Ignore mistakes, please.

Third person p.o.v-

Tick tock. 

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

The sound of the wall clock echoed through the quiet, dimly lit room, each second slipping into the shadows with a hollow, haunting resonance. Yet, even the clock's steady pace was too slow compared to the wild, erratic beat of your heart. It hammered within your chest, a restless storm refusing to settle.

It hadn't slowed.
Not once.

You lay on the bed, tangled in soft sheets, your blueberry-printed pajamas a comforting contrast to the unease crawling beneath your skin. The blanket was pulled up to your chin, but the warmth did nothing to quell the chill running down your spine

It was well past midnight, and sleep was a hopeless fantasy. You hadn't closed your eyes even for a second; your body was trapped in an endless cycle of tossing and turning. Now, you lay flat on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

It had been hours since you arrived at the Jeon mansion. Hours since you'd been greeted by the venomous glare of the she-devil herself—Soojin. Her eyes had burned with hostility the moment she saw you beside Jungkook. You could sense the rage simmering beneath her polished exterior, the look of pure disdain she didn't even try to hide. She looked as if she might lunge at you right then and there, but you'd merely brushed past her, unfazed, dismissing her as little more than a temporary inconvenience.

Not that you cared. Not that you'd ever care.

Jungkook had left soon after, drawn away by a call that demanded his attention, though not before ensuring that you were settled comfortably in the room.

After a scalding bath to wash off the day, you'd found yourself lying here, consumed by the restless surge of emotions twisting through you, each thought, each feeling, a relentless tide pulling you farther from peace.

To anyone else, you might have seemed calm, like you were simply resting. But inside, a storm raged, pulling you further from any notion of peace. The reason behind this relentless restlessness?

HE FUCKING KISSED YOU......

You bolted up on bed Your hand rose to your lips, thumb brushing over the spot where his mouth had claimed yours, the sensation hauntingly vivid, even now. Hours had passed, and yet you could still feel it—the addictive softness of his lips, his touch a dark memory that refused to fade.

He kissed you—softly, simply, expertly.

He kissed you- until your knees turned to jelly.

He kissed you—without his tongue, without any rush, without any roughness.

Just his lips—soft, firm, present—on yours.

There had been no desperation, no haste. But still, it had felt like a claim—a quiet, undeniable possession that left you reeling. You could still feel the press of his mouth, steady and deliberate, as he'd drawn you into his orbit with that single touch, a touch that had rendered you breathless and unmoving.

That time, You stood there, eyes wide with shock, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. As the initial surprise faded, you regained your composure, you forcefully turned around,  pressing a hand against his chest and pushing him away. He broke the kiss, but his hands stayed firmly on your face, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he couldn't bear to let you go.

You should have yelled at him, hurled accusations, maybe even cursed him. But you couldn't.

The second you turned to confront him, the words dissolved in your throat, swallowed up by the look in his eyes. Those eyes—ones you'd always known as dark, ruthless, terrifying—the same ones that had haunted you since that night in the club when he'd wrapped his hands around your throat—were nothing like you remembered. They weren't cold or cruel now. Instead, they were soft, layered with an unexpected vulnerability that left you breathless.

His gaze was intense, yet heartbreakingly gentle, his hands cupping your face as if it were the most fragile thing he'd ever held. You could feel his thumb lightly grazing your cheek, the barest hint of warmth in his touch, as though afraid that even a whisper of pressure might shatter you. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he looked at you, his expression both reverent and possessive, as if he'd been handed something priceless and was terrified of losing it.

That moment held affection.

Pure affection.

This was all so foreign to you, every part of it. You had never been held like this—never been treated like this. No one had ever looked at you with such raw, undiluted intensity. No one had ever stirred this feeling within you, a feeling so deep it left you breathless, caught on a gasp that lodged in your throat.

You'd always been weak to his smile, even before.  The way he looked at you, the softness in his gaze, the way his lips curved just slightly—it was so unguarded, so heartbreakingly sincere, that your heart faltered. Thanks to that, you left the chance to get angry at him and come at Jeon Mansion just like that.

"It was so sudden that I couldn't even react. But if he pulls that stunt again, I swear I'll kick him right in the balls." Nodding to yourself, you muttered under your breath, trying to convince yourself you meant it.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you placed a hand over your chest, feeling the rapid thud that had refused to calm. "Stop beating this fast, you fool," you whispered, scolding your own heart, which had been racing relentlessly for hours.

But the questions wouldn't relent. Why had he done that?

It couldn't have been to make the two of you stand out, as he'd claimed—no one else had been there to witness it. That excuse was flimsy at best, easily dismissed.

So why?

The ride to the Jeon mansion had been silent, and he'd left soon after, only staying long enough to ensure you were settled into your new room. For that, you were quietly grateful; his lingering presence would have made the situation unbearably awkward.

With a sigh, you lay back on the bed, letting your eyes drift shut as you took in the subtle lavender fragrance lingering in the room. His room was right next to yours, only a single wall separating you.

