𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊

23

I had woken up in my bed, so either I sleep walk or Jungkook brought me to my room.

Now I sit perched on a bar stool in the empty kitchen, leisurely eating a bowl of freshly cut fruit. 

The vibrant colors and sweet aromas invigorate my senses, each bite bursting with flavor. T

he quiet hum of the house surrounds me, a fragile, early-morning peace.

Jungkook walks in. 

He stops abruptly at the sight of me, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. My breath catches.

He's devastatingly handsome in a three-piece charcoal gray suit, the crisp fabric molding to his powerful frame, his hair immaculate as always. 

Every movement—controlled, effortless—draws my attention, the flex of his muscles beneath the expensive fabric making it impossible to look away.

"You're up early," he remarks, heading to the fridge.

 He grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with ease. I force myself to look away, returning my focus to my fruit.

"It's seven. I usually wake earlier, but I guess I was tired." He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes sweeping over me.

I had chosen alight dress for the day, as modest as possible with what Cassandra ordered for me. 

His gaze lingers, meeting my eyes before he gives me a small knowing smile.

"Ah, that's right. We have that in common." He reaches into the fridge again, this time pulling out a protein shake and setting it on the counter.

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my fork. "We have quite a few things in common, Jungkook ," I murmur before I can stop myself.

His head tilts slightly. "What's that?" I hesitate again, then shake my head.

"Never mind." His gaze sharpens, but he lets it go.

"Thank you for bringing me to bed last night," I say instead, pushing the conversation in a safer direction.

"I lost track of time while reading." His lips curve into a grin, but his eyes—his eyes remain intense, unreadable.

"Not a problem." The way he says it makes heat creep up my neck. 

Then his gaze shifts, dropping to my bowl.

"You should eat more." Before I can respond, he steps closer, his scent—spice, musk, something inherently him—wrapping around me.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. I

t's brief. Barely there, but my skin burns where his lips touch.

Then, without another word, he strides out of the room, leaving me breathless, sending a spark through me—small, but impossible to ignore. 

I want more.