Jungkook typed in the passcode, the soft click of the lock unlocking echoed in the silence. He stepped inside, jaw tight, mood fucking wrecked.

The moment he hit the light switch, a sharp brightness flicked on, doing nothing to ease the mess in his head. He yanked off his helmet and threw it onto the couch like it had personally offended him---probably cracked something, but he didn't give a shit. His boots thudded against the floor as he stalked toward the living room, his breath heavy from the cold and the chaos that just went down.
"Bam," he muttered before the familiar sound of nails scratching against the floor reached him.

The next second, a blur of muscle and excitement came running---his doberman. Bam jumped on him, tail wagging like mad, completely ignoring Jungkook's sour face.

"Tch," Jungkook scoffed, but his arms moved on instinct, catching the dog mid-leap. Bam licked his chin, tongue sloppy and eager, and Jungkook let out a low breath---not quite a laugh, not quite relief either.

"At least you are normal," he grumbled, letting his fingers slide along Bam's ears, grounding himself for a second. At least one fucker wasn't out to make him lose his goddamn mind tonight.

Bam was the only consistent thing in Jungkook's life that didn't come with a headache.

A purebred Doberman---sharp, trained better than half the idiots Jungkook had to deal with on a daily basis. He wasn't some over-fluffed purse dog or a social-media gimmick. He was fast, alert, and quiet.

Didn't bark unless it mattered. Didn't beg. Knew how to stay in line. Just the way Jungkook liked it.

They didn't have the kind of bond where Jungkook babied him or spoke in a high-pitched voice. He didn't need to. Bam understood with just a look, a gesture. That was enough.

He'd raised him since he was a pup---barely the size of Jungkook's forearm, back then. Now he was tall, cut muscle and precision. Anyone saw him and thought twice. That's all Jungkook had wanted.

Someone reliable. Loyal.

And Bam was that. More than most people he knew.

He let Bam down, the dog still circling him excitedly. Jungkook tossed his gloves on the coffee table and pulled off his jacket, the weight of the book still in his pocket. That fucking book.

He paused, eyes narrowing.

Right. That guy. That freak.

Jungkook didn't even want to think about it. But the taste hadn't left his mouth. Not even the beer he'd chugged before leaving Seokjin's club could wash it out.

His fingers curled into fists.

He needed a shower.
And maybe a lobotomy.

But first... he pulled out the book.

Stared at it.

The cover was dark, worn---clearly carried around often. It wasn't thick. Looked more like a journal than a book. Some weird shimmer along the edges too.

"The fuck were you carrying around, you psycho..." he muttered, fingers twitching as he debated opening it.

Shaking his head, Jungkook scoffed under his breath and tossed the book onto the couch like it burned. He didn't want to think about that freak. That fucker's face, that damn calmness, those stupid shiny eyes, and...

The muskmelon.

God. That fucking scent.

It was subtle at first, but now that he was back in his apartment, not drowned in club smoke or street air, it clung. Faint but sharp. On his jacket. His collar. Maybe even his hair.

What the actual fuck. That guy had a smell. A weird, sticky kind of sweet that stuck to your skin like sap. The kind of shit rich people wore and called signature but just made Jungkook want to gag.

It made his jaw tighten, disgust flaring again, because now he smelled like him. The scent was on him, and every second it lingered made his skin crawl.

"Fucking gross," he muttered, tugging at his shirt like it offended him.

He needed a shower. He needed five. Scrub himself raw if he had to.

Behind him, there was a small huff, followed by the sound of claws clicking against the floor. Bam was pacing around the couch now, sniffing the book, tail stiff with curiosity.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. "Don't touch that shit," he called out.

Bam let out a small woof in response, still circling.

Jungkook shook his head again and stalked off toward the bathroom, peeling his shirt off as he walked. He didn't even bother closing the door all the way---he just wanted that scent gone.

The bathroom filled with steam fast---hot water gushing from the showerhead, fogging up the mirror, seeping into the tiles. Jungkook stepped under it, skin hissing at the contact. It was too hot, borderline scalding, but he didn't care. He wanted it that way. He needed it that way.

His palms dragged down his face as the water ran through his hair, down his neck, over his bare chest and back. Beads of heat pooling at his collarbones, slipping down the curve of his spine. He leaned into the tiled wall, resting his forehead there, letting the spray hit his back like a cleansing punishment.

But the more he tried to rinse the day off, the more he crept in.

Those eyes.

Fucking hell, those eyes.

The shimmering kind. Not even in a cliché way. There was something wrong with how they looked. Or maybe how they looked at him. Monolids. Dark. Lit faintly under those broken streetlights. There was nothing scared or threatened in them. Just that quiet, frozen calm. Like the guy was thinking a hundred things and none of them had to do with being robbed.

Jungkook gritted his teeth.

He scrubbed his chest harder. Then his neck. Clenched his jaw when his own fingers brushed the spot where that guy had touched him---palmed his face like he knew him. Like he had any right.

"The fuck was that?" Jungkook muttered to himself.

Water trickled down his temples. His tongue flicked against his lip out of habit, and he instantly tasted the phantom of that kiss. Or whatever the hell it was.

Disgust rolled up his spine again, and yet...

His eyes shut tight.

The shimmer flashed behind his lids like some kind of afterimage. Glimmering. Distant.

