering to the vegetables he had been slicing. He resumed chopping, keeping his posture calm, his hands steady pretending not to notice the sudden weight in the room.
Jungkook walked straight past them and sat at the head of the long dining table, His presence alone seemed to shift the energy back into a tighter frame, as if the house remembered who it belonged to.
Taehyung’s shoulders tensed slightly when he saw Mr. Haenam stepping forward with a glass of juice and a neatly plated breakfast dish. But before the butler could even set it down, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence quiet but absolute.
“Send him.”
Just two words.
But they made Taehyung’s blood run cold.
He froze mid-slice, glancing sideways instinctively not at Jungkook, but at his son. Gyubin, seated on the tall chair, was nibbling on a sandwich, unaware of the tension. His small feet dangled off the edge. He seemed relaxed, still caught in the comfort of earlier smiles.
Taehyung let out a quiet breath he hadn’t meant to hold. His heart thudded against his ribs, but his hands moved automatically when Mr. Haenam approached him, now carrying a second glass of juice and another plate.
Without needing to ask, Taehyung reached out and accepted them.
Taehyung straightened and walked slowly toward the dining area, balancing the plate carefully. Jungkook didn’t look up. He was flipping casually through a document placed beside him on the table, cigarette now resting in a tray. He seemed engrossed, or perhaps just uninterested.
Taehyung set the plate down carefully in front of him, followed by the juice. He didn’t linger he began to turn on his heel, intending to return quietly to the kitchen.
But Jungkook’s voice came again, low and even.
“Did I ask you to leave?”
Taehyung halted mid-step, spine straightening involuntarily.
His breath caught slightly before he turned around, gaze lifting cautiously. Jungkook was now looking at him not impatiently, not cruelly but with that calm indifference that stung more than open anger.
“I’m… sorry,” Taehyung said softly, voice steady despite the chill spreading down his back.
He stepped back toward the table and stood beside the chair silently, hands folded neatly in front of him, eyes lowered.
Jungkook said nothing in return.
He reached for his glass and took a sip, gaze already drifting back to the paper in front of him.
Taehyung remained still, unsure how long he was supposed to stay.
“Tell your son to stop wandering around.”
Jungkook’s voice rang out flatly, without looking up from his bowl. No irritation. No inflection. Just cold authority, like a command given to someone beneath him which, to him, Taehyung was.
Taehyung stiffened where he stood. The words weren’t loud, but they struck hard. He turned his gaze slightly toward his son, who was still sitting in the kitchen, unaware. Quietly eating his sandwich.
Taehyung cleared his throat softly.
“Yes,” he said, forcing his voice to remain polite, unaffected. “It won’t happen again.”
Jungkook didn’t acknowledge the reply.
He scooped another spoonful of cereal into his mouth with the same composure as always, chewing slowly, eyes still fixed on the paper next to him.
The dead cigarette sat crooked in the tray the scent stale and sharp in the air. Taehyung resisted the urge to turn his face from the stench, instead silently enduring it.
It had always made him feel sick. But that was a luxury he couldn’t afford here.
He shifted slightly, pressing a finger to his ring, adjusting it where it had dug too deep into his swollen skin. A faint sting pulsed beneath the band, still red from the night before.
The motion was small a quiet discomfort but Jungkook caught it instantly.
His gaze slid over without lifting his head, and for a second, he just stared. Not at Taehyung’s face. At his hand.
Then he spoke, voice so low it felt like a knife drawn at a dinner table.
“You look pathetic fidgeting with that like it means something.”
Taehyung’s fingers froze.
His heart skipped a beat at the bluntness no veil of civility, no attempt to soften it. Just sharp words, stripped of humanity.
“I didn’t give it to you because you deserved it,” Jungkook continued coolly, finally looking up, meeting Taehyung’s gaze with nothing behind his own.
“I gave it to you because it shuts people up.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Taehyung swallowed hard. “It’s… it’s just tight,” he managed. “It cut my skin.”
Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still locked on him.
“Then take it off,” he said, voice devoid of interest. “No one’s pretending you’re here for love.”
