18
Third Person Pov
It was early morning, and soft beams of sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the mansion. Inside one of the spacious bedrooms, Taehyung lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths as he slept. Across the room, a small figure quietly slipped away.... Gyubin.
The boy cast one last glance at Taehyung’s peaceful face before carefully closing the door behind him. His footsteps were soft but hesitant as he wandered the silent hallways. He moved with the kind of caution only a child who had seen too much could carry.
Gyubin’s eyes landed on the door marked “Gym.” Curiosity mixed with trepidation pulled him closer.
The last time he’d seen Jungkook, the man had looked cold and distant but more than that, he had witnessed Jungkook’s dangerous side.
The gunshot from that terrifying day echoed in his memory, making his small heart beat faster just thinking about it.
Slowly, Gyubin pushed the door open a crack and peeked inside.
There was Jungkook, standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door as he methodically wrapped bandages around both his hands.
The CEO’s broad shoulders were tense beneath a sleek gym jacket.
The room smelled faintly of expensive cologne and leather, heavy with quiet strength and an unspoken warning.
Gyubin’s breath caught when a low voice broke the silence.
“Get inside.”
The tone was firm, no room for argument.
Gyubin startled, his small body trembling as he stepped fully inside.
He lowered his gaze immediately, unsure if the man would speak to him or dismiss him outright.
His hands nervously clasped behind his back, a shield against the unfamiliar weight of the moment.
“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked without turning, his voice sharp but controlled.
Gyubin swallowed the lump in his throat and looked to the side at the array of gym equipment lining the walls. Among the weights and machines, his eyes fixed on the dumbbells, their cold metal catching the light.
“I like them,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I touch them?”
Jungkook’s gaze finally flicked toward the dumbbells, then returned to the boy. There was no smile, no warmth only a neutral hum of acknowledgment.
Gyubin’s fingers hesitated before brushing the smooth, heavy surface of a dumbbell. The metal was cool against his skin, a sharp contrast to the fluttering nerves in his chest.
He dared a quick glance upward, catching the icy eyes of Jungkook. The silent scrutiny made Gyubin shrink just a little, and his small body instinctively tensed.
The gym remained still except for the faint sounds of Gyubin’s careful touches on the dumbbells and the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s breath.
“Binnie…”
The sound of his name froze Gyubin where he stood. His small fingers, still brushing the smooth metal of the dumbbell, went stiff as he turned his head. His eyes immediately found the familiar figure in the doorway.
Taehyung stood there, one hand braced against the doorframe. His limp was obvious, each shift of weight causing the bandage around his ankle to pull. He’d clearly come looking in a hurry, but his gaze wasn’t on his own injury it was fixed entirely on Gyubin.
Jungkook didn’t so much as glance at them.
His large hands tightened around a dumbbell, lifting it with unhurried precision.
The soft metallic scrape of it leaving the rack seemed far too loud in the stillness of the room.
His eyes stayed ahead, his expression blank, as if the scene unfolding behind him was nothing worth noting.
Taehyung’s jaw set as he took a few slow steps forward, the uneven rhythm of his limping footsteps tapping against the polished floor. His voice, when it came, was not the warm tone Gyubin was used to... it was firmer, almost cutting.
“Why are you here?”
Gyubin’s head snapped up, eyes wide, guilt already pooling in them. “I… I’m sorry, Appa,” he mumbled, his words hesitant and almost swallowed by the silence of the gym. “I just… your ankle…”
He trailed off, his voice shrinking to nothing.
Taehyung didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the boy, his expression firm except for the faintest flicker of something softer in his eyes.
Without another word, he stepped closer and reached for Gyubin’s hand, curling his fingers around it in a firm but protective grip.
He didn’t so much as glance at Jungkook. Not once.
Turning on his heel, he began walking toward the door, the limp in his step more pronounced now that adrenaline was fading. Gyubin followed immediately, his head lowered, small hand tightening around Taehyung’s as if afraid to let go.
Only when they were a few steps away did Jungkook finally stop lifting the weight. He lowered the dumbbell with a muted thud, the muscles in his forearms still taut, veins rising against his skin. His head turned slightly, dark eyes tracking the two figures as they moved farther away.
The guard at the door stepped aside silently, opening it for them. Neither father nor son looked back.
The door closed with a dull click, leaving the gym in heavy quiet once more. Jungkook’s gaze lingered on that empty doorway for a beat too long before he turned back to the rack, fingers curling once again around cold steel.
.
.
.
Mornings in the Jeon mansion followed an unspoken ritual.
The halls filled with the faint echo of footsteps as staff moved about, polishing the already spotless surfaces, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchen.
Breakfast came and went with quiet efficiency, and by mid-morning, Jungkook was in his study as he always was.
The room was a picture of order: shelves lined with files and books, the faint scent of leather from the armchair behind his desk.
