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Chapter Text

Blood had a way of leaving stains that no one else could see. On marble floors, it polished away. On silk suits, it burned in silence. But on the heart, it lingered, a shadow that never truly faded. Kim Taehyung had learned that as a boy, watching his family’s empire crumble under the smile of a man who twisted the knife with precision.

He had heard betrayal in his father’s broken voice, tasted the weight of vengeance in every breath that followed. Years later, the world saw him reborn: a flawless smile, a velvet voice, a power that drew people like moths to a flame. A CEO. A darling of high society. Yet Taehyung knew the truth. Beneath the glitter and glass, he was still that boy, haunted by blood in his memory, waiting for the day to settle the debt.

Tonight, fate had delivered a perfect weapon. Jeon Jungkook, son of the man who destroyed everything, an heir draped in gold, chained by expectations he didn’t deserve. Seducing him would be easy. Using him, inevitable. Falling for him? That was a risk never meant to be part of the plan.

Chapter Text

The city stretched out beneath him like a kingdom of glass. From the penthouse floor of Vante Holdings, Seoul glittered in silver and gold. Every light reflected in the high-rise windows like stars trapped in concrete.

Kim Taehyung stood with a glass of wine in his hand. Sharp suit, smooth smile, posture sculpted by years of discipline. The picture of composure.

To the cameras, investors, and sycophants orbiting his empire, he was the perfect heir turned king. The youngest CEO to helm one of South Korea’s most profitable real estate firms. A man of taste, vision, control.

That was the mask. Behind it lived something else entirely.

The elevator chimed behind him. Taehyung didn’t turn. He recognized the measured footsteps, the quiet presence slipping into the room like smoke.

“You skipped the gala dinner,” came Min Yoongi’s voice, calm and unimpressed. “Half the board thinks you’ve abandoned them.”

“I’ve already given them my time,” Taehyung murmured. He swirled the wine, watching the liquid catch the light like blood in water. “They don’t deserve more.”

Yoongi stood beside him, hands in his pockets. Understated steel to Taehyung’s velvet and sharp edges. Consigliere. Confidant. The only one allowed to see behind the glass mask.

“You know who was there tonight,” Yoongi said. Not a question.

Taehyung’s lips curved, not reaching his eyes. “Jeon Sangwoo. The great tycoon himself.” The name settled like poison in the air.

Taehyung stared at the city. He remembered another night long ago: the smell of smoke, his father’s broken voice. Everything he knew crumbling because of that man’s betrayal.

His grip on the wine glass tightened. Yoongi’s gaze was steady. “You’ve waited years for this. Patience is a virtue, but don’t let it curdle into hesitation.”

“I’m not hesitant,” Taehyung replied softly, dangerously. “I’m choosing the perfect weapon.”

The image of Jeon Jungkook slipped into his mind. Seen only in passing: photographs, articles where Sangwoo paraded him as the golden son. The obedient heir studying Business at his father’s insistence.

Jungkook had Sangwoo’s name, Sangwoo’s blood. That was enough. But those eyes, from a fleeting charity event months ago, wide and uncertain, lingered longer than they should.

Yoongi studied him. “And this weapon, will it be enough to break Sangwoo, or will it break you first?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. He turned from the city, setting the wine glass on the table with deliberate calm. “I don’t break.”

Yoongi didn’t argue. The silence between them carried unspoken truths.

Later that night, the penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. A silence that pressed against the skin, heavy with ghosts.

Taehyung slipped out of his suit jacket. Ink curved across his skin: a dragon, scales wrapping his ribs, a crown of fire biting his collarbone. Hidden from the public’s eyes.

To them, he was art, sophistication, control. To those who knew better, he was the heir of a syndicate carved from blood and fear.

He sat at his desk, unlocking Yoongi’s tablet. Files spread across the screen: transactions, photographs, reports. A picture of Jeon Jungkook leaving a lecture hall.

Dark hair falling into his eyes. A backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Expression caught between restless and resigned. Not like his father at all.

Taehyung leaned back, lips curving into something not quite a smile. He tapped the screen, enlarging the photo. His cold gaze layered over Jungkook’s weary one in the glass reflection.

