7
Third Person Pov
The morning sunlight crept across the wooden floor in pale, broken patterns.
The curtains swayed faintly, letting the breeze in. It was soft. Gentle. The kind of morning that almost pretended nothing had happened the night before. But Taehyung's body knew.
He stirred slowly on the bed, Gyubin curled beside him, one hand clutching his bunny plush, the other holding tightly to his father’s shirt. The boy's breathing was even, lips parted in sleep.
Taehyung blinked at the ceiling for a long, unmoving second.
Then quietly, with careful fingers, he loosened his son's grip and got up. The floor was cool beneath his feet as he walked toward the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp at the roots from last night’s wash.
But the moment he stepped in and looked at his reflection he froze.
There it was.
Wrapped neatly, snugly, unrelentingly around his neck: the collar.
The leather band sat like a brand on his skin. Unapologetic. Quietly mocking. A souvenir from a man who’d reduced him to a pawn and made sure he knew it.
Taehyung’s chest tightened. His jaw clenched. With trembling fingers, he unclasped the buckle.
It was stiffer now, slightly wrinkled where Jungkook had tugged, the faint metallic scent of alcohol still lingering on the fabric. Taehyung dropped it onto the sink counter and stared at it.
For a long time. Then he picked it up again. And threw it.
It hit the bathroom wall with a dull thud and landed in the corner like it belonged in the trash it hadn’t quite reached. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly, the adrenaline hitting in waves now, belated but blinding.
His voice stayed silent. But inside?
His thoughts screamed.
You can insult me. Humiliate me. Make me kneel. But you will never own me.
Taehyung exhaled slowly, eyes closing. For a moment, the silence of the bathroom pressed in too tightly, but he grounded himself. With a hand on the counter, he steadied his breath, lifted his face to the mirror again.
And whispered almost like a promise to himself:
“Endure for now.”
His voice cracked slightly at the edges.
“For Gyubin.”
Because if he had been alone… he would’ve walked out last night. Walked out barefoot into the cold, the rain, the night anything but that room.
But Gyubin… was only seven.
And the world didn’t treat boys like him gently. So Taehyung would stay.
Would swallow every insult. Would tolerate every look, every command, every leash just long enough to make sure his son got through this untouched. But the moment he could leave?
He would. And he would never, ever, look back.
.
.
The morning air was soft.
Cool, but not cold. The kind of breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and freshly bloomed petals. The estate's yard stretched wide and perfectly manicured hedges trimmed, stone paths winding through flowerbeds, and fountains humming quietly in the distance.
Taehyung stood near the edge of the garden, fingers loosely wrapped around his son's hand as they walked slowly into the sun-dappled space.
Gyubin’s eyes sparkled.
“Appa, look!” he suddenly exclaimed, pointing eagerly with his free hand.
Taehyung followed his gaze to a small squirrel darting across the stone path. Its bushy tail flicked once before it scurried up a nearby tree. Gyubin gasped, delighted, and Taehyung couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.
“There are rabbits too,” Taehyung murmured, gesturing toward a patch near the far hedges.
“Really?” Gyubin’s eyes widened.
Without waiting, the boy let go of his father’s hand and padded forward on the grass, shoes crunching lightly against the dew-kissed lawn. Taehyung’s hands remained suspended for a second still remembering the warmth of his son’s tiny fingers before falling to his sides.
Gyubin crouched down near the hedges, careful and curious.
A small white rabbit sat nibbling on a blade of grass, ears twitching. Gyubin reached out, slow and gentle but the rabbit flinched and bolted, disappearing into the brush.
Gyubin's shoulders slumped as he let out a disappointed pout. Then, after a second, he simply turned toward a cluster of wildflowers swaying nearby. He crouched again and ran his fingers across the petals, eyes soft.
“I love it here,” he said suddenly, voice light, full of something fragile and pure.
Taehyung froze. His smile, still on his lips, cracked.
Gyubin turned his head, beaming. “I wanna stay here forever, appa.”
Taehyung’s smile died.
His throat tightened, and he forced himself to nod. Just barely. Enough for a child to believe.
Then he looked away. Took a slow, shaking breath as he let his eyes wander across the estate grounds.
Everything looked beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like a dream carved out of someone else’s life. The garden. The house. The silence. The safety.
And yet It wasn’t safe for him. Not truly.
This place these walls they weren’t home. They were polished, gilded, and cold. A cage dressed as comfort. And that man… the one who owned this estate, the one who had locked humiliation around Taehyung’s throat last night he still lived behind those walls.
Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek.
He stayed silent. Let Gyubin chase bees and hum to flowers. Let the boy build good memories, even if his own were rotting.