Jungkook sat there, dark eyes focused on the laptop screen, one hand loosely tapping against the desk as he read through documents.
He rarely went into the company building unless absolutely necessary; his work, his presence, carried weight whether he stepped foot in the office or not.
A glance at his watch told him it was just past 1 P.M. He leaned back into the leather chair, head tilting slightly, gaze drifting up to the coffered ceiling above him.
His jaw flexed once, an idle movement, before a faint sound filtered through the otherwise silent study voices, distant but clear enough to disturb the stillness.
He straightened slowly, the motion deliberate, and crossed to the tall window. His hand pulled the heavy curtain just enough to allow a narrow view of the outside.
The late afternoon sun fell across the garden, where Taehyung stood dressed in a dark green shirt, its sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Beside him was Gyubin, his small figure dwarfed by the neat rows of sprouting peonies.
The boy’s attention was caught by the gardeners at work, their gloved hands careful as they pressed fertilizer into the soil. Gyubin crouched now and then, curious, while Taehyung bent to say something quietly to him, his voice lost to the glass between them.
Jungkook’s gaze remained cold, unblinking. There was no outward flicker of interest, no sign of thought. Just a silent, steady watching.
And then, without warning, he let the curtain fall shut. The room dimmed again, shadows reclaiming the space as he returned to his desk without a word, settling into his chair.
His fingers found the keyboard once more, his attention fixed firmly on work, as though the scene outside had never existed at all.
After awhile
Jungkook rose from his chair in the study without a word, the faint creak of leather breaking the silence.
He stepped into the hallway, the quiet click of the door behind him echoing in the vast mansion.
His gaze fell on one of the guards stationed nearby a man who immediately straightened under the CEO’s stare.
“Call him,” Jungkook said simply, his tone flat.
That was all. No name, no clarification. But the guard didn’t need one. Everyone knew exactly who him meant. In this house, Jungkook didn’t have to explain his words carried a weight that cut straight through the air.
The guard bowed low. “Yes, sir.”
Jungkook’s attention didn’t linger. His footsteps carried him up the staircase, each one measured, deliberate, the soft thud of leather soles against polished wood marking his ascent.
The air seemed to grow heavier the further he walked, until he reached a secluded corridor far from the usual household traffic.
At the very end, a door loomed tall, dark, and unremarkable to anyone who didn’t know. But here, in the Jeon mansion, everyone knew. The room behind it was the one place no servant dared to enter unbidden. The place spoken of in low, uneasy tones.
Jungkook’s hand wrapped around the cool metal knob. It turned with an unhurried twist, the sound of the latch clicking open far louder than it needed to be.
The door swung inward, revealing a space that looked nothing like the rest of the mansion. Where the other rooms were bathed in neutral elegance, this one was steeped in darkness.
Black walls swallowed the light, broken only by the deep, carmine red accents that bled across certain panels and furniture. It was cold here, but not from the temperature it was the kind of cold that came from knowing the walls had seen things.
Jungkook stepped inside, his gaze sliding across the array of tools neatly arranged on one side of the room. His fingers brushed over them in a slow, almost reverent manner, tracing cold metal, smooth leather, and polished wood.
He stopped at a small shelf and picked up a glass bottle filled with golden liquid.
Without hesitation, he tilted it, letting the oil spill onto the glossy black floor in an unbroken stream. It spread in dark, glistening ripples, catching the faint light like a slick reflection.
The empty bottle clinked once as it hit the floor.
Jungkook moved to the single chair in the center of the room heavy, bolted to the ground and sat down. He leaned back, one hand resting lazily on the armrest, the other drumming against the leather. His gaze fixed on the door.
“You worked hard,” he murmured, glancing toward Gyubin.
The boy gave a small nod, wiping his own hands on the hem of his shirt. His cheeks were flushed from running around the peonies, hair sticking slightly to his forehead. Taehyung reached over to fix it, but before he could, a low voice broke into the calm.
“Sir Jeon—”
Taehyung didn’t react at first, used to ignoring anything that sounded remotely like the man’s name.
“Sir Jeon Taehyung.”
This time, it was sharper.
Taehyung’s head turned, his fingers still clutching the towel. A tall figure stood a few steps away one of Jungkook’s guards. Black uniform, black boots, expression carved from stone. His presence seemed to dim the warmth in the air.
It was only then Taehyung registered the words properly, his brows knitting slightly. He hated when people called him that—Jeon. It sounded wrong on his ears, like a mockery. The title didn’t belong to him, and every time it was used, it felt like a reminder of the contract chaining him here.
“I’m Kim… Kim Taehyung,” Taehyung corrected quietly, his voice even but holding a note of displeasure.
The guard didn’t blink. Didn’t nod. Didn’t even acknowledge the correction just continued in that same flat, unwavering tone.