“Jeon Jungkook,” he murmured, voice laced with intent. The perfect leverage. The perfect weapon. The first step in a revenge years in the making.

Chapter Text

The ballroom sparkled like it was carved from starlight. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Champagne flowed endlessly, music soft enough to cloak the rhythm of business talk in polite laughter. 

For Jeon Jungkook, it felt like a prison. 

He stood near the edge of the gathering, holding a glass of something pale. He wasn’t sure if it was wine or champagne. His father hadn’t allowed him a choice. 

Jungkook was here to be seen. To play the Jeon heir with perfect posture, polite smile, silent when necessary, obedient always. 

Across the room, Jeon Sangwoo’s laugh cut through the crowd. Deep, commanding and calculated. People flocked to him like birds to a golden cage, blind to the bars until it was too late. 

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. 

He hated these nights. Hated his father’s hand on his shoulder, a warning .Hated being paraded as a trophy, proof of Sangwoo’s legacy. 

A son sculpted into something he hadn’t chosen. Forced into lectures and meetings that drained him of color. 

Business, business and business. It was all his life had ever been. 

Jungkook’s fingers itched for charcoal, for paper, for the smell of paint instead of wine. Art had no place in his father’s empire. 

"You’re scowling" a voice said near his ear. 

Jungkook blinked and turned. Park Jimin leaned against the bar, one eyebrow raised. Sharp suit, easy charm, mocking the room while belonging to it. 

"Don’t look so surprised," Jimin teased. "I told you I’d crash this one."

Jungkook’s lips tugged into a faint smile. "You’re insane. If my father finds out—”

"Relax." Jimin stole his drink, wrinkled his nose, set it down. "Your father doesn’t notice you unless you’re where he tells you."

Jimin grinned. "Someone has to keep you from combusting."

The room shifted, a ripple moving through the crowd. Subtle, undeniable. The kind of shift when someone walked in who could silence a room without a word. 

Jungkook followed the turn of heads. His breath stalled. 

Kim Taehyung. 

He'd seen him before on magazine covers, headlines, a brief charity event. In person, Taehyung was more. Charisma wrapped in silk and shadows. 

Every step deliberate. Every glance pulling attention like gravity. 

The CEO of Vante Holdings. Too young, too powerful, too untouchable. 

Jimin let out a low whistle. "That," he murmured, "is a man who owns a room."

Jungkook swallowed, trying not to stare. He failed. 

Taehyung wasn’t just commanding. He was beautiful, sharp jawline, full lips, eyes dark enough to drown in. Something cold, something dangerous in them tightened Jungkook’s chest. 

Then Taehyung’s gaze slid across the crowd. Landed on him. 

It was only a second. But Jungkook felt it like a hand around his throat. 

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. A challenge, perhaps. 

"Careful," Jimin murmured, tracking his gaze. "Men like that don’t look at people like us without a reason."

Jungkook tore his eyes away. Heat crawled up his neck. "He doesn’t even know who I am." 

"Wrong," Jimin said softly, almost serious. "Everyone knows you’re Jeon Sangwoo’s son. If he’s looking, there’s a reason."

Later that night, Jungkook needed air. The ballroom’s weight, his father’s voice, the polished floors too slippery beneath his feet. 

He stood near the balcony. The city stretched below, endless lights and shadows. For a moment, he imagined running through those streets, nameless, free. 

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

Jungkook froze. 

Kim Taehyung stood at the balcony’s edge. The night clung to him like a cloak. His glass caught the moonlight, gaze fixed on the city. 

He hadn’t looked Jungkook’s way. Yet Jungkook felt entirely seen. 

"Y-yes," Jungkook said, voice too small. "It is."

Taehyung turned. His attention was unbearable. Up close, he was worse, devastating and precise. 

"You’re Jeon Sangwoo’s son." A statement, not a question. 

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He nodded. What else could he do? 

Taehyung’s gaze lingered, sharp, unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, it softened, just enough to make Jungkook’s pulse skip. 

"Kim Taehyung," he said, offering his hand. Smooth. A dangerous promise beneath it. 

Jungkook hesitated, then took it. Brief, professional contact. Yet it burned. 

In that instant, he knew.

This man was no ordinary businessman. Not just another face in the crowd. 

