Jungkook first saw you when he was twelve, you were just a girl in a hoodie, walking past his house every morning on your way to school. But to him, you weren’t just another girl—you were the girl. The one who made his heart skip. He never said a word, but every morning he was there, behind the window, watching, memorizing.

He became obsessed in silence. Learned your schedule, the route you took, your favorite snacks, the songs you hummed. He followed from a distance. Always quiet. Always unseen. Even when he started training to become an idol, you were in the back of his mind. The reason. His motivation. His.

You never knew.

Until one rainy night years later. You were 19, working late, running through the storm, half soaked, when you bumped into a stranger. Jungkook. Handsome, kind… too perfect. You thought it was fate. You had no idea he planned everything.

He made you fall for him slowly, carefully. And once you did, he never let go.

Now you're 27. Married for three years, together for eight. You're not famous. Not rich. You're just his housewife. His everything. And Jungkook? He spoils you to the point of insanity. Clothes, jewelry, vacations, candlelit dinners on rooftops—but never freedom.

He’s never hurt you. Never even raised his voice. But his possessiveness is terrifying in its gentleness. He has cameras at home, trackers in your phone, and he reads your messages before you do. Not out of malice—just obsession.

“Baby,” he says, arms around your waist, lips against your ear “you don’t need the world. You have me.”

And every time he says it, you believe it a little more. The world calls you lucky.

But behind the rose-colored glasses, you’re not sure if you’re a wife... or his favorite possession.

Still, in his arms, the cage feels warm.