44
Third Person Pov
Taehyung woke groggily, head heavy, body aching in ways he hadn't dared to imagine the night before. The robe still clung loosely to his sore frame, slipping off one marked shoulder. He pushed himself up with trembling arms, throat parched, and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.
The cool liquid soothed for only a second before his gaze froze.
Across the room, Jungkook stood by the window, fully dressed in his immaculate black suit, a cigar between his fingers.
Smoke curled lazily around him, catching the morning light that spilled through the half-drawn curtains.
He looked so Perfect. As though the chaos of last night hadn't touched him at all.
Taehyung's throat tightened. He set the glass down with a faint clink and forced out, voice hoarse, "Y-you're already dressed."
Jungkook finally moved, his dark eyes flicking toward him before he started walking over, unhurried, every step heavy with intention.
Taehyung instinctively leaned back on the pillows, but the CEO only bent down, lips brushing the side of his neck. A soft kiss. Too soft.
A sharp breath escaped Taehyung. His skin was mottled with hickeys, bruises blooming like cruel art across his pale throat. The sting of them burned more under Jungkook's kiss.
"Check your account," Jungkook murmured against his skin. His voice was smooth, detached. "Payment received. You were good last night."
The words hit harder than any bruise. Taehyung's blood ran cold, his pulse stuttering as though the ground had dropped beneath him.
His lips parted, but all he could manage was a broken whisper. "...What?"
Jungkook leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze locked on Taehyung's wide, wounded eyes. He said nothing at first, only watched the disbelief crack into something rawer----hurt.
"Don't look at me like that," Jungkook finally said, his tone sharp as steel. "I don't owe you tenderness, only money. And I've paid."
Taehyung swallowed hard, fingers curling tight into the sheets until his knuckles whitened. His voice shook, not from weakness but from the weight of restrained anger.
"I... I knew this marriage was empty. I never fooled myself otherwise. But why you-" his voice cracked, eyes glimmering with unshed tears-"why do you enjoy rubbing the hollowness in my face?"
For the first time, something flickered across Jungkook's expression. Not regret, not guilt---something darker, sharper, a twisted kind of satisfaction.
He turned away briefly, grabbing his phone from the table, then stepped closer again, casting his shadow over Taehyung.
"I'm clarifying things," he said, voice low, each word deliberate. "Better you hate me than ever think I'll love you."
And with that, he slipped the phone into his pocket and strode out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Silence swallowed the room.
Taehyung sat frozen, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His eyes burned, but no tears fell.
It was silent. Too silent.
The kind of silence that pressed against his ears, that made the sound of his own heartbeat unbearably loud. Taehyung sat there, still processing the words that had been thrown at him like knives.
He didn't even notice when the first tear slipped free, burning down his cheek before falling onto the sheet. Startled by the betrayal of his own body, he quickly wiped it away, swallowing hard as if he could shove the ache back down his throat.
He yanked the blanket off himself with trembling hands, the motion too sharp, too desperate as if moving could somehow shake off the weight of Jungkook's voice still echoing in his head.
His phone lay on the nightstand. With stiff fingers, he grabbed it and unlocked the screen.
A new message blinked back at him. His breath stuttered when he read it.
Payment received.
The sum stared at him--numbers so large they blurred in his vision. Millions.
His eyes lingered on the screen until another tear slid down, dripping onto the phone. His hand clenched tight around it, knuckles paling. The money should have felt like security. Instead, it felt like a price tag stamped onto his skin.
He told himself not to cry. He told himself he knew better, that this was exactly who Jungkook was, who he had always been. He should've expected this. He did expect it.
But expectation didn't soften the blow. It didn't stop the sharp ache in his chest, the raw sting of humiliation crawling up his throat.
A shaky breath rattled out of him, breaking mid-way, and before he could stop it, a sob escaped his lips. The sound echoed in the vast emptiness of the room, cruelly loud in the silence. More followed, uncontrollable, his tears falling fast and heavy, soaking the sheet beneath him.
His heart wouldn't stop bleeding. His body, already sore and battered, felt even heavier under the weight of grief he couldn't carry.
After a moment that felt like forever, he dragged the back of his hand across his face, wiping the tears harshly. He inhaled shakily, forcing his breathing to steady.
