WARNINGS ⚠️

1.THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION ! And advised for adult audience.

2.𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁. 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱.!!!

3.𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁/𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀.!!!

WARNINGS ⚠️

!!IMPORTANT!!

This story is entirely original. Any similarities to other works are coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited and constitutes plagiarism. Respect the author's creativity.

The streets of Florence were alive with opulence. A grand wedding was unfolding at one of Europe's most iconic venues: a centuries-old cathedral that loomed majestically against the starlit sky. Inside, it glimmered with chandeliers of crystal, cascading floral arrangements, and an atmosphere thick with the kind of luxury only the most powerful families in the underworld could afford.

Tonight was the wedding of Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin, a union celebrated with grandeur befitting their status. As Kim Seokjin belonged from a higher lineage of mafia family in Europe under supremacy of Jeon Empire in underworld.

The mafia world was abuzz with the event. Invitations had been sent far and wide, summoning Europe's most influential figures to witness the merging of two powerful factions. Every detail of the evening—from the lavish decor to the finest wines—spoke of wealth and power. But beneath the glittering surface lay the undercurrent of whispered conversations, alliances being strengthened, and enemies watching closely.

As the evening wore on, one figure stood out—not because of his presence, but because of his absence in spirit. Park Jimin... now Jeon Jimin, now the empress of the Jeon empire, was stationed near the perimeter, overseeing the meticulously planned security operation. Outside the cathedral, Jimin stood by one of the security checkpoints, his usual sharp black suit blending seamlessly into the night. His white shirt, crisp and spotless, gave no indication of the turmoil simmering beneath his composed exterior.

Unlike his peers, who had been invited as honored guests, Jimin was here as the head of security. His role was vital—ensuring the safety of the event and the guests. But the subtle sting of exclusion gnawed at him. The huge responsibility scantily on him as usual how it had been always as the most partial member of Jeon mafia the security was always under his control and command.

Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok had all received personal invitations. They were seated among the elite, laughing, drinking, and celebrating with Namjoon and Seokjin. Taehyung, especially, was close to Seokjin and had been warmly embraced upon arrival, his golden suit shimmering as he moved effortlessly among the crowd. As Taehyung and Seokjin even shared family friends relations. While yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon were old friends who graduated from same university.

Jimin, however, had never been close to either Namjoon or Seokjin. Their relationship was one of respect, not familiarity. As the emperor's right hand, Jimin's loyalty was solely to Jeon Jungkook first and foremost. But that loyalty came with sacrifices, and tonight was a stark reminder of them.

As the night wore on, Jimin's focus returned to his duty. His earpiece buzzed with updates from the security team, and he issued commands with precision. Every corner of the venue was monitored, every potential threat neutralized before it could arise.

From his vantage point near the entrance, Jimin's gaze drifted toward the grooms. Namjoon stood tall in an impeccably tailored red blazer, a nod to one of the mafia's oldest traditions: the spouse of a leader must wear red after the wedding. While Jin who was the director of Jeon Corporation was also going to be the next leader of Kim mafia organisation taking after Jin's father, the current leader, under the supremacy of Jeon Mafia Empire

The color was more than symbolic—it represented power, passion, and the blood spilled to secure their empire. Namjoon looked striking, his confident smile lighting up the room as he whispered something to Seokjin, who laughed softly beside him.

Jimin's chest tightened. He glanced down at his own attire: black and white, the same uniform he wore every day. There had been no red for him, no acknowledgment of his new role. Though married to the emperor himself, Jimin had been given no ceremonial attire, no symbolic gesture to mark his position.

He felt the weight of the stares. Whispers followed him wherever he walked.

Clad in a plain black suit with a crisp white shirt, Jimin blended into the shadows, no sign of the traditional red color that marked a spouse's place beside their mafia leader. The glaring omission hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Did you see him?" a woman whispered, her bejeweled hand fluttering to her mouth. "Not a hint of red. Isn't that supposed to symbolize their power as a couple?"

Another man chuckled lowly. "Power? He looks like just another bodyguard. If I hadn't heard the announcement, I wouldn't even know they were married."

A group of sharply dressed men near the bar exchanged knowing looks. "It's almost insulting," one murmured. "Namjoon's wedding has grandeur and spectacle, and here's the emperor's spouse... relegated to doing security work. Imagine the disrespect."

"Maybe it's not disrespect," another replied, his tone laced with mockery. "Maybe the emperor himself doesn't think he's worthy of the title."

"Did you see him? He's not even dressed in red."
"Doesn't look much like a spouse, does he?"
"Maybe the emperor didn't think he deserved it."

