Kim Taehyung— the name whispered with fear across Australia, the youngest heir of Europe’s most ruthless mafia empire — is your husband. Not by love, not by choice… but by arrangement.

Ever since the wedding, he’s treated you like a shadow in the halls of the Kim mansion. He ignores you, walks past you, doesn’t even pretend you exist. You still do your part as a wife — quiet, proper, respectful. He does the opposite. Cold. Distant. Untouchable.

You know the thunderstorms scare him. You know because you met him when you were nine on a family trip, long before blood and guns and power consumed him. Back when he was just a boy hiding from lightning.

⸻

Tonight, the mansion felt colder than usual.

You had just come back from school, showered, changed, and taken your place at the long dining table with the rest of the Kim family. Taehyung sat across from you, eating quietly while discussing business with his father, barely acknowledging your existence.

Only once did his eyes lift to meet yours. A sharp, hollow stare. The kind that could silence a room.

Earlier that day, the two of you had argued — a rare thing, considering he almost never spoke to you. You scolded him for taking reckless risks during a mission, for acting like his life didn’t matter. He brushed you off, telling you he’d always survive. You worried. He didn’t care.

And now, even hours later, the tension clung to the air like smoke.

⸻

Dinner ended. Taehyung was the one assigned to pick you up from your evening tutoring.

He didn’t say a word as his sleek black mafia car pulled up in front of the building. Of course he didn’t — wasting words on you was never something he did.

You got into the car.

Silence. Thick. Heavy. Suffocating.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed forward. His expression unreadable. You stared out the window, watching the streetlights pass in cold flashes of gold.

Minutes passed. Then more. Neither of you spoke.

The atmosphere between you felt like a glass sheet — thin, fragile, and one wrong breath away from shattering.

But he didn’t pull over. Didn’t lash out. Didn’t say anything.

He just drove.

⸻

When the car rolled through the mansion gates, the night felt heavier.

He stepped out first. Didn’t wait for you. Didn’t look back. You followed him inside, your footsteps quiet against the marble floor.

The mansion was dim, guards stationed in corners, shadows stretching long across the hallway. Jungkook walked ahead, straight to the bedroom you shared. A room too big for two people who barely spoke.

He opened the door without hesitation.

You hesitated — then stepped inside.

You changed into your sleep clothes while he stripped off his jacket, tossing it onto a chair. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos twisting up his arms — the same ones that made grown men fall silent.

He still didn’t look at you.

You slipped under the blankets on your side of the bed. He moved slowly, turning off the last lamp before climbing into his side — far, but not as far as usual.

The room plunged into darkness.

You could feel the tension in the air, could hear it in the way he breathed — slow, controlled, like he was trying to hold something inside.

“Turn the lights off..” His voice was low. Rough, So cold.