With stubborn resolve, he pushed against the mattress, trying to stand. But the pain hit too sharp... his thighs, his back, every part of him screamed. His knees buckled, and he sat back down hard, gasping at the sting.
He gritted his teeth, eyes closing. He hated how weak he felt. He hated that Jungkook's words haunted him more than the bruises.
And yet, even knowing, even expecting, nothing had prepared him for the emptiness of this kind of hurt.
Taehyung's chest still shook from the sobs he'd forced down, but his eyes were dry now, hollow, as though they had run out of tears.
His hand trembled as it went to the small pendant hanging against his chest. The metal was warm from his skin.
With a sharp inhale, Taehyung curled his fingers around it and yanked. The chain snapped harshly, stinging against the back of his neck. He stared at it for a moment, the broken piece of jewelry glinting in his palm, before he let it fall onto the bed.
Without another glance, he pushed himself up. Every step was agony; his thighs and back screamed, his wrists burned from the marks the belt had left. He limped toward the door, his face lowered, his breath caught between sharp gasps and shaky exhales.
The moment he stepped into the corridor, he froze. The guards stood at the far end, stiff and silent, their eyes respectfully cast away. Still, Taehyung felt exposed, like every bruise on his skin was visible to them.
He pulled the robe tighter, clutching the collar at his throat, and started walking. His limp was slight, but it was there, a reminder of how last night had left him.
He descended the staircase slowly, his hand gripping the railing tighter than necessary, knuckles pale. Each step burned, but he forced his face to remain blank.
Finally, he reached the familiar door. His own room. He pushed it open with quiet care and was met with the softest sight he could have hoped for.
There he was.
Gyubin, curled under the blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, lips parted in innocent sleep.
Daisy, the small kitten, lay against him, her tiny body pressed close to his arm like a protective shield.
The sight pulled at something deep inside Taehyung's chest, something he thought had shattered minutes ago.
he stepped closer, his eyes glimmering with a different kind of ache. The gentleness of the scene--the purity, the safety-made the cruelty of earlier sting all the more.
He sucked in a shaky breath, and shook his head in disappointment. Then, carefully, he sat on the bed. The mattress dipped softly, Gyubin stirred, but he didn't wake.
Taehyung slipped under the comforter, pulling his son close. Gyubin instinctively leaned into him, curling against his chest with a faint sigh. The warmth of the boy seeped into his body, grounding him. Taehyung wrapped his arm around him protectively.
The tears threatened again, but he closed his eyes and willed them back. He couldn't cry now--not when he was holding the only reason he could endure any of this.
Yet the memories wouldn't leave. Jungkook's voice echoed in his head: Stay with me. Always. The way he had whispered those words last night, the way his touch had softened after their roughness, the fleeting moments when it felt almost like tenderness, almost like love.
And then this morning--his cold smirk, his cruel words, the money.
Taehyung's chest ached with confusion. Which one was real? The man who held him like a lover last night... or the man who treated him like a business this morning?
He pressed his face into Gyubin, breathing in the innocent scent, letting it calm him. "It doesn't matter," he whispered to himself, so softly it was barely audible.
And with that, as exhaustion overtook his battered body, Taehyung finally let himself drift into sleep, holding his son as if he could shield them both from the cruel world outside that door.
.
.
.
Seokjin sat alone in the dim-lit room, the celebration of last night still echoing faintly in his mind like a bad aftertaste.
The amber liquid in his glass swirled, catching the dull light, but his eyes didn't follow it-they were fixed on the wall, blank, unblinking. His jaw tightened until it ached, the veins in his temple throbbing as memory clawed back with merciless sharpness.
The party. The laughter. The phone pressed to his ear as he excused himself from the crowd, stepping into the quieter corridor.
That was when he saw him---a man knocking lightly at the locked washroom door, muttering in urgency for someone to open up. Seokjin had almost walked past, dismissing it as nothing, but then-
"Get the hell out of here."
The voice that ripped through the air froze his blood in its veins. Jungkook. Cold. Aggressive. Unmistakable.
Seokjin had stilled in his tracks, every nerve in his body standing on edge. And then-softer, breathless, trembling, yet still so distinct....