This man would change everything. 

Chapter Text

The night should have ended with satisfaction.

Taehyung had seen Jeon Sangwoo with his own eyes. Had shaken hands with the son meant to be his weapon.

The first step of revenge was finally within reach.

Yet in the back of his car, city lights streaking past tinted windows, his chest felt heavier than it should.

Jungkook’s eyes haunted him.

They hadn’t been sharp like Sangwoo’s no calculation, no cruelty. Just a flicker of restlessness, like a caged bird that forgot the sky.

When Jungkook looked at him, there was no recognition of threat. Only curiosity.

It unsettled him.

“Thinking too hard again,” Yoongi’s voice broke the silence.

He sat opposite, phone glow casting sharp shadows across his face. “That’s not like you.”

Taehyung leaned back, fingers stretching against the leather seat. “I’m considering strategy.”

Yoongi arched a brow, not looking up. “Strategy doesn’t make you frown at windows like a lovesick poet.”

Taehyung’s lips twitched. “Careful, hyung. People might think you’re funny.”

Yoongi didn’t smile. His gaze lifted, sharp. “I saw how you looked at him.”

Taehyung held the stare. “And what did you see?”

“A man who forgets pawns are meant to be used, not admired.”

The words sat between them, heavy.

Taehyung turned back to the window, the city blurring past. “Jungkook isn’t a pawn. He’s a weapon. The difference matters.”

“Only if you stay in control,” Yoongi said quietly. “Don’t forget why we’re here. Don’t forget who he belongs to.”

Jeon Sangwoo.

The name cooled his blood.

Taehyung nodded once. “I haven’t forgotten. I never will.”

Yet when he closed his eyes that night, it wasn’t Sangwoo’s sneer he saw.

It was Jungkook’s hesitant gaze on the balcony. The faint hitch in his breath when their hands touched.

The following week, Vante Holdings hosted another gala. Smaller, exclusive, a glass tower overlooking the Han River.

Laughter. Deals disguised as compliments. The clink of champagne.

Taehyung owned the night effortlessly. Every smile rehearsed, every gesture a performance.

Yet beneath it all, he was watching.

Jungkook entered beside his father. Taehyung felt it, the tightening of a thread pulling them closer.

The boy looked suffocated. Tie too tight, steps too careful, eyes searching the room like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Perfect.

When Sangwoo became absorbed in conversation, Taehyung crossed the room, velvet charm in every step.

“Jeon Jungkook,” he said smoothly, like greeting an old friend. “We meet again.”

Jungkook blinked, startled, bowing politely. “CEO Kim. Thank you for remembering.”

Taehyung smiled, a slow curve that promised too much. “Some people are unforgettable.”

A flush colored Jungkook’s cheeks.

“Do you enjoy these events?” Taehyung asked, feigning casual curiosity.

Jungkook hesitated. “They’re… important for networking.”

“Networking,” Taehyung echoed, eyes lingering on him. “And do you enjoy networking?”

A nervous laugh slipped from Jungkook, soft but telling. “Not really. My father says it’s necessary.”

Of course he does.

Taehyung masked his contempt with a smile. “Then maybe your father hasn’t taught you the most important lesson yet.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “What lesson?”

Taehyung leaned in, voice low, meant only for him. “Sometimes, the people worth knowing don’t stand in the spotlight.”

Jungkook froze, caught in his orbit.

He looked ready to reply, but Sangwoo’s voice cut sharp across the air.

“Jungkook!”

The boy straightened instantly, expression shuttered. He bowed to Taehyung. “Excuse me.”

Taehyung inclined his head, watching him retreat.

The thread between them had tightened. He could feel it.

Later that night, Taehyung poured whiskey in his penthouse. The city glittered below like a thousand lies.

Yoongi sat opposite, loosening his tie, eyes sharp even half-lidded. “So? Did you get what you wanted?”

Taehyung swirled the amber liquid. “Not yet. But he looked at me.”

Yoongi scoffed. “A lot of people look at you.”

“Not like him.”

Silence pressed in. The clink of ice in glass.

“You’re playing with fire,” Yoongi muttered.

Taehyung’s smile curved, dangerous. “Fire is the only thing that burns Sangwoo’s empire to the ground.”

