48
Third Person Pov
The next morning, Taehyung woke to an empty bed, the faint indent beside him already cooling, the handcuffs unclasped and set neatly on the nightstand like nothing had ever happened.
He blinked against the pale morning light leaking through the curtains, his wrist instinctively brushing over the faint red mark left behind.
Of course, Jungkook was gone. The CEO was far too disciplined, too controlled, to ever let himself linger in bed when dawn called.
For a moment, Taehyung just sat there, staring at the space where Jungkook had been.
It was strange, the way silence felt louder after a night like that.
.. the heavy quiet pressing in, almost accusing.
He pushed the sheets away and let out a low sigh, forcing himself to stand.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him.
.
.
Days were passing, Taehyung drowned himself in plans. It was the only way to keep his thoughts steady.
Papers spread across the desk, pages filled with numbers, rough drafts of schedules and treatment options.
His handwriting grew tighter with every line as he calculated again and again, reworking, rechecking.
Every coin mattered. Every step had to be right.
He couldn’t afford to slip when Gyubin’s future depended on it.
Fifteen more days. That mantra kept him moving, kept him breathing.
Fifteen more days and he would finally be free free from Jungkook’s empire, free from the suffocating hold of the marriage contract.
No more cold stares, no more silent dominance pressing down on his chest. Just peace. Just a life that was his.
A soft rustle broke him from his thoughts. Gyubin sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, watching him with wide, curious eyes. His small hands kept tugging at the edge of his beanie, adjusting it over his shaven head as if it might slip away. Taehyung’s gaze softened despite himself.
“Why are you staring at me like that, hm?” Taehyung murmured, setting the pen down.
Gyubin just shrugged, lips curving into a little grin that was far too knowing for his age. Taehyung shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. That laugh hurt though, it scraped against his chest, reminding him how rare it had become.
Taehyung leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he looked at the boy. For all the shadows that clung to him, Gyubin’s presence was like a flicker of light. The reason he endured. The reason he planned, counted, sacrificed.
He turned back to the papers, forcing his focus back. Fifteen more days. The words weren’t just numbers now, they were oxygen, the only thing keeping him from drowning in the storm that was Jungkook. He smiled faintly, though it was a smile heavy with ache.
“Just fifteen more days,” he whispered, not even realizing the words had slipped out. Gyubin tilted his head, curious, but Taehyung only smiled wider, softer this time.
Hope was dangerous. But in that moment, with his pen, his plans, and the quiet weight of Gyubin’s gaze, hope almost felt real.
Still, no matter how hard he tried to chase it away, he couldn’t stop remembering the way Jungkook had held him that night, not like a captor, not like a husband bound by a contract, but like a man terrified of losing something he didn’t want to admit he wanted.
And that terrified Taehyung more than anything else.
Taehyung clenched his jaw, shaking his head. No. Don’t be a fool. He won’t care when you’re gone.
It was evening. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting the mansion in a dull, fading glow. Taehyung stood by the window, his reflection ghosting faintly against the glass. His gaze dropped to his hand, to the tight band of silver circling his finger.
Husband.
The word sat heavy in his chest, bitter on his tongue. A husband was supposed to be someone who protected you. Who respected you. Who built a life with you a life filled with peace, not pain.
Marriage was supposed to mean safety, love, belonging. But what could he expect from a contract? From vows written in cold ink rather than warm promises?
His throat tightened as another word echoed in his mind, sharp, humiliating, unforgettable.
“Least valuable asset.”
He remembered the day he stepped into this mansion, the way the CEO’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he said those words. He had never forgotten. They had clung to him like chains, whispering in the back of his mind with every step he took in this house.
And yet… somewhere deep down, in a place he hated to admit even existed, his heart still betrayed him.
Because whenever Jungkook was gentle even in the smallest ways, a look, a touch, a fleeting moment of softness something inside him cracked open. His pulse would race, his chest would tighten.
Maybe it was because he had grown so used to the cruelty, so used to the harshness, that even the barest scraps of kindness felt like warmth after years of cold.
But that didn’t mean he had forgotten.
Not the insults. Not the dismissals. Not the sting of being belittled, reduced to nothing in Jungkook’s eyes.
His fingers curled into a fist around the ring. The weight of it pressed into his skin, both anchor and shackle. He hated it. He hated that it still made his heart ache. He hated that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip it off or hold on tighter.
