The Park residence, once filled with warmth and chatter, now echoed with a silence Jimin had grown used to. Curtains were drawn tight against the evening sky, the air thick with dust and unspoken grief.

At the long dining table, numbers flickered on the screen before them, merciless in their precision. Profits dwindling. Branches failing. A line of red that refused to turn black.

“You’ve dug us into a hole, Jimin,” Mr. Park’s voice was steady, but it carried the finality of a gavel. His fingers drummed against the polished wood, each tap a reminder of mistakes too heavy to undo. “And we can’t climb out of it without help.”

Jimin sat straighter, refusing to shrink beneath his father’s gaze. “It was a calculated risk. The market shifted—no one could have predicted—”

“Calculated?” His uncle snapped from the far end, his lips curling. “It was reckless. And now the family name bleeds for it.”

The words stung because they weren’t wrong. Jimin had taken risks—expansions, new ventures—believing he could save what was crumbling. Instead, he had only hastened the fall.

The double doors opened then, without a knock. The butler’s voice trembled as he announced:

“Sir, Mr. Min has arrived. With his secretary.”

The air shifted instantly. Mr. Park straightened, desperation masked behind brittle pride. Jimin’s pulse quickened, though his expression stayed firm.

Two figures entered.

First, Min Yoongi. His presence carried no flourish, yet the room bent subtly around him. A sharp suit, sharper eyes—he moved like gravity itself. Behind him was Kim Seokjin, tall, poised, confidence radiating with every step. If Yoongi was the storm, Seokjin was the lightning that warned of it.

“Mr. Park,” Seokjin greeted smoothly, his voice velvet threaded with steel. “You know why we’re here.”

Jimin’s father stood, bowing slightly. “Of course. Please, sit.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered briefly to Jimin as he sat. Dark, unreadable, unrelenting. Jimin forced himself not to look away.

Seokjin began without ceremony. “The debts. The collapsed branches. The failed expansion. Without intervention, the Park name will not survive the year.”

Jimin bristled. “You don’t need to remind us of what we already know.”

Seokjin’s lips curved faintly, amused. “Reality doesn’t bend for pride, young Park.”

Jimin’s uncle muttered something about ruined futures, but Yoongi’s voice cut through, low and detached

“There’s a way to fix this. A deal.”

Jimin turned to him, his chest tightening. “A deal?”

Seokjin leaned back, eyes glinting. “A marriage. Between you and Mr. Min.”

The word landed like stone. Silence rippled, heavy, suffocating.

Jimin froze, the ground shifting beneath him. His father didn’t. He only nodded faintly, as if he had rehearsed this.

“With Jimin,” Seokjin clarified, gaze deliberately steady, “and Yoongi.”

The world tilted. Jimin rose abruptly, his chair scraping the floor.

“You can’t be serious. Marriage? Like I’m some pawn to be traded off for your convenience?”

“Watch your tone,” his father snapped, though his voice wavered.

Jimin’s chest ached with betrayal. “You knew about this? And you agreed?”

Mr. Park couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s for survival, Jimin. For the company. For us.”

Yoongi’s calm voice slid into the chaos, carrying more weight than a shout.

“You don’t have to like it. But you’ll learn—it’s easier to obey than to fight a storm you can’t control.”

Jimin’s gaze burned into his. His voice was steady, though his blood roared in his ears.

“Then maybe I’d rather drown.”

The words hung between them—daring, reckless. Yoongi’s eyes didn’t waver. And though his face stayed unreadable, something flickered there for the briefest moment. Amusement. Interest.

And perhaps, the faintest spark of anticipation.

Jimin’s footsteps echoed against the polished floors as he stormed out of the dining hall, his chest tightening with every breath. The corridors of the Park residence had never felt so suffocating, every portrait on the walls watching him with quiet judgment.

He shoved his door open and slammed it shut, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. His fists pressed against the wood, knuckles white. His heart wasn’t just breaking—it was raging.

Marriage. To Min Yoongi.

A stranger, bound to him not by choice, but by a contract written in debts and desperation.

His father’s voice echoed in his head: “It’s for survival, Jimin. For the company. For us.”

“For us?” he spat into the silence, bitter laughter spilling from his lips. “Or for you?”

He sank onto the bed, head bowed, but his tears never fell. They burned instead, fueling the storm brewing in his chest.

If his father thought he could hand him over like a pawn, he’d make damn sure he didn’t play like one.

If I’m going to drown, Jimin thought, jaw tightening, then I’ll be the storm that takes them down with me.

The hours dragged. His room became his cocoon, his walls absorbing his silence. His father and stepmother did not disturb him—they knew too well this habit of his, of locking himself away when the world threatened to crush him.

But Beomgyu returned home from college, the weight in the air pressing on him the moment he stepped through the door. After freshening up, he went straight to his brother’s room.

