Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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You can’t control the waves, but you can learn how to surf.
Chapter 07: Arrest
The conference hall was still in disarray. Reporters were shouting over one another, camera flashes burst like lightning, and the crowd buzzed with panic and confusion. Yet at the center of it all stood Jeon Jungkook, his pristine white shirt stained with a crimson bloom that spread steadily across his chest. The dagger had missed his heart by inches, but the sharp sting reminded him with every breath how close death had come.
The guards scrambled, barking orders to secure the room and drag the attacker away, but Jungkook barely registered them. His dark eyes were locked on one thing only—the boy who had dared to stab him. Even as Taehyung was wrestled to the ground, wrists pinned and fury blazing in his face, Jungkook’s gaze followed him with unnerving calm.
It wasn’t fear that filled him. It wasn’t even anger. It was something colder, sharper, as though his mind was already calculating, already deciding what to do with the boy who had tried to end him in front of the entire world.
“Sir, are you okay?” one of the security guards stammered, hovering near Jungkook, whose white shirt was stained with a spreading crimson patch.
But Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His hand pressed lightly over the shallow wound, yet his gaze remained fixed—unwavering—on Taehyung. It was as if the chaos around him, the screaming reporters and the frantic guards, didn’t exist.
“Sir?” the guard tried again, worry flickering in his eyes.
Jungkook finally blinked, tore his gaze away, and said in a calm, almost detached tone, “I’m fine. Bring that person to me.”
The guard froze. “Sir?”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His eyes flickered with a sharp, unreadable light as he snapped, “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to bring that person to me.” He stood straight, ignoring the sting in his chest, and walked away, leaving everyone in the room unsettled.
The head of security immediately caught the weight in his tone. He didn’t waste a second before leaning close to the nearest guards, his voice low but firm. “Make sure Mr. Jeon is escorted safely to the car. No one gets near him until he’s treated.” His words were clear for the reporters circling nearby, a reassuring command to protect Jungkook.
But then his eyes slid toward the group of men still holding Taehyung down. His tone shifted, quieter this time, laced with something that made the guards exchange quick glances. “And bring that one outside. Quietly. Don’t cause a scene.”
The phrasing was deliberate. To the reporters still snapping photos and asking frantic questions, it sounded like a standard instruction—removing a dangerous attacker from the floor. But to the trained ears of the guards, the hidden meaning was obvious. Not to the police. Straight to Jungkook.
One of the men gave the barest nod, tightening his grip on Taehyung’s arms. The others quickly understood, forming a wall around the boy to block him from view. It was practiced, efficient—an unspoken choreography designed to make it seem like a routine escort while, in truth, they were spiriting him away.
As Jungkook strode out of the hall, the buzzing chaos of reporters drowned in speculation, no one noticed that Kim Taehyung was not being led toward flashing police lights. Instead, he was being pulled toward the shadows—toward Jungkook himself.
Taehyung almost felt a twisted sense of relief sitting in the back of the black van, wrists cuffed behind him, ankles bound tightly with rope. The dagger hadn’t killed Jungkook, but at least he had pierced his chest, even if just a shallow wound. It wasn’t enough. Not yet. But the fact that his blade had reached him at all brought him the faintest flicker of satisfaction.
The