The courtroom smelled faintly of old wood and coffee. The winter sunlight filtered through tall windows, spilling across the polished table like a quiet spotlight on the final act of a play.

Taehyung sat at one end, his posture perfectly straight, his expression unreadable. His suit was cream-colored, soft against his honey skin — the exact shade Jungkook remembered tracing with his fingertips on quieter nights.

He ignored the memory.

On the table before them lay a neat stack of papers, each page stamped and waiting. The very last sheet sat on top, its crisp corner curling slightly as if even it wanted to be free from this room.

Taehyung’s pen hovered above the bottom line. His signature at the top was flawless — steady, elegant — the way Taehyung did everything. But now, his hand lingered. Almost hesitating.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. His black suit clung to him like second skin, the tie knotted just so. He looked every inch the man who had already moved on.

“You look happy,” Taehyung said at last, voice calm, eyes still on the paper.

Jungkook smirked, the curve of his lips sharp. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m free.”

Taehyung’s pen twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Free from a husband who never cheated?”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Jungkook. He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “Never cheated? You think you’re that innocent?” He tilted his head, eyes darkening just enough to make it dangerous. “Please. I cheated more than you.”

The pen stopped. Taehyung finally raised his gaze, meeting Jungkook’s with a look that could have frozen glass. “More than me?” His lips curved into a humorless smile. “That’s cute. I cheated twice as much as you ever could.”

From the side, their lawyer — a middle-aged man who had clearly seen more than his share of ugly endings — cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, this is a divorce proceeding, not a—”

“It’s always been a competition,” Jungkook interrupted smoothly, his eyes never leaving Taehyung’s.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them grew heavy, thick with the ghosts of old fights and older kisses.

Flashback — Three Years Ago

It had been raining that night. Jungkook had shown up at Taehyung’s tiny apartment door, soaked to the bone, hair dripping into his eyes. He’d looked ridiculous, standing there with a bouquet of crushed flowers in one hand and an apology he could barely speak.

Taehyung had laughed, pulling him inside, shoving a towel into his hands. “You look like a stray dog,” he’d said.

Jungkook had kissed him before he could say more. And that had been the start — or maybe the mistake — of a marriage that burned too fast.

Back in the courtroom, Taehyung broke the stare first. Without another word, he signed the paper with one clean stroke, the sound of pen against paper louder than it should have been.

He slid the document across the table, the paper whispering as it passed from one set of hands to another.

The lawyer gathered the pages with brisk efficiency. “That’s it, then. You’re both free to go.”

Taehyung stood, adjusting his coat with deliberate calm. He didn’t spare Jungkook a glance as he turned toward the door. His polished shoes clicked softly against the floor, each step carrying him farther from the man who had once been everything.

But as he reached the doorway, his chest ached — sharp, quick — in a way it shouldn’t have.

He told himself it was relief.

Jungkook watched him leave.

The door closed behind Taehyung with a muted thud, but the echo stayed in Jungkook’s head. He leaned back again, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

If Taehyung wanted a game, fine. He’d play.

Because deep down, Jungkook knew one thing — the story between them wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And if he was being honest, he didn’t want it to be.

Outside, the winter air bit against Taehyung’s skin.

He pulled his coat tighter, stepping into the street. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky, melting instantly when they touched the warmth of his hair. His phone buzzed in his pocket — a reminder for a doctor’s appointment later that week.

He deleted the notification without opening it.

Some things… some truths… weren’t ready to be spoken.

The crystal chandelier above the Grand Eden Hotel’s ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, casting a warm glow over silk gowns, tuxedos, and glittering jewelry. The charity gala was in full swing; cameras flashed every few seconds, servers moved with quiet grace, and the air was a polished blend of champagne and expensive perfume.

Taehyung was standing at the foot of the grand staircase where he had made his dazzling entrance minutes ago. A wine-red suit tailored to perfection, a single silver chain at his collar, and that faint smile that wasn’t quite humble enough to be modest yet not arrogant enough to be rude — the perfect balance. And it drove Jeon Jungkook insane.