Fucking burned into him now.

He let the water keep hitting him, burning his skin red, hoping it would scorch everything off. The smell. The image. The ghost of touch.

But that face...

It wasn't leaving him alone.

Jungkook turned the knob off with a sharp twist, water dripping off his hair and body in slow, heavy rivulets. He stepped out, not bothering with the fogged-up mirror as he grabbed a towel and dragged it roughly across his skin. His motions were quick, almost impatient---like drying off faster would help him leave everything behind with the steam.

He yanked on a loose black tee and sweats, didn't even care they didn't match. His hair still damp, strands sticking to the side of his forehead, he padded out of the bathroom barefoot, rubbing at his temple like he could scrub that entire incident out of his skull.

The apartment was quiet, dim now except for the hall light left on. He didn't bother switching on the others.

Bam had made himself comfortable by the couch, nose buried near the book Jungkook had tossed earlier.

"Tch," Jungkook muttered. "It's not food, idiot."

The doberman flicked his ears, tail thudding once against the floor as he looked up. Not excited. Just acknowledging.

Jungkook dropped down beside him on the floor, back against the edge of the couch. He exhaled through his nose, dragging his hand back through his wet hair.

Bam shifted closer, his heavy head resting against Jungkook's thigh like it. Jungkook didn't move for a second, then let his fingers lazily rake through the fur on his neck.

Silence sat between them for a while. Calm. Still. Too still.

Jungkook's gaze flicked toward the book on the couch.

The one he had held like it was the most important thing in the world.

What kind of freak gets kissed in an alley by the guy holding him at knifepoint?

He clicked his tongue. "Fucking lunatic."

His hand scratched a little deeper behind Bam's ears, who made a low sound in response. Jungkook didn't smile. Just kept sitting there, gaze fixed ahead, mind circling the same shimmering eyes that refused to be forgotten.

God, this night sucked.

After alot of internal conflict, jungkook finally gave in, muttering under his breath as he reached for the damn book like it had been mocking him this entire time from its spot on the couch. His fingers brushed over the smooth cover, thumb hovering near the edge. For a second, he just stared at it.

He debated, seriously, if he should burn it. Just toss it out the window, maybe shove it in the microwave for a laugh, watch it spin and spark like a cursed artifact.

But curiosity---fucking curiosity---got him like it always did.

He flipped it open.

No name.

No ID.

Jungkook flipped the book open, and the first page hit him like a cold slap.

His brows furrowed.

The sketch wasn't just strange---it was fucked.

Drawn in heavy black strokes, the image sprawled across the page like it was alive---angry. Violent.

It showed a human figure---or what used to be human---hunched over with its jaw dislocated and hanging wide open, as if mid-scream, but the scream was filled with something. Thousands of tiny crawling things---ants, spiders, centipedes---spilling out from the throat like bile. The skin of the figure was peeling in long ribbons, pulled back by rusted hooks that pierced its arms, chest, and cheeks, yanked outward like it was being skinned alive and left that way.

The eyes were stitched shut, crude, with thick wire, but blood---dark and textured---ran from beneath the lids like it had been crying for hours. From the open gut, organs weren't spilling out. No. It was more faces---tiny, screaming, malformed faces stitched into the insides like they were trapped in its body.

And the background---just scratch after scratch of chaotic lines---looked like a wall of claw marks, or maybe just the artist losing their mind and letting the pencil go manic.

Jungkook stared.

He blinked once. Slowly.

It took him a moment to even realize he'd stopped breathing.

"The fuck..." he whispered.

And then---almost unconsciously---he turned to the next page.

Because no matter how much his gut twisted, something in his chest tightened with that same raw curiosity.

What else could a freak like that have drawn?

The second page felt heavier when he turned it. Like the paper itself was soaked in something it shouldn't be.

And what stared back at him made his jaw tighten.

It was a child.

Or---no, not quite a child. The proportions were all wrong. Too long in the limbs, too thin in the neck. Its head hung at an unnatural angle, twisted far too much to be alive, but the eyes---fuck, the eyes were drawn open. Wide open. Bloodshot with pupils so dilated they looked like empty voids. No light. No life. Just a soulless stare right through the page.

Its mouth was sewn shut.

Not with thread---but with teeth. Jagged human teeth---way too many for one mouth---crudely jammed into the lips and gums, locking it in a grotesque, permanent silence.

The creature---kid, demon, thing---was sitting in a corner of a room that didn't look like a room. More like a cage. The walls weren't made of bricks or steel---but of screaming faces. Drawn in layers. Some blurred, some sharp, all writhing---like their torment was smeared into the background.

One of the arms of the child was missing. Not torn. Not cut. Just absent, like it had never been there to begin with---but there were five fingers drawn underneath it on the floor. Detached. Sprawled. Like they'd fallen off.

Jungkook's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, breath harsh through his nose.

He didn't know what the hell kind of mind created this.

He didn't know what the hell kind of person carried it around casually in a goddamn alley.

But one thing was clear---this wasn't just art.

It was psychosis. A fucking scream through graphite and paper.

He should've thrown it out.

Should've burned it.

But instead, his fingers hovered at the edge, itching to see the next page.

Jungkook didn't want to turn the page, but his fingers acted on their own. His breath came slower, heavier, as though some unseen force was bracing him for what lay ahead.