“Hyung? Are you there?” he knocked lightly. No response. He tried again, voice firmer. “Hyung.”

The silence on the other side only deepened his unease. He knew this pattern—Jimin shutting out the world, his silence not weakness but armor.

Beomgyu’s chest tightened. He turned away and found Mrs. Park in the living room, adjusting a vase that didn’t need adjusting.

“Mom, what happened? Why does everything feel… wrong? What happened to hyung?”

Mrs. Park froze. “Oh, Beomgyu, did you freshen up? Let me set dinner—”

“Mom.” His voice cut through, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes flickered with hesitation. She couldn’t bear to tell him outright, knowing his temper, so instead she gave him fragments. “You know the state of the company. Your father… had to make a decision. One that will affect us. And your brother.”

Beomgyu’s fists clenched. He understood enough. His mother was hiding something—but if Jimin wasn’t talking, then he’d wait. Later. Alone.

That night, Jimin’s door finally creaked open. He found his father waiting in the hallway, as though he’d been standing there for hours.

“Jimin,” Mr. Park said quietly.

Jimin’s eyes hardened. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain it away.”

His father’s shoulders sagged. For the first time, he didn’t look like the towering figure Jimin had grown up fearing and admiring in equal measure. He looked… tired. Old.

“It wasn’t just for me,” Mr. Park said, voice rough. “It was the only way to save everything. To save you.”

Jimin laughed, sharp and bitter. “Save me? By selling me?” His gaze cut through him. “You chose survival over me. Fine. But don’t expect me to bow my head and smile.”

His father flinched.

“If this is the path you’ve forced me into,” Jimin went on, voice steady with quiet fury, “I’ll walk it my way. Not yours.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned back into his room and slammed the door.

Later, Beomgyu caught him sitting by the window, staring at the night sky.

“Hyung…” Beomgyu’s voice was soft. “Is it true? Are you—”

“Yes.” Jimin didn’t look at him. “I’m marrying Min Yoongi.”

The name dropped like lead between them. Beomgyu’s face twisted. “That cold bastard from the papers? Hyung, you can’t—”

“I can,” Jimin cut him off. His eyes met his brother’s then, fire burning beneath the calm. “And I will. But don’t mistake that for surrender, Gyu. Some battles aren’t fought with fists—they’re fought with patience. Trust me on this.”

Beomgyu swallowed, seeing not defeat in Jimin’s eyes, but defiance. It terrified him. And yet, he couldn’t help but believe him.

Across the city, Min Yoongi stood in his office, Seoul’s skyline sprawling beneath him like a chessboard. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass—sharp suit, sharper eyes.

On the desk behind him lay a folder with the name Park Jimin embossed across the top. He hadn’t opened it yet. He didn’t need to.

This marriage was not about the boy. It was about strategy. Consolidation. Survival.

Still, whispers of Jimin tugged at his mind—the beauty, the temper, the stubborn streak that clashed with the delicate image of an omega.

Yoongi smirked faintly. “A storm, huh?”

The door opened softly. Seokjin stepped in, a stack of documents in hand. He glanced at the untouched folder before settling beside him.

“You made quite the impression tonight,” Seokjin said, half-amused. “The boy has fire.”

Yoongi didn’t look away from the skyline. “Fire burns out when it has no fuel. He’ll settle.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

A pause. Yoongi finally turned, the shadows cutting sharp lines across his face.

“Then he’ll learn that survival isn’t about wanting,” he said quietly, “it’s about enduring.”

The words lingered, heavy with finality. Yet in the depth of his gaze—hidden even from himself—flickered something unspoken. A glimmer. A warning. Perhaps even… curiosity.

He reached for the switch, plunging the office into darkness. Only the city lights burned on, and with them, the storm he had just dared.

"Jimin, how long will you take? We need to be there by 10" Mr. Park called adjusting the collar of his coat. The Mins had scheduled a dinner to discuss the contract of marriage. The chauffer was waiting at the central gate of the Park mansion.

"By the time you reach the car I'll be there" he heard Jimin’s response and clicked his tongue in disapproval. There had been an omnious silence in the Park mansion ever since the marriage proposal was accepted, the kind that is before arrival of a storm, the kind that brought apprehension in Mr. Park’s thought.

He feared that Jimin’s fiery could burn the Mins' ego and so he was tensed about today's dinner. Though he had explained the whole situation to Jimin and he knew that Jimin was ready to do anything for the family and the business but he was familiar with Jimin’s defiant attitude and how that would affect the Mins.

Mr. Park called him once more before heading to the car. The valet bowed, opened the door, and he slid inside. Nine-ten. His patience wore thin. He raised his wrist again, exhaling when he saw the time slip further away. He was about to send the butler when he saw a figure approach across the drive.