He was still tangled in his thoughts when a faint sound reached him from outside, low, distant, pulling him out of the heavy spiral in his mind. With a quiet sigh, Taehyung shook his head, brushing off the unease.
Inside, Gyubin lay sprawled comfortably on the bed, a book balanced in his small hands while Daisy sat perched on his stomach, purring as though the world belonged to her.
The sight softened Taehyung’s face; for a moment, the knot in his stomach loosened.
He smiled, gently shutting the door so as not to disturb them.
His steps carried him down the corridor, past the tall glass windows spilling faint twilight across the marble floors. He was headed toward the main hall when his feet suddenly stilled.
There...on the couch.
Kim Seokjin.
The man sat leaned back, his eyes closed, his broad frame slumped in quiet exhaustion. Even at rest, his presence filled the space like a shadow. A hand rested loosely against his temple, his jaw slack with weariness, though the faint crease on his brow betrayed the storm still twisting inside.
Not far from him stood Mr. Haenam, silent and watchful, his posture stiff as though guarding him even in these unguarded moments.
Taehyung’s throat bobbed. His first instinct was to retreat, to walk away before either noticed him lingering. This wasn’t his place.... was it ever? But humanity came before distance. Something about the way Seokjin sat there, almost fragile beneath all his power, made Taehyung hesitate.
Should he check? Should he offer something comfort, even just presence?
Or stay out of it, leave this man to his grief and exhaustion?
But then his feet moved on their own. One quiet step, then another. His palms dampened against his sides as he walked closer, every sound of his footsteps echoing in the vast hall.
“Seokjin-ssi,” Taehyung called softly.
There was no answer.
Seokjin didn’t even flinch. His body looked heavy, as if gravity itself had doubled its pull on him. His head leaned against the back of the couch, lips pressed together, lashes still against his cheek.
“He seems exhausted,” Mr. Haenam murmured from the side, voice hushed like the stillness of the mansion itself.
Taehyung hummed in agreement.
Something in him tugged at the sight the ever-so-polished Kim Seokjin slouched and silent, shoulders slack, vulnerability carved into the lines of his face.
Taehyung’s hand twitched at his side before, against better judgment, he leaned down.
Hesitation lingered as his palm hovered over Seokjin’s forehead. A moment later, it settled gently.
Hot.
“Fever,” he whispered under his breath, almost to himself.
“Might have overworked himself,” Mr. Haenam said knowingly, his tone laced with the kind of concern only age carries.
Taehyung nodded faintly, retreating his hand, lips pressing into a thin line.
For a second, silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint tick of the grandfather clock echoing down the hall.
Then the butler excused himself, soon returning with a tray, water glass and a small packet of pills resting neatly atop it.
He held it out to Taehyung.
Taehyung blinked at him, startled, but after a pause he accepted it, fingers curling around the cool glass. With measured steps, he moved toward the elder. “Mr. Kim,” he called again, his voice soft, careful.
This time, Seokjin stirred. His eyes opened slowly, revealing rims red from lack of sleep or perhaps from something else, something deeper.
His gaze fell to the glass in Taehyung’s hand, then flicked to Taehyung’s face.
A moment passed, a beat too long, before he took the offering.
His fingers brushed against Taehyung’s lightly, cold and unsteady.
He swallowed the pills, chased them down with water, and set the glass aside. His throat bobbed, voice hoarse when he finally muttered, “Thanks.”
Taehyung nodded wordlessly. He passed the tray back to Mr. Haenam, who disappeared down the corridor, leaving only silence in his wake.
Taehyung turned, steps quiet as he prepared to leave but before his foot could cross the carpet, a hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Stay. For a while.”
The grip wasn’t tight, but it anchored him in place.
Taehyung froze, staring down at the pale fingers circling his wrist, then back at the man whose eyes were still faintly glazed, exhausted. It wasn’t an order in Seokjin’s voice. It wasn’t command or authority, it was something far smaller. Something fragile. A plea.
And so, slowly, Taehyung sat.
The couch dipped under his weight, his posture careful, while Seokjin leaned back into the cushions with a faint sigh. Taehyung slipped his hand free, slowly, and Seokjin let him, though his gaze followed the retreat.
“I miss her...”
The words cracked the silence like thunder. Quiet, but heavy.
Taehyung looked at him, lips parting, unsure whether to speak but before he could, Seokjin continued, voice rough around the edges.