The third image wasn't just disturbing. It was vile.

It was a close-up---a grotesque, hyper-detailed portrait of a man's face. But it wasn't just a face. Half of it was missing. Not skinned or torn, but erased, like someone had violently smudged away chunks of flesh with an eraser, leaving jagged streaks of exposed muscle and bone. Where his eye should've been was a gaping void, drawn with layers of black so thick Jungkook could almost feel its depth.

And the mouth.

It was stretched unnaturally wide, the corners splitting like paper tearing under strain. Inside were not teeth, but shards of glass---sharp and uneven, stabbing into the tongue, gums, and lips, with trails of blood scribbled so vividly they almost looked wet.

The worst part?

The man's remaining eye was still alive. You could see it in the pinpoint pupil, the way it rolled upward like he was choking on his own agony.

The background was worse---figures in shadows, their limbs impossibly twisted, stretching toward the man like they were puppeteers pulling him apart.

Jungkook felt his stomach twist violently.

"What the actual fuck?" he hissed under his breath, his hand trembling as the bile climbed his throat. He slammed the sketchbook shut and launched it across the room.

It hit the wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, splayed open to the same damn page like it wanted to mock him.

He doubled over, swallowing down the sick churning in his gut, breathing through his nose.

Bam let out a low growl from the couch, pacing near the book as though it carried something foul---something unseeable to Jungkook.

"Don't even fucking look at it," Jungkook muttered, his voice rough. He didn't care if the dog couldn't understand him. He couldn't understand himself right now either.

That last drawing clung to his thoughts like grease. Fucked up lines. Twisted bodies. Whatever it was supposed to be, it made his skin crawl.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. He wasn't squeamish, but this? This was something else.

He took a step forward, fully ready to grab the damn thing and toss it out the fucking window.

Buzz.

His phone lit up, vibrating against the table with a low hum. He blinked. Just once. Glanced over.

A message.
From his sister.

Come home tomorrow.

That was it.

Dry. Straightforward. No explanation. No fluff.

He clicked his tongue, attention shifting back to the book. But that message---it grounded him, if only a little. Pulled him just enough out of the mess in his head.

He didn't reply. Just stared for a second longer before dragging a hand down his face.

Fucking weird night.

‧ .ㄨ🕷ㄨ. ‧

Hana sat cross-legged on the couch, arms folded, staring at Jungkook like she was already unimpressed.

"So, how've you been?" she asked, tilting her head.

Jungkook exhaled, leaning back against the chair, gaze flicking to her lazily. "Same as ever."

Hana rolled her eyes. "You are so boring."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. "Then stop asking dumbass questions."

She scoffed. "Maybe ask me something for once, you emotionally constipated asshole."

"I don't care." Jungkook deadpanned.

"Wow, shocking." Hana threw a pillow at his face, and he caught it with one hand, unimpressed.

"Really?" He tossed it back, harder than necessary, making her grunt.

"What, you gonna fight me?" she taunted, grabbing another pillow. "Come on, undefeated champ---show me what you got."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Hana, I will literally yeet you off this couch."

"Try me." And that was how she ended up getting tackled.

Hana let out a yelp as Jungkook grabbed her wrist, yanking her off balance. She tried to twist away, but he was faster---always had been.

"You little shit-" she started, but before she could finish, Jungkook had her in a headlock, her face smushed against his side.

"What was that?" he muttered, tightening his grip just enough to make her squirm.

"I said-" she grunted, trying to elbow him, "let me the fuck go, you oversized gorilla!"

Jungkook rolled his eyes but released her anyway, before she actually started biting.

Hana huffed, pushing her hair out of her face. "You fight in a fucking ring every week, and you're out here wrestling your own sister? So lame."

"You started it."

"And I'll start it again." She lunged for another pillow, and Jungkook swatted it out of her hand like it was nothing.

Hana was annoying. Loud. A pain in the ass since the day she learned how to talk---day one. But she was still his sister. Little twin sister. The only person who had stuck around, who still looked at him like he was just Jungkook---not whatever they had tried to make him.

Hana must have noticed something shift in his expression because she tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

"Why do you look like you're thinking too hard?"

Jungkook grabbed a pillow and smacked her in the face. "Shut up."

Hana barely had time to recover before Jungkook shoved her again, making her nearly fall off the couch.

"You little-!" she started, grabbing another pillow to launch at his face, when a voice interrupted.

"Young Master, Master has asked for you both to come downstairs for dinner."

Both of them turned toward the doorway, where one of the older servants stood, hands neatly clasped in front of him.

Hana sighed, waving a hand. "Okay, okay. We'll be down."

The servant bowed slightly before leaving, closing the door behind him.

The room went quiet.

Jungkook's expression wasn't playful anymore.

Hana frowned. "What?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened. "He's here?"

She hesitated, then gave an awkward smile. Too awkward.

That was answer enough.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Why did you call me if he was here?"

Hana rolled her eyes. "He's your father, you dumbass."

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it.

"Quit being dramatic," Hana scoffed, getting up. She grabbed Jungkook's wrist, physically yanking him up. "Now, let's go."

Jungkook barely moved. He let her pull for a second before sitting back down like a dead weight.

"You go. Have dinner." His voice was flat. "I'll wait."

Hana groaned. "You don't want to eat?"