And as his son giggled at a butterfly that landed on his knee, Taehyung turned slightly away hiding the tears that prickled his eyes under the sun.
“Taehyung-ssi.”
The name echoed softly in the quiet room, and Taehyung glanced up from where he sat watching Gyubin draw on the back of a paper napkin with a half-broken pencil. His son’s cheeks were puffed in focus, brows furrowed as he carefully shaded a crooked flower.
Mr. Haenam stood just outside the door, hands neatly clasped in front of him. “Today is the press conference,” he said, voice even and formal. “Mr. Jeon has ordered that you prepare. Your attire has been arranged.”
Taehyung straightened slowly, nodding.
“Gyubin,” he called gently, and the boy immediately perked up.
“Yes, appa?”
“We have to go.”
The child jumped up, his little hand instantly finding Taehyung’s like it always did with trust, with warmth, with innocence too fragile for this house.
As they followed Mr. Haenam down the polished hallway, Taehyung hesitated for a moment.
“Will Gyubin be coming too?” he asked softly.
Haenam shook his head. “No. Mr. Jeon does not prefer children at formal events. He keeps his distance from them.”
Taehyung’s jaw tensed slightly, his smile fading. He looked down at Gyubin, whose attention was still on the floor tiles and the way his sneakers squeaked every few steps.
Of course Jungkook didn’t like children.
“I see,” Taehyung murmured.
They stopped outside a guest room. The door was already ajar. Mr. Haenam stepped aside, nodding once before turning to leave.
Taehyung entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him.
Inside, the bed was neatly made, and laid across its edge was a navy blue blazer, a white button-down shirt, and tailored black trousers. There was a pair of polished leather shoes at the foot of the bed. The entire ensemble looked like it belonged to a world Taehyung had never touched.
He stepped closer. The fabric looked soft.
He reached out and ran his fingers across the sleeve slowly, cautiously the way someone might touch a museum artifact. A faint crease in the blazer told him it had been recently pressed. The tag had already been removed.
It was ready to be worn.
Ready to wear him.
.
.
Taehyung’s reflection in the mirror didn’t move. He stood there for a long moment, staring at himself.
He’d worn janitor uniforms most of his life scratchy fabrics, loose shirts that hung off his shoulders, plastic gloves that made his hands sweat, boots that never fit right. He remembered the smell of bleach clinging to his hair, the sting in his back after hours of crouching on tiled floors.
This blazer didn’t smell like bleach.
It smelled like formality. Like someone else’s world. Like something clean and untouched by suffering.
He reached for the shirt, hands slightly shaking as he buttoned it up to his collarbone. The sleeves fit snugly around his wrists, and the blazer once he’d put it on....felt heavier than he expected. He wasn’t used to clothing that fit.
He wasn’t used to being dressed for someone else’s performance.
Taehyung stared at himself in the mirror one more time. He didn’t recognize the man looking back not fully.
He looked handsome. Clean.
But inside? He felt like a ghost wearing someone else’s skin.
His fingers, once used to scrub floors, were now about to hold a mic and stand beside a man who only knew how to tighten chains.
And behind him, Gyubin sat on the couch waiting patiently, kicking his feet in the air, completely unaware that the world outside that room was already being told a story Taehyung didn’t write.
A knock echoed gently through the quiet room.
Taehyung opened the door, fingers still adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Mr. Haenam stood on the other side, composed as always, but with a softness in his eyes that Taehyung was slowly learning to read.
“I’m ready,” Taehyung said, his voice calm, but his heart already tightening.
A small tug at his trouser leg made him glance down.
Gyubin looked up at him, blinking with hopeful eyes. “Can I come too, appa?”
He bent down slowly, brushing back the curls from Gyubin’s forehead.
“Next time,” he whispered with a faint smile. “Be good for me, okay?”
Gyubin nodded, but his small fingers held on a second longer before letting go. Taehyung gently squeezed his hand, then stood up.
They walked together into the living room Taehyung, Gyubin, and Mr. Haenam trailing quietly behind. The space was dim, empty of voices or footsteps. Not even the staff moved about.
“Mr. Jeon is waiting in the car,” Mr. Haenam said simply.
Taehyung nodded, then turned to his son once more. He crouched again and placed a soft kiss on Gyubin’s cheek, lingering for a moment as if memorizing the warmth.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Very soon.”
Then he stood, hesitated, and reached into his blazer pocket.
“I… I made a list,” he said, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. “It has everything. His medicine schedule, what he likes to eat, bedtime everything.”
Mr. Haenam took it with both hands, glancing briefly over the handwriting before nodding once.
“I’ll see to it.”