From the clothes neatly arranged in your closet to the colors of the walls, every detail catered precisely to your taste—your favorite. The realization left you reeling, wondering just how much this man already knew about you.

You flipped onto your stomach and snuggled into the pillow. Finally, the weight of exhaustion took its toll, and you drifted off to sleep.

________________________

"She's asleep." Jungkook's gaze lingered on the message glowing on his screen, his expression dark and unreadable. He exhaled sharply, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Drawing a cigar from his jacket, he lit it with a flick of his lighter, inhaling deeply as the smoke filled his lungs, the bitterness settling his nerves. He exhaled slowly, watching the dense smoke twist into the air through his mouth and nostrils.

The top three buttons of his shirt were carelessly undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest beneath the fabric. His jet-black hair fell messily across his forehead, accentuating the dangerous look in his eyes, while the tailored jacket clung to his broad shoulders and powerful frame with a sleek precision.

With practiced ease, he parked the car inside the secluded warehouse, the echoes of the engine fading as he stepped out. He tossed the half-smoked cigar to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot, leaving nothing but ashes and smoldering embers in his wake.

As he approached the metal door, he paused, standing tall before the eye scanner. A sharp red light flickered across his eye, studying him. A moment later, a soft beep followed by a metallic click signaled his clearance, and the door creaked open.

Inside, guards snapped to attention, heads bowing respectfully as he passed through the heavy door, which sealed behind him with an ominous thud. The low hum of dim lights cast a muted glow down the narrow corridor, shadows clinging to the walls as Jungkook strode forward, the authority in his step commanding silent obedience.

Cracking his neck bones with slow, deliberate movements, he advanced through the hall, his presence overpowering. Each guard along the passage lowered their gaze, paying him silent respect as he moved past without acknowledgment.

Turning down a hidden hallway, he reached the last door on the right. The guard stationed there quickly bowed, his hand reaching for the handle as he pulled it open, allowing Jungkook to step inside.

The room was already filled with his trusted men, every one of them silent and at attention, with Taehyung standing beside the desk, waiting. Jungkook's piercing gaze swept across the space, his presence casting a shadow over the tense silence. Each guard held their stance, eyes averted, shoulders squared, awaiting orders.

"Glad you made it, brother," Taehyung's voice was a low, deadly murmur, his eyes fixed on Max—the broken, bloodied leader of the Seagull gang crumpled on the floor. "Would've let you savor some time with your girl, but this bastard's living on borrowed time. Tonight, he either talks, or he takes his last breath."

Jungkook's dark gaze narrowed as he took in the sorry sight of the man sprawled in a filthy puddle of his own vomit. A flicker of irritation crossed his face as he rolled his tongue along his teeth, placing his hands on his hips in a stance that exuded danger. "Where the fuck is Doc?" he asked, his voice deep, laced with lethal calm.

Taehyung scratched the back of his neck, his jaw set. "Out of the city. Can't make it back before tomorrow," he replied grimly. "I described this fucker's symptoms to him. Doc thinks it could be a severe concussion, maybe even intracranial bleeding. Says he needs a hospital."

Jungkook's lips pressed into a tight line as he surveyed Max's fading state, his eyes glinting with a calculated, cold resolve. Without hesitation, he strode to a nearby chair, seized a bottle of water, and uncapped it with a swift twist. He moved back to Max, who was slumped against the wall, and splashed the water directly over his face, each icy droplet dragging him back to brutal reality.

Max shuddered, gasping, his breaths labored and erratic. He muttered something incoherent, eyes barely focusing, his pallor almost ghostly under the dim light. Jungkook's gaze hardened. He could tell the man was on the edge, clinging by a thread.

Time was running out, and Jungkook knew he'd have to work fast.

Taehyung watched as Jungkook wordlessly pulled out another cigar, the glint of his lighter briefly illuminating the sharp contours of his face. He lit it, taking a slow, deliberate drag that filled his lungs with smoke, before exhaling in a dark plume that hung heavily in the air. Holding the cigar between his fingers, he moved with measured purpose to the table. 

He opened a drawer, retrieving what looked like an ordinary toolbox. But as he removed the inner casing, a hidden compartment came into view, containing the true tools of his trade. He selected a syringe and a scalpel, his grip steady and unfeeling as he headed back.

"What's that?" Taehyung asked, pointing to the syringe.

"Adrenaline shot," Jungkook muttered as he plunged the needle into the side of the guy's neck. "It might make him a little more coherent for a bit. I've never tried it on someone with a concussion."

"Won't that make his condition worse?" Taehyung's voice was laced with indifference as he leaned against the table, appearing wholly unconcerned.

"He's going to die anyway," Jungkook replied coldly, his tone dropping to a lethal whisper, eyes fixed on his captive. Without another glance, he pulled the syringe from Max's neck and tossed it aside. Then he crouched, his gaze fixed, dark as the abyss, as he seized Max's hand. "When the adrenaline wears off, he'll crash. Hard.''  Glancing at Taehyung and the other men, he commanded, ''Grab his shoulders and keep him still."

