9
Third Person Pov
The car rolled to a stop with barely a sound, the estate looming in the evening hush.
Jungkook stepped out without a word, posture fluid and composed, while Taehyung followed closely behind, weighed down by exhaustion. He hadn't spoken the entire ride back, too consumed by the lingering thoughts of Gyubin and the dizzying chaos of the day.
His legs felt like lead. His suit clung uncomfortably to his skin. The events of the press conference still rang in his ears, and he ached to see his son's little smile again, to bury his face in soft curls and forget everything else.
But the moment he stepped through the wide front doors, all thoughts fled.
He froze.
The polished marble floor reflected the stark scene in front of him: a man, on his knees, trembling. His arms were tied behind his back, posture sagging, the fabric of his shirt wrinkled and smeared with dirt. There were tears running down his cheeks, and his mouth opened in shuddering gasps.
Taehyung took a step forward, confused, alarmed and then recognition struck him like a slap.
The reporter. The same one who had asked a loaded question at the press conference, the one who'd smirked at Jungkook, suggesting the marriage was a publicity stunt.
Now, he was gagged and bound like a criminal.
Taehyung's breath hitched. He barely noticed Jungkook brushing past him a phantom in charcoal black, walking into the center of the room.
The CEO simply pulled a chair into the light and sat down with casual finality, his posture relaxed one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, legs wide, back leaned deep into the chair like he was at home in the silence.
There was something eerily elegant in the stillness. Something inhuman.
Jungkook tilted his head, finally acknowledging the trembling man before him.
"Isn't it strange," he said smoothly, voice a cold silk drawl, "how people confuse press with power? You had a pen and an audience, and you thought that made you untouchable."
The reporter sobbed. "Please, I didn't mean-"
"I'm not interested in your apologies," Jungkook interrupted quietly.
He gestured lazily with his fingers, and one of his guards stepped forward, placing a sleek black pistol into his waiting palm.
He didn't even glance at it.
"Fear makes people honest," he continued, voice low, almost amused. "And honesty... is something you peddled only when it served you."
Then, without changing expression, without warning he raised the gun and fired.
The bullet hit the floor just beside the man's right knee close enough that the marble chipped and sprayed dust across the fabric of his pants.
The reporter screamed, jerking away, face crumpled in terror as he nearly collapsed onto his side.
Taehyung flinched. And Jungkook? He didn't even blink.
"Relax," he said quietly, eyes flat---tapping the side of the gun,
"If I wanted blood, I wouldn't have missed."
He sat there for a moment, letting the silence fester like rot. The man gulped tears falling down as he begged for mercy..."Please Mr.Jeon..."
"You want to know the real difference between you and me?" he asked, his voice dropping, almost a whisper.
"You talk like a man who has power. I don't need to."
The man sobbed harder, muttering something incoherent. Jungkook leaned forward slightly, just enough to let his words fall like ice.
"Consider yourself lucky," Jungkook said, voice calm like dead air. "If I were feeling cruel tonight, you'd be crawling out of here with bones poking through your skin."
He staredd at him almost bored and disinterested. He finally glanced at his men who were waiting for a command.
"Take him," he said, tone razor-sharp, "and make sure he doesn't remember his own name when he wakes up. If he wakes up."
The guard moved forward. The reporter cried out again, but Jungkook could care less. He watched him dragged away.
Still, not once did he glance at Taehyung.
Jungkook stared at the empty space where the man had just been dragged from. The silence that followed his exit felt more suffocating than the chaos before.
The room still echoed with the ghost of that man's broken pleas
a whispering proof of what power, in the wrong hands, could look like.
Then Jungkook moved. He stood, the gun still loosely in his hand like it weighed nothing. His black gaze, once indifferent, now fixed on the only other person in the room.
Taehyung.
The air shifted.
Taehyung instinctively took a step back, breath catching as those obsidian eyes bore into him with the same detached coldness that had broken a man minutes ago.
There was no hint of rage, no scream, no threat. Just a terrifying calm the kind that made every nerve in Taehyung's body scream to run.
