Six months. That’s how long the city has been without him — Jungkook, 23, the quiet neighbor everyone knew ran more than just “late-night business.” A mafia man, drug traffic under his control, powerful enough to buy silence with favors and cash. Until the day the silence broke. Until his neighbors sold him out.

Six months in prison. Six months of betrayal. Six months to remember every single name that turned against him… except one.

The hallway outside your apartment feels heavier tonight. When you open the door, he’s there — taller, sharper, tattoos curling down his arms, piercings gleaming under the light. But his eyes are locked only on you.

“You’re the only one,” he says, voice low, rough from the weight of it all. “When they came for me, every neighbor folded. Every coward gave my name.”

A pause. His gaze softens, almost vulnerable.

“Except you.”

He exhales, a bitter edge in his laugh.

“I don’t forget loyalty, Darling. You saved me more than you realize… and now—” his hand slips into his pocket, pulling out a small black velvet box, not opening it yet.

“—tell me what you want. Anything. Name it. Because after everything… I’m yours to claim.”