Jungkook shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

She gave him a long, unimpressed stare. He should've known she wasn't gonna let it go that easily.

And of course, because she was Hana, she grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward the door.

"Get the fuck up, Jeon Jungkook."

"Hana-"

"I swear to God, if you make me drag your big ass down the stairs, I will."

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, half-annoyed, half-resigned.

Being dragged downstairs was whatever. Jungkook let Hana do her thing, not because he wanted to go, but because fighting her over it wasn't worth the energy.

Fine. He'd eat. He'd deal with this bullshit. It's not like the he showed up every day anyway.

As they stepped into the dining room, Jungkook's eyes landed on the man sitting at the head of the long mahogany table.

Dressed in a crisp black suit, tailored to perfection. A silver watch gleamed against his wrist, catching the light from the chandelier above. His presence was heavy, commanding. The kind that made men sit straighter, made rooms quiet the second he walked in.

Jungkook had seen that look before---cold, unreadable, the gaze of a man who was always in control.

His father didn't speak, just slowly lifted his glass, taking a sip of wine like he had all the time in the world.

Jungkook scoffed under his breath. What a fucking performance.

Tearing his gaze away, he finally noticed his mother.

She sat a few seats away from his father, hands neatly folded in her lap, posture as perfect as ever. But when her eyes met his, she smiled---small, almost hesitant. Sneaky.

Because of him.

The old man at the head of the table.

Jungkook just sighed.

The smile didn't give him happiness. The sight didn't make him happy. Didn't make him sad. Didn't make him angry.

He just felt... pity.

Maybe not even that anymore.

What was there to feel for someone who never tried to be a person? Who lived like a shadow, quiet, controlled, always looked over her shoulder?

Nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

So he just nodded, offering a small smile. Despite everything, it was genuine.

He could act like he didn't care all he wanted, but some part of him still noticed when she tried. When his mother, despite everything, still reached for a connection---however small, however fragile.

Hana had already taken her seat, grabbing a bowl like they weren't sitting in the most suffocating room in existence. Jungkook followed, sliding into the chair beside her, not greeting or even sparing his father a glance.

A family dinner.

Then why the fuck did everything feel so heavy?

Because it wasn't a family. Not in a way that's real. Not if you asked Jungkook.

Just people sitting at the same table, pretending it meant something.

"Hana, don't start eating yet."

Hana froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her frown was immediate. "Why?"

Mr. Jeon set his glass down with a quiet clink, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin before speaking. "We have a guest joining us for dinner. They're running late but should be here in five minutes."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, sinking back into his chair. "Now what kind of idiot is that?"

Hana shot him a warning look, but her grip on the bowl loosened as she slowly placed it back down.

She didn't talk back to their father. Not like Jungkook did.

She pouted a little, but the way she leaned back in her chair, shoulders pulled in slightly, hands curling into her lap was enough for Jungkook to notice.

She was irritated, sure. But she was also careful.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. Fucking great. Now they had to sit here and waste time on some random guest.

They waited. Ten minutes. Maybe more.

Jungkook was already losing patience, leg bouncing under the table.

Then finally, the doorbell rang.

"Finally," Hana muttered under her breath.

Jungkook didn’t bother replying, already unimpressed. Whatever idiot was holding up dinner better have a damn good reason.

The moment the guest stepped into the room, the mood shifted.

Jungkook stilled. Hana went quiet beside him, posture tightening, expression unreadable.

The young woman walked in gracefully, every step measured, effortless. Beautiful, elegant---like she had stepped right out of a perfect, polished world. The kind of world that had nothing to do with him.

Her eyes landed on Jungkook.

And she smiled.

Too wide. Too sweet. The kind of smile that made him physically cringe.

"Jungkook~" she chimed, voice high and saccharine, like this was some romantic fucking reunion.

He blinked once. "Oh... hi."

She practically beamed at that, her excitement bubbling just under the surface. Fake as hell. But clearly genuine on her end.

Jungkook barely heard her greeting his parents, didn’t even process the formalities being exchanged.

He turned to Hana, voice low. "Why the hell is she here?"

"I don’t know," she whispered back, looking equally blindsided.

And then Mr. Jeon spoke, perfectly timed, perfectly calm.

"Come, take a seat."

He gestured to the empty chair beside Jungkook.

Of course.

Jungkook closed his eyes, teeth grinding together. This couldn’t be real.

But of course it was.

Because standing next to him, with a practiced smile and hands folded like a docile bride, was Lee Hyerin.

The one girl who refused to take a fucking hint.

Daughter of Mr. Lee. Their father's business partner. A spoiled princess with too much time, too much money, and absolutely no fucking boundaries

Jungkook wasn't fond of her. Never had been.

Because she was too much.

Since their teenage years, she had practically stuck to him like a leech. The girl knew no personal space, no shame. It was painfully obvious she liked him---but the feelings weren't mutual. Not even close.

Jungkook didn't like her at all.

She was fake. Too polished, too proper, always playing the part of the perfect daughter, the perfect woman. The kind of person who smiled at everyone but meant none of it.

Not his type.

Not that he even knew what his type was yet, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't her.

And the worst part? She only got worse with age.

Even after he had rejected her---clearly, bluntly, multiple fucking times---she still had the audacity to show up at his house for dinner, sit beside him, and smile like they were good.