“I thought I was strong.” His jaw flexed, his gaze fixed on nothing.
“I thought I’d built myself into someone who couldn’t be shaken.
But then Eomma left, and suddenly…” He exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face.
“Suddenly I realized how much I was leaning on her. Depending on her. The only softness I had left in this world.”
His hand trembled as it dropped into his lap. He swallowed hard, throat constricting. “She made me believe I could carry everything. That no matter how heavy it was, I’d manage. Because she was there at the end of the day.”
Taehyung blinked fast as he felt his own throat tight hearing those raw words.
Seokjin’s eyes glistened as he stared at the ceiling, blinking too quickly. “But without her…” His voice faltered, broke, and when it returned, it was barely a whisper. “Without her, I feel like I’m nothing. Just hollow.”
The weight of his words sank into the air, pressing down on both of them.
Taehyung lowered his gaze, fingers knotting together in his lap.
He knew that kind of ache different in shape, perhaps, but similar in weight. That kind of grief couldn’t be reasoned with. It didn’t loosen. It just stayed, lingering in the chest until you learned to breathe around it.
He offered no words. Sometimes, silence said more.
Seokjin leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
His lips parted, and for the first time, his mask cracked his composure slipping like glass too thin to hold its shape.
“I’m supposed to be the older one. I’m supposed to be the stronger one.
But last night I almost called her name in the silence.
Just to hear her voice calling me back. Just once more. ”
Taehyung’s throat constricted. He turned his head, eyes fixed on the patterned carpet because looking directly at Seokjin felt too raw, too exposing.
“She used to call me Jinnie.” A humorless laugh left Seokjin, low and cracked.
“Imagine that. A man like me, being called Jinnie like a little boy.” His lips trembled, though his smile didn’t hold.
“She was the last one who still saw me that way. Not as Mr. Kim. Not as some businessman. Just her son.”
Taehyung dared to glance at him, at the man’s hunched shoulders and trembling breath. The great Kim Seokjin, stripped down to nothing but grief.
And Taehyung stayed. Silent. Because Seokjin didn’t need answers. He didn’t need advice. He just needed someone there, someone who wouldn’t turn away from the sight of him breaking.
And for that night, Taehyung gave him that.
The room had fallen quiet, the kind of silence that carried weight. Seokjin’s head leaned back against the couch, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as if the grief itself was heavy enough to exhaust him.
His lashes trembled shut, yet Taehyung could tell from the faint furrow between his brows that sleep wasn’t coming easily, it was grief that had closed his eyes, not rest.
Taehyung sat beside him, fingers intertwined in his lap, eyes fixed on the vague nothingness ahead. He wasn’t sure what to say if he should even say anything. Words often failed in moments like these, and sometimes silence itself was the only comfort one could offer.
Still, the ache in Seokjin’s voice lingered in Taehyung’s chest. “I miss her.” He could still hear it, the rawness of it, the weight of a son admitting that even as a grown man, he still needed his mother. It made something inside Taehyung soften, almost ache in its own way.
He thought about his sister for a fleeting second, and his chest clenched. Loss… it was something he never wanted but had to go through it... alone.
Without realizing it, Taehyung’s eyes grew heavy. The warmth of the room, the stillness of the moment, and the quiet sound of Seokjin’s breathing lulled him in.
His body leaned just slightly, almost hesitant, but then gave in. His head rested against Seokjin’s shoulder, feather-light at first, as though testing if it was alright.
Seokjin didn’t move. His body tensed faintly at the unexpected touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his chest loosening just enough to accept the small comfort. For the first time in what felt like days, his heart felt less unbearably heavy.
Taehyung, too, didn’t know when exactly he drifted off. His lashes brushed against his cheeks as sleep claimed him, his breaths evening out in quiet rhythm.
For a brief moment, it was as though two people carrying completely different burdens had found a strange, fragile solace in each other’s presence.
The night stretched on in silence... two figures seated side by side, leaning against one another, both unaware that perhaps this fleeting moment of closeness was more healing than words could ever be.
The mansion slept in silence, a silence so thick it felt alive. Shadows stretched long and heavy across the marble floors, swallowing the edges of the grand hall.
Then----footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Measured. Each one cracking through the stillness like a warning.
And beneath it, another sound. Fainter. Wet. Drip… drip… drip…
The first thing visible was red drops sliding down pale fingers, falling to the floor in uneven rhythms. The blood painted its way across the pristine white marble, staining it, marking his path. He didn’t bother to stop it.
