8
Third Person Pov.
"My spouse is Kim Taehyung now Jeon."
The words left Jungkook's lips like a formality crisp, unfeeling, distant.
But Taehyung felt them like a slap.
Kim Taehyung.
His own name, spoken aloud for the world to hear. Not as a man. Not as a person. But as a statement. A possession. A shield.
And coming from Jungkook cold, distant Jungkook it felt more like being branded than acknowledged.
Taehyung's skin prickled.
Goosebumps rose along his neck as he sat still beside the CEO, his smile unwavering, trained. He clenched his jaw subtly a slow, controlled motion as camera shutters snapped more furiously than before.
Gasps were heard around the press table. The ripple of whispers was immediate.
"Taehyung?"
The questions came in fast succession. Some with curiosity, others with suspicion. The entire room leaned in with new interest.
One bold reporter stood.
"When did you two get married? And why the sudden announcement now when your company is under such intense fire? Isn't it suspicious timing, Mr. Jeon?"
Jungkook leaned back slightly, adjusting the microphone.
His tone was calm disinterested, as though even explaining himself was beneath him.
"My love life," he said, "is private. It has nothing to do with corporate matters."
"But Mr. Jeon," another reporter pushed, "the public is demanding answers regarding the illegal drug trials. Don't you think this marriage announcement is being viewed as a strategy to distract from the core issue?"
Before Taehyung could even blink, Seokjin was already cutting in.
"The press is free to speculate," he said smoothly, his voice controlled and razor-sharp, "but the facts remain unchanged. This marriage was registered before any allegations came to light. There is no connection between Mr. Jeon's personal life and the current legal proceedings."
The murmuring dimmed, but eyes remained skeptical.
A third journalist raised her hand older, clearly seasoned.
"Mr. Kim," she addressed Seokjin, "what proof is there that Jeon Corp was unaware of these trials? Leaked documents show Jeon Medical Division approved experimental drugs on terminal patients some of whom didn't survive. Is it true that patients were treated like test subjects?"
The question hit like a hammer.
The entire room stilled.
Taehyung felt the blood leave his face. Even seated between giants like Jungkook and Seokjin, he had never felt more exposed.
Seokjin's voice cut clean and low.
"There are no signed approvals by Mr. Jeon Jungkook on any of those documents," he said.
"The trials in question were conducted without the CEO's knowledge, by lower-level executives who deliberately bypassed protocol.
We are fully cooperating with investigative authorities, and we have already identified individuals under scrutiny. "
He looked directly into the sea of cameras, his expression fierce.
"As for the families who lost their loved ones, we have already begun compensation efforts. And that is not an admission of guilt it is an act of responsibility."
Gasps echoed.
Click. Click. Click.
Taehyung could feel himself getting smaller and smaller behind the cameras' hungry eyes.
Seokjin didn't stop.
"Effective immediately," he said, "Jeon Medical Division will be officially shut down."
More murmurs.
"And in its place, a new independent organization will be launched one whose mission will focus on transparent, ethical healthcare solutions for the underprivileged and medically underserved."
A reporter tried to interrupt, but Seokjin raised a hand.
"The guilty will be found," he continued, "and held accountable. Those who played god with human lives will be behind bars. Jeon Corp will not protect them."
He leaned back now, calm again.
"And for the record," Seokjin added, "this company does not run on one man's signature. But Jeon Jungkook did not authorize nor was he made aware of any of the drug trials in question."
A long silence settled in the room.
Reporters scribbled furiously. The buzz of live broadcasts hummed. Taehyung could feel the heat from the camera lights on his skin, but none of it compared to the cold hand still gripping his beneath the table.
Jungkook hadn't let go.
Not once.
Taehyung looked down at their hands
To the press, it must have looked like love.
Support.
But Taehyung knew better.
The room was still reeling from the weight of Seokjin's statement. Reporters whispered to one another, heads huddled behind notepads, glancing occasionally toward the front of the room where three very different men sat like an impassable wall.
For the first time during the conference, Seokjin leaned back in his chair and rested his arms not in comfort, but calculation. He watched as the reporters slowly backed off from the assault. The air had shifted.
