The sprawling city skyline blurred against the rain-speckled glass of Jungkook’s penthouse office, streaks of gold and gray stretching across the room like fractures in a mirror. The hum of the world below barely touched him, muted by walls thick enough to drown out anything—noise, people, memories. Jungkook stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring at his own reflection. A ghost of a scar traced his temple, a jagged mark left by the accident that had shattered more than just bones. He ran his fingers over it absentmindedly, as if trying to erase a past that refused to let him go.

He knew the man in the glass well—cold eyes, a clenched jaw, and a heart forged from the ashes of betrayal. Whoever Jungkook used to be was long gone, buried beneath years of survival and resentment. Once, he had been someone who believed in family, in love. That boy had been soft, trusting—and that boy had died the moment they left him alone in the hospital, broken and forgotten.

The sound of heels tapping against the marble floors broke through the silence.

"Mr. Jeon, your 10 a.m. meeting is scheduled," Lisa said, her voice careful as she stepped into the room. She lingered by the edge of his desk, clutching her clipboard as if it were a shield.

Jungkook turned slowly, his gaze locking onto her with the cold precision of a hunter sizing up prey. Lisa was family—his cousin—but that didn’t matter. To him, now, blood was a useless bond. Family was just another lie.

"Cancel it," he said, his voice sharp and devoid of warmth.

Lisa’s brow furrowed slightly, the hesitation flickering across her face. "Sir, it’s an important negotiation—"

"I said cancel it." The words came out like ice, freezing the room between them.

She swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. "Yes, sir."

Her footsteps echoed softly as she retreated, closing the door behind her. Jungkook remained still for a moment, breathing deeply, forcing the anger to recede. But the tension never truly left him; it simmered beneath the surface, waiting to lash out at the slightest provocation.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," he muttered without looking up.

Lisa entered cautiously, her expression controlled but her unease evident in the way she shifted from foot to foot. "Sir, the legal team is waiting for your approval. Shall I bring the contracts in?"

"Leave them on the desk," Jungkook said curtly.

She hesitated for a second, then ventured, "Sir… you've been working nonstop. Maybe you could take a break? Something to eat?"

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and dangerous. "Do I pay you to worry about me, Lisa?"

She flinched but quickly recovered. "No, sir. I’m sorry."

"Good," he muttered, waving her off like an afterthought. She exited quietly, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The silence returned, pressing in on him like a heavy weight. Jungkook leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple where the scar throbbed faintly. The accident had left a permanent mark on his body, but the real damage had been to his heart. And there was no healing from that.

He reached for his phone as it buzzed on the desk, vibrating insistently against the wood. A familiar name flashed on the screen, but Jungkook let the call ring out, his jaw tightening with each second.

Lisa peeked her head through the door once more. "Mr. Jeon, do you want me to answer it?"

"No," he said coldly, without looking at her.

She nodded and disappeared again, leaving him alone with the buzzing phone and the silence that followed when it stopped.

Jungkook rose from his chair and returned to the window, watching as rain traced lazy patterns down the glass. The city stretched out before him—a blur of lights and movement, alive with possibility. But none of it reached him, not in the fortress he’d built to protect himself.

His phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text message. He glanced at the screen, reading the words with a blank expression:

"We need to talk. It’s important."

The words stirred something inside him—a flicker of emotion, brief but potent. But just as quickly, he smothered it, locking it away beneath the armor he wore so well.

*************

Jungkook stood still, his expression cold and unmoving as he faced his father. The older man shifted uncomfortably under his son’s icy gaze, searching for words that didn’t seem to come easily.

“Kooki… it’s…” Yoongi began, his voice hesitant.

“It’s Jeon for you,” Jungkook interrupted sharply, his dark eyes locked onto Yoongi’s with unwavering seriousness.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, the weight of years of silence pressing between them. “Hmm… Can you come home? Just once?”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice was cutting, final. “I told you before—there’s nothing left for me in that house. No relationships, no family. The only one I kept was with you. And even that is on thin ice.” His words were precise, meant to sting. “Leave me alone.”

Yoongi’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to protest, but Jungkook’s cold stare silenced him. After a beat, Yoongi tried again. “Hoseok wants to meet—”

“Who is that?” Jungkook asked, his voice sharp as a blade.

Lisa, standing quietly beside them, instinctively lowered her gaze. Ten years had passed, but the man before her was no longer the Jungkook she once knew. The accident had changed him—everything about him. And after waking from a five-year coma, it was as if he had been reborn, navigating the world like a stranger in his own life. Yet lately, his demeanor had darkened even further, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

She inhaled deeply, stealing a glance at the strained reunion before them.

Jungkook turned away without another word and got into his car, the engine roaring to life. Lisa followed silently, her thoughts a jumble as they drove toward the sprawling modern mansion that loomed ahead.

When the car came to a halt in front of the sleek gates, Jungkook stepped out, his expression as unreadable as ever. The large glass doors swung open as he entered the house, and a woman rushed toward him, her voice filled with concern.

“Jungkook,” she called softly.

“Yes, Mom,” he replied, his voice devoid of warmth, his cold eyes meeting hers.

“I heard your father came to see you…”

“Yes,” Jungkook answered flatly.

“Why?” she asked, searching his face for any sign of emotion.

“I don’t know.” His response was indifferent, as if the encounter had left no impression on him.

His mother sighed, folding her arms. “Hmm… Better stay away from them, Jungkook. It’s safer that way.”

“I know,” he said, his tone clipped. Without waiting for another word, he turned and walked deeper into the mansion, leaving her standing alone in the hall.

There was no affection, no warmth, and no longing for reconciliation. Whatever ties had once bound him to his family had long since frayed, leaving nothing behind but a cold, empty void. And Jungkook had learned to live with that emptiness. He had no need for anything—or anyone—from his past.

And if they tried to pull him back? He’d cut them off. Just like before.