Taehyung exhaled softly, his gaze returning to Gyubin who was still watching him with bright eyes, unbothered by the formality or tension in the air. Still a child, still untainted.
“You look pretty, appa,” Gyubin said suddenly, tilting his head. “Like a doll.”
Taehyung let out a quiet laugh, brushing a hand through the boy’s curls. “And you look like trouble,” he teased.
Gyubin giggled. Mr. Haenam stepped forward and gently held Gyubin’s hand, signaling it was time.
Taehyung lingered for a second longer.
Then he finally stepped away, walking to the front door. His hand gripped the handle. He took a deep breath.
This wasn’t just a press conference.
It was a performance the grand unveiling of a life he didn’t choose, beside a man who barely looked at him unless it was to command or criticize.
But he squared his shoulders.
And stepped outside into the blinding sun, into the waiting car, into whatever waited next with Jeon Jungkook.
The car door opened soundlessly, held by a man in black face like stone behind a pair of dark sunglasses. He stepped aside with a short nod, giving Taehyung space to enter.
Taehyung hesitated on the threshold, eyes falling on the figure already seated inside.
Jeon Jungkook.
He sat draped in a charcoal black suit, tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been cut from shadow. A sleek tablet resting on his knee, his fingers scrolling slowly through what looked like a series of reports. Not once did he lift his eyes to acknowledge Taehyung’s presence.
The interior of the car was as polished as its owner cool leather seats, dark tinted windows, quiet air-conditioning that seemed to hush even the sound of breathing.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the silence in like a coffin lid.
Outside, just before the car began to pull away, Taehyung caught sight of a small figure by the estate gates.
Gyubin.
He stood there, his tiny hands waving clumsily. His smile was wide and full of pride as if his father wasn’t going to be paraded around like a dressed-up lie, but rather someone important, someone he believed in.
Taehyung raised a hand in return, forcing a smile through the tightness in his chest.
And then the car accelerated, gliding down the long driveway like it belonged to royalty. Taehyung slowly lowered his hand to his lap.
Silence fell again.
The only sound came from Jungkook’s fingers tapping across the screen. His expression remained blank jaw sharp, brow relaxed, the picture of someone utterly at ease, because control had never once slipped from his hands.
Taehyung let his gaze drift toward him just for a second. Jungkook’s features, sculpted and cold, looked even more severe under the muted daylight filtering through the tinted glass. His dark hair was slicked back, a small silver pin holding his collar in place.
He looked away quickly.
His hand moved almost instinctively to his neck fingers grazing lightly over the skin there.
A reminder. Of the collar. Of the humiliation. Of the way Jungkook had tugged it, like a man reining in a disobedient pet.
Last night hadn’t been a punishment. It had been a message. You are mine. But not in love. In leash. In control.
He pressed his lips together and dropped his hand.
The car halted with a soft, controlled stop.
Taehyung’s heart sank slightly as he looked out the window. A modest crowd had gathered at the far end of the building, their collective excitement echoing even through the closed doors the unmistakable hum of press flashes, heels tapping marble, and murmurs spreading like smoke.
Across from him, Jungkook closed his tablet with a silent tap and set it aside without a word.
The door on Jungkook’s side opened, and a suited bodyguard gave a respectful bow. Jungkook stepped out fluidly, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with precise fingers.
Taehyung followed slowly, his shoes touching the ground with a quiet finality. The wind was light but cool, brushing against his cheek like breath he didn’t ask for. He adjusted the hem of the blazer that still didn’t feel like his and walked around the car, eyes fixed on the man waiting ahead.
He came to stand beside Jungkook.
Before he could even offer a greeting, a sharp remark landed low and cold.
“Try not to embarrass me.”
The words were like a slap wearing silk gloves. Smooth in delivery. Brutal in meaning.
Taehyung stiffened for half a second, but nodded. “Yes.”
His voice was low. Controlled. And hollow.
Then, without warning, his stomach dropped. Fingers wrapped tightly around his hand.
Taehyung’s eyes widened slightly, his entire body freezing as Jungkook laced their hands together the grip firm, possessive. Too much for something that was supposed to be gentle.
Taehyung instinctively tried to ease his hand back, fingers twitching in protest but Jungkook’s hold only tightened.
Hard.
Right over the swollen joint where the ring had cut into his skin the night before.
A sharp sting shot up Taehyung’s arm and he winced barely biting the inside of his cheek to stop the gasp from escaping.
Jungkook didn’t even look at him.
Didn’t blink. He simply began walking.
And Taehyung had no choice but to walk with him or more accurately, be pulled alongside him like a marionette made to smile for display.