Jimin's fists clenched at his sides, his sharp gaze scanning the venue for potential threats, though his mind was elsewhere.

Jimin caught fragments of the conversations as he moved discreetly through the crowd, his earpiece crackling with updates from the security team. He maintained his stoic expression, but every word cut deeper than he cared to admit.

It wasn't just the absence of red—it was the way the stares lingered a moment too long, the way the laughter quieted whenever he walked by.

At one point, he found himself near the edge of the garden, where a small group of older women sipped champagne under a canopy of twinkling lights.

"Such a pity," one of them said, her voice soft but not nearly soft enough. "He's handsome, sure even sexy, but that's not enough for a role like this. An empress is supposed to elevate the emperor, to match his presence. And yet..." She gestured vaguely toward Jimin, her jeweled bracelets catching the light.

"Do you think he chose him out of necessity?" another asked, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "After all, an heir is the priority, isn't it?"

Jimin's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep walking, his steps measured and deliberate.

At one point, Jimin stepped into the shadows of the courtyard to catch his breath. The weight of his position, his exclusion, and the whispers pressed heavily on him.

The cool night air was a temporary balm, but it couldn't soothe the ache in his chest. He thought of the rituals, of Jungkook's cold words and actions. The emperor hadn't spoken to him since the day of their marriage. He hadn't even acknowledged Jimin's presence at the venue tonight.

And then there was the red—the glaring absence of it.

For a brief moment, Jimin's thoughts turned to Jihyun. How would his brother react when he learned about the marriage? Jimin had envisioned telling him with pride, but now, the thought filled him with dread. How could he explain that he was married, but not in love? That he was bound to an emperor who treated him as a tool rather than a partner?

Inside, the wedding was a scene of joy and celebration. Taehyung was engaged in an animated conversation with Seokjin, his deep laughter echoing through the hall. Yoongi sat near the bar, sipping on an aged whiskey, while Hoseok charmed a small group with his easy smile.

Namjoon and Seokjin danced gracefully under the dazzling chandelier, their movements fluid and full of affection. They were the picture of a perfect couple, their bond radiating warmth and love. But amidst the music and laughter, there was one presence noticeably absent. Jeon Jungkook.

From his position near the main entrance, Jimin observed the festivities with an impassive expression. But beneath his cold exterior, he felt the sting of comparison. Namjoon and Seokjin's wedding was everything his own wasn't—grand, joyful, celebrated. Heck ! it wasn't in there. Just signatures on the name of marriage.

For the first time in his life, Jimin felt like an outsider in a world he had devoted himself to. But even as he worked, the whispers followed him, an unrelenting reminder of his place.

By the time the wedding concluded, the cathedral was a sea of laughter and applause. Namjoon and Seokjin departed in a sleek black car, their smiles bright as they waved to the crowd.

Jimin watched from a distance, his posture rigid. As the car disappeared into the night, he couldn't shake the questions swirling in his mind.

What did his future hold? Would he always be a shadow, even in his own marriage? And most pressing of all: Could he endure this life without breaking?

Jeon Jungkook's presence at the reception was as imposing as ever. Dressed in a sleek black suit with subtle gold accents, he stood apart from the crowd, his expression unreadable as he observed the gathering.

Though he was not mingling, his mere presence commanded respect. Conversations hushed when his gaze swept the room, and even the boldest figures avoided meeting his eyes for too long.

But even Jungkook's presence couldn't stop the murmurs about Jimin.

"Look at him," a younger man whispered to his companion. "The emperor's right hand—still just a servant, even after marriage."

"Do you think the emperor regrets it?" the companion asked. "I mean, why else wouldn't he give him the honor of wearing red?"

"Maybe he's saving it for someone else," the first man suggested with a sly grin.

Jimin's wandering thoughts were interrupted when Jungkook approached the edge of the crowd. He stood under the soft glow of a garden lamp, his sharp features accentuated by the golden light.

Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, Jimin thought he saw something in Jungkook's gaze—a flicker of acknowledgment, perhaps, or a subtle shift in his otherwise cold demeanor. But the moment passed, and Jungkook turned away, his focus elsewhere.

By the time the reception began to wind down, Jimin's composure was back in place. The whispers, the stares, the exclusion—they still stung, but he refused to let them break him.

As he walked through the garden, issuing quiet commands to the security team, he reminded himself of the one truth he had always lived by: his worth was not determined by the approval of others.

But as the laughter of the crowd faded into the night, and the weight of the stares lingered like a ghost, Jimin couldn't help but wonder:

How long could he endure being a shadow in a world of light?

The grand ballroom buzzed with life, the warmth of celebration starkly contrasting the cold shadows that clung to Jeon Jungkook's presence. He stood at the edge of the room, an observer rather than a participant, his sharp gaze fixed on the scene before him.