Their questions were still murmuring between camera lenses, but the sharpness had dulled.
There were no signatures from Jungkook.
The families were being compensated.
The division would be shut down.
A new initiative was launching.
And Jeon Jungkook known for silence and steel had finally stepped forward to speak.
All of it was doing exactly what Seokjin had intended: pulling the noose off Jungkook's neck.
The marriage distraction had worked.
He could almost feel the collective shift of the press corps, the exact moment their curiosity began moving from criminal investigation to something far easier to digest: romance.
As expected, one of the younger reporters broke the moment.
"To shift from business to personal," she said lightly, her voice tinged with calculated innocence, "may I ask - when did you two get married? It wasn't reported anywhere."
Another chimed in, camera clicking nonstop. "Was it love at first sight, Mr. Jeon?"
Seokjin could almost feel the heat of the camera flashes as they turned again not toward him, but to the man sitting stiff and stoic in a navy blazer, eyes quietly lowered.
Taehyung.
His role was supposed to be simple: Sit still. Smile politely. Pretend like he belonged beside Jeon Jungkook.
But Seokjin could see it clearly the tension behind the mask. The way Taehyung's fingers curled slightly in his lap. The muscle ticking along his jaw. The shallow breath held tightly in his chest.
And Jungkook?
There was no change in his posture. No flicker in his expression. But Seokjin saw the smallest shift a glance his way. And that was all it took.
Permission.
Jungkook adjusted slightly in his chair and without a word, reached out and took Taehyung's hand.
It was so sudden, so deliberate, that even the clicking of cameras momentarily paused. Like a scene being set.
Taehyung stiffened. Seokjin saw it the way his eyes widened for half a second before dropping to the hand in his.
The grip was firm. Possessive. Not loving not even remotely tender but it didn't have to be.
It only had to look like love.
Another flash.
And then, before the room could find its breath again, Jungkook brought the hand to his lips.
It was slow.
Measured.
A kind of kiss designed not for affection but for headlines.
His lips brushed the back of Taehyung's hand so softly, so calculatedly that it sent the room into a flurry of awe and silence.
Seokjin didn't smile. But he didn't need to. Because this was it. The moment that would sell.
The reporters erupted again.
They wouldn't find much. Seokjin had made sure of that.
No one would dig up Taehyung's past as a janitor in Jeon Corp. No one would know how recently he'd been dragged into this world like a pawn in someone else's war.
The headlines would write themselves by morning.
"Ice King's Secret Love Revealed."
"From Scandal to Surprise Wedding - Jeon Jungkook's Press Turnaround."
Exactly what Seokjin needed.
He watched Jungkook slowly lower Taehyung's hand back down never once meeting his eyes. It was almost cruel in how clinical it was. The kiss had been for the room. Not for the man beside him.
Taehyung sat there, frozen. His cheeks were flushed not from affection but humiliation, confusion, or maybe even pain. But he held his expression perfectly.
And Seokjin, for once, allowed himself to breathe.
Because despite all odds...
Despite the scandal...
Despite Jungkook's apathy and Taehyung's silent distress...
"I'm not up for a discussion about my love life," Jungkook said coolly, tone final, a statement rather than a request.
His fingers didn't loosen around Taehyung's hand in fact, they pressed tighter.
And Taehyung, who had been quietly enduring the heat of flashes and eyes, lifted his head with a practiced smile. Not wide. Not fond. Just enough to look like a man used to this grip. Like he wanted to be held.
The room responded just as expected.
Reporters gave polite nods, some chuckled as if charmed by the CEO's aloofness, and the air softened with understanding. It was the perfect note to end the questioning on clean, elusive, romantic.
Jungkook stood up slowly, the expensive fabric of his black suit shifting as he straightened. All grace. All power.
Taehyung followed, rising beside him, and the rest of the room followed in a wave of motion chairs scraped gently back, murmurs rose like low music, and camera lenses lowered in unison.
Jungkook didn't say anything more to the press.