The CEO appeared from the shadows like a predator, his frame rigid, shoulders squared, jaw clenched so tightly a vein ticked at his temple. His shirt clung dark and damp at the sleeves, his veins stark beneath the skin.
His eyes God, his eyes burned like a fire barely held in chains, rage coiled so tight it looked moments away from snapping free.
He paused at the edge of the hall, gaze slicing through the room until it found them. Taehyung, head tilted, lips slightly parted in sleep. Seokjin, too weary to move, their shoulders brushing.
The air changed. It was no longer silence it was suffocation. The atmosphere thickened, a storm pressing down on the room.
He flexed his bloodied hand, more drops pattered against the marble. It echoed like a countdown, like a noose tightening.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared. His eyes hollow yet burning, as though he were calculating, imagining a hundred ways to break the picture in front of him. His lips curled , faintly not into a smile but into something far more dangerous.
Seokjin stirred under the weight of that gaze, his fever-clouded eyes cracking open. He blinked sluggishly at the figure looming in the hall. Taehyung shifted against him, murmuring softly in his sleep.
That was when the CEO’s jaw twitched. His fists tightened, fresh rivulets of blood snaking down his wrist. The sound of it hitting the floor was deafening in the stillness.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was a blade against the throat of the room, promising one thing... violence.
Seokjin’s hazy gaze tried to focus, but everything swam the fever, the exhaustion, the pounding ache in his head. He blinked, forcing his eyes open, and caught the faint weight against his shoulder Taehyung clinging softly, lost in shallow sleep. For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
Then his gaze slid to the other side. And he froze. Jungkook stood there.
The CEO was drenched, drenched so heavily it was almost grotesque. His shirt, once crisp white, was soaked scarlet, clinging to his body in dark sticky patches. Blood streaked his arms, dripping in sluggish rivulets from a deep tear in his flesh, no ordinary cut, but a clean, brutal bullet wound.
His hands were painted red, veins pulsing violently under his skin as if the rage inside him couldn’t be contained. His face was painted with blood too, smeared across his jaw, clinging to his lashes, streaking down his throat.
He looked like the face of death itself.
Seokjin’s stomach dropped. He knew instantly... tonight was going to be the worst. Beside him, Taehyung stirred faintly at the weight of silence pressing down on the hall. His lips parted, voice groggy, soft. “…Jungkook…”
The sound cracked through the tension like glass shattering.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching violently. His bloodied fist curled tighter, so tight that droplets fell in a steady rhythm onto the marble.
And then, he moved.
One step. Heavy. Echoing. The thud reverberated through their bones.
Seokjin instinctively shifted, his body weak but trying to shield, a subtle barrier between Taehyung and the storm closing in.
Another step.
Taehyung’s lashes fluttered open fully this time, his groggy confusion snapping into sharp clarity when his gaze landed on the man standing before them. His breath hitched. His heart plummeted. His veins iced over.
So much blood. So much rage.
Jungkook’s figure loomed closer, terrifyingly calm yet so utterly unhinged that the air itself seemed to recoil from him.
The bullet wound bled freely, yet he walked as if it were nothing as if pain didn’t exist in his world.
He stopped just a breath away. The air itself seemed to choke.
Jungkook’s voice broke through the quiet, deep and chilling, each word laced with venom. “I leave you for a few hours… and this is where I find you? Clinging to another man like he’s your shelter.”
The words slithered through Taehyung’s veins like poison. His entire body went rigid, blood running cold, his heart hammering violently in his chest. Before he could react, Jungkook’s blood-slicked hand shot out, seizing his arm in a merciless grip.
Taehyung gasped as the sticky warmth smeared against his skin, staining him with red, marking him in the most terrifying way.
“Jungkook—it’s nothing like that…” Seokjin’s voice cracked the air, raw and weak, his body trembling with fever. He pushed himself to his feet, staggering, but still trying to stand between them.
Jungkook’s head turned slowly, eyes cutting into Seokjin. His lips curled, not in amusement, but in something sharp, terrifying.
“You’re still speaking?” His tone was soft, but every syllable was a blade. “I let you breathe because of her… but don’t mistake that for mercy.”
His grip tightened around Taehyung’s arm, the pressure biting into his flesh as he yanked him closer.
