Glance

The car that came for him was sleek and black, polished to a mirror shine. Taehyung sat in the backseat, knees pressed tightly together, hands clutching the sleeves of his too-thin sweater. He hadn’t been able to afford proper formalwear. Just a clean shirt, worn slacks, and the soft scent of lavender soap clinging to his skin from the neighbor’s borrowed shower.

He didn’t belong in that car. And he certainly didn’t belong in the kind of house it pulled up to.

The Jeon estate was less of a house and more of a fortress — towering black gates, manicured trees shaped like artwork, a driveway longer than the street he grew up on. The mansion stood like a monument to power, untouched by time or reality.

Taehyung’s throat tightened.

He stepped out of the car hesitantly, eyes wide. The front door opened before he even reached it.

“Mr. Kim,” a maid said gently. “Mrs. Jeon is waiting inside.”

He nodded, silently following her through the grand hall. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Art on every wall. His footsteps felt too loud. His presence—too small.

Then, the maid stopped at the entrance to a sitting room.

“Wait here,” she said, bowing.

Taehyung took a breath and stepped inside.

Lisa sat elegantly on one end of a cream-colored sofa, legs crossed, her posture graceful and still commanding even in a simple blouse. She smiled when she saw him.

“I’m glad you came, Taehyung,” she said softly.

He bowed quickly. “Thank you for inviting me, ma’am.”

“You look nervous.”

He bit his lip. “I am.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said kindly. “We just want to talk.”

We.

Taehyung’s eyes shifted—

And that’s when he saw him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Standing near the fireplace, hands in his pockets, eyes like cold glass cutting straight through him.

Tall. Powerful. Dressed in black.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared.

Taehyung felt frozen under his gaze.

Soojin smiled and gestured. “My husband. Jungkook.”

Jungkook finally stepped forward, slowly, his eyes never once leaving Taehyung’s face.

He extended a hand. “You’re younger than I expected.”

Taehyung placed his trembling hand into Jungkook’s, eyes downcast. “I… I’m twenty-two, sir.”

Jungkook’s grip was firm, but his voice was calm. Too calm. “You look… fragile.”

Taehyung didn’t know what to say.

Soojin broke the silence. “Taehyung, we asked you here because we’re considering surrogacy. We’d like to ask you some questions. If you’re comfortable.”

Taehyung nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jungkook’s eyes swept over him again — the slender build, pale skin, the soft curve of his neck, the way he stood like he was bracing for pain. There was something delicate about him, something that screamed breakable.

And Jungkook suddenly wanted to own that fragility.

To protect it.

To test it.

Taehyung sat down carefully on the edge of the couch, fingers curling into his lap. Jungkook sat across from him, legs spread, eyes devouring every twitch of his body.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He was just supposed to be a surrogate.

But Jungkook’s thoughts were already drifting elsewhere — dark, possessive, dangerous.

He’s perfect.

And Jungkook had never been a man who let perfection slip through his fingers.

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