Their footsteps echoed as they passed through the corridor leading to the open atrium where the media waited. Bodyguards opened doors, staff moved aside, and a handler whispered something into Jungkook’s ear.
Jungkook didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t pose for the cameras like most public figures would.
He only gave a small nod stiff, barely there a signature of disinterest worn as confidence. Then he simply kept walking, dragging Taehyung silently alongside him as if the chaos behind them didn’t exist.
Taehyung kept his eyes lowered, avoiding the lenses that kept clicking and flashing. Each camera was a threat. Each shouted question another knife thrown in the dark.
“Mr. Jeon, is this an official union?”
Their names kept ringing in the air, over and over, louder than the air conditioning, louder than his own breathing.
His fingers twitched at his side, but Jungkook’s hand remained iron-wrapped around his.
The corridor opened into the grand main hall, and Taehyung's breath hitched.
It hadn’t changed.
The ceiling still towered with glass chandeliers. The polished floors still echoed with every footstep. But this time, Taehyung wasn’t holding a mop.
He was walking on the same carpeted aisle he had once quietly vacuumed every weekend after late meetings.
His eyes flicked to the side a flash of memory: kneeling by the corner wall, removing scuff marks from the tiles as executives talked about mergers and markets like he didn’t exist.
Now they were all here.
The higher authorities men in suits with polished shoes and clipped speech sat facing the stage in front of long rows of cameras and invited press. Their eyes were curious, some even amused, as they caught sight of the new figure at Jungkook’s side.
Then he saw him.
Kim Seokjin.
Standing calmly near the left wing of the hall, dressed in a smooth grey suit, talking quietly to a foreign client. His posture was effortless, elegant every bit the composed executive he was known to be.
But when his eyes shifted, and he saw Taehyung his gaze stilled.
Taehyung took a breath. Held it.
And walked.
The long chair at the front of the hall was waiting, mics already aligned, name cards placed before their respective seats. Jungkook didn't pause simply led him forward without a single word.
The space between the stage and the rest of the room felt infinite. His stomach curled. His legs moved on their own. And all the while, Jungkook’s grip on his hand didn’t waver.
The man hadn’t even looked at him once. But every step forward said the same thing:
The long mahogany table gleamed under the white-hot press lights. Taehyung sat down quietly between the two men Jeon Jungkook to his right, and Kim Seokjin to his left as the room buzzed with the tension of hundreds of eyes and even more expectations.
The nameplate before him read: Mr. Jeon Taehyung.
His throat dried at the sight.
Seokjin leaned slightly toward him, eyes sharp but voice lowered enough for only Taehyung to hear. “Don’t be nervous, Taehyung.”
Taehyung glanced sideways, startled by the gentleness. Seokjin didn’t look at him, not really his gaze remained mostly ahead, eyes scanning the room with the same level calm of a man who had led pressers before breakfast.
“You don’t have to answer anything,” he added, adjusting his mic. “Me and Jungkook will handle the statements. You just have to look like the perfect spouse.”
Taehyung’s shoulders tensed, but he gave a small nod.
Seokjin’s tone never shifted from cold professionalism. “Devoted. Quiet. In love.”
It felt like a blade veiled in silk.
"I understand."
He nodded again slower this time. His fingers curled under the table, palms sweaty. The only sound was the click of cameras and the rustle of media crews adjusting their gear.
Then the murmuring died down.
Lights adjusted. Lenses zoomed in.
The press conference began.
Seokjin was the first to speak his voice smooth and commanding, trained by years of media navigation. “Good afternoon. On behalf of Jeon Corporation, thank you all for being here.”
Polite bows and nods from the front row of reporters followed.
Seokjin continued. “As many of you are already aware, Jeon Corp has been the center of several circulating allegations over the past few weeks most of which, I’ll clarify, are baseless and fueled by unverified sources.
We are here today to not only address those rumors, but also to make an important announcement. ”
He shifted slightly, his expression neutralizing even more.
“And that is...”
Seokjin tilted his head slightly toward Jungkook, giving the floor.
The man didn’t perform for the media. He commanded it. He finally spoke slow, clipped words, devoid of warmth.
“I’ve married,” he said, simply. “Privately. As of last week.”
A ripple went through the crowd flashes igniting faster now, the murmurs rising.
Taehyung didn’t look up.
He could feel every lens tilting toward him now, every curious gaze trying to decode the man who sat beside Jungkook, hands folded on the table, lips pressed into a faint, loyal smile.
Jungkook’s voice cut through the noise again.
“My spouse is Kim Taehyung now Jeon.”
No love of my life. No this was unexpected. Just a name. A formality. A bullet point on a slide.