The dining room was silent. Jungkook's grip tightened around his fork.

This night just kept getting worse.

After dinner, Jungkook was ready to leave.

He had barely stepped away from the table when his father spoke.

He froze.

Slowly, he turned, meeting the man's gaze.

The tone wasn't exactly friendly---but this was probably the gentlest his father had ever spoken to him. Which meant nothing. Actually, no---why the fuck was he even talking to him?

They weren't a father and son duo. They weren't anything.

They were worse.

God forbid it didn't end in disaster whenever they spoke.

Last time, a month ago---it was bad. The worst.

Bad enough that Jungkook had packed his shit and left.

That was how he ended up in his own private apartment, away from this suffocating house.

So how could he still come back? Why did he still walk through these doors just to see Hana?

Because arguing with his father was too common.

So common that they didn't even seem to mind each other's absence or presence anymore.

And right now? Jungkook could already predict how this would end.

"I'm doing fine," he answered, tone dry.

Mr. Jeon nodded. Then casually, too casually, he asked, "When are you coming back?"

Jungkook blinked. What?

Across the table, Hana's face brightened, eyes hopeful as she urged him to answer.

Jungkook let out a slow exhale, already shaking his head. "I'm comfortable where I am." His voice was even, flat. "No desire to return somewhere I don't fit."

Mr. Jeon's expression flickered. Barely. But Jungkook saw it.

Irritation.

He must be pissed. Jungkook could fucking bet on it.

He watched as Mr. Jeon got up, adjusting his suit like he had all the time in the world. "I have something important to announce."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. Something important? That required him to be here?

Whatever. He wasn't interested.

His father barely spoke to him unless it was for business, and Jungkook wasn't part of that world anymore. So what the hell was this about?

His eyes darted to the side---just in time to see Hyerin push back her chair and stand.

She moved to stand beside his father, hands clasped neatly in front of her, a smile stretching across her lips. A fucking knowing smile.

And then, his father spoke. "Your engagement is fixed."

Jungkook blinked. What?

"To Hyerin."

The room temperature seemed to drop.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

Jungkook wasn't the only one caught off guard---his mother looked just as shocked, eyes slightly wide like she hadn't even heard about this until now.

Hana's expression wasn't any different from his. Because what the actual fuck?

Jungkook's fingers twitched against his thigh. His voice came out sharp. "What did you just say?"

His father nodded once, calm, like this was a business deal and not a goddamn marriage."You heard me right. Mr. Lee and I have decided to take a step forward---marrying our children to each other."

Jungkook stared. Blank. Completely fucking blank.

A full minute passed before his eyes slowly shifted to Hyerin.

She was flustered as hell.

Face pink, lips pressed together like she couldn't decide whether to act surprised or pleased.

Jungkook blinked.

Then exhaled sharply through his nose.

Because this? This was bullshit.

Jungkook finally recovered from the fucking bomb his father had just dropped on him.

"I don't agree." His voice was sharp, absolute.

Mr. Jeon barely blinked, looking as unimpressed as ever.."I didn't ask for your opinion."

His tone was cool, dismissive. "That's why I called it an announcement. You're getting married to Hyerin."

Jungkook's jaw locked. "I don't fucking agree to this." He repeated, voice louder this time.

Hyerin flinched, her fingers curling into her dress. Mr. Jeon's gaze flickered, not with concern, not with anger. Just that same damn indifference.

"Keep your voice down." His tone was clipped, like Jungkook was the one being unreasonable.

Jungkook stared at him, disbelief settling in, barely restraining the anger crawling up his spine.

Was this man out of his fucking mind?

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, laughing humorlessly. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, eyes locked onto his father like he was actually trying to understand what kind of insane, delusional shit he was on.

"You're joking."

Mr. Jeon didn't shift. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"No, you look like you've lost your goddamn mind," Jungkook shot back, his voice dropping lower, sharper. "You think you can just decide something like this? Without even fucking telling me? Without even asking if I-" He stopped, shaking his head. "No. Forget asking. You didn't even consider the fact that I wouldn't want this."

"Your wants are irrelevant."

Jungkook stilled. His grip on the edge of the table tightened.

"Excuse me?"

Mr. Jeon leaned back, calm, composed, detached as ever. "This isn't about what you want. It's about what's best for this family. And for the company. Marrying Hyerin will strengthen our ties with the Lees, securing business that will last for generations."

"I don't give a single fuck about your business," Jungkook snapped, shoving his chair back as he stood up. "You think I'm going to ruin my life for some fucking company merger?"

"Ruin your life?" Mr. Jeon finally gave a reaction, lips curling into something between amusement and irritation. "Spare me the dramatics, Jeon Jungkook. Hyerin is a well-raised, respectable woman from a powerful family. This is a good match."

"For you." Jungkook's voice was cold as ice. "Not for me. You want a puppet you can control. You want someone who will sit at your goddamn table and play the perfect son. That's not me."

Mr. Jeon's jaw twitched, but his voice remained even. "You think you have a choice in this?"

Jungkook laughed again, but this time, it was bitter. "You seriously think you can force me? You don't own me. You sure as fuck don't control me. And you can forget whatever fantasy you have about me playing house with Hyerin, because it's never going to happen."

"You're being childish."