But when he closed his eyes in bed, it wasn’t revenge that replayed.

It was Jungkook’s laugh that was quiet, nervous, but real.

And for the first time in years, Taehyung wondered if he could set fire to something without burning himself first.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled across Taehyung’s office windows, but the brightness did little to soften the atmosphere inside.

The room was all sharp lines and silence, broken only by the rhythmic tap of his fingers against the polished desk. A stack of contracts lay before him, pristine and waiting for signatures. He hadn’t touched them.

Instead, his mind replayed a moment from the gala, Jeon Jungkook’s ears flushing pink, the hesitation in his voice, the way he seemed both caged and craving an escape.

Innocent. Lonely. Perfect leverage.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

“You’re distracted,” Yoongi said flatly, entering without knocking. He carried two mugs of coffee and set one down with more force than necessary.

“I’m thinking,” Taehyung corrected.

“About business?”

Taehyung met his gaze. The corner of Yoongi’s mouth lifted, humorless and sharp.

“About him,” Yoongi answered his own question.

Taehyung’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it.

Yoongi sat across from him, stretching his legs out lazily. “Sangwoo’s son is dangerous ground. You touch him, and you risk more than your revenge.”

“I don’t need your warnings,” Taehyung muttered.

“Then you need a reminder.” Yoongi leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Sangwoo destroyed your family. He took everything. You swore to make him bleed. Don’t forget why we’re here.”

Taehyung’s fingers stilled against the desk. The rage, always simmering beneath his skin, surged hot. Images of his past, blood on marble, the echo of screams, flashed behind his eyes.

He forced himself to breathe. To bury it again.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, voice low and steady.

Yoongi studied him for a long moment before leaning back. “Then start moving your pieces. His son studies at the university, doesn’t he?”

Taehyung’s lips curved. Finally, a point of entry.

At the University, the courtyard buzzed with the noise of youth, students sprawled across benches, some running late for lectures, others lounging under the shade of trees. The air was alive with the kind of laughter Taehyung hadn’t heard in years.

He stood at the edge of it all, tailored coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders. His presence drew subtle glances, but he moved with the confidence of someone who belonged anywhere he chose. His men lingered in the background, invisible but watchful.

And then he saw him.

Jungkook sat beneath a tall oak tree, notebook balanced on his knee, pencil moving with steady strokes. His head bent low in concentration, black hair falling into his eyes.

Taehyung slowed his steps, watching. Art.

It didn’t fit the neat, obedient image Sangwoo had forced him into at the gala. This was something rawer, more alive, lines and shadows spilling across paper as though Jungkook was trying to sketch pieces of himself he wasn’t allowed to show the world.

Taehyung felt a pull in his chest he hadn’t anticipated.

Careful, he reminded himself. He’s a pawn. Remember that.

But his feet carried him forward anyway.

Jungkook noticed him too late. His head lifted, eyes widening in shock when recognition hit.

“CEO Kim?”

“Taehyung,” he corrected smoothly, a smile playing at his lips. “We’re not at a gala anymore. No need for titles.”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard, before nodding awkwardly. “Taehy… hyung.”

The slip of the tongue. Intimate. Unpracticed. Taehyung’s smile deepened.

“What are you working on?” he asked, gaze flicking deliberately toward the sketchbook.

Jungkook’s hands snapped it shut, almost too fast. “Nothing. Just… notes.”

Taehyung chuckled softly, crouching a little to meet his gaze. “Notes don’t leave charcoal on your fingers.”

Jungkook flushed, tucking his hands beneath the notebook. “It’s just a hobby.”

“Sometimes,” Taehyung said quietly, “hobbies tell you more about a person than their career ever could.”

The boy stilled, eyes searching his face as though unsure what to make of the statement. His lips parted like he wanted to reply but stopped himself.

Taehyung let the silence linger, letting the weight of his gaze press just enough to leave Jungkook restless. Then he shifted, standing tall once more.

“Walk with me,” he said, extending a hand.

Jungkook hesitated. He glanced around—students passing by, a few whispering at the sight of Taehyung’s expensive suit. Finally, as though against his better judgment, he slipped his hand into Taehyung’s.

The touch was warm. Too warm.