But he couldn't. Because feet betray you when fear chains your spine.
Jungkook's steps were slow. Deliberate. The tap of his shoes against the marble floor echoed in the vast silence, almost theatrical and yet terrifyingly real.
Taehyung kept his eyes low.
And then he saw it the polished tip of Jungkook's shoes come to a stop just inches away. He didn't need to look up to know the man was right in front of him now.
The sudden glide of cold metal against his waist made his breath hitch.
The gun.
Jungkook was dragging it slowly along the side of his waist....the fabric of his navy-blue blazer tracing him like he was an object, a canvas.
Taehyung's spine locked. He didn't dare flinch. Didn't dare speak. His throat dried up as he forced down a shiver that wanted to crawl up his skin.
"So jumpy," Jungkook muttered, voice a mere breath of a murmur lazy, amused.
The barrel of the gun slid up further, trailing the side of his ribs, until it rested just under his chin. Gently lifting it.
Taehyung's gaze was forced up.
He met Jungkook's eyes. And something inside him twisted violently.
There was no fury there. No cruelty. Just calmness. A sick, heavy amusement like someone watching a cornered animal react exactly how they expected it to.
"It's fascinating," Jungkook said quietly, tilting his head a fraction, "how terrified you get from just a little touch."
The barrel pressed higher, forcing Taehyung's jaw up another inch. He clenched it, but he knew Jungkook saw the flicker in his eyes. That silent plea.
Jungkook's smirk deepened just barely the only betrayal of his satisfaction.
"It makes me want to touch you more," he added, voice dipped in mock gentleness, like he was coaxing a trembling bird into his palm just to crush it later.
Then Jungkook stepped in close. Too close. The smell of faint smoke and sandalwood filled Taehyung's lungs. He stepped back instinctively.
But Jungkook matched it. Another step.
Taehyung's back collided with the wall hard. A sharp breath escaped him.
Cornered.
He didn't look up.
"I don't like when you touch me," he whispered, voice brittle, barely holding itself together.
Jungkook didn't blink. His brow arched slightly not in surprise, but in mock amusement. He didn't back off
Instead, he moved even closer, letting the barrel of the gun hover then slowly lower until it rested flat against Taehyung's chest, right above his heart.
The metal was cold. But not colder than the man holding it.
Jungkook's eyes flicked downward lingered on the pale column of Taehyung's throat, the way it tensed under pressure. Then he met his eyes again.
"If you liked it, it wouldn't be worth doing."
The gun slid lower with ghostlike precision, dragging over fabric and flesh like a threat disguised as affection.
"You're not here to be pleased. You're here to remember who you belong to."
He stayed there for a breathless moment.One heartbeat. Two.
Then, just as abruptly, he withdrew.
Turned away.
Walked out no fury, no haste as if Taehyung was nothing more than a flicker in his periphery. As if none of it mattered. As if he didn't matter.
And somehow, that dismissal stung more than the threat.
The room felt colder after Jungkook left the air hollow, heavy with what remained unspoken. The imprint of the gun lingered like a bruise beneath his shirt, icy, unforgettable.
Taehyung's knees almost gave in, but he forced himself to stand.
.
.
The hallway was dim, shadows stretching long under the soft golden lights that lined the walls. The house was quiet eerily so, save for the echo of firm, precise footsteps.
Jungkook.
His dark figure emerged from the far end, eyes straight, strides unbothered, one hand casually holding the same gun he hadn't yet returned. Not because he needed it but because he didn't care enough to let it go.
And then he saw him.
Gyubin.
The small boy had just stepped out of his room, holding the edge of his shirt nervously between his fingers. As soon as he noticed the towering figure approaching, he froze, lips parting slightly. His wide eyes fell to the metallic object swinging casually at Jungkook's side.
A second later, Gyubin darted scurrying behind a nearby pillar, thinking he'd hidden himself well enough. His little breaths were rapid, chest rising and falling beneath his loose nightwear.