Taehyung felt the blood drain from his face, but he said nothing. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped in front of him, head bowed slightly not in submission, but obedience.
“Yeah.” Taehyung’s voice was low but steady as he slowly slid the silver ring off his swollen finger. The skin beneath was red and raw, puffed up enough that the ring had become a tight, painful trap.
He held the ring carefully for a moment, eyes flickering to the small scar it had left. Then, almost instinctively, he slipped it into his pocket, the cool metal pressing cold against his thigh.
He made a silent promise to himself: He’ll get this checked at the hospital. When he'll go with Gyubin.
Before he could move, Jungkook rose from the chair with a sudden, fluid motion that made Taehyung take a small step back the kind of step born not just of surprise but of ingrained caution.
Jungkook’s eyes locked on him, sharp and unyielding, cutting deeper than any words.
“Try to dress better,” Jungkook said with a slow, cruel smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You live in my house, at least act like you belong here—not like some stray nobody.”
The statement wasn’t a suggestion.
It was a reminder. A warning.
Taehyung felt humiliated.
He swallowed, forcing his lips into a thin line as he nodded slightly, careful not to meet Jungkook’s gaze for too long.
“Yes, I understand,” he said quietly.
Jungkook’s gaze lingered for a moment longer like weighing, judging, deciding if Taehyung was worth the air he breathed.
And then he brushed past Taehyung without another word, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air like an afterthought.
At that very moment, soft footsteps echoed from behind the kitchen wall. Gyubin appeared, giggling to himself as he held his plush bunny by the ears, completely unaware of the tension that had just filled the room moments ago.
But the second he looked up he froze.
The tall man in black stood just a few steps away, sleeves rolled neatly up to his forearms, hands tucked into his pockets, posture straight and still. He wasn’t smiling. His expression was blank, but his eyes were sharp, direct like glass that could cut.
Gyubin’s giggles died instantly. His steps faltered as fear trickled down his spine.
He instinctively clasped his hands behind his back, bunny plush pressed between them, and took a single step back.
He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder....searching.
Taehyung was already moving.
He reached his son in two long strides and gently placed a hand on Gyubin’s small shoulder, pulling him into his side with quiet reassurance. The child leaned into the touch, eyes still locked on the imposing figure before him.
Jungkook’s gaze flickered to the pair, briefly landing on the way Taehyung held the boy protectively. The air grew thick in the pause that followed. No words. Just silence, and a tension too heavy for a child to understand.
Then, as if they were nothing happened, Jungkook turned and walked away his footsteps calm, controlled, fading into the corridor without a second glance.
Taehyung stood still, his hand gently stroking Gyubin’s arm as they both watched him disappear around the corner.
Taehyung exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders slowly loosening as the sound of Jungkook’s footsteps faded into nothing. He looked down at the small boy beside him still a little pale, still holding his bunny tight.
Taehyung gave a gentle shake of his head, forcing a small smile to his lips.
“Did you eat well?” he asked quietly, brushing Gyubin’s fringe back with a soft touch.
Gyubin nodded immediately, though his voice was small. “Mmhm.”
Taehyung smiled, more genuinely this time. “Alright then,” he said, crouching a little to fix the loose strap of Gyubin’s shoes. “Let’s go to the hospital.”
Gyubin brightened at that, his earlier nerves forgotten. “Really?” he asked with a smile. “We can go now?”
Taehyung nodded and stood back up, holding out his hand. “Yes, my love. Let’s get your checkup done, hmm?”
The boy eagerly took his father’s hand, plushie still tucked under one arm as they walked toward the front entrance of the estate.
Just as they reached the main doors, Taehyung’s eyes caught a glimpse of a sleek black car rolling out through the iron gates Jungkook’s. The tinted windows gave nothing away, but even from a distance, the presence of that vehicle alone made the air feel colder.
He watched it disappear down the road, heart thudding dully in his chest.
That man was dangerous.
Not in the obvious way not violent, not loud. No. Jungkook didn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand. His power came in silence. In stares. In the way he made you feel small without ever saying much at all.
Taehyung looked away quickly, fingers tightening slightly around Gyubin’s.