“Mr. Jeon—” Taehyung hissed, breathless, struggling against the hold. “Please… leave…” His plea was sharp, desperate, but it only seemed to ignite Jungkook further.
Seokjin’s hand shot out, gripping Jungkook’s uninjured arm. “Enough. Let him go.” His voice held command, but his body betrayed him weak, faltering.
Jungkook’s eyes slid to Seokjin. A flicker of disdain passed through them, sharp and cutting, before his lips parted again.
"Throw him out."
The command was quiet. Deadly. Unarguable.
The guards nearby stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances. They feared Seokjin but Jungkook’s authority was absolute. The room chilled as four of them stepped forward.
“Don’t you dare—” Seokjin thrashed as they grabbed him, his exhausted body fighting against the iron grip of the men. His voice broke with fury. “Jungkook, listen... for God’s sake!”
But Jungkook didn’t even turn. His focus was fixed entirely on Taehyung, whose breaths came uneven and sharp, his body trembling under the suffocating hold.
The more Seokjin shouted, the more Jungkook’s fingers dug into Taehyung’s skin, dragging him away without a single word.
The staircase rattled with their struggle Taehyung thrashing, his fists beating against Jungkook’s chest, his nails digging into the fresh bullet wound. Jungkook’s breath hissed, eyes flashing as more blood seeped through his shirt, dripping hot against Taehyung’s fingers.
“Let me go! Leave me—” Taehyung’s voice broke, half desperation, half terror. His throat ached as he fought, his grip trembling against the gash. “You’re bleeding so much—"
“Shut up.” Jungkook’s snarl was guttural, low, a feral beast clinging to control by threads. His grip on Taehyung’s wrist tightened until the younger cried out, his body dragged mercilessly up the stairs.
By the time they reached the top, Taehyung’s lungs burned, his legs stumbling helplessly against the pull. Jungkook shoved open a door with his shoulder, flinging Taehyung inside.
The younger hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs. He tried to scramble away, palms skidding against the polished floor, but the sound of the door slamming shut behind them froze him.
A shadow loomed.
Jungkook stalked forward, blood painting every step, his chest heaving, his face carved with rage. Without a word, he dropped to one knee, his hand fisting in Taehyung’s hair, yanking his head back until their eyes clashed.
“You disgust me,” he muttered, the words so low they scraped like gravel against Taehyung’s ear.
Taehyung’s heart lurched violently. His scalp burned under the brutal clutch, tears stinging his eyes, but what made his blood run cold wasn’t the pain, it was the way Jungkook looked at him.
As though he wasn’t a person at all. As though he was nothing more than a possession, tainted and infuriating, yet irreplaceable.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Jungkook’s lips twisted, his voice shaking with venom. “A weakness I can’t cut out. A chain I can’t break. And it makes me hate you more than anyone else.”
The words tore through Taehyung worse than the grip on his hair. His body trembled, caught between fury and dread.
“Then let me go!” Taehyung gasped, eyes burning. “If I disgust you so much—if you hate me—then let me—”
Jungkook’s yanked Taehyung closer until their foreheads almost touched, blood smearing onto the younger’s skin.
“Let you go?” His voice was poison-laced silk. “You’ll leave when I decide you can. Not a second before. Not even if I have to drag you through hell with me.”
Taehyung’s lips parted, horror flooding him. The metallic scent of Jungkook’s blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and with every beat of his heart, the truth sank deeper, there was no escape.
And then
Jungkook yanked Taehyung upright by the hair, forcing him onto unsteady feet before slamming him back against the wall.
The impact rattled through Taehyung’s body, knocking the air from his lungs. The cold plaster dug into his spine, and the sheer force of Jungkook’s presence caged him in.
“Why?” Jungkook’s voice came low, quiet, but laced with an edge that made the air itself feel heavier. His eyes burned with a rage so sharp it almost looked calm. “Why is it always him? Why do I always find you beside him like some pathetic shadow? Do you crave him that much?”
Taehyung’s jaw trembled, but he forced his words out, venom coating his tongue.
“Because he’s better than you,” he spat, his voice shaking with hatred.
“I hate you. I hate the way you treat me like garbage. I hate how you use me and toss me aside like I’m nothing.
I hate everything you’ve ever done to me.
And I hate this marriage more than anything.
” His chest heaved with the effort, frustration boiling over into trembling rage.