He simply turned toward the exit, still holding onto Taehyung's hand like he owned it like he had every right to tug him wherever he pleased.
"Enjoy the evening," he tossed over his shoulder, words thrown with that same sharp indifference, his eyes already turning away from the crowd.
Behind them, Seokjin gave a small bow toward the guests and raised his voice.
"There's food and wine arranged in the gallery room just next door. We hope you'll stay and enjoy the hospitality."
His words were crisp and formal but beneath the polished tone, he was watching Jungkook's back with a quiet calculation. He didn't miss how tightly the younger man held onto Taehyung. Or how silent the latter remained, walking beside Jungkook like an accessory.
As they exited the press room, the sharp chatter behind them dimmed under heavy oak doors.
Taehyung stumbled slightly as Jungkook turned a sharp corner not out of clumsiness, but from the sheer speed of being dragged along. Jungkook didn't slow. He never even looked back.
Seokjin followed behind with a slower pace, watching them in silence.
Jungkook's grip remained tight around Taehyung's fingers his palm cold and firm. Possessive in a way that wasn't romantic but almost territorial, like he was claiming property, not holding a partner.
They passed by hallways lined with art, the echo of their shoes bouncing against marble floors. A few event staff bowed low, eyes avoiding contact. No one dared speak.
Taehyung could feel the stiffness of his shoulders.
He had smiled for the cameras.
He had let his hand be kissed.
He had played the role.
And now, he was being marched through the halls like a man with no name of his own.
The lights above buzzed faintly.
Jungkook didn't speak. Didn't ask if he was alright. Didn't acknowledge the performance they'd just delivered.
Taehyung dared a glance upward at him. The CEO's face... jawline sharp beneath the sheen of overhead light, his eyes fixed ahead like Taehyung wasn't even there.
And yet, the bruising grip never eased.
Behind them, Seokjin's voice finally broke the silence.
"You did well," he said quietly. His words were directed at Taehyung, though Jungkook heard it too. "Keep walking. There are still eyes on us from the gallery windows."
Taehyung swallowed thickly.
He nodded, the smile returning faintly - brittle now. He didn't look back.
Not at the press room.
Not at the people still whispering behind their wine glasses.
And not at the place he used to clean on his knees.
He kept walking, steps small and careful, hand in the hold of a man who had kissed it like a king and dragged it like a leash.
They stepped into the private office a quiet, polished chamber tucked away from the buzz of the press conference.
The walls were painted a sterile shade of gray, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city skyline beyond, yet somehow managed to feel more like a cage than a view.
The soft click of the door behind them sounded final like the drop of a gavel in a courtroom where guilt already clung to the air.
The moment they were inside, Jungkook let go of Taehyung's hand like it was something disposable something he'd picked up for show and was now finished using. The absence of his touch stung more than the grip itself.
Taehyung exhaled shakily, palm rising instinctively to massage the sore spot. His skin bore the faint, flushed print of Jungkook's fingers, a ghost of possession etched in red.
Seokjin sat behind the heavy mahogany desk, a pen still in hand as if he'd been interrupted while signing papers. His eyes, sharp beneath furrowed brows, followed every movement with quiet calculation.
His attention dropped to Taehyung's hand, then to the coldness lingering between the two young men like fog refusing to clear.
"Sit down, Taehyung," Seokjin said gently, gesturing to the plush chair opposite him.
Taehyung nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he lowered himself into the seat. His posture was stiff, like a soldier called into a war he didn't remember enlisting for.
Jungkook followed without a word, slumping into the seat beside him his long legs stretched, one hand tugging lazily at the top buttons of his blazer
The silence was thick, almost suffocating.
Seokjin's gaze flickered again to Taehyung's hand.
"What happened to your finger?" he asked not loudly, not accusingly, but with a stillness that made the question feel weightier than it was.
Taehyung hesitated. His throat closed up for a second.
He could lie. He could downplay it. But would it matter? Would anything he said in this room change the fact that Jungkook was watching him like a hawk watches a mouse decide which path it wants to die on?
