The city was a symphony of chaos—cars honking in synchronized rage, pedestrians weaving like anxious ants, and neon lights flickering above the asphalt-like artificial stars. But above it all, standing like a silent god over its concrete dominion, loomed Eros Corp.

Fifty stories tall and made of black glass, the building seemed to devour the sun. People said no one entered without giving something up—time, pride, soul, or sanity. For most, it was a dream. For him, it was a memory. And today, V was coming home.

Not that anyone would recognize him.

His reflection shimmered on the polished steel of the revolving doors as he stepped through. His boots clicked once on the marble floor—sharp, clean—and suddenly, the noise in the lobby dimmed as if someone had pressed pause on the world.

Heads turned. Phones lowered. Even the massive, scent-controlled security dogs stilled. No alarms rang, but something primal stirred. Not because they knew him. But because they didn’t.

He wore a velvet coat of storm-cloud gray, one side of it embroidered with subtle silver patterns that looked like flames if you stared too long. His shirt was soft, sheer in the light, hinting at the lithe figure beneath. And his face—well, half of it was hidden beneath a golden mask, smooth and expressionless, save for a carved etching of a blooming chrysanthemum at the cheekbone.

The mask’s eyes were dark. But the lips underneath smiled.

And in a building where every omega was registered, every scent tracked, and every emotion suppressed, he was unreadable.

"Sir... name?" the front receptionist stuttered, eyes flicking to the silent security team standing on edge.

“V,” the stranger replied, placing a black leather file on the counter. “I have an appointment with your CEO. Ten sharp.”

“T-Taeh— I mean, Mr. V, I’ll confirm,” she said, stumbling, clearly thrown off by the lack of a surname, no title, no scent. The screen flickered as she typed in haste, hands trembling. Her alpha instincts screamed to either kneel or run.

Instead, she swallowed and clicked. “Y-yes. You’re expected.”

V tilted his head, lips twitching slightly. “I’m always expected. Even when I’m not invited.”

With a curt nod to the frozen guards, he strode toward the elevators. His steps were precise—not the graceful glide of a submissive, nor the imposing stomp of an alpha. Something in between. A predator in disguise. The doors slid shut behind him with a whisper.

Top Floor – Jeon Jungkook’s Office

On the fiftieth floor, silence was king.

Jeon Jungkook stood in front of a wall-length window, watching the pulse of the city like a beast considering its next hunt. Dressed in a perfectly cut black suit, no tie, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, he looked like temptation wrapped in winter. Cold. Untouchable.

His dark eyes stared at nothing. But his mind was already several floors below.

He’d felt it.

Not through scent—he had no use for that.

But through something... deeper. A shift in energy. A soundless static in the air.

It had been years since something made him pause. The world had thrown everything at him—business rivals, assassins, even alphas trying to mark him—and none had shaken him.

Until now.

“Sir,” came his assistant’s voice through the intercom. “He’s here.”

Jungkook turned from the window slowly, his voice calm. “Bring him.”

No surname. No file. No history.

Just “V.”

Jungkook liked mysteries. But he didn’t trust them.

The elevator pinged.

V stepped into Jungkook’s domain like a dream too vivid to forget. His presence was jarring against the polished obsidian of the CEO’s office. The room was minimalist—clean lines, expensive art, walls of dark glass and muted steel. It was beautiful in an empty way.

V smirked.

Of course Jeon Jungkook worked in a fortress that looked like a mausoleum.

"You're punctual," Jungkook said, watching him.

"I aim to impress," V replied, voice smooth as sin.

They studied each other. Two predators pretending to be civil.

Jungkook's gaze sharpened. "You wear a mask."

“So do you,” V said, lifting his chin. “Yours just hides behind a surname.”

"And you have no scent."

V smiled wider. “Would it help if I said I left it in my other coat?”

"That makes you an anomaly," Jungkook murmured, stepping closer. “A blank slate. Unclaimed. Untouched.”

"Unclaimed, yes," V agreed, walking toward the desk with slow confidence. "Untouched? Not quite."

He placed the file on the CEO’s table. “My strategy for absorbing Orbis Tech within four months. Full economic collapse without direct warfare.”

Jungkook didn't open it.

Instead, he walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of cold water. “You're not like most omegas.”

"I'm not like any omegas."

"Why come here? Why now?"

“Because,” V said, turning toward the skyline with a glint in his eye, “your enemies are too stupid to be interesting. And I like watching the intelligent ones suffer slowly.”

Jungkook's smirk was slow, deliberate. “You think you’re dangerous.”

“I know I am.”

Their eyes met. This time, neither blinked.

And in that moment, a silent thread wove between them—curiosity laced with obsession, challenge masked by civility.

Jungkook’s voice was low when he finally said, “Sit, V.”

V glided into the leather chair across from the CEO, crossing one leg over the other.

"Let’s see if your mind is as sharp as your tongue."

V leaned in slightly. “Careful, Mr. Jeon. You just might bleed.”