With ironclad resolve, Jungkook forced Max's palm flat against the floor, pinning his wrist down as he positioned the scalpel at the base of his thumb. The leader of the Seagull gang blinked into awareness just as Jungkook sliced through his finger. A bone-chilling scream tore from Max's throat, echoing off the walls in a desperate, futile plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up," Jungkook growled, his voice a deadly roar as he slapped Max across the face, silencing him. Grabbing a fistful of the man's hair, making the man cry out in pain again, he leaned close, his tone venomous, his gaze shadowed with malice. "Listen to me carefully, you useless fuck. You're going to fucking die tonight. It can be fucking quick," he hissed, his voice a chilling whisper, "or I can make sure every fucking second drags on in agony. Nod if you understand."

Max whimpered, his face contorting with desperation as he tried to pull his hand free from Jungkook's unyielding grip. Without a second of hesitation, Jungkook swiped the scalpel across the man's finger, severing it in one clean motion. Max's body jolted, a raw, gut-wrenching scream ripping from his throat as he collapsed against the cold floor, his blood staining the dirt beneath him.

"WHERE. IS. HE?" Jungkook yelled into his face.

"I-I don't know," Max gasped, choking on his own panic. "I just talked with the guy who paid for the job."

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. "AND WHO. WAS. THAT. GUY?" he growled, his tone slicing through the room like a blade.

Max mumbled something and closed his eyes. It seemed the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

Jungkook's patience snapped. He slapped Max hard across the face, drawing more blood, the sting of the strike echoing in the still room. "I said, WHO IS HE?"

Max's body trembled, each ragged breath a struggle. "F-Fuck! Jeon, I don't know! I s....swear, I don't!" His voice cracked with fear, his face contorting with agony. "He called me... said he was the old man's right hand. Said he'd give me m...millions and protection from you if I destroyed y...your ship. I didn't believe him at first, but then he transferred a huge amount into my account...and...." His words began to falter as his eyes fluttered, the pain and the adrenaline taking their toll.

Jungkook's eyes burned with rage. He leaned in, his voice low and venomous. "And... what?"

Max's breath came in shallow gasps, his body wracked with spasms. "And..." He could barely speak now, his mind unraveling.

Jungkook pressed his burning cigar to the bloody stump where Max's finger had been, the searing heat making the man scream again, his voice hoarse and raw, "And what?" Jungkook repeated, his voice a growl, sharp and dangerous.

"Ahhh, fuck, Jeon, fuck!" Max shrieked in agony. "He... he sent a lot of men for protection. That's all, I swear!"

Jungkook's eyes darkened further, his patience thinning to nothing. "Where was he calling you from?" he demanded, his voice dripping with malice.

"I... I don't know," Max gasped, his body shaking, his pulse erratic. "It was a private n-number." His voice faltered, fear choking him. "But... but I recorded the call!'' Max smirked weakly "Do whatever you want, King JK, but you won't be able to save anyone now. I swear..."

Jungkook's hand twitched, his control slipping as the weight of Max's words sank in. This bastard had pushed him too far. His teeth ground together as he stood, fury burning in every inch of him. He pulled his gun from his waistband with a chilling fluidity, the sound of the metal snapping into place like the final judgment.

''Don't fucking bark if you can't fucking bite'' Without hesitation, he shot Max in the head, the crack of the bullet echoing through the room as the man's body went limp, lifeless in an instant.

Jungkook took a slow drag from his cigar, the smoke curling in the air as he turned to Taehyung, his voice cold and commanding. "Find out everything about that call. I want every single detail. No stone unturned."

"As you say," Taehyung nodded, his expression unreadable.

_________________

Perching on the edge of the bed, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His dark eyes, brimming with emotions he rarely let surface, locked onto your serene face. With a trembling hand, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his touch lingering as if to convince himself you were truly there.

He slipped off his boots, the thud muffled by the thick rug beneath. Shifting onto the bed, he eased himself down beside you, careful not to disturb your slumber. One arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him until your head nestled on his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat pounded wildly under your ear—a tempo that betrayed the storm inside him. But you, deep in sleep, remained unaware.

Lowering his face, he buried it in your hair, breathing in the delicate lavender scent that clung to you. His arms tightened around you, an instinctive need to keep you as close as humanly possible. Even now, even after days of struggling to accept the impossible, disbelief still gnawed at him.

How had he become so lucky? How had fate granted him another chance when he'd believed it was truly the end? The girl who had died in his arms, her final breath still haunting him, was now alive and warm against his chest.

It was real, wasn't it?

This couldn't just be an illusion, could it?

But even if it was—even if this fleeting perfection was a cruel trick of his desperate mind—he would surrender to it willingly. It was beautiful, painfully beautiful. 

And he would give anything to never wake up.

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