They walked through the courtyard side by side, earning curious looks. Taehyung noticed the way Jungkook’s shoulders tightened at the attention, the way he adjusted his grip on the notebook like it was a shield.

“You don’t like being watched,” Taehyung murmured.

Jungkook gave him a sidelong glance, surprised. “…Not really. It feels like they’re waiting for me to mess up.”

“And if you did?” Taehyung asked, voice smooth and coaxing.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s throat bobbed. “I think my father would never let me forget it.”

Taehyung hummed, low and thoughtful. “Then maybe it’s time you started doing things for yourself, not for him.”

Jungkook stumbled a little at the words, his eyes flicking to Taehyung’s face. Something unreadable flickered there, fear, longing, maybe both.

They reached the edge of campus, where the noise dimmed and the shadows of the buildings stretched long. Taehyung stopped, turning to face him fully.

“You have potential, Jungkook. More than your father sees.”

The boy froze, stunned by the certainty in his tone.

“And one day,” Taehyung continued, his gaze steady and unyielding, “you’ll have to decide whether you want to live in his shadow… or step out of it.”

The words lodged deep, he could tell. Jungkook’s lips parted but no sound came. His grip on the notebook tightened until his knuckles turned white.

Taehyung offered a final smile, soft but dangerous. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then he left, his coat catching the breeze, his footsteps echoing like a promise.

Behind him, Jungkook remained rooted to the spot, staring after him as though the world had shifted beneath his feet.

Another thread tightened. This one, Taehyung realized, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to cut.

Chapter Text

The city glittered outside Taehyung’s office window, a sprawl of neon lights and moving headlights. Seoul never slept. Tonight, its energy felt muted against the storm inside his chest.

Taehyung leaned against the glass, one hand wrapped around a crystal glass of whiskey. He hadn’t touched the contracts on his desk all day. His thoughts circled the oak tree, the quiet scratch of pencil against paper, Jungkook’s startled eyes at the sound of his name.

The boy was too easy to read. Every flicker of emotion crossed his face like brushstrokes: hesitation, curiosity, fear. Vulnerable in a way that sharpened Taehyung’s instincts, yet made his chest ache.

“Still distracted?” Yoongi’s voice pulled him from his reverie.

The man closed the door, stepping inside, hands in his pockets. He studied Taehyung with detached calm. Too long had he watched to be fooled.

Taehyung didn’t answer. He drained his whiskey, the burn grounding him.

“Don’t tell me it’s business,” Yoongi continued. “Your business doesn’t make you stare at nothing for hours.”

Taehyung set the glass down, gaze on the city. “You think you know me that well?”

“I do,” Yoongi said easily. He crossed to the desk, leaned against it, arms folded. “I know when something’s crawling under your skin.”

“That boy,” Yoongi started.

“Don’t,” Taehyung cut in, sharp.

Yoongi raised a brow. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Silence.

The faint hum of the city filtered through the glass. Taehyung turned, meeting Yoongi’s gaze.

“He’s Sangwoo’s son,” Taehyung said, voice low. “That’s all that matters.”

Yoongi smirked faintly. “Yet you’re brooding like a teenager with a crush.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about desire.”

“No?” Yoongi tilted his head. “Then why touch him like he was breakable?”

The memory flashed Jungkook’s hand in his, hesitant but willing. For a second, Taehyung hadn’t felt like a predator or kingpin. He’d felt like a man.

He forced the thought down, cold steel wrapping his heart. “He’s leverage,” he said firmly. “Nothing more.”

Yoongi studied him, then shrugged. “Leverage becomes weakness if you’re not careful.”

He pushed off the desk, heading for the door. His parting words lingered like smoke. “Don’t forget why you started this.”

The door shut. Taehyung exhaled, tension coiled in his chest. He repeated the mantra, a blade at his throat.

This is about revenge. Nothing else.

Yet Jungkook’s wide eyes haunted him still.

Across the city, Jungkook’s sketchbook lay open on his desk, charcoal smudges littering the pages. He hadn’t stopped drawing since returning to his dorm. The pencil moved with a mind of its own, sketching shadows of a tall figure, sharp lines of a tailored coat, eyes too intense to capture.

Taehyung.