"I'm being childish?" Jungkook let out a scoff, shaking his head. "You're the one making life decisions for me like I'm some fucking pawn on your chessboard."

"That's exactly what you are," Mr. Jeon said coldly.

Jungkook's breath slowed, hands clenching at his sides. Hana looked between them with wide eyes, while their mother remained frozen, lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't.

And Hyerin just stood there, awkward, flustered, clearly realizing this was not going the way she had expected.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, forcing down the white-hot anger spreading through his chest.

"I am not marrying her," he said, voice dead serious. "And there's nothing you can do to make me."

Mr. Jeon exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the table before speaking.

"You will."

Jungkook shook his head. "No, I won't."

Mr. Jeon's expression hardened. "Then I suggest you prepare yourself for the consequences."

Jungkook clenched his jaw. Because he knew what that meant.

He scoffed, tongue pressing against his cheek as he turned his gaze to Hyerin.

Of course.

This had her name written all over it.

His father might've been the one making the announcement, but Jungkook had no doubt who planted the idea.

He stepped forward, closing the space between them in a few fast strides. Hyerin straightened but didn't step back, hands neatly clasped in front of her, her posture too composed, too practiced.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Jungkook said, tilting his head. Not a question. A statement.

Hyerin blinked, expression shifting into something almost... offended. "Excuse me?"

"Don't act dumb," Jungkook muttered, jaw tight. "You've been trying to pull this shit since we were teenagers. What, you finally convinced your daddy to make it happen?"

She gasped softly, hand fluttering to her chest like it had a script of its own. "Jungkook, that's not fair."

"Don't start this," he snapped. "You seriously thought this would work? That I'd just sit there and let them fucking sell me to you?"

She stiffened at that, eyes flashing, but she was quick to cover it up.

"It wasn't my decision," she said, voice softer, more composed. "My father spoke to yours. I had no choice."

Jungkook let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. Nonsense.

Hyerin swallowed, glancing toward Mr. Jeon as if expecting him to step in.

"Jungkook." His father finally spoke.

"Act human."

Jungkook clenched his jaw, barely holding back a scoff. Act human?

He was being forced into a marriage he didn't fucking want, and he was the one who needed to 'act human'?

"You will not misbehave with Hyerin," Mr. Jeon added.

Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. He turned back to Hyerin, stepping closer, all patience gone.

"You really don't get it, do you?" His voice was low, sharp. "No matter how much you push, how much you pretend you had no part in this---I will never fall."

Hyerin's expression faltered for a split second before she forced a small, practiced smile. "You say that now," she murmured, voice softer, almost coaxing. "But marriage is a long time, Jungkook. Feelings change."

Jungkook exhaled sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. "I don't know what kind of fantasy world you live in, but this isn't a romance drama, Hyerin. You can't just force this and expect me to start caring."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "I'm not forcing anything."

Jungkook scoffed. "Then what the fuck do you call this?" He gestured between them. "You're standing here, smiling, acting like this is some dream come true when you know damn well I don't want this. I don't want you."

Her smile wavered, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. She held his gaze for a long moment, blinking rapidly, lips parting as if she had something to say---but nothing came out.

Then her breath hitched. Her eyes turned glassy. And just like that, she broke.

She turned away quickly, bringing a hand up to her face, but it was too late. The first tear had already slipped.

The room went silent.

Hana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Their mother looked down at her lap. Jungkook didn't move. Didn't say a word.

Because honestly?

He didn't feel sorry.

Mr. Jeon stepped forward, closing the space between them, his presence heavier now.

"Give me a valid reason why you don't want to be with her." His tone was calm---too calm.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Because I don't like her."

His father didn't even blink. "Life isn't about playing Romeo and Juliet. It's about responsibility. Liking doesn't matter."

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, already done with this conversation. "Then go marry her yourself-"

"Or," Mr. Jeon cut him off smoothly, eyes narrowing just slightly, "have you gotten your mouth in some dirt?"

Jungkook blinked.

Excuse me?

His father's expression didn't change, but his words hung heavy in the air, loaded with something Jungkook didn't fucking like.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jungkook asked, voice sharp, head tilting slightly. Warning.

Mr. Jeon exhaled slowly, then stepped closer, walking past Jungkook as if sizing him up.

"Let's see," he started, voice cool, measured, but laced with something sharper. "You refuse to take responsibility, you waste your time brawling in underground pits like a common thug, and now you stand here, acting as if you have the right to make demands."

Jungkook's jaw ticked.

"I wonder," his father continued, turning slightly, gaze flicking over him with barely veiled disdain. "Is it just childish rebellion keeping you from accepting this engagement?" A pause. "Or have you gotten yourself involved with... something else?"

Jungkook's fingers twitched at his sides.

"Something lower."

The implication was clear.

His father wasn't just talking about the fights. He was talking about the people in them.

"Tell me, Jungkook," Mr. Jeon mused, tilting his head slightly. "Is that where your interests lie? In dirty, low-class company?"

The implication hung in the air.

And honestly? Jungkook couldn't even deny it.

The underground wasn't decent. Hell, it wasn't even close.

Fighting was just the entry point. Beyond that, it was a whole different world---betting, drugs, prostitution, and things far worse than that.

Jungkook had seen it all.

And Mr. Jeon knew.