But Jungkook didn't even need to look. His steps slowed right next to the pillar, and without glancing to the side, he said flatly.
"Come out."
A pause.
Gyubin, lips trembling, stepped out slowly. His head was lowered, hands still behind his back like he was being scolded at school. His small shadow fell beneath Jungkook's taller one.
"Look up."
It wasn't loud. But it was command.
Gyubin's eyes fluttered up, barely able to meet Jungkook's. The man stared back without emotion. Cold. Blank.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" Jungkook asked, voice devoid of care. It wasn't a question, not really. It was a reminder of rules. Of control.
"I... I was waiting for Appa to come," Gyubin whispered, voice featherlight.
Jungkook's jaw flexed ever so slightly. "Nonsense," he muttered as he began walking again, the soft thud of his polished shoes reverberating down the hallway.
Gyubin flinched, watching the man's back disappear into the darkness, his throat tightening like he had swallowed something sharp. His eyes prickled not quite with tears, but the sting of fear he didn't have words for.
He pressed his lips together, trying to calm the pounding in his chest, fingers tugging nervously at the hem of his pajama shirt.
And then
"Binnie." That soft voice. Familiar. Warm.
He turned quickly, and there he was Taehyung.
Taehyung was walking down the corridor with hurried steps, worry already clear on his face. When he saw his son, his features softened, but concern still lingered in his gaze.
Gyubin didn't speak. He just stood there, eyes wide, waiting. Taehyung crouched immediately, brushing the curls off his son's slightly damp forehead.
"What happened my love?" he asked gently, scanning his expression.
Gyubin lowered his eyes. "Nothing... Appa," he said quietly.
Taehyung studied him for a moment, then offered a small smile. He didn't push. Not tonight. He knew the boy too well.
He stood up and extended his hand. "Come. Let's go."
Gyubin placed his small hand in his father's, and they began walking back together. As they walked, Taehyung could feel his son gripping his hand tighter than usual. He didn't say a word about it he just squeezed back gently.
But once they turned the corner, Taehyung glanced back down the hallway.
Back toward the darkness Jungkook had walked into. The cold hadn't left the air.
And in Taehyung's heart, he knew
As long as they were here, in this estate built on shadows and silence...
They were never really safe.
.
.
The morning sunlight crept gently into the vast kitchen, spilling across the tiled floor in golden patches. For once, there was no rush, no sharp footsteps echoing down the hall, and no looming presence to still the air.
It was a weekend. A rare breath of quiet.
Taehyung stood by the island counter, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from sleep, as he carefully sliced through fresh vegetables. The scent of warm butter, toasted bread, and boiling broth lingered in the air, making the entire kitchen feel just a little more alive.
Gyubin sat on a stool nearby, chin resting on his hands, watching his father with big, fascinated eyes. The bunny plushie his ever-present little guardian-was seated beside him like a quiet spectator, its ears lopsided from too much love.
"Appa," Gyubin said after a long moment, tilting his head, "can I try too?"
Taehyung didn't look up at first. "Try what?"
"Cutting."
His hands paused, the knife resting mid-slice. He turned his gaze to his son, brows knitting gently in concern. "No, Binnie. The knife's sharp, love. You might hurt yourself."
"But I'll be careful," Gyubin mumbled, now sitting up straight, as if posturing like a little chef might help his case. "I wanna help you. Please?"
Taehyung's expression softened. There was something so sincere in his child's wide-eyed eagerness that made it hard to say no again.
He sighed. "Alright. But only if you listen carefully. And I'll guide your hand, okay?"
Gyubin's eyes sparkled as he nodded quickly, hopping down from the stool.
Taehyung moved a small chopping board closer to the edge of the counter, wiping it clean before placing a single peeled carrot on it. He fetched a much smaller, safer knife one Mr. Haenam had once tucked into a drawer.
Gyubin took his place next to his father, standing on a short step stool Taehyung had pulled over for him.
"Okay," Taehyung said, sliding behind him and gently guiding his small hands to hold the knife properly. "You hold it like this... not too tight."