Namjoon and Seokjin stood hand in hand, their radiant smiles lighting up the room as they exchanged vows before the most powerful figures of the underworld. Namjoon, dressed in a striking red suit that symbolized his place as a Jeon, looked every inch the regal figure he once shared with Jungkook.

"By this ring," Namjoon said, sliding the band onto Seokjin's finger, "I promise to protect and cherish you, through every storm and shadow."

Seokjin, tears glistening in his eyes, reciprocated, his voice trembling with emotion. "And with this ring, I vow to stand by you, as your partner, your equal, and your home."

The applause erupted as they leaned in for their first kiss as a married couple. A kiss that spoke of love, trust, and a future free from pain.

Jungkook's chest tightened painfully as he watched the scene unfold. It was a moment he had once dreamed of—standing there with Namjoon, exchanging vows, sharing a kiss filled with love.

But that dream had died long ago, leaving only ashes behind.

The kiss lingered, the cheers and applause echoing in the ballroom, and for the first time in years, Jungkook felt tears almost pricking his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, his jaw clenching so tightly it hurt.

The man they called Lucifer could not afford weakness. Not here, not anywhere.

But inside, a storm raged. The love he had buried, the pain he had locked away—it all came roaring back, raw and unrelenting.

*****

Jungkook retreated to the balcony, the cool night air biting against his skin. He gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles white, as though the cold metal could ground him in the midst of his torment.

"Master!"

The voice was sharp, filled with fury. Jungkook turned slowly, his icy gaze meeting Jimin's fiery one.

Jimin stormed onto the balcony, his chest heaving with anger. His usually composed demeanor was shattered, his eyes wild with rage.

"How dare you?" Jimin spat, his voice trembling with emotion.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow in surprise , his voice cold and measured. "Careful, Jimin. Choose your words wisely."

"You think I care about caution right now?" Jimin snapped, stepping closer. "Jihyun—he's in the hospital! Your fucking men—your damn obsession with control—this is on you!"

Jungkook's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I suggest you watch your accusations."

"I'm done watching, done waiting for you to play god with everyone's lives," Jimin growled. "You think you own me, own everyone. But let me tell you something—"

His words faltered as he caught the faintest flicker of pain in Jungkook's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same cold mask.

Jimin pressed on, his voice shaking with anger and hurt. "You can control your empire, but you'll never control me. And you know why?"

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his tone icy. "Why, Jimin?"

"Because no matter how much power you have, no one truly loves you. Not Namjoon. Not anyone. You're just a hollow shell—Lucifer without a soul. A fucking wrenched monster!"

Finally, Jungkook turned, his cold gaze locking onto Jimin. "Think carefully before you continue. Accusing me without proof could cost you."

Jimin ignored the warning, stepping closer. His chest heaved, his fists clenched at his sides. "It's always you, isn't it? Pulling strings, controlling lives. Who else would it be? You've made me your puppet, and now my brother has to suffer for it?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his expression remaining unreadable. "I told you before, Jimin. I don't make empty threats. If I wanted to harm your brother, you wouldn't need a hospital. You'd need a grave."

The blunt words made Jimin flinch, but his anger flared hotter. "Why? Why do you do this? Why do you destroy everything you touch?"

Jimin's voice cracked, his emotions pouring out like a dam breaking. "You don't just kill people, you kill everything! Love, hope, trust—anything good that tries to survive around you. Look at Namjoon! He had to leave you to be happy. You're poison. That's all you'll ever be."

The words landed like a series of blows, each one cutting deeper than the last. Jungkook's dark eyes flickered, the faintest hint of pain flashing across his face before his mask of cold indifference snapped back into place.

"Stop right there, no more words....." Jungkook's voice was low, trembling with restrained fury.

Jimin wasn't done. His own pain blinded him to the storm building in Jungkook's silence. "I don't care if you're the emperor of the underworld. You think you're invincible, but you're just a hollow shell. No one loves you, no one even can, because there's nothing human left in you to love!"

The words hit like a dagger, sinking deep into wounds Jungkook had thought he'd buried. For a moment, his expression cracked, his jaw tightening as he stared at Jimin.

Jimin stepped back slightly, his chest still heaving with anger, but a flicker of realization crossed his face as he saw the faintest shadow of pain in Jungkook's gaze.

"You..." Jungkook's voice was low, trembling with restrained rage. "You dared enough today."

The air seemed to grow colder, the weight of Jungkook's fury pressing down like a physical force.

"Do you think I need your pity, Jeon Jimin?" he said, his tone sharp enough to cut steel. "Do you think your words hold power over me?"