It was like the ground cracked beneath him. He didn't need to see. He didn't want to. The sounds, the tones, the overlap of their voices--he knew. He knew exactly what was happening beyond that door.
His grip tightened around the glass now, knuckles whitening. The whiskey burned down his throat as he tilted it back in one gulp, the bitterness sinking deep into his chest, heavier than air. He wanted it to numb him, but it only sharpened the edges of what he felt-betrayal, fury, disbelief.
Seokjin had walked away from the celebration after that, his steps fast, heart hammering, ears buzzing. He didn't even remember what excuse he gave, or if he gave one at all.
All he remembered was the shattering sound inside his chest, the way every laugh, every toast, every smile in that room felt like mockery now.
And now, alone, he sat in silence. The glass was empty, but his chest wasn't. It was full of a storm he didn't know how to contain.
Seokjin's chest rose and fell unevenly, the ache inside him gnawing raw. This wasn't him. He was always composed, always the one with answers, the one who never faltered no matter the storm. But now?
How many times had he erased Jungkook's mistakes? How many times had he cleaned up his messes, shielded him, stood in the shadows so Jungkook could stand tall? Always helping. Always covering. Always the older brother who endured.
But this time---it was different. This time it wasn't about mistakes. It wasn't something he could smooth over or sweep away. No. This cut wasn't on the surface. It was deeper, twisting through his bones, branding itself across his heart. This time it was personal.
Seokjin swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it catch the faint light before setting it down with care on the table. The sound of crystal against wood echoed louder than it should have.
"You walk through life believing nothing can touch you.
That money, power, your name--Jeon Jungkook, will shield you from consequence.
" His voice dropped to a whisper, low and steady, each syllable slicing through the air.
"But shields crack. Names crumble. And when they do, you'll understand what it feels like to bleed in silence. "
A flicker of something-satisfaction? rage?-passed through his eyes before he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, whispering into the empty room like a vow.
"You'll taste the same emptiness your father carried to grave. And when you do, maybe then... you'll finally understand what real pain is."
The whiskey burned down his throat again, but Seokjin didn't flinch. His face remained calm, the picture of a man who had already decided the punishment--and was patient enough to wait for the perfect moment to strike.
It's true. When love burns, everything else fades. What once mattered principles, patience, restraint crumbles into ash, leaving only the raw, searing need for reckoning.
Seokjin's eyes burned in the dim light, pupils sharp.
The room seemed colder now, shadows creeping along the walls as if they knew the hunger in his chest. A slow heat coiled in him, crawling up from his gut to his temples.
Every heartbeat hammered in cadence with it, a rhythm of something he'd kept buried for far too long.
Destroy him.
The thought was almost a whisper, yet it roared in his mind. Not just hurt. Not just anger. Something older, colder, sharper. Jungkook... the boy he had protected, the mess he had cleaned.
He would not act like a father. He would not act like a brother. Not anymore.
He would destroy him. Not violently not yet... but piece by piece, in the quiet ways that cut deeper than fire. He would strip away illusions, dismantle pride, and leave him standing, exposed, as hollow as the emptiness Seokjin had once glimpsed in his father's eyes.
A slow, cold smile curved his lips. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into palms.
.
.
.
The white walls of the hospital pressed in like a cage. Too bright, too clean, yet underneath the sterile sharpness of antiseptic there was something suffocating, the kind of place where hope and despair sat side by side, indistinguishable until the doctor spoke.
Taehyung sat stiffly in the chair, Gyubin beside him.
The boy was swinging his legs, balancing the rubik's cube in his small hands, twisting the colors with intense concentration.
He seemed so small against the oversized seat, yet the calm determination in his face was far too mature for his age.
Taehyung's chest tightened at the sight.
Across from them, the doctor flipped through Gyubin's file. His expression was neutral but focused, the kind of look Taehyung had learned to read too well over the months. Every lifted brow, every hum meant something.
"His blood counts are improving," the doctor finally said, his voice steady, clinical. He adjusted his glasses, then scribbled a few notes. "That's good. Very good, actually. We'll reduce the dosage slightly, monitor the response, and make sure he's tolerating it well."
Taehyung nodded, but the words seemed to float somewhere above his head. His body was present, but his mind was a thousand miles away. The doctor's voice blurred with the memory of Jungkook's from that morning..low, cold, cutting through his chest like a blade.