Gyubin nodded, his tongue peeking out slightly in concentration.
Taehyung smiled faintly. "Now press down, slowly... just like this."
Together, they made the first slice. The knife moved carefully through the carrot, guided by Taehyung's steady hand.
"We did it." Gyubin chirped, looking up at his father with glee.
Taehyung chuckled under his breath. "You did good, chef-nim."
Gyubin giggled, turning his attention back to the board, ready for the next slice. The bunny plushie leaned against a folded kitchen towel nearby, like it, too, was watching proudly.
"Don't forget your assistant," Taehyung teased, nodding toward the stuffed rabbit.
Gyubin grinned. "He's just watching today. He says I'm doing well."
The father and son duo continued their quiet work slow, careful slices of carrots, paired with soft conversation and laughter that filled the kitchen like music.
For just a moment, it felt like any other morning in any other home.
"Appa, when will Binnie go to school?" Gyubin's small voice broke the quiet as he carefully sliced another piece of carrot, his concentration unwavering.
Taehyung's hand paused mid-air, the knife trembling slightly. His heart clenched at the question so simple, yet heavy with unspoken pain.
Last year, Gyubin had been out of school; the fees were unpaid, and his illness had kept him home, away from friends and classrooms. Leukemia had crept silently into their lives, and Taehyung had been lost in shadows he wasn't ready to face.
He took a slow breath and forced a gentle smile. "Soon, love. Very soon." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the weight he carried.
Gyubin looked up briefly, his innocent gaze searching. Then, as if reassured, he nodded firmly and returned to his task, slicing the carrots with renewed focus.
Taehyung's smile stayed soft but his mind wandered to promises he had yet to keep, and the hope that brighter days might come. For his son's sake, he had to believe.
Gyubin sat quietly on the wooden chair, his small hands holding the spoon as he ate his breakfast in near silence. The morning light streamed softly through the window, casting a pale glow over the kitchen. His eyes, however, kept flickering toward the staircase, where footsteps echoed faintly.
Downstairs, Jungkook was coming down, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere.
Today, he was dressed casually but with a dark edge black shirt neatly buttoned, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding along his forearms. The darkness of his outfit seemed to absorb the light, making the room feel colder.
Taehyung emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate, and his gaze briefly met Jungkook's as the CEO passed by.
Mr. Haenam, ever the silent guardian, bowed slightly in greeting but said nothing.
Jungkook didn't acknowledge Taehyung or the boy; instead, he sank into the leather couch with practiced ease.
Taehyung took his place at the dining table, settling into a chair a short distance from Jungkook. He ate his meal quietly, every bite measured, eyes flickering toward the CEO who had already opened his laptop.
One eye was fixed on the glowing screen, fingers flying across the keys, while the other kept the phone pressed to his ear, his tone clipped and businesslike.
The quiet was thick, broken only by the soft clicking of Jungkook's keyboard and the muffled voice on the call. Taehyung's heart beat unevenly in his chest as he stole quick glances at the man who held so much power in this house and in his life.
Taehyung's eyes shifted to the knife beside his plate. Its clean silver glinted faintly in the sunlight. And then... his gaze slowly lifted toward the man sitting on the couch.
For a fleeting second a heartbeat, no more the thought crossed his mind: Would be nice if I just stabbed him.
Sharp. Vicious. Unwelcome.
His eyes widened slightly, lips parting in disbelief at himself.
What the hell, he thought, swallowing hard.
The thought had come like a whisper from a place in him he didn't like to visit.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if trying to rid himself of the idea, brushing his fingers against his temples like he could physically wipe it away.
Get a grip, Taehyung.
Meanwhile, Gyubin finished the last bite of his breakfast, swinging his legs softly under the table.
The chair scraped gently as he got up, holding his plate with both hands.
He padded into the kitchen, placing it in the sink with a soft clink.
Then, walking back with quiet steps, he stopped beside his father.
"Appa," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the man on the couch. "Can I go in the yard?"