“Mr.Jeon is calling you. Upstairs. Third room on the left.”
No explanation. No reason. Just an order dressed as information.
Taehyung stood still for a moment, the towel twisting between his fingers. The sound of the gardeners’ chatter outside suddenly felt distant, like it belonged to a world far from this one.
By the time he looked up again, the guard was already walking away, boots thudding against the polished floor.
Taehyung exhaled slowly through his nose.
Gyubin tilted his head. “Appa?” he asked softly, sensing something shift in his father's mood.
Taehyung managed a faint smile for him, setting the towel aside. “Stay here for a bit,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against Gyubin’s cheek.
The boy nodded, still watching him with curious eyes.
Taehyung straightened his shirt, glanced once toward the empty hallway, and then toward the staircase that seemed taller than usual.
Third room on the left.
His ankle still ached faintly with each step, but that wasn’t what made his chest feel heavier the higher he climbed.
.
.
A slow, almost amused curve tugged at his lips. There was no anger in his stare only a cruel, sadistic glint, as if he were watching prey that didn’t yet know it was trapped.
.
.
Taehyung’s steps were uneven, the faint limp in his gait making each movement deliberate. The polished marble floor of the corridor gleamed faintly under the muted light spilling in from the high windows, the chill of it seeping through the soles of his shoes.
When he turned left, the corridor stretched before him long, impossibly long as if it had no end. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the light from the windows seemed to weaken here, paling before it reached the far wall.
The door he was headed toward sat at the very end, framed in darkness, the golden handle glinting faintly like a lure. It looked… untouched, as if no one had passed through it in years.
He had never been this far before.
Pausing, Taehyung rested a palm against the cool wall, his fingers splaying over the smooth surface.
His breathing was slow, deliberate partly from the ache in his ankle, partly from something else entirely.
His chest felt tight, a heaviness settling in it that had nothing to do with pain.
It was the way this part of the mansion seemed to breathe differently, as though the walls themselves were listening.
But he forced himself to move forward.
He stopped before the heavy door, the carved wood towering above him, the intricate patterns seeming almost alive in the dim light.
His hand tightened briefly on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it yet. He knocked lightly.
“Come in.”
The voice was calm, low controlled in a way that made his stomach knot instantly. It was the sort of tone that could be mistaken for polite… if not for the undertone that prickled under the skin.
He swallowed, turned the knob, and stepped inside.
The room swallowed him at once the air thicker, the light dimmer, shadows coiling in the corners. He barely had time to take a single step when his foot slipped.
The slick surface beneath his sole betrayed him, and his weight pitched forward. His injured ankle twisted violently, a bolt of pain shooting up his leg so sharply that his vision flashed white.
"What the—" A choked cry tore from his throat before he could bite it back. He reached out instinctively for support, but there was nothing no edge of a table, no chair only empty space. His knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, the impact rattling through him, stealing his breath.
The first thing his dazed eyes caught was the floor dark and gleaming with an unnatural sheen. Oil. Thin rivulets of it spread irregularly, glistening faintly under the muted overhead light. Not an accident.
He slowly, painfully lifted his gaze.
Jungkook sat in a black leather chair across the room, posture angled lazily to one side, an elbow resting on the armrest, fingers curled loosely.
His face was a portrait of composure those cold, deep eyes locked on Taehyung as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. No flicker of concern. No reflexive movement to help.
Just… watching.
The silence between them stretched, thick and unbearable.
Taehyung’s lips parted, trembling. “Why did you—” His voice cracked, the rest dissolving into a hiss of pain as the throbbing in his ankle pulsed harder.
Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes traced over him slowly, almost methodically from the mussed strands of hair falling over Taehyung’s forehead, to the tension in his jaw, to the way his fingers clutched at the floor.
There was a glimmer there faint, but unmistakable a cruel, sadistic satisfaction, as though every second of Taehyung’s struggle was exactly what he wanted to see.
Gritting his teeth, Taehyung planted his palms on the cold floor and tried to push himself upright. His ankle flared with agony, forcing his weight onto his arms, but they too began to tremble under the strain. His breath came short, each exhale catching in his throat.
He managed to lift himself halfway and then his arm gave out.
The fall was softer this time but somehow worse. His hands slapped weakly against the floor, and the sound of his own whimper seemed to ring unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
“You should get your eyes checked.”
The voice slid across the room calm, almost lazy yet it carried that unshakable weight that always made Taehyung’s stomach knot.
His fingers pressed harder against his ankle, the sharp sting flaring and spreading, making every breath feel jagged.
“Mr. Jeon…” he murmured, but the ache caught him mid-word, snapping his voice in half.
Jungkook didn’t move. His posture was a portrait of indifference, eyes fixed on Taehyung like he was examining an object he’d already decided the worth of and found wanting.