Jimin faltered, but his anger flared again. "I don't care about your power. You're the one who—"

Jungkook moved in a flash, his hand gripping Jimin's chin firmly, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. "Enough, I don't repeat." he growled, his voice dangerously low.

Jimin froze, his breath hitching as he stared into Jungkook's cold, unrelenting gaze.

"You've crossed a line tonight," Jungkook said, his voice a whisper of thunder.

Jimin's lips parted, but no words came out. The intensity of Jungkook's presence, the sheer weight of his fury, left him momentarily speechless.

For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Jungkook's gaze bored into Jimin, a mix of icy fury and something unspoken, something fragile.

Then, without a word, Jungkook turned and walked away.

Jimin stared after him, his chest still heaving, his throat tight with unshed tears. He had expected Jungkook to lash out, to hurl his anger back at him with the same intensity or worst shot him dead or slice away his skin with that sharp edged golden katana. But the sight of Jungkook walking away, his back rigid, his fists clenched, felt worse than any retort.

As the door to the balcony clicked shut behind Jungkook, Jimin's knees buckled slightly, and he leaned against the railing for support.

Inside the villa, Jungkook's footsteps echoed down the dimly lit hallway. His face remained emotionless, but his mind was a storm of chaos.

He had endured years of betrayal, of loneliness, of burying every piece of his humanity to survive. But Jimin's words, laced with truth and venom, had struck where no one else dared.

"Poison," Jimin had called him. A word that clung to him now, heavier than any crown or title.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks, his hands trembling slightly before he curled them into fists. The emperor of the underworld did not break. Not for love. Not for pain. And certainly not for words.

But tonight, in the privacy of the shadows, Jeon Jungkook felt the sting of his humanity—the part he had tried so hard to kill—refusing to die.

******

As Jimin leaned against the balcony railing, his heart pounding with residual anger, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, his breath catching when he saw the name on the screen. It was his friend, Hanseol, who had called earlier about Jihyun.

"Hanseol," Jimin answered quickly, his voice tight. "Tell me everything. How's Jihyun?"

"He's fine, hyung," Hanseol replied, relief evident in his tone. "It wasn't a huge accident like we thought. He was in a car race, and he lost control for a moment, but no one got hurt. He's a little shaken up, but he's okay."

Jimin froze, his grip on the phone tightening. "A car race? What the hell was he thinking? Why didn't anyone stop him?"

"We are young, Jimin hyung," Hanseol said gently. "Plus You know how he is. He wanted to prove something to himself, or I guess it was just an adrenaline rush. Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets home safely. And Jihyun is worried that why are you not calling him hyung ?"

"I will call him later, I'm just busy with work tell him to take care and warn him not to do anything stupid further." Jimin quickly says as he hunts up the call.

Jimin exhaled slowly, his body sagging against the cold metal railing. The weight of his earlier outburst hit him like a tidal wave.

Jimin sat in his dimly lit room, the silence pressing in around him like a suffocating shroud. Hanseol's words echoed in his mind, but the relief they should have brought was buried beneath an avalanche of guilt.

It wasn't an accident. Jihyun wasn't harmed. Jungkook had nothing to do with it.

Jimin exhaled shakily, his head falling into his hands. He could still see the flicker of hurt in Jungkook's eyes as he lashed out at him earlier. It wasn't easy to pierce the armor of Jeon Jungkook, the man who ruled the underworld with an iron fist, but Jimin's words had done just that.

"You're poison. That's all you'll ever be."

The phrase churned in his stomach, bitter and cutting. He knew better than anyone that Jungkook prided himself on control, on being untouchable. But beneath that cold exterior lay a man who had once loved deeply—a man who had been betrayed by the very person he trusted most.

And Jimin had just poured salt into that unhealed wound.

As the call ended, Jimin's mind replayed his harsh words to Jungkook on a cruel loop. He had accused the emperor of harming his brother, of being a monster who destroyed everything in his path. And yet, the truth was far from what he had believed.

Jimin's chest tightened with regret. He knew better than anyone the kind of man Jeon Jungkook was—calculating, ruthless, and cold. But he was not careless. If Jungkook had wanted to harm Jihyun, he wouldn't have left room for ambiguity.

The memory of Jungkook's expression flashed in Jimin's mind: the barely concealed pain in his eyes, the subtle tremor in his voice when he had warned Jimin to think carefully before speaking.

"I hurt him," Jimin whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.

For the first time in years, guilt gnawed at Jimin's hardened heart. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had always been a man of reason, but tonight he had let his emotions take control, lashing out at the one person who had never wavered in their bond.