Jeon Jungkook leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, staring at the figure across from him like he was deciphering an enigma.

V didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. He looked entirely at ease, as if he weren’t seated in the most powerful CEO’s office in Seoul, as if he hadn’t just challenged the unchallengeable.

But Jungkook was no fool.

He didn’t survive the ruthless business world—and the darker undercurrents beneath it—by being easily impressed. He saw behind masks. But this one... this one intrigued him.

No dossier. No scent. No history. And yet—he seemed to fit into the seat of power like it had been sculpted for him.

“What’s your real name?” Jungkook asked after a moment.

V smirked, his eyes glinting beneath the mask. “You can call me V.”

“That’s not a name.”

“It is if I say it is.”

“And your scent?”

V tilted his head. “You’re obsessed with scent. Is it how you validate worth?”

“No,” Jungkook replied coolly. “It’s how I find weaknesses.”

That earned a soft laugh from V. “Then I’m your worst nightmare. I don’t have any.”

Jungkook stood, walking slowly around his desk. He moved like a shadow, soundless, predatory. “Everyone has weaknesses. Even enigmas.”

“Even CEOs,” V said pointedly.

They stood now, barely two feet apart. And it hit them again—that pulse. That invisible pull between them, thick with tension, impossible to ignore.

Alpha. Omega. But reversed. Skewed. Wrong.

Or perhaps… perfectly right.

Jungkook’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Why are you really here?”

V didn’t blink. “Revenge.”

It was a word that slammed into the air like thunder. Cold. Sharp. Ancient.

Jungkook stilled. “Whose?”

“Mine.”

Silence.

Then Jungkook turned slightly, picked up the file V had brought, and flipped it open. Page after page—diagrams, breakdowns, threat maps. The strategies were brilliant. Surgical. Ruthless.

“You’ve done your homework.”

“I always do,” V replied.

“You’re not just targeting Orbis Tech,” Jungkook noted.

“No. I’m targeting the ones who sold me.”

That caught Jungkook off guard.

He looked up. “You were trafficked?”

“I was betrayed.”

A pause. Something unsaid hung in the air.

Then V chuckled bitterly. “You think because I’m an omega, I must’ve been someone’s property, don’t you?”

“I think everyone is someone’s property in this city,” Jungkook answered truthfully. “Even me.”

For a flicker of a second, V’s eyes softened.

Then—“Not me,” he said, voice firm.

Jungkook leaned back against the desk, file still in hand. “You want a seat at my table. Why?”

“Because you’re the only one who won’t try to collar me.”

“And if I try?”

“Then I’ll remind you I bite.”

Jungkook’s lips curled into something close to a grin. “You’ve got spirit.”

“I’ve got vengeance,” V corrected.

Later, in the penthouse lounge of Eros Corp, Jungkook stared out at the skyline while sipping his second drink.

He couldn’t get the masked omega out of his head.

Something about him... felt familiar. Not just his voice or his eyes—though even those tugged at threads Jungkook didn’t know he had. But deeper.

Like déjà vu laced with dread.

“Sir,” his assistant whispered behind him. “Your brother’s company has made a counteroffer. They know you’re about to strike Orbis.”

Jungkook didn’t turn. “Let them.”

“Also, the security logs—V has no scent on file. Not blocked. Not erased. Just... none. It’s like he was never registered in the Omega Registry.”

Jungkook’s glass paused mid-air.

“Find out why,” he said quietly. “And where he came from.”

Meanwhile – V’s Apartment

The mask clinked against the countertop as V removed it carefully, revealing sharp, feline eyes and a soft, haunted beauty underneath.

Kim Taehyung.

A name buried. A past erased.

He stood in front of the mirror, touching the scar behind his ear where the scent gland had once pulsed with omega signals. Gone now. Surgically altered. He was scentless. Hidden. Free.

Almost.

Jungkook’s face flashed in his mind—those piercing eyes, the power humming just beneath his skin, the way he hadn’t flinched when V said revenge.

Taehyung knew Jungkook wasn’t clean. But he needed him.

He needed power to destroy those who had destroyed him.

And Jungkook… might just be the perfect weapon. Or the deadliest distraction.

Flashback – Ten Years Ago

Taehyung was fifteen. Fragile. Beautiful. Unmarked.

He’d been promised to the highest bidder—sold as a luxury omega to a high-ranking politician under the guise of “protective placement.”

He had fought. Screamed. Run.

But no one listened. Omegas were to be tamed. To be claimed.

Until the fire.

Until the night he disappeared.

Until he found him.

Taehyung remembered the hands that carried him. The voice that whispered, “Live.” The man who helped him escape the burning mansion and never gave his name.

But he remembered the eyes.

Dark. Infinite. Sad.

And now—years later—he had looked into those eyes again.

Jungkook.

Back in the present, V looked out of his window, mask resting beside him. The city stretched out beneath his apartment—too wide, too cruel.

He had risen from the ashes.

But if Jungkook remembered him, everything could fall apart.