"I know exactly what kind of place you've chosen to waste your life in," his father continued, voice still calm, but his words deliberate. "A world filled with filth. Low-class scum. Criminals who wouldn't hesitate to slit your throat the second you stop being useful."

Jungkook's fingers curled into fists.

"And let's not forget that club," Mr. Jeon added, eyes narrowing slightly. "The one that thrives on filth. A place where men buy whatever body they want for the night."

Jungkook's jaw clenched.

"Tell me," his father mused, "is that where you spend your nights? In the company of whores?"

Jungkook clicked his tongue, his gaze meeting his father's. No longer just burning but turning cold.

"Watch your mouth." His voice was sharp, low, edged with something dangerous.

Mr. Jeon let out a short breath, amused. "Oh? I need to watch my mouth?" He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. "Or do you need to watch your actions?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

"Stooping so low," his father continued, tone laced with disgust, "dirtying our blood with filth."

Jungkook shook his head, exhaling slowly through his nose.

This was bullshit.

He wasn't that person.

He didn't touch drugs. He didn't waste time in those clubs.

For God's sake, the idea of it made him feel fucking disgusting.

The underworld, for him, had always been about one thing. One reason.

Fighting.

That was it.

No shady business, no dealing, no interest in the filth his father was accusing him of.

And his father should fucking know that.

Mr. Jeon's hand gripped Jungkook's collar.

Jungkook's own hand grabbed his wrist.

Tension snapped between them---Yes, this was going to escalate.

But suddenly, Hana shoved herself between them, pushing Jungkook back slightly.

"Hana-" Jungkook started, but she didn't look at him.

She was staring straight at their father, eyes wide, face tight with nerves.

Mr. Jeon's gaze turned cold as he looked down at her.

Hana gulped.

"Dad, you're thinking wrong about Jungkook," she started, voice a little rushed. "He just fights there. That's it. Nothing else."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. Unconvinced.

Hana bit her lip, looking like she was thinking hard.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. Now what the hell was she doing?

Then, suddenly, her entire expression shifted.

Her body practically screamed nervousness, her fingers twisting in her dress.

Jungkook immediately didn't like it.

Before he could stop her, before he could even open his mouth, Hana blurted out-

"And he can't marry her because... actually, brother doesn't like girls."

Silence.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Everyone just stared at Hana.

Blankly.

She shifted nervously under the weight of their gazes.

Jungkook's grip tightened as he grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. What the hell was she doing?

"Hana-" His voice was sharp, but before he could say another word, she shook her head. A quick, small movement---as if telling him to shut up.

Then, with way too much confidence for someone who had just committed social suicide on his behalf, she smiled.

"Don't worry! It's completely fine! You don't have to hide it anymore."

Jungkook's eye twitched. Hide what?

"What are you saying?!" Hyerin's voice was shrill, ringing behind them.

Hana turned around, exhaling as if this was some grand revelation.

And then, she dropped the nuke.

"Jungkook actually likes boys."

The room went ice cold.

Everyone's faces paled---including Jungkook's own---because how the actual fuck does he not know this about himself?

"No! It can't be...!" Hyerin let out, too fucking shocked to function.

Hana sighed, making a face full of fake sympathy as she stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Hyerin's arm.

"You were asking why he doesn't like you, right?" Her voice was soft, empathetic---like she was breaking bad news to a child.

Jungkook was still in a state of complete fucking disbelief.

Hana sighed again, shaking her head. "There's nothing wrong with you, Hyerin. You're so beautiful."

She placed a hand over her chest, looking devastated for Hyerin's sake.

"It's just..." She paused for effect, glancing at Jungkook like she was about to deliver the final blow.

And then-

"He just can't like you."

A slow, dramatic blink.

"It's true."

Jungkook was going to fucking kill her.

Before he could grab Hana and shake some goddamn sense into her, a laugh echoed through the tense room.

His father.

Everyone turned to him.

Mr. Jeon leaned back slightly, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin before setting it down with calm amusement.

"Aww, my little princess," he mused, voice dripping with condescension. "Now you've even learned to lie on his behalf."

Jungkook's fists clenched. That tone.

His father tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking to Jungkook before returning to Hana. "At least you should have chosen something we could believe. Something with even the slightest possibility."

Hana hesitated, then shook her head, now dead serious. "I'm not lying. It's actually true." Without missing a beat, she turned to Jungkook. "Isn't it?"

Jungkook stared at her, completely fucking speechless.

She stared back.

And in that single second of eye contact, he understood.

This was insane. Completely fucking insane. But...

If it got him out of this shit?

Fine. A little lie don't hurt!

He let out a slow exhale, then turned to face his father. His expression shifted---shoulders relaxing, lips pressing together like he was gathering the courage to say something deeply personal.

Then, with the most convincing fucking delivery of his life, he sighed.

"Yeah."

Silence.

Hana gasped dramatically, like she hadn't just made this shit up five seconds ago.

Hyerin's entire world collapsed in real-time.

His mother looked like she was about to faint.

And Mr. Jeon?

His face froze. Expression unreadable, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Jungkook cleared his throat, fully committing now.

"I was... planning to say it in my own time," he continued, forcing his voice to sound hesitant. "But yeah. I-uh-just don't like women. At all. Ever."

Hyerin's eyes were glassy. "But-but you never said anything before-"

"Because it's none of your business," Jungkook deadpanned.