Not that anyone could tell. The youngest CEO of Jeon Corp, a man whose boardroom glare could freeze competitors mid-sentence, was leaning casually against the marble pillar with a glass of red wine. His expression was polite for the cameras, but his grip on the stem of the glass was just tight enough to make the crystal creak.

“Mr. Kim,” Jungkook said when the host ushered them together for a photograph. His voice was smooth, warm — too warm, like a silk scarf concealing a knife.

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung returned with equal grace, giving a half bow for the benefit of the flashing cameras. His eyes sparkled mischievously, the corner of his lips tilting up. “What a… pleasant surprise.”

“Surprise?” Jungkook murmured, tilting his head slightly as the camera clicked again. “You knew the board would send me.”

“Mm,” Taehyung hummed, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “I just didn’t expect they’d send you personally. Don’t you usually send one of your… ah, assistants to these events?”

The click-click of cameras masked the soft edge in Taehyung’s voice. A few guests whispered nearby, sensing the electric tension but mistaking it for charm.

“I make exceptions,” Jungkook replied, the perfect picture of composure. “Especially for special people.”

The photographer thanked them and moved away, leaving them in a polite stand-off by the champagne fountain.

Round One: The Seating War

Dinner was announced, and guests began drifting to their assigned tables. Taehyung took a sip of champagne, glancing at the seating chart by the entrance. His eyes lit up, and that was Jungkook’s first warning sign.

Table Three.

Jungkook’s table.

“Oh, you’re Table Three as well?” Taehyung said innocently as they approached the round table dressed in white linen and gold cutlery.

Jungkook arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you requested this.”

“Request?” Taehyung blinked, feigning surprise. “Of course not. That would be petty.”

The hostess pulled out the chair on Jungkook’s right. “Mr. Kim, you’ll be seated here.”

Which meant Taehyung would be beside him the entire evening.

Jungkook gave a tight smile. “Perfect.”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung said as he sat down, his tone too sweet to be genuine. “I won’t spill wine on your suit. Unless you provoke me.”

It was going to be a long night.

Round Two: The Speech Trap

Midway through the dinner, the host announced a surprise auction to raise funds. Several guests pledged items: a signed violin, an antique painting, a luxury vacation package. Jungkook contributed a rare vintage wine collection from his private cellar.

Then Taehyung stood up.

“I’d like to offer a private business lunch with me at the newly opened rooftop restaurant of Luxe Tower,” he said with a smile that was both charming and smug. “I’ll personally give the winning bidder my professional insights into market expansion.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room. Luxe Tower’s rooftop was notoriously hard to book.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t charity — it was a PR stunt. And judging by the crowd’s reaction, it was working.

When the bidding ended, Taehyung’s lunch sold for nearly double the price of Jungkook’s wine.

“Well,” Taehyung said softly as he returned to his seat, “I suppose some people value conversation more than wine.”

Jungkook leaned closer, his voice low. “Careful, Kim. You might make me think you’re challenging me.”

“Think?” Taehyung smirked. “I’m telling you.”

Round Three: The Spill

After dessert, a server passed behind Jungkook carrying a tray of wine glasses. A guest brushed past too quickly, bumping into the tray.

A glass tipped — straight toward Jungkook.

Reflexes sharp as ever, Taehyung caught the glass before it could ruin Jungkook’s suit. But in doing so, he managed to tilt it just enough that a few drops splashed onto Jungkook’s cuff.

“Oh no,” Taehyung said, wide-eyed in mock horror. “Did I just save you and ruin your sleeve? What a tragedy.”

Jungkook glanced at the tiny stain, then at Taehyung. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” Taehyung handed him a napkin. “Maybe my hands slipped. Or maybe I just wanted to make sure you remembered me tonight.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a glare. “Trust me, Kim. I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Round Four: The Invitation

As the event wound down, guests exchanged goodbyes and last-minute business cards. Jungkook caught Taehyung by the elevator.

“Lunch,” Jungkook said.

Taehyung raised a brow. “Ah, you want to bid for my auction slot? Sorry, it’s already sold.”

“Not that lunch.” Jungkook stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow. My office. 1 PM. Unless you’re afraid I’ll outwit you on my own turf.”

Taehyung’s smile widened. “Your turf? Jungkook, we both know the battlefield is wherever I walk in.”

The elevator doors opened. Taehyung stepped inside, pressing the ‘close’ button slowly, deliberately, as if giving Jungkook the chance to join him.

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Jeon,” he said just as the doors slid shut.

Jungkook stood there, watching the numbers climb, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

The elevator doors slid open with a dignified chime, revealing the top floor of Jeon Enterprises.

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed the glittering city skyline, while the faint hum of the air conditioning gave the place an icy, almost intimidating calm.

Employees lowered their heads respectfully as Taehyung stepped out, his tailored navy suit a sharp contrast against the pristine white marble floors.

“Mr. Kim, the President is expecting you,” Jungkook’s assistant, Park Chul, greeted him with a polite bow.

The man was overly formal, which made Taehyung’s lips twitch.

“Don’t look so stiff, Mr. Park,” Taehyung said with an easy smile, “I’m not here to buy the company… yet.”

The assistant looked momentarily panicked, not sure if it was a joke.

Taehyung smirked to himself — one point to him before the game even started.

Inside the massive office, Jungkook was lounging behind a mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled as if he’d been too busy conquering empires to notice.

On his desk sat a gold nameplate, neat stacks of documents, and… a steaming takeout bag.

“Takeout?” Taehyung arched a brow as he walked in. “Wow. For someone with a net worth in the billions, you really know how to treat a guest.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “It’s imported. Directly from a Michelin-star chef in Paris.”

He finally glanced at him, eyes cool but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And besides… I didn’t invite you here for the food. Sit.”

The chair opposite Jungkook’s desk was plush and ridiculously comfortable, which annoyed Taehyung for some reason. The man probably used psychological warfare via furniture.

Lunch was served on the conference table — lobster rolls, truffle pasta, and a wine so expensive Taehyung was pretty sure it had been aged longer than both of them combined.

“You’re trying to impress me,” Taehyung said casually, twirling the pasta with perfect manners. “It’s not working.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “Not impress. Convince.”

He slid a sleek black folder across the table. Inside was a proposal for a joint luxury real estate project in the city’s prime district. It was bold, ambitious… and would merge their companies in a way that gave Jungkook a dangerous level of influence over Taehyung’s market.

Taehyung closed the folder with a snap. “So this was your real reason for lunch. You want to sink your teeth into my territory.”

“Your territory?” Jungkook’s voice was a velvet drawl. “Cute. But the truth is, Kim, we both know that if we teamed up, we’d crush the competition. We could own this city.”

“Or,” Taehyung said sweetly, “you could own half my company. And I’d rather starve.”

Their banter was sharp, quick — like verbal fencing with each trying to score points.

At one point, Jungkook deliberately placed an allergen-heavy dish in front of him — shrimp dumplings.

“I remember you used to love these,” he said innocently.

Taehyung didn’t blink. “Still do.”

He popped one into his mouth, hiding the fact that his throat prickled. He wasn’t about to give Jungkook the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.

“Careful,” Jungkook murmured, eyes flicking briefly to his neck. “You’ve always been stubborn when you should know better.”

Taehyung’s chopsticks paused for just a second. There was something in Jungkook’s tone — not quite rivalry, not quite concern. But he brushed it off.

After lunch, Jungkook personally walked him to the elevator, much to his assistant’s surprise.

Just before the doors closed, Jungkook pressed a small, elegant black box into Taehyung’s hand.

“What is this?”

“A business courtesy,” Jungkook said, expression unreadable. “You’ll find it useful.”

Taehyung looked down at the box. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a platinum pen engraved with his initials. Practical… but expensive.

He frowned. “You’re not buying me off, Jeon.”

“Of course not,” Jungkook said with that infuriating smirk. “I already own your attention.”

The elevator doors shut, leaving Taehyung staring at the gift, a strange weight settling in his chest.

He told himself it was nothing — just another round in their endless rivalry.

But somewhere, deep down, he felt it again — that faint, inexplicable pull toward the man he was supposed to hate.

Taehyung absentmindedly rubbed his stomach on the ride down.