His eyes shifted sideways to Jungkook, who was staring directly at him with that unreadable, deadpan expression. Cold. Observing. Like he was curious what version of the truth Taehyung would offer. As if daring him to paint him the villain or perhaps inviting it.
Taehyung inhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line. "It's nothing," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
But Seokjin didn't look convinced. His gaze didn't waver. His fingers tightened slightly around the pen in his hand, jaw ticking as he turned his face toward Jungkook.
"I told you not to hurt him."
Jungkook's brow lifted lazily not defensive, not surprised. Just... amused. Like this entire conversation was nothing more than an irritant he'd swat away.
"You told me a lot of things," he said coolly, crossing one leg over the other. "But as far as I remember, I'm the one who signed the contract. Not you."
Seokjin's tone shifted, low and steely. "That doesn't give you the right to treat him like-"
"I'm his husband," Jungkook cut in, tone sharper now. "You stay out of this."
Taehyung winced.
It wasn't the words it was the way Jungkook said them. Not with passion, or anger, or even arrogance.
But with indifference. Like the word husband was just a shield he used when it was convenient.
A means of control. A leash.
Seokjin's nostrils flared. "Being his husband doesn't mean you get to ignore human decency. It doesn't mean he's yours to break."
Jungkook didn't blink. "I own him, Seokjin. Legally. Factually. Everything about him... his presence, his silence, his obedience, his name next to mine, that damn ring-is mine by law."
Taehyung's spine stiffened.
His fingers curled into tight fists on his lap.
"I'm not some asset you can-" he started, voice trembling.
But Jungkook's head turned sharply, and when he spoke, the words were quiet - terrifyingly quiet.
"You're right," he said, voice low. Icy.
His eyes met Taehyung's with nothing behind them. No fire. No hate. Just absence.
"You're not an asset."
A heartbeat of silence. Then:
"Assets hold value and you're not useful enough to be one."
Taehyung froze.
The words landed like a slap. No, worse. A scalpel slicing through every shred of dignity he had left.
Jungkook didn't even flinch. He leaned further back in his seat, looking bored now as if the damage had already been done and there was nothing left worth reacting to.
Seokjin looked between the two, jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck tightened visibly.
Taehyung sat frozen. The heat behind his eyes threatened to spill, but he blinked it back. He wouldn't cry. Not in front of Jungkook. Not after all of this.
Seokjin said eventually, his voice softer now, regret lacing every syllable. "You should go rest."
Taehyung didn't respond. He stood slowly, silently, like every limb had grown heavier.
He turned his head one last time, his gaze falling on Jungkook.
Not pleading. Not angry.
Just... tired.
And beneath it, a flicker of something else.
One day, that look said. One day, this won't be you winning.
And then he left the room without a word.
The door closed behind him, the sound like a lid being placed on something boiling.
Seokjin waited a few seconds. Letting the silence stretch. Letting the weight of what had just happened settle into the room like ash.
Then he finally turned to Jungkook.
"You are doing wrong," he said quietly, but with conviction. His tone was no longer that of a businessman. It was of someone who had once trusted Jungkook to be better than this.
Jungkook tilted his head toward him, then looked away, uninterested. "You got what you wanted. A performance. A distraction. Now let me deal with my puppet how I see fit."
Seokjin stood slowly from his chair.
"You think this is control," he murmured, "but it's just a slow self-destruction. You're not breaking him, Jungkook. You're breaking yourself, too."
Jungkook's lips curled slightly. "Good thing I don't care."
"One day, you will," Seokjin replied. "One day, you'll look at someone and wonder why they don't flinch when you're near. You'll wonder why the only thing left behind you is silence."
Jungkook's eyes remained fixed on the skyline.
"Maybe," he said, voice almost wistful. "But by then... they'll already be broken."
Seokjin stared at him for a long moment not out of anger. But pity.
Then he sat down again, picked up his pen, and returned to his work like he already knew there was nothing left to say.
And outside the glass windows, the sky began to turn a bruised shade of gray.
The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by the golden hues of the setting sun bleeding through the tall windows. The light cast long, gentle shadows across the expensive marble floors and framed walls of the estat
.
.