He touched the scar again and whispered to the night, “Don’t remember me yet, Jungkook. Not until I’m ready.”

The night air was slick with the scent of secrets.

Jungkook stood in the highest room of the Eros Corp tower, glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. The city glittered like a false promise outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything looked beautiful from this height—orderly, golden, quiet. But he knew better.

Below, rot festered in the corners of alleyways, behind pristine doors, and beneath silk bedsheets. He’d lived long enough to know that power was a predator. And somewhere among the wolves that prowled this city… was a ghost with a velvet voice and a masked face.

V.

The name rolled in his mind like a question he couldn’t answer. The omega had invaded his thoughts, not just because of the impossible—scentless, recordless, fearless—but because something about him didn’t match this world. He had walked into Jungkook’s domain like he belonged there.

Like he had always been there.

And yet—he hadn’t.

Or had he?

Jungkook turned toward the screen embedded in the wall. Files. Scans. Surveillance. The AI hadn’t found a single match. Not in national databases. Not in the Omega Registry. Not even black-market archives.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Which meant he had been erased.

And only one kind of person could disappear that perfectly—someone who had been hunted… or someone dangerous enough to become the hunter.

Elsewhere – The Omega Underground

Jimin pressed his back against the brick wall, breath coming in shallow bursts. His blond hair clung to his forehead, soaked in sweat. The scent of aggression lingered in the air—a pack of unmarked alphas had just passed the alley.

“They’re gone,” whispered a voice beside him.

Jimin exhaled and looked over at the one who had saved him—Min Yoongi. Alpha. Infamous. Scarred by too many battles, too many betrayals.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yoongi said, tone flat. “The city isn’t safe for an unclaimed omega.”

“I’m not unclaimed,” Jimin said defiantly. “I just refuse to be marked.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Brave.”

“Stupid,” Jimin corrected with a small smile.

Yoongi looked at him a little longer than necessary. Then he looked away.

“You came for him, didn’t you?”

Jimin nodded.

“Taehyung.”

Yoongi’s eyes hardened. “That name’s supposed to be dead.”

“I know,” Jimin murmured. “But he’s alive. I saw him. At Eros Tower.”

Yoongi didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Jungkook won’t let him go,” he said finally.

“I don’t think Taehyung wants to run anymore,” Jimin whispered. “He’s here for war.”

Back at the Tower – The First Test

V walked through the maze of corridors beneath Eros Corp with elegance that masked danger. Jungkook had summoned him not to the boardroom, but to the underground training floor—known only to a few.

It wasn’t a request. It was a challenge.

As the heavy metal doors opened, V was met with a dozen armed men, all dressed in black combat gear, flanking a vast, dim-lit room.

Jungkook stood in the center, dressed in sleek black, barefoot, eyes glowing with anticipation.

“You’re not just here for business,” he said. “You want to survive in my world? Show me how you fight.”

V pulled off his coat slowly, revealing a lean body wrapped in muscle. Not bulky. Not frail. Every line of him whispered agility.

“You think I’m fragile,” he said softly.

“I think you’re a mystery.”

“And mysteries,” V replied, stepping into the ring, “should never be underestimated.”

The fight was brutal.

Jungkook didn’t hold back.

Neither did V.

Steel clashed with instinct. Kicks, dodges, precise counters. V moved like water—flowing around blows, redirecting force. Jungkook fought with rage wrapped in calculation.

And then—it happened.

A move. A slip. A sound.

V countered one of Jungkook’s strikes with a spin and sweep, and Jungkook landed with a grunt. For a split second, as V hovered over him, panting—Jungkook’s eyes widened.

He saw it.

A scar.

On the inside of V’s left wrist. Small. Crooked. Familiar.

A memory slammed into Jungkook.

Flashback – Eight Years Ago

A fire. Screams. A boy, barely seventeen, coughing in smoke. Jungkook had broken through the mansion’s window, found the small figure curled in the flames.

Blood. Crying. A broken chain on a pale wrist.

He had carried him out. Hidden him. Tended the wounds. Then made him run before the others came.

Jungkook had never asked for his name.

But he remembered the scar.

Back in the ring, Jungkook gripped V’s wrist suddenly, flipping him with force. V’s back slammed into the mat.

“You,” Jungkook said, voice low, raw. “I’ve met you before.”

V stilled.

And for the first time, the mask slipped.

Just a little.

His voice cracked like thunder in a quiet room.

“I remember you too.”

Jungkook’s hand tightened around his wrist. “You were the boy from the fire.”

“And you were the one who told me to run.”

Silence.

Jungkook pulled back. “You changed your face.”

“You changed your heart.”

They stared at each other. And in the tension—familiar and foreign—a thousand unsaid things shimmered.

Pain. Guilt. Recognition.

And something darker.

Attraction laced with resentment. Hunger shadowed by rage.

“You should’ve died,” Jungkook whispered.

“I did,” V said. “And what’s left… came back for vengeance.”