Jimin paced the length of the balcony, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He thought of Jihyun, his little brother who had been his anchor in a sea of chaos. Jihyun's reckless actions had sent Jimin into a spiral of fear and panic, but they were born out of youth and inexperience—not the malice he had accused Jungkook of.

And then there was Jungkook, the man who had built an empire on blood and power, yet had always treated Jimin with a certain level of respect and trust. Even after their forced marriage, Jungkook had allowed Jimin his autonomy, never demanding more than what was necessary for their roles.

Yet tonight, Jimin had crossed a line. He had struck at the heart of Jungkook's pride, his pain, and his guarded emotions.

"Why did I say those worse things?" Jimin muttered, his voice filled with self-reproach.

Because you were scared. Because you were hurt. Because you needed someone to blame.

The thoughts echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.

The Jeon Villa was eerily quiet, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Jimin paced his room, his fists clenching and unclenching. He couldn't stop thinking about the emperor's expression—the flash of vulnerability he'd seen before Jungkook masked it with his usual icy indifference.

Jimin was no stranger to Jungkook's wrath. He had seen it unleashed countless times, a devastating storm that left no survivors. Jeon Jungkook didn't forgive. He never had. The very idea of mercy was foreign to him.

And now Jimin had dared to cross him, to accuse him, to strike at the very core of his pride.

A shiver ran down Jimin's spine as he recalled the stories whispered in hushed tones among the mafia's ranks: how Jungkook had once eradicated an entire family for betraying him, how he had left no stone unturned until every trace of their existence had been wiped out.

But this was different, wasn't it?

Jimin wasn't just anyone. He was the right hand of the emperor, his shadow, his husband—at least in name. That bond had to mean something.

Didn't it?

******

Meanwhile, Jungkook sat in his private study, the glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. His customised golden black revolver rested against the chair, a silent reminder of the violence that had built his empire.

He stared at the untouched whiskey on the table, his jaw tightening as Jimin's words echoed in his mind.

Jungkook's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile with moist eyes. There was something infuriating about Jimin's audacity, his refusal to bow even when faced with the full weight of Jungkook's power. But there was also something... admirable about it.

Still, admiration wasn't forgiveness. And Jungkook didn't forgive.

He leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. If Jimin thought he could escape the consequences of his actions, he was mistaken. Jungkook would ensure that Jimin understood the gravity of his words—though not tonight.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the armrest of his chair. He had faced countless betrayals, endured unimaginable losses, and yet Jimin's accusation had cut deeper than any blade.

For years, he had buried his humanity beneath layers of power and fear, convincing himself that he didn't need love or companionship. But tonight, as the memories of Namjoon's kiss and Jimin's harsh words collided, Jungkook felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him like a crushing tide.

The phrase churned in his stomach, bitter and cutting. He knew better than anyone that Jungkook prided himself on control, on being untouchable. But beneath that cold exterior lay a man who had once loved deeply—a man who had been betrayed by the very person he trusted most.

And Jimin had just poured salt into that unhealed wound.

And now Jimin had dared to cross him, to accuse him, to strike at the very core of his pride.

He stared at the untouched whiskey on the table, his jaw tightening as Jimin's words echoed in his mind.

"You destroy everything you touch. You're poison."

The hurt wasn't new; it was a ghost that had haunted him for years. Namjoon's betrayal had carved a wound so deep that even time couldn't heal it. And now, Jimin—his shadow, his right hand—had unknowingly pressed his fingers against that very nerve twisting it.

Jungkook closed his eyes, his fists curling on the armrests of his chair. He was a man who thrived on control, on dominance. But tonight, for the first time in years, he felt the familiar sting of something he couldn't suppress.

Pain; He thought of the countless times he had chosen power over people, ruthlessness over connection. The sacrifices he had made to build his empire. And yet, despite everything, the loneliness gnawed at him, relentless and unyielding.

Jungkook's gaze flickered to the katana, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. He thought of Jimin—of his defiance, his anger, his words.

On the other side in his room, Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly together. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each more damning than the last.

He thought of Jihyun, his reckless little brother who had become his anchor in a world of chaos. And then he thought of Jungkook, the man who had become a storm in his life—a storm he couldn't outrun.

The guilt weighed heavily on his chest, a crushing force that left him gasping for air. He wanted to apologize, to explain, but the thought of facing Jungkook now was terrifying.

What if he had pushed too far?

What if Jungkook never looked at him the same way again?

Jimin buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort to hold himself together. For the first time in years, he felt small, powerless, and disappointed in himself.

To Be Continued...

Share your thoughts guys ? I'm doing my best to give you all depth and details plus interesting writing style.