Seokjin's footsteps echoed lightly as he moved through the corridor with a tablet in hand, eyes scanning unread emails and meeting notes. His mind was occupied, layered with numbers and strategy until something made him slow down.
His steps faltered near the west side of the hall near the formal lounge rarely used by anyone but the occasional guest. His gaze shifted from the screen toward the faint rustle of fabric.
There, on the long black leather couch, was Taehyung.
Asleep.
Seokjin stilled.
The younger man was curled ever so slightly on his side, one arm tucked under his cheek, the other resting limp near the edge.
His navy blazer had been folded in his lap, now partially slipping onto the floor.
His white shirt had creased along the shoulder, and his long lashes fluttered faintly in sleep.
Seokjin watched him.
Watched the way a few strands of brown hair had fallen across his face. Watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the small, unconscious pout on his lips, the faint furrow in his brows like even in sleep, his body couldn't fully let go.
There was something heartbreakingly young about him in that moment something fragile that Seokjin hadn't allowed himself to notice before.
He hesitated, then took a step closer.
His shoes made no sound now, only the soft creak of his knees as he slowly crouched down beside the couch.
He reached forward not to touch, but to grab the blazer slipping off.
He carefully shook it once and draped it gently over Taehyung's shoulders, brushing it down softly so the folds wouldn't crumple against his skin.
Taehyung shifted slightly at the contact, but didn't stir awake. He only sighed in his sleep, curling slightly under the warmth now resting across his chest.
Seokjin stared.
And for the first time since this all began since he signed the contract, since he stood in those meetings defending Jeon Corp's choices he allowed himself to see past the fa?ade.
Not the janitor.
Not the contract husband.
Not the distraction.
Just Taehyung.
Soft-featured. Exhausted. Carrying more than he should.
Seokjin's eyes lingered for a moment longer. Something unreadable flickered through them something between guilt and responsibility.
He straightened up, cleared his throat softly to shake the moment from his chest, and glanced once more at the sleeping figure.
Then, without a word, he walked away.
Down the long hallway. Past the dark. Past the boy who, in this twisted arrangement, was the only one who had never asked for anything and yet seemed to lose the most.
The echo of Seokjin's footsteps had barely faded when another pair followed.
These ones weren't warm. Or thoughtful.
They were colder. Precise. Unbothered.
Jungkook entered the hallway, his face blank, unreadable the kind of stillness that didn't demand silence, but enforced it.
His gaze flicked to the couch once a disinterested glance at best. Taehyung was still asleep, his posture curled slightly, a blazer draped across his chest, the one Seokjin had placed earlier.
Jungkook said nothing.
No irritation. No concern.
Only:
"Wake him up."
Spoken like a command tossed to the air.
He didn't even pause. Didn't look again. Just turned his head and kept walking, the silence behind him somehow louder than his presence.
The worker who'd been standing by the corner quickly nodded, bowing slightly as Jungkook disappeared down the hall.
He approached the couch cautiously. "Mr. Kim," he said softly, shaking Taehyung's shoulder just enough.
Taehyung stirred, his brows tightening before his lashes lifted slowly. His eyes blinked open to the soft light and unfamiliar ceiling. For a second, he looked lost until the weight of everything came crashing back in.
The press conference. The silence. The car waiting outside.
"Mr. Jeon is waiting for you," the staff member said gently.
Taehyung sat up slowly, blinking hard. "Okay," he murmured, voice rough from sleep. He pushed his hand through his hair and looked around. The hallway was empty again. Quiet. Cold.
He glanced down at the blazer still draped over him.
He picked it up slowly, carefully, and folded it before setting it aside. A small part of him wanted to hold onto that borrowed warmth, but he knew better.
Warmth never lasted here.
He stood, legs stiff, and pressed the wrinkles from his shirt with his palm, then smoothed his hands down his sides. He inhaled once-sharp, bracing and walked down the hallway where Jungkook had disappeared.
Not a word of thanks was spoken.
Not a glance back.
Just the echo of his footsteps... and the heaviness of a name that now wasn't his, but claimed him anyway.