Taehyung turned to him, the darkness from earlier momentarily washing away from his features. He offered a warm smile, fingers reaching to gently tuck a strand of hair behind the boy's ear.
"Of course," he said softly. "Just stay close, alright?"
Gyubin nodded brightly, turning on his heel to head for the door. But halfway there, his steps faltered.
Jungkook hadn't looked up once. Not when the child walked by, not when he'd whispered to his father, not even when the plate was placed in the sink.
But still... there was something about his stillness that made Gyubin slow down. The child glanced at the man, cautiously, like one might glance at a sleeping lion unsure if it was safe to move.
Then he continued on, careful not to make a sound as he walked past the couch and disappeared through the back door into the yard.
Taehyung let out a slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
There was a strange calm now. The clink of metal. The occasional murmur of business jargon from Jungkook's call. But under it all, a simmering sense of being watched. Trapped.
Taehyung pushed the chair back quietly and stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his clothes. The weight of the morning still pressed against his shoulders every movement felt heavier than it should've.
He was about to turn and walk toward the sink, ready to slip into the kitchen for some breathing space, when
"Get me a coffee."
The voice cut through the air like a blade calm, low, and absolute.
Taehyung froze mid-step. His back stiffened as his hand, which had instinctively moved to gather the plates, paused in mid-air. Slowly, he turned, unsure if he'd heard it right.
"...Uhm... me?" he asked, almost dumbly, pointing to himself with a slight furrow in his brows.
Jungkook didn't bother to glance up. His eyes remained fixed on the screen in front of him, one leg crossed over the other, hand resting near his lips as he continued reading.
"I didn't know the walls could move," he muttered coldly, tone saturated in mockery. "But if you're not one, then yes--you."
Taehyung's lips parted slightly, the insult hanging in the air longer than it should have.
He clenched his fist at his side, knuckles tightening. There it was again the same simmering heat rising in his throat. Rage? Exhaustion? Humiliation? He couldn't tell anymore.
He let out a soft sigh.
As he walked into the kitchen, he passed by Mr. Haenam who had just entered from the other side. Their eyes briefly met. Taehyung gave a polite, almost lifeless nod. Mr. Haenam opened his mouth slightly as if to say something but then closed it again, quietly walking past.
Taehyung stood by the coffee machine, staring at the buttons. His reflection in the steel surface was dull and blurry. He looked like someone else.
He pressed the brew button. The machine gurgled, dripped, hissed. Just like his patience.
Taehyung's fingers curled tightly around the handle of the mug as he stepped out of the kitchen. The faint warmth of the coffee bled into his skin, but it did little to calm the cold simmer in his chest.
He walked with measured steps, careful not to let the coffee spill. The echo of his footfalls filled the large living space, but Jungkook didn't so much as lift his gaze. He remained sprawled on the leather couch.
Taehyung placed the coffee mug on the table, quietly, precisely. A small clink of ceramic against glass. He didn't move away. He just stood there, silently watching.
Jungkook's fingers lazily reached for the mug mid-conversation. He took a sip and almost immediately, his brows furrowed slightly in distaste. The call continued, but Taehyung could see the grimace forming.
Jungkook pulled the mug away from his lips, swallowed, and looked up finally meeting Taehyung's eyes for the first time since morning.
"This," he said slowly, holding the mug up with an expression of disgust, "is the worst coffee I've had in my life."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The flat, dismissive tone stung sharper than any shout.
Taehyung blinked. His lips parted. "I-I followed all the instructions," he murmured, confusion seeping into his voice as his brows pulled together. "I measured everything. Just like it said..."
Jungkook tilted his head, placing the mug back on the table like it had contaminated his hand.
"Next time," Jungkook said without looking up, "try using your brain instead of relying on instructions. Or ask for help. You clearly need it."
Taehyung's throat tightened.
"I checked it-"
"No more words." Jungkook cut in, voice cool as marble.
Taehyung stared down at the mug, then back at the man who had reduced something so simple something he'd tried so hard to get right into another moment of humiliation.
