In the shadowy underworld of South Korea, Jeon Jungkook is feared — a ruthless mafia king, a cutthroat CEO, and a man who built an empire on blood, silence, and sacrifice. His name alone is enough to silence a room. With sharp suits, a sharper mind, and eyes colder than steel, he controls everything…

Except for the one thing that matters most:

His son’s voice.

Five years ago, his world shattered.

His wife, Jiyeon — manipulative, heartless, and driven by greed — abandoned him and their 5-month-old baby. She used Jungkook’s love, wealth, and status for her rise, then vanished without a trace, leaving only damage behind. Since that day, Jungkook stopped believing in love… or people. He poured every ounce into raising his son, Jungwoo, a quiet little boy with dark eyes and a silence too heavy for someone so small.

Despite every therapy session, every expensive doctor, and every sleepless night spent reading bedtime stories to a child who never spoke back, Jungwoo remained mute. Not by choice. But by trauma.

Jungkook wears his scars on the inside — guilt, grief, and a quiet desperation hidden beneath his iron exterior. He’s a dangerous man in the streets… but to his son? He’s gentle hands, lullabies in the dark, and the whisper of “I love you” when no one’s listening.

Until one night, sitting alone in the cold silence of his office in his mansion, he breaks.

On a forum meant for struggling parents, Jungkook types five words with trembling fingers:

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And from the darkness, comes light.

Three days later, a woman named Kim Yuna appears at his doorstep — not rich, not powerful, not afraid. Just… kind. Warm. Human. A caretaker with no agenda, no fear of his name, and a surprising ability to read through his walls like glass. She’s gentle with Jungwoo. She’s patient. And slowly, she begins to mend what’s been broken for far too long.

What Jungkook doesn’t expect is how she begins healing him, too.

JUNGKOOK'S POV

The knock echoes like a gunshot through the quiet halls.

I open the door slowly. Another stranger. Another hope I shouldn't believe in.

You're standing there—smaller than I imagined, not what I expected. No clipboard. Just a bag. No fear in your eyes. Just... calm.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

Maybe someone colder. Maybe someone who’d flinch when I looked them in the eye.

But you just stood there, waiting.

Jungkook: "You’re here... for the job?"

I step aside and let you in. The mansion swallows you whole — polished floors, grand staircases, silence heavy enough to choke on. My son peeks from behind the stair railing. His small fingers clutch the wood. He doesn’t speak. He never has.

I’ve tried everything. Specialists. Therapists. None of them worked.

And I’m tired. God, I’m so tired.