Her lip trembled. Oh, for fuck's sake.

Mr. Jeon's fingers tapped against the table, his eyes still locked onto Jungkook.

"You expect me to believe this?" Mr. Jeon asked, voice dangerously calm.

Jungkook exhaled, completely unbothered now. "You don't have to believe it. It is what it is."

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "I don't like women. I can't marry one. Hope that reason helps you."

The silence that followed was thick.

"This is ridiculous." His father scoffed, shaking his head. "You're not gay, Jungkook. Stop this nonsense."

Jungkook almost laughed. "Oh? And how the fuck would you know?"

"Bcause you've never shown any interest in men," Mr. Jeon stated as if it were fact.

Jungkook raised a brow. "Oh, so now you're suddenly paying attention to my dating life?"

Mr. Jeon ignored that. "You've had women approach you plenty of times. I've seen it myself. You never had a problem with them before."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Not having a problem with them and wanting to marry one are two different fucking things."

His father's jaw tightened. "You are just saying this to get out of the marriage."

"And?" Jungkook shot back. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Mr. Jeon let out a sharp breath, clearly losing patience now. "You don't suddenly become gay overnight, Jungkook."

Jungkook shrugged. "Maybe I've always been gay. I just never said it because it's none of your fucking business."

Mr. Jeon stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Assessing. Then, he scoffed. "This is absurd. You're my son. I know you."

Jungkook let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah? You sure about that?"

Hana watched the argument unfold like it was a fucking tennis match. Hyerin, meanwhile, looked like she was going through five stages of grief at once.

Mr. Jeon inhaled deeply, clearly holding himself back.

"Enough." His voice was sharp, final. "You are marrying Hyerin, and this childish excuse changes nothing."

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. "You're fucking unbelievable."

"I'm realistic," his father corrected coldly. "And unlike you, I don't make impulsive, baseless claims just to avoid responsibility."

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, biting back the urge to flip the entire goddamn table.

"Right. Because me being gay is just a 'baseless claim,'" he muttered. "You're so fucking desperate to control my life, you can't even wrap your head around the fact that I don't want to do anything with her."

Mr. Jeon's jaw twitched. "Because I know you."

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. "No, you fucking don't."

"You've never once shown interest in men."

Jungkook snapped.

"Well, maybe that's because I already have a fucking lover."

Silence.

Complete. Fucking. Silence.

Hana choked on her water.

Hyerin looked like she had just been shot.

And his father? He slowly exhaled, his fingers pressing together as he stared at Jungkook with the most disappointed, calculating, disbelieving expression imaginable.

"A boyfriend?"

Jungkook, realizing what the fuck just left his mouth, had exactly two choices.

1. Backtrack immediately and try to fix this disaster.
2. Commit.

Jungkook clenched his jaw.

"Yeah."

Fuck it.

"A boyfriend!" Jungkook doubled down.

If he was going to bullshit his way out of this, he might as well do it with full confidence.

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "Yeah, I have a boyfriend. So no, I can't marry anyone. Or whatever the fuck this arranged marriage is supposed to be."

Hana, still processing the absolute train wreck unfolding before her, blinked rapidly. His mother was well...

Hyerin looked like a ghost. A corpse.

His father just stared, unmoved. Unshaken. Not buying a single fucking word.

"A boyfriend," Mr. Jeon repeated, voice flat.

"That's what I said."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. "I don't give a shit what you believe. It's the truth."

Mr. Jeon scoffed. "If this 'boyfriend' of yours existed, I would know."

Jungkook laughed under his breath. "Right. Because you've been so involved in my personal life."

His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't even sound convinced yourself."

Jungkook tilted his head. "Stay in denial if you want to. Doesn't change the fact that I'm not marrying anyone but him."

Mr. Jeon leaned forward slightly, gaze sharpening. "Then bring him here."

Jungkook's smirk faded.

Hana sucked in a breath.

Hyerin, who had been frozen in devastation---suddenly perked up.

Mr. Jeon's tone was eerily calm. "If this 'boyfriend' truly exists, bring him to me. Let's see if your lies hold up then."

Jungkook's smirk dropped fully His fingers curled against his sleeves, irritation flaring in his chest.

"Bring him here," his father repeated, voice steady, testing.

Jungkook knew that tone.

This wasn't about proving a point anymore. This was about control.

Mr. Jeon didn't believe him, but he sure as fuck wanted to see Jungkook squirm under the weight of his own lie.

And fuck that.

Jungkook let out a sharp breath, stepping back from the table. "So you can separate us?"

Mr. Jeon raised a brow. "Separate you?"

Jungkook scoffed. "Yeah. I bring him here, and what? You threaten him? Try to pay him off? Make my life even more of a living hell than it already is?"

Mr. Jeon tilted his head. "If he were real, that wouldn't be a problem."

"You're fucking unbelievable." Jungkook grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving his arms into it roughly.

"Jungkook-" his mother called, but he wasn't listening.

Hana was watching with barely concealed panic.

Hyerin looked... hopeful. Like she thought he was actually lying.

Good. Let her think whatever the fuck she wanted.

Jungkook moved toward the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. "

"This conversation isn't over," his father called after him.

Jungkook didn't turn back.

"It is for me."

And with that, he stormed off.