His jaw locked. Not out of defiance, not yet. But because he was fighting every part of himself from letting his frustration spill into words.
Jungkook was already back to reading his screen, as if the conversation had ended.
Taehyung took a small step back, nodding faintly not that Jungkook was watching. And then, just as he turned...
He had barely taken a step away when the voice came again low, steady, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"Where do you think you are going?"
He froze mid-step, heart thudding in his chest. He blinked slowly, as if waking from a daze, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "...I was just going... since I didn't know what to do standing here."
The command was curt, sharp. "Stay."
Taehyung's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't argue. He nodded almost imperceptibly, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeahh..."
He started moving again, each step hesitant, as if the air around him had thickened and weighed down his limbs.
"You're clearly not here to speak, think, or act," Jungkook said, voice low.
"So be useful in the only way you know how. On your knees."
The words hit him like a shockwave. His body went rigid, every muscle taut.
Not again.
Taehyung's eyes widened and searching, confusion mingling with a flicker of fear. "...huh?"
Jungkook's gaze finally met his cold, unflinching, like stone carved from the deepest winter. There was no warmth in those eyes, only an icy command.
"Kneel. Right here."
Taehyung's brow furrowed in disbelief. "Why?"
Jungkook's expression didn't change. Not an ounce of hesitation or explanation. "Because I said so."
A shudder ran through Taehyung's jaw as he clenched it tightly, the tension coiling in his chest. "You keep degrading me...this-this isn't in the contract, Mr.Jeon."
Jungkook leaned back, the couch shifting softly beneath him. His fingers drummed against the armrest with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
"Then leave. You're free to walk out anytime but--not with your son."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Taehyung's breath hitched, but still, he didn't move.
Jungkook's eyes flicked back to the glowing screen before him, disinterest carved plainly across his features.
After a long moment, Taehyung slowly sank to the carpet. His knees pressed into the soft fabric with a muted thud, fingers curling tightly into fists at his sides. He sat rigidly, posture stiff and unyielding, eyes fixed somewhere just beyond Jungkook.
"Sit properly."
The order was clipped, impatient.
Taehyung shifted awkwardly, jaw tight and unrelenting, eyes lifting to meet Jungkook's for the briefest second a silent challenge in their depths.
The room grew still. Silence settled over them like dust on old furniture heavy, oppressive, suffocating.
Jungkook's eyes moved back to the screen without a glance at Taehyung.
Then, finally, the words slipped from him flat, distant, almost casual.
"You used to clean floors, didn't you?"
Taehyung swallowed hard. The question wasn't a question. It was a reminder, a jab, a wound reopened.
"Yeah and I'm not ashame–" Taehyung began, voice shaking with the effort to defend himself.
"-And you are back on the floor," Jungkook cut in sharply.
Taehyung shut his mouth. His throat tightened, a bitter taste rising.
A long pause.
Jungkook's eyes stayed locked on the screen, not looking at him. "Looks like not much has changed."
The words felt like cold rain on bare skin, stinging and unrelenting.
Taehyung's breath caught in his throat. A bitter, ragged sigh escaped as a breath caught in his chest.
"Do you enjoy this?" he whispered, voice trembling, raw with vulnerability. "Humiliating me like this?"
Jungkook didn't answer. Not with words.
Not with a glance.
He merely turned the page on the document before him, indifferent as if Taehyung's existence was nothing more than a background noise.
Then, quietly flat and final.
"I don't think about you that much."
The phrase landed like a slap. Heavy and cold. Taehyung blinked fiercely, swallowing the sting threatening to spill from his eyes.
He said nothing. So he stayed there, kneeling still, silent, utterly invisible.
The phone rang a shrill, jarring sound that sliced through the stillness like a blade. It echoed in the vast quiet of the room, bouncing off the marble and the silence, cruel in its interruption.
Jungkook didn't react much.
He simply reached out, answering the call with a flick of his fingers graceful, effortless then leaned back in the sleek leather couch, one arm draped lazily over the side, the other lifting the phone to his ear.