Jungkook’s lips curved, not into a smile but something crueler, mocking. He leaned closer, hand snatching Taehyung’s jaw in a bruising grip, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“You can hate me all you want,” Jungkook whispered, voice low and edged with something far darker. “But you can’t leave.”
“I can,” Taehyung hissed, though his voice trembled against the weight of Jungkook’s gaze. “And I will. Fifteen more days… then I’m gone.”
Jungkook’s grip tightened, his thumb pressing painfully into Taehyung’s cheek. His eyes glinted with something almost feral as his next words fell, slow and deliberate.
“Without your son?”
The blood drained from Taehyung’s face, his breath stuttering as the words hit him like a blade. His voice came out broken, trembling. “W-what?”
“I adopted your son. Legally.” Jungkook’s voice was low but sharp, like a knife sliding between Taehyung’s ribs. “He’s Jeon now. You can scream, cry, beg…” his lips twisted into a smirk, “…but you can’t take him away. You agreed to this the moment you signed.”
Taehyung’s entire body went still. His vision blurred, his stomach lurched. The words sank in slowly, but when they did, his hands began to shake violently. His son… a Jeon? His son stolen from him with a single signature?
“You… you wouldn’t do this…” he stammered, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.
Jungkook leaned in, close enough for Taehyung to feel his breath, his eyes like shards of black ice.
“I did.” he murmured. No emotion. No hesitation.
He pushed Taehyung back with a single hand to the chest. The younger stumbled against the wall, his knees almost giving out, still frozen in shock as Jungkook walked across the room, every step deliberate, predatory. He reached his desk, picked up a thick file, and turned back toward Taehyung.
The CEO’s bloodied hand left streaks of red across the folder as he held it out.
Taehyung’s heart raced as he snatched it from him in panic. His fingers fumbled with the papers, flipping page after page. And then he saw it. His own signature. Bold. Black. Permanent. He could barely breathe as he stared down at it.
“No…” he whispered. “No…” He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, eyes flicking up to Jungkook, blazing with a mixture of terror and rage. “How dare you…” he muttered, his voice a growl now, trembling.
The papers shook in his hands as he ripped them apart, tearing page after page with a violence born of desperation. Shreds of legal text and his own name fell like snow at his feet.
Jungkook only watched, amusement flickering in his eyes like a small fire. He tilted his head, lips curling into a small, cold smile.
“Those weren’t even real anyway,” he said casually, voice dripping with mockery as he walked away from the shredded mess.
He strolled to his small liquor cabinet, moving like nothing had happened. He picked up a heavy bottle of whiskey, poured himself a glass slowly, his bloodied fingers smearing the crystal with red. He raised it, took a slow drink, his gaze fixed lazily on Taehyung.
That was the last straw. Taehyung lunged at him, his own body shaking with adrenaline. He grabbed Jungkook’s arm, spun him around, and fisted his collar, yanking him close enough their faces were inches apart.
“How fucking dare you,” Taehyung hissed, his voice low and feral. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the bloodied collar tighter, tugging hard enough to choke.
Jungkook shook his head unbothered. The sound vibrated against Taehyung’s hands like a threat. Slowly, with one hand, Jungkook set his glass down without spilling a drop.
His other hand rose, catching Taehyung’s wrist with effortless strength, prying him off with a grip like steel.
“Careful.” Jungkook’s voice dropped so low it scraped the air.
He didn’t move, but the room tightened around them the house felt like his throat.
“You’re in my house, clenching my collar, talking about my son.
Raise your voice at me again and I’ll show you what it means to be on the wrong side of my patience. "
Taehyung stared at him, chest heaving, but for the first time since Jungkook had entered, his rage faltered into a thin line of fear.
“P?Please…”
The word tumbled out of Taehyung’s mouth like glass, shattering in the space between them. His eyes, blurred with tears, locked on Jungkook’s as if searching for a flicker of humanity there. There was none. Only a cold, steady gaze.
His knees buckled before he could stop them. He sank to the floor at Jungkook’s feet, his palms splayed on the polished wood, the blood Jungkook had trailed across the room streaking his hands red.
A sob clawed its way out of his chest before he could choke it back.
“How… how could you do this…” His voice cracked, shredded at the edges. “I—I raised him. I did everything. I endured everything for him—”
Taehyung’s words spiraled into a jagged sob, his shoulders trembling violently. “All this torture… humiliation… and when I was finally about to get free…” his voice broke, “…you snatched him—my only one…”
He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth, tears spilling freely now, pooling at his chin. His breaths came in short, broken gasps. His entire body bowed forward until his forehead nearly touched the floor.