Jungkook bit his lip, staring at the unfinished sketch. His hand stilled, pencil trembling. Why couldn’t he get the man out of his head?

“You’ve been at that for hours,” Jimin’s voice broke the silence.

Sprawled on his bed, scrolling his phone, Jimin flicked his eyes to Jungkook knowingly.

“It’s nothing,” Jungkook muttered, flipping the sketchbook closed too quickly.

Jimin smirked. “Nothing looks a lot like a CEO with perfect cheekbones.”

Heat rushed to Jungkook’s face. He stood, shoving the sketchbook into his drawer. “Drop it, Jimin.”

Jimin’s teasing softened to concern. He sat up, watching carefully. “Kook, whoever he is, be careful, okay?”

“You’re under enough pressure from your father,” Jimin added. “The last thing you need is some stranger making things complicated.”

Jungkook froze at his father’s mention. That weight settled on his shoulders, heavy, suffocating. He forced a small smile. “I know.”

He climbed into bed, switching off the light. His mind refused to quiet.

It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something unnamed, a pull to hear Taehyung’s voice again, to feel that certainty when he looked at him like he mattered.

For the first time in years, Jungkook fell asleep not thinking of his father’s expectations. He dreamed of a stranger’s words.

Taehyung didn’t find sleep easily. It rarely came.

When he closed his eyes, the past clawed back.

He was sixteen, barefoot on cold marble. The house echoed with shouts. Glass shattered, his mother’s screams silenced too quickly.

Sangwoo’s men came like wolves, ripping apart his family’s empire. His father fought, but blood spread fast, slick and red under chandelier light.

Taehyung hid behind the staircase, every nerve frozen in terror. Every breath a betrayal. Sangwoo’s voice, smooth, merciless “This is what happens when you cross me.”

That night, the boy named Kim Taehyung died. What survived was steel and shadow, a man to rebuild and burn Sangwoo’s empire to the ground.

The memory left him shaking, chest tight with rage carried for years. Revenge kept him alive. Revenge gave his nights purpose.

Now Jungkook’s wide eyes, soft voice, fragile innocence threatened to unravel it all.

Taehyung pressed his palms into his eyes, forcing the images away. He couldn’t afford weakness. Not now.

But deep down, he knew it was too late.

Chapter Text

Morning came too soon. The city woke in layers—cars humming, distant chatter from street vendors, the smell of roasted coffee drifting through narrow lanes.

Jungkook had been awake since dawn.

He sat by the window of his dorm room, hair a mess, a mug of half-finished coffee going cold beside him. His sketchbook lay open on his lap, but the pencil hadn’t moved in minutes.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him.

The way Taehyung’s gaze had lingered yesterday. The confidence that rolled off him effortlessly. The way his words had felt like a secret—soft but meant to stay in your head.

It should have been easy to forget. CEOs didn’t just show up at campuses to talk to students twice. Men like Taehyung lived in boardrooms and penthouses, not under oak trees and cracked concrete benches.

But Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that Taehyung would come back. That somehow, the man wasn’t done with him yet.

His phone buzzed.

> Father: I expect you at the company dinner tonight. Seven sharp. Do not embarrass me again.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, the warmth in his chest from earlier instantly fading. He stared at the message until the words blurred.

Do not embarrass me again.

As if he ever did anything else in his father’s eyes.

He set the phone aside, closing the sketchbook. He needed air.

By nine, Taehyung was already at the campus café. He’d arrived early, of course—an intentional move. Predators always waited before the prey appeared.

He sat by the window, an untouched cup of espresso before him, scanning the courtyard through tinted glass. Students filtered past, a blur of chatter and motion.

He wasn’t here by chance. He’d already told his men to dig deeper—Sangwoo’s assets, family patterns, where Jungkook lived, what he studied. The boy was disciplined on paper, dull even. Business major, top marks, no scandals.

But Taehyung had seen something else behind those careful eyes. Something raw and almost desperate to be seen.

The doorbell above the café chimed, and there he was.

Jungkook paused just inside, hesitating like he wasn’t sure he belonged. The sunlight caught the soft brown of his hair. He wore a loose hoodie and jeans, simple and unguarded. A sharp contrast to Taehyung’s black suit.