"Don't look at me like that. I don't owe you tenderness--only money. And I've paid."
His hand curled into a fist on his lap. He forced his eyes to stay on the doctor, though his throat was burning, though every muscle screamed to crumble.
Gyubin's small hand brushed against his, pulling him back to the present. The boy looked up with a smile, one corner of the cube perfectly aligned with another color. "Appa, look! I almost solved this side."
Taehyung's lips trembled, but he managed a soft smile. "You're so clever, binnie." His voice was warm, though it cracked at the edges.
The doctor closed the file, sliding it across the desk toward Taehyung.
"Here's the adjusted prescription. His body is holding up well, but you must continue to be careful. Rest, nutrition, and consistency are key."
Taehyung took the file with steady hands, bowed his head slightly, and murmured, "Thank you." His tone was calm, polite, everything expected of a parent in control.
Inside, he was breaking.
He rose, gently holding Gyubin's small hand as they stood. "Come on, sweetheart," he said softly.
But the moment his body straightened, the room tilted. His legs felt like sand beneath him. Black spots swam across his vision, multiplying with every heartbeat. His grip on Gyubin's hand tightened instinctively.
"Appa?" Gyubin's soft voice was full of worry now, eyes wide.
The doctor stood quickly, alarm flickering across his face.
Taehyung blinked hard, tried to push through it, to take another step but his knees buckled, the world caved in, and the last thing he felt was Gyubin's desperate tug on his arm before darkness swallowed him whole.
"Appa!"
Gyubin's cry was sharp, breaking in the sterile silence of the room. The rubik's cube clattered to the floor, colors scattering as if the world itself had cracked.
.
.
.
The clinical room was dimly lit, a faint hum from the air conditioner the only sound cutting through the silence.
Taehyung's lashes fluttered, his breath shaky as his vision slowly cleared. The stark white ceiling came into focus, followed by the silhouette of a nurse leaning over him.
"You're awake," she said softly, relief slipping into her tone. She quickly turned toward the door. "Doctor, he's conscious."
The door opened moments later, and the physician stepped in with measured footsteps. Taehyung swallowed, his throat painfully dry.
The nurse helped him sit upright and pressed a glass of water into his trembling hands. He sipped, his lips brushing the rim, but even the cool water did little to wash away the weight pressing down on his chest.
"How do you feel?" the doctor asked, his voice even but attentive, eyes carefully scanning Taehyung's face.
"I'm fine," Taehyung rasped, though his voice cracked on the last word. He set the glass aside, trying to steady his breathing.
The doctor didn't reply immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, flipping open the chart in his hands, jotting something down before glancing back at Taehyung. "I'd like to ask you something, Mr. Kim."
His tone was clinical, but there was an undertone of concern.
Taehyung tensed, fingers curling around the blanket draped across his lap. "What is it?"
The physician exhaled slowly, crouching a little so he could meet Taehyung's gaze directly.
"While examining you earlier... I noticed distinct bruising.
The kind that suggests recent, rough sexual activity.
" He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"I need to ask this directly and very proffesionally--was it forced? "
For a moment, Taehyung froze. The sterile air of the room pressed in on him, his ears ringing. Images from last night flickered in his head.
His lips parted, trembling, but at last, he whispered, "No... it wasn't forced." His gaze dropped to the floor. "It was... consensual."
The doctor studied him for a beat, eyes narrowing just slightly as if to weigh the truth.
Then he nodded slowly, making a note in the chart.
"Understood. There's no shame in it," he said firmly, his tone gentle yet professional.
"My role here is not to judge, only to ensure you're in good health.
Your body shows signs of strain. You'll need to rest and give yourself time to heal. "
Heat rose to Taehyung's face, not from the doctor's words but from the humiliating realization of how visible Jungkook's cruelty had become. Shame sat like a stone in his chest, pressing against his lungs.
The physician straightened, closing the file with a quiet snap. "Given your current state, I recommend calling your husband... Ceo Jeon so he can be informed of your condition and help with your care."
"No." The word shot out of Taehyung's mouth like a blade, sharper than he intended.
His entire body trembled at just the mention of that name, anger coursing through him like fire under his skin. "Don't call him. I don't want him here."