"Speak," he said, voice low calm, composed, and cold as forged steel dipped in ice.
On the floor, Taehyung sat motionless.
His knees dug into the plush carpeting beneath him, but it did little to soften the weight in his chest. His hands clenched into the fabric of his tailored trousers, knuckles paling with the pressure.
His head stayed bowed, eyes cast downward, fixed blankly on the intricate weave of the rug because anywhere else would be too much. Too close to him.
Too close to the man above.
From where he knelt, he heard fragments of the call clipped, efficient syllables delivered without emotion.
Numbers. Timelines. Strategy. Jungkook's voice never wavered.
It was surgical in its delivery stripped of feeling, of doubt, of anything remotely human.
Like the man speaking wasn't built with softness, only structure.
Then, without a single change in tone, something shifted.
Taehyung felt it before he saw it that oppressive awareness of being watched. His breath stilled.
Jungkook's eyes had returned to him.
Slowly far too slowly the man extended a hand. With the same fingers that moments ago held power over a call worth millions, he reached out and touched Taehyung's chin. Just a single fingertip beneath his jaw.
Firm. Lifting.
Taehyung's body tensed instantly at the touch. His lips parted in surprise, a soft gasp catching at the back of his throat. He didn't pull away. He only looked up.
Their eyes met. And just like that, time seemed to stop.
Jungkook said nothing to him. Not a word. But he didn't need to. The gaze was enough. Icy. Not cruel not even curious just... distant. Detached. Like he was looking through him.
Still, the phone call continued.
"I don't tolerate defiance," Jungkook said into the receiver, his voice smooth, almost conversational.
But his gaze....his gaze didn't flicker.
It was locked on Taehyung's.
The words were for someone else. Technically. But Taehyung felt them like a lash across his skin.
Jungkook tilted his face slightly to the left, then the right inspecting him. Not with gentleness, nor violence. Just the same way someone might appraise a delicate object for flaws.
As if checking for imperfections he hadn't noticed before. As if Taehyung were something he owned. A thing. Not a person.
Taehyung's throat bobbed with a silent swallow. His breathing had grown shallow, his hands trembling faintly in his lap so slight it was almost imperceptible. Almost.
He shifted. Just a little. Pulled back ever so subtly from the touch. His eyes dropped again, as if scorched by contact.
And just like that, Jungkook withdrew. The touch vanished. The weight of his stare faded. The call ended with a single swipe.
Jungkook picked up his phone and laptop in one hand, his movements smooth, deliberate, devoid of emotion.
Then he stood. the only sound as he turned and walked away was shoes tapping lightly against the marble floor, growing fainter with every step. There was no glance back. No acknowledgment. As if the boy on the floor hadn't existed at all.
Taehyung didn't rise.
He stayed where he was. Kneeling.
Breath shallow. Limbs frozen. Spine straight but shaking inside.
The room around him felt colder now not from the temperature, but from the vacancy Jungkook left behind.
It wasn't silence anymore. It was abandonment. And the echo of Jungkook's touch lingered like a ghost on his skin.
The silence settled over him like dust heavy and suffocating.
His knees ached from the cold floor, but he didn't move. Not yet. He sat there, spine rigid, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
Then slowly he lifted his hand.
Fingers trembling slightly, he touched his cheek. The same spot Jungkook's finger had tilted, turned, claimed like it belonged to him.
His skin burned. Not from heat but from shame. Humiliation. Disgust. As if the touch had stained him.
Taehyung's jaw clenched, and he dragged the back of his hand across his cheek. Once. Twice. Again. Harder than necessary. He scrubbed at it like it would erase the memory, the feeling.
"I hate him," he whispered under his breath.
The words were quiet. But they came out like venom. He stared ahead, eyes dark, empty.
"I hate him," he repeated, softer this time almost to himself. Not to convince the world. Just to convince himself that he still had the right to hate.
That somewhere, deep beneath the suffocating weight of this contract, this cage, this man...
He was still Taehyung. Not owned. Not tamed. Not broken. Not yet.