“What is wrong with you?” Taehyung’s voice broke again, this time from something heavier than pain. His words stumbled between anger and exhaustion.
“Why… why do you keep doing this?” His throat tightened as his chest rose sharply. “No—no sane person would—”
“Careful.”
Just one word low, unhurried and Taehyung’s mouth snapped shut. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Jungkook rose from his chair. The sound of it was muted the faint shift of leather, the whisper of fabric but his footsteps as he crossed the room were deliberate. Slow. Every click of his shoes on the floor rang like the passing of seconds in a clockless room.
He stopped by a drawer, pulled it open without looking down, and retrieved something from inside.
Black leather. Coiled neatly in his palm.
Not again...Taehyung’s breath stilled. His hands flattened against the floor as he instinctively shifted back an inch, maybe two but the wall behind him was too close, too cold. There was nowhere else to go.
Jungkook crouched in front of him. The movement was smooth, unhurried, his shadow blotting out what little light fell on Taehyung’s face. Up close, those eyes were sharper, cutting through him with a gaze that stripped the room of everything but this moment.
His voice softened but it was the softness of a blade sliding in without resistance.
“I could tell you why,” he murmured. “But I’d rather show you.”
The first brush of the leather against his neck made Taehyung flinch. The buckle cold, unyielding grazed his skin before closing in, each slow movement deliberate. The strap tightened by degrees, and every fraction felt like a choice being stolen from him.
“Wha—what are you—”
“Quiet.”
The buckle clicked into place. The sound was final. Absolute. Jungkook’s fingers tightened on the leash until the strap went taut, tugging Taehyung’s chin up.
Another pull sudden, sharp made his spine jolt forward.
“Crawl,” Jungkook said. The word wasn’t raised, wasn’t forced it didn’t need to be. It settled heavy in the air, a command so casual it was almost obscene.
“On your knees,” Jungkook murmured, his gaze lazily dragging over Taehyung’s trembling hands, the bandaged ankle, the way moisture clung to his lashes like defeat. “…and maybe I’ll think about easing your pain. If I feel like it.”
Taehyung’s lips parted, the denial trembling there before it could take shape.
“I’m not doing that,” he said finally, the words quiet but anchored enough to stand. “I won't do it.”
Jungkook’s smile curved slow not amused, not warm, but sharp, like the satisfaction of knowing the prey couldn’t run.
“You don’t have to,” he said lightly. Straightening, he stood at his full height, swallowing Taehyung in shadow.
“I can leave you here. You’ll beg eventually.”
Turning without hurry, he walked back toward the chair but stopped halfway, hand dipping into the inner pocket of his jacket. When it came out, there was a small, gleaming key balanced loosely between his fingers.
He weighed it once, twice, before sliding it into the lock on the inside of the door.
The click was louder than it should have been.
Taehyung’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “No…” The word tore out of him like it was pulled from somewhere deeper than his voice.
"I have work to do," Jungkook didn’t turn. His voice was calm, almost detached..the kind of calm that left no room for hope. “Scream if you want… but the moment you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t...you'll beg eventually.”
The lock turned again, this time from the outside. And then the door shut, sealing the room in a silence so heavy Taehyung could hear his own uneven breaths.
Taehyung sat there in silence, the cold of the floor seeping into his skin. His breath came in uneven bursts, the leash still heavy around his neck like a brand.
His mind was a fog of pain and disbelief. What was wrong with this man?
He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he blinked against the burn in his eyes. How can anyone be this cruel?
It wasn’t the physical pain though his ankle throbbed like fire it was the way Jungkook looked at him. That blank, detached stare that seemed to strip him down to nothing.
And one thing Taehyung couldn’t make sense of the thing that made his chest feel like it was caving in... was why.
Why him?
Why was he being singled out?
Why did every interaction with Jungkook feel like some twisted game that only one of them knew the rules to?
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as the questions screamed in his head. What kind of sick game is this?
The silence in the room pressed in on him. It wasn’t just a room it was a cage dressed in black and red. Every wall seemed to absorb light, swallowing it whole. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal, the tang of it clinging to his tongue.
Tools hung neatly on the walls, their shapes unfamiliar yet threatening. Some glinted faintly in the dim light, others cast shadows that looked far too human.
His eyes darted toward the locked door, the faint memory of Jungkook’s voice still echoing.... You’ll beg eventually.
Taehyung’s breathing quickened. The thought of calling for help crossed his mind, but the guard’s stone face flashed before him. No one in this place would side with him. No one would even care.
So he sat there. His body stiff, his ankle throbbing, the leash biting into the back of his neck whenever he shifted.
And somewhere in the mansion, he knew Jungkook was moving through his day as if nothing had happened maybe even thinking about that scared look on Taehyung’s face and savoring it.