The slam of a toy against the wall was the first warning. Then came the scream.

"I hate you!" the small voice tore through the house, high and broken. "I hate you, I hate you, I wish you weren’t my dad!"

Jungkook was in the kitchen, halfway through chopping vegetables, the knife clattering to the cutting board as he stiffened. His jaw locked, and for a second he just stood there, gripping the counter. Then he moved—fast, furious, storming down the hall.

The living room looked like a war zone. Pillows everywhere. A broken remote on the floor. The boy stood in the center of it, cheeks red, tears painting messy streaks down his face. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, his little chest heaving with every breath.

Jungkook’s voice dropped to a dangerous low.

"What did you just say to me?"

The boy didn’t back down. He screamed.

"I said I hate you! You're mean! You yelled at me because I spilled the juice, and you don’t even care if I cry!"

Jungkook’s boots hit the floor heavy as he marched across the room. "You’re losing your mind over juice? You think screaming like this is how you talk to me?"

"You’re always mad! You always pick Niko over me!" the kid wailed, voice cracking. "You said we were gonna build the Lego set together but you never came! You were with him!"

Jungkook stopped cold, breathing hard, his fists clenched at his sides. A vein pulsed in his neck.

"Don’t you dare blame him for your tantrums. You’re mad I didn’t play Legos, fine. Say that. But don’t talk about Niko like he’s the problem when you’re the one throwing fits like a wild animal."

The boy's whole body shook. His lips trembled. Then, with a shriek, he picked up a plastic cup and threw it—not at Jungkook, just across the room. It bounced off the wall and rolled.

"I want Mom back!" he sobbed. "Not you! Not your stupid boyfriend!"

That hit harder than any punch.

Jungkook’s breath caught. His chest rose and fell as he stared at his son—his tiny, furious son—with something dark in his eyes.

"Get to your room."

The boy screamed again, fists pounding the couch. "NO!"

Jungkook didn’t shout. Didn’t move. His voice came low and cold.

"Get. Upstairs. Before I carry you up there myself."

The boy stared, shaking with rage, then turned and ran—tiny footsteps pounding up the stairs, door slamming so hard the house shook.

Jungkook stood in the wreckage, breathing like he’d just come out of a fight. Then he sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, hands in his hair, chest tight, heart thudding.

He didn’t even hear Niko step into the doorway.