Taehyung raised a hand slightly, a small invitation.

Jungkook froze for a heartbeat, then walked over.

“Taehyung,” he greeted quietly, his voice hesitant but softer than before.

“Good morning.” Taehyung gestured to the seat across from him. “Coffee?”

Jungkook blinked, unsure. “You… came back.”

“Of course.” Taehyung’s tone was casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I enjoyed our talk yesterday.”

Jungkook sat down slowly, still wary but intrigued.

“You seem tired,” Taehyung observed. “Long night?”

Jungkook gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.”

“About me?” Taehyung asked, almost teasing but quiet enough to sound sincere.

Jungkook’s ears flushed red. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The silence stretched. Taehyung leaned back, letting the weight of his presence fill the space. He didn’t have to push. Jungkook was already leaning closer, pulled by something he didn’t understand.

When the waiter came, Taehyung ordered for both of them without asking—smooth, automatic. Jungkook opened his mouth to protest but stopped halfway, caught off guard by the quiet authority in his tone.

“You should learn to let others take care of you once in a while,” Taehyung said. “You carry too much for someone your age.”

Jungkook frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Because I see it.”

It was disarming, the way Taehyung said things that felt too close, too right. Jungkook looked down at his cup, the steam curling between them like unspoken tension.

“I’m not used to people noticing,” Jungkook admitted after a moment.

“Then they’re not looking closely enough,” Taehyung replied.

---

At another table near the window, a man in plain clothes glanced subtly in their direction, pressing his earpiece.

“Subject sighted. With the target.”

Taehyung didn’t have to look to know his people were watching. He kept his eyes on Jungkook, calm, collected, while the rest of the world shifted quietly around them like chess pieces.

---

Jungkook stirred his coffee aimlessly. “You talk like you already know me.”

“Maybe I want to,” Taehyung said simply.

“Why?”

That single word carried more emotion than it should have—curiosity tangled with something like longing.

Taehyung tilted his head slightly. “Maybe because you remind me of someone I used to be.”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Someone who wanted freedom and didn’t realize the price.”

Before Jungkook could respond, his phone buzzed again. He frowned at the screen, shoulders stiffening.

“Everything alright?” Taehyung asked.

“It’s my father,” Jungkook murmured. “He wants me at some dinner tonight. I didn’t even know about it until now.”

There it was again—that flicker of fear. That invisible leash.

Taehyung’s jaw tightened before he could stop himself. “He doesn’t ask. He commands.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up. “How—”

“I’ve seen men like him,” Taehyung said softly. “Powerful. Controlling. The kind who mistake obedience for love.”

Jungkook looked down, his hands curling around the cup. “He’s not a bad person. He just… expects a lot.”

“That’s what everyone says before they start breaking.”

The words hit harder than Jungkook expected. He looked up, meeting Taehyung’s steady gaze. For a moment, the world outside blurred into nothing.

The café buzzed softly around them, a blur of conversations and clinking mugs. But for Jungkook, the world had gone quiet—sharpened to the sound of Taehyung’s voice and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

He shouldn’t be sitting here. He shouldn’t be wanting to.

And yet, Taehyung had a gravity he couldn’t resist. He spoke like he was peeling back layers Jungkook didn’t know he had—without effort, without permission.

“I’m not breaking,” Jungkook said finally, but the words came out fragile.

Taehyung smiled faintly. “Not yet.”

Jungkook frowned, but the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. “You think you know me?”

“I think I understand you,” Taehyung said, tone low, calm. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to earn someone’s approval. But it’s never enough, is it?”

The words hit so close Jungkook forgot to breathe for a second.

“How—” His voice wavered. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Because they’re true?” Taehyung leaned in, his cologne faint but intoxicating. “Or because they scare you?”

Jungkook’s lips parted, but no words came out. His pulse fluttered violently in his throat. Taehyung wasn’t just looking at him—he was studying him, as if every reaction mattered.

“I don’t even know you,” Jungkook whispered, finally tearing his gaze away.

“Then maybe you should.” Taehyung’s tone softened, losing its sharpness. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

Jungkook blinked. “Dinner?”

“Yes. You and me.” His lips curved faintly. “No business dinners. No expectations. Just food. Talk.”

