Chapter 2: Golden Chains

Morning came without warmth. Seoul’s skyline bled grey against the frost-bitten windows, and inside the suite, the silence was as sharp as glass. The first thing Taehyung noticed when he opened his eyes wasn’t the silk sheets or the unfamiliar ceiling. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that vibrated with unspoken threats.

He rose slowly, body stiff, mind clearer than expected. Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. His side of the bed was untouched, the couch undisturbed. Only a note sat on the nightstand: “Don’t leave the room. – J.”

Taehyung scoffed, crumpling the paper. He went to the en-suite bathroom, splashed his face, and stared into the mirror. The man staring back wasn’t a prince anymore. There was still beauty—bone structure like it was carved by artful gods—but his eyes had changed. Sharp, defensive. Tired.

After showering, he dressed in the clothes laid out for him—black turtleneck, fitted pants, and a collar.

A collar.

Not just a fashion statement. A message. Property.

He touched the leather, then let his fingers drop. He would wear it. For now.

When Jungkook returned, it was late morning. He entered with the sound of heavy boots and the scent of blood and bergamot trailing behind him. A blade still hung on his hip. His black shirt was splattered—just enough to send a message.

“You went killing before breakfast?” Taehyung said, voice dry.

Jungkook looked at him, eyes unreadable. “Business.”

Taehyung sat on the arm of the couch, arms crossed. “Did I behave well while you were gone, Master?”

Jungkook flinched. It was almost imperceptible, but Taehyung caught it.

“Don’t test me today,” Jungkook warned, loosening the strap on his wrist holster. “You’ll find me less merciful than last night.”

“I’ve never mistaken you for being merciful.”

Breakfast was served on a mahogany table in the corner—fruit, bread, eggs, smoked meat. Taehyung ate quietly. Jungkook didn’t.

He watched.

Every sip of juice. Every slow chew. Like he was memorizing Taehyung’s habits for strategic advantage.

Finally, Taehyung looked up. “You think watching me will tell you how to control me?”

Jungkook’s smirk was humorless. “I already control you. You’re here, wearing my clothes. In my bed.”

Taehyung set down his fork. “Ownership is not control. You can chain a man’s body and still lose his soul.”

“And are you so certain yours isn’t already mine?”

Taehyung stood. “You’ll never break me, Jungkook. You might bend me. Burn me. But break me? You’ll have to kill me first.”

A pause. Then Jungkook stood too, slow and lethal. “I don’t want to kill you, Tae. I want to keep you. That’s worse.”

The words chilled the room.

That afternoon, Taehyung was shown the estate. A fortress hidden in the folds of Gangnam, guarded by walls and steel and men with soulless eyes. Surveillance in every hallway. Rooms filled with secrets.

“You’ll stay here,” Jungkook said, leading him to a library lined with rare books and hidden liquor cabinets. “You can read. Drink. Do what you want—except leave.”

“Generous of you,” Taehyung muttered.

“I’m not cruel. Just cautious.”

Taehyung turned to him, eyes sharp. “Then stop playing games. Tell me what you really want.”

Jungkook stepped closer. “I want revenge. On your father. On the syndicate that betrayed me. And I want you—to remember who I was… and see what I’ve become.”

Taehyung’s throat tightened. “You’re not that boy anymore.”

“No. And neither are you.”

Night fell again. And with it came chaos.

A call. An emergency.

One of Jungkook’s lieutenants had been ambushed. A rival faction. Blood. Guns. Screams over the line.

Jungkook barked orders, gathered his men. He moved like a storm—precise, furious. But before he left, he returned to the suite. Taehyung was at the window, watching the city blink.

“I’m going out,” Jungkook said.

Taehyung didn’t turn. “Be careful.”

It was instinctive. Honest. And it stunned them both.

Jungkook hesitated, then walked over. He cupped Taehyung’s face, not roughly, not gently. Just… touch.

“Don’t disappear,” he said.

“I couldn’t even if I tried.”

Hours passed. Taehyung sat in the dark, thinking. Remembering. Wondering what kind of man Jungkook had become—and what kind of man he would need to be to survive him.

The door creaked open near dawn.

Jungkook returned, blood on his shirt, knuckles bruised. He looked like a painting of violence. And exhaustion.

Taehyung rose. Without thinking, he moved forward. Touched Jungkook’s face. “You’re hurt.”

Jungkook leaned into the touch. Just a moment.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Liar.”

Jungkook pulled him in suddenly—one arm around Taehyung’s waist, the other behind his neck. Their bodies collided, heat against heat.

And then he kissed him.

Fierce. Desperate. Regretful.

Taehyung didn’t push him away.

Not yet.

Later, as they lay in silence, breaths still erratic, Taehyung whispered, “Why did you kiss me?”