Above him, Jungkook stood still. Silent. A black silhouette against the warm glow of the room, the slow drip of blood from his arm pattering softly against the floor like a second heartbeat. He stared down at Taehyung, his jaw tight, the tendons in his neck standing out.
Taehyung’s voice fell to a whisper, hoarse and raw. “I endured everything. For him. For my son. And you—” He couldn’t finish. His throat closed around the words. His sobs filled the room, echoing off the walls like a prayer that would never be answered.
He knew when he must have signed the papers... during one of his lowest moments, when the walls felt too high and his body too tired to fight. When Jungkook’s shadow seemed too big to escape. His one mistake. To trust. To care. And every time, it left him bleeding.
Jungkook’s eyes didn’t soften. They darkened. He reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid once before sipping it, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving Taehyung. The sound of the crystal meeting his lips was deafening in the silence.
“Get up,” he said at last, his voice low, almost a growl. Not a command shouted but whispered more dangerous for its restraint. “Don’t cry on my floor.”
Taehyung flinched, his sobs stuttering, but he couldn’t move. His palms trembled against the blood-streaked wood, his eyes fixed on the smears of red between his fingers.
Jungkook stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and iron following him. He crouched down slightly.
“Your son is mine now,” Jungkook said, voice low and dangerous, the words curling through the room like smoke. “Just like you are.”
Taehyung’s head snapped up, eyes wide and glassy, tears clinging to his lashes. “No…” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. His lips trembled, but no other words would come out.
For a moment, they were face-to-face blood on Jungkook’s shirt, tears on Taehyung’s cheeks, two worlds colliding in silence. Jungkook lifted one hand, calloused fingers curling around Taehyung’s jaw.
His thumb dragged across the wet tracks on his cheek, smearing them away almost lazily.
“Accept it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet blade. “The sooner you do, the easier it will be.”
Taehyung’s breath came out in shudders, chest rising and falling against the weight of Jungkook’s hand. He wanted to scream, to fight, to claw his way out but he couldn’t move.
Jungkook’s touch was deceptively soft against his tear-streaked face, a sick mirror of comfort that only made his heart pound harder.
Then Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to the trembling figure before him, and with a final squeeze of Taehyung’s jaw, he stood. He reached for the first-aid kit on the table, flipping it open without looking at him, his movements brisk, controlled.
“You’ll learn to stop crying soon enough,” he added flatly, like an afterthought, already turning toward the door.
The sound of the latch echoed as he walked out, leaving Taehyung kneeling on the floor, shaking. The papers Jungkook had shown him still lay scattered, torn and useless, like his hope.
Taehyung’s hand clawed on the floor for a moment before he pressed them to his face, muffling a broken sob. The room felt colder, emptier, as if Jungkook had sucked the oxygen out with his presence.
All these months, the sleepless nights, the constant fear, the endless battles he had endured suddenly felt meaningless. Every sacrifice, every ounce of patience, every moment spent protecting and loving his son… all of it had been ripped from him.
He buried his face in his hands, feeling the sting of tears that wouldn’t stop. His chest ached, not just with grief, but with the raw, jagged pain of betrayal. This was his child. His life. His world.
And now? Now he was alone, left with nothing but the echo of Jungkook’s words, the weight of that cold, unflinching claim: “Your son is mine now. Just like you are.”
His fingers trembled as they grazed the empty space beside him, wishing praying that it was all a nightmare. The quiet of the mansion felt suffocating, every shadow a reminder of the one who had taken what he loved most.
Every heartbeat was a cruel reminder of what he had lost, and the thought of facing the world, the child, without the life he had imagined… it was unbearable.
For the first time in years, Taehyung let himself break entirely.
His sobs echoed in the empty room, sharp and raw, as if trying to claw back the pieces of his shattered heart.
All the care, all the love, all the sacrifices…
what had it amounted to? He felt hollow, crushed by the weight of his own helplessness, the enormity of a world that could be so cruel, so relentless.
And yet, beneath the grief, a spark of something else lingered anger, bitter and burning.
Not for himself, but for what had been stolen.
He clutched at the floor as if holding on to the last shred of control he had left.
The tears blurred his vision, but one thought hammered relentlessly through his mind.
I will not forget. I will not forgive. Not now, not ever.