Jungkook hesitated. The offer felt simple, but there was nothing simple about Taehyung. “I can’t. My father—”

“Doesn’t have to know.”

The quiet rebellion in Taehyung’s words sent a strange thrill through Jungkook. For once, the thought of disobeying didn’t feel terrifying. It felt alive.

He lowered his gaze, hiding a small, helpless smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

---

Outside the café, a black sedan idled near the curb. Inside, Taehyung’s right-hand man, Namjoon, watched through tinted glass, his phone pressed to his ear.

“He’s clean,” came the voice on the line. “No criminal activity. Just a controlling father and a sheltered life. But—”

“But?” Namjoon’s tone darkened.

“Someone’s been watching him. Not us.”

Namjoon’s brow furrowed. “From where?”

“Different locations. One near the dorm, one at the university parking lot. Professional surveillance pattern.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened. “I’ll inform him.”

---

Taehyung and Jungkook stepped outside together a few minutes later. The autumn air carried the faint chill of approaching rain.

Jungkook squinted up at the sky. “Looks like it’ll pour later.”

Taehyung glanced at him. “Do you like rain?”

“I don’t mind it,” Jungkook said, smiling softly. “It’s quiet. Honest.”

“Honest?”

“It doesn’t hide what it is,” Jungkook said. “When it rains, it rains. No pretending.”

Taehyung looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. “You’d be surprised how many people pretend even through the storm.”

---

Namjoon appeared from the corner, expression controlled but serious. “Boss.”

Jungkook turned slightly, startled by the title.

“Excuse me a moment,” Taehyung said smoothly, his voice shifting—command replacing charm. Jungkook felt it instantly, that invisible shift in power. Taehyung stepped aside, murmuring low enough for only Namjoon to hear.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s been tailing the boy,” Namjoon said. “Two confirmed sightings. Whoever they are, they’re good.”

Taehyung’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze darkened, sharp as glass. “Find out who.”

“Already on it.”

Taehyung’s fingers tapped once against his thigh. So it begins. He’d assumed he was the only one with eyes on Jungkook. Apparently, someone else had a stake in him too.

When he turned back, his face was all calm again. Jungkook was watching curiously, unaware of the storm brewing behind that composed expression.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook asked.

“Just work,” Taehyung said with a small smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

They began walking together down the street, side by side but never touching. The space between them thrummed with something unspoken.

Jungkook glanced at him. “You always seem so… sure of yourself.”

“Confidence,” Taehyung said. “A mask that fits too well.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “So you’re pretending too.”

Taehyung smiled at that. “Maybe I am.”

---

That evening, Jungkook stood in front of his father’s office mirror, adjusting his tie. His reflection looked like a stranger—cold, polished, obedient.

He could hear his father’s voice echoing from the hallway, sharp and commanding.

> “Remember, you’re representing the family tonight. No distractions, no foolish talk.”

Every word made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded mechanically, hiding the flicker of resentment in his eyes.

When he reached for his phone, he saw a single unread message.

> Taehyung: Don’t forget to eat. And don’t let him make you feel small.

Jungkook’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard. He wasn’t sure why such simple words felt heavier than anything his father had ever said.

He didn’t reply, but he read it again. Twice.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, Taehyung stood on his penthouse balcony, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. Seoul glittered beneath him—alive, ruthless, hungry.

Namjoon approached quietly. “We traced one of the cars. It’s registered to Hanseong Holdings.”

Taehyung exhaled smoke, eyes narrowing. “Sangwoo’s company.”

“Could be coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences,” Taehyung said. His voice turned to steel. “He’s watching his own son.”

Namjoon hesitated. “Should we intervene?”

Taehyung looked out at the skyline, the embers of his cigarette glowing faintly.

“Not yet,” he said. “Let him think I don’t know.”

Namjoon nodded, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “You’re getting involved too fast.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. The city wind tugged at his shirt, carrying the distant hum of life below.

“I told myself this was revenge,” he said quietly. “But the more I see him…”

He paused. “The more I realize revenge doesn’t feel like this.”

Namjoon’s expression softened. “Then what does it feel like?”

Taehyung’s gaze lingered on the horizon. “Like a mistake I want to make anyway.”