The doctor studied him again, brows lifting faintly at the vehement reaction. But he inclined his head. "Very well. I'll respect your privacy."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of the pen scratching against paper as the doctor finished his notes. Finally, he placed the chart aside and extended a small box of cream along with a few blister packs of tablets.
"These are for the bruising and the pain.
Apply the cream gently, twice a day. The medication should help you manage discomfort, but don't overexert yourself.
" His eyes softened as they lingered on Taehyung's pale face.
"You need to take care of yourself, Mr. Kim. For your health-and for your son's."
Taehyung's throat closed up at the mention of Gyubin, and he only managed a small nod. The doctor gave a final hum of acknowledgment before excusing himself, leaving Taehyung in the hushed clinical room once more.
Taehyung sat frozen, the cream and tablets lying cold in his hands. His mind was still ringing with the echo of that one forbidden name--Ceo Jeon. His body throbbed with soreness, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness tightening like a vice inside him.
Taehyung rose slowly from the examination bed, tugging his sleeves down to cover the faint marks on his arms. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until each one was fastened, every movement deliberate as if holding his body together piece by piece.
He offered a faint bow to the nurse, who returned a polite smile before quietly excusing herself, leaving the room wrapped in silence.
When Taehyung stepped into the hallway, his eyes immediately found the small figure sitting stiffly in a chair. Gyubin's little legs dangled above the floor, his Rubik's cube forgotten on his lap, his eyes wide and searching.
Something inside Taehyung eased at the sight. His expression softened, the stern mask falling away. "Binnie... appa's here." His voice was warm, coaxing.
Gyubin's head snapped up, his eyes glistening with relief. "Appa!" He scrambled down from the chair, rushing to him with quick little steps before wrapping his small arms tightly around Taehyung's waist.
The sudden weight against him made Taehyung's chest clench, his hand instinctively dropping to stroke Gyubin's cheek He let out a quiet chuckle, though it was thin, his voice still hoarse. "I'm fine, Binnie."
Gyubin pulled back just enough to look up at him, his brows drawn in worry. "What happened, appa? Why were you inside for so long?you fainted..." His voice wavered with fear.
Taehyung's smile faltered for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, bending a little so his son wouldn't see the shadow in his eyes. "Appa was just tired. That's all. Nothing scary."
"But..." Gyubin searched his father's face, sensing more than he was being told.
His lips pressed together, as if he wanted to ask again, but then his gaze dropped. He nodded slowly, accepting the excuse with the quiet trust only a child could give.
Taehyung exhaled softly, guilt crawling in his chest. He reached down, threading his fingers through Gyubin's small ones, holding him gently but firmly. "Come on, let's go home," he said, his tone lighter, almost coaxing.
"Okay," Gyubin whispered, his hand clutching Taehyung's tightly. He glanced up once more, as if reassuring himself that his father was really standing there, and then let himself be led away.
Taehyung straightened, every step steady for his son's sake, though his body still throbbed with soreness, and his mind echoed with memories he desperately wanted to bury.
He focused only on the warmth of the small hand in his own, as they walked out together.
.
.
That night, the house was unnervingly silent. The faint hum of the city outside couldn't reach the stillness of Taehyung's room.
He prepared Gyubin's dinner quietly, his hands steady but slow, every movement deliberate. He gave him the medicine with a soft, "Eat slowly, Binnie," and watched the boy obey, small fingers clutching the spoon.
Gyubin looked up once at him and Taehyung smiled faintly, not wanting to let the boy see how much the day had drained him.
When the plate was empty and the medicine swallowed, Taehyung guided Gyubin to bed. " sleep, alright?" His voice was soft but firm.
Gyubin nodded tugging the covers around himself. "Okay, appa."
Taehyung pulled the blankets up over his own shoulders, feeling the weight of the day settle on him like a shroud.
He checked the door---locked and let himself sink into the bed, curling around the small space he had carved out for safety.
Outside, the faint honk of a car sounded, a reminder that Jungkook had arrived.
Taehyung's heart raced, but he refused to move. Not tonight. He pressed his forehead to the pillow and whispered to himself, "Not tonight. Not for him."
The lights of the room dimmed further as he drifted into a restless sleep.