Jimin. Calm, collected, almost radiant. He bowed to the valet with a smile before sliding in beside his father. Mr. Park’s eyes swept over him—and froze.

Mr. Park took a look of Jimin and he could see the happening of what he had feared. The expressions on his face changed to disbelief and Jimin smirked with satisfaction.

Jimin had a silver chain wrapped around his neck perfectly complementing his bare chest through the black suit that glistened in the dim light. His platinum bracelets and round rings finely suiting the diamond studs piercing through his ears. He looked more like storm dressed in silk and steel, his outfit both bold and flawless characterizing his personality.

"You can't be wearing this at out first official meet with Mr. Min" Mr. Park said looking at his bear chest.

Jimin’s smrik grew deeper "Dad, I know what my decisions had cost our business, and I'm taking charge of it but if I'm a pawn" Jimin’s smirk lingered, his voice steady, "then I’ll decide how I look on the board."

Mr. Park’s jaw tightened. "Jimin, this isn’t the time—"

"This is exactly the time," Jimin cut in, gaze steady, not raising his tone but sharp enough to sting. "If the Mins think they’re marrying a weak, obedient omega, they’re wrong. I won’t bow and scrape to fit their image."

"Don’t test them," his father warned, softer this time. "Min Yoongi isn’t the type to forgive defiance. He’ll break you before you even get the chance to resist."

Jimin turned his head then, the faint glow of the streetlamps catching on the studs in his ears. "Then let him try."

The rest of the drive passed in silence, broken only by the hum of the engine. Mr. Park adjusted his cufflinks, restless. Jimin leaned back, eyes half-lidded, repeating to himself what he had decided earlier: If I’m going to drown, I’ll make sure I’m the storm.

The chauffeur slowed as they entered the Mins’ estate. The gates towered like black iron jaws, and the mansion beyond glowed with symmetrical precision. Jimin stepped out first, his chains glinting as though mocking the cold grandeur around them.

Inside, everything was polished—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a long dining table where the Mins already waited.

Seokjin greeted them with polite warmth, his smile easing the edges of tension if only for a moment. Behind him, Yoongi sat, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of wine, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Park," Yoongi said evenly, rising only slightly in acknowledgment. His eyes shifted, resting on Jimin. "And ..Jimin."

Jimin bowed his head, just enough to be formal, then met his gaze directly. "Mr. Min."

It was the barest of greetings, but it carried a weight that no one missed.

They sat. Mr. Park began the usual pleasantries, his voice too quick, too eager. But the conversation soon turned where everyone knew it would—marriage, alliances, contracts.

Yoongi asked, "Do you understand what this union represents, Jimin?"

Jimin’s fork paused against his plate. He glanced at him, then smiled faintly. "Of course. To you, it represents leverage. To me, it represents…a test."

The table stilled. Mr. Park shifted, ready to intervene, but Yoongi spoke before he could. "A test of what?"

Jimin leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest. "Of how long I can sit in a room like this before suffocating."

Seokjin coughed lightly into his napkin, hiding a grin. The older Parks looked horrified. Yoongi, however, only sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving Jimin’s.

Dinner continued, but Jimin refused to shrink. When one of the Mins made a passing remark about “youthful recklessness” in business decisions, Jimin didn’t lower his head—he corrected them, smoothly, listing facts they hadn’t expected him to know. His voice carried confidence, not arrogance, and though Mr. Park fidgeted beside him, he didn’t falter.

Yoongi said little. But behind his silence was something dangerous—attention.

Later, when the formalities had wound down, Jimin slipped away to the terrace, the night air sharp against his skin. He was barely alone for a minute before he heard footsteps.

Yoongi.

He joined him at the railing, no words at first. Just silence stretching between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Finally, Jimin spoke, voice low but unyielding. "You don’t own me. Not now, not ever."

Yoongi turned his head slightly, studying him. His reply was quiet, measured, almost like a knife pressed flat against skin. "Ownership isn’t the point. Endurance is. Let’s see how long you last."

Jimin’s smirk returned, sharper this time. "Long enough to make you regret underestimating me."

For the first time, Yoongi’s lips curved faintly—an echo of interest, not warmth. Then he stepped back, leaving Jimin alone under the cold stars.

Inside, Seokjin intercepted him with a raised brow. "So?"

Yoongi didn’t break stride. "He’s…different."

Seokjin’s grin widened. "Different good, or different trouble?"

Yoongi poured himself another glass, eyes fixed on the dark red liquid. "Both."

Seokjin chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, at least this won’t be boring."

And in another corner of the room, Namjoon watched Seokjin’s laughter with something softer in his eyes, unnoticed by most.

The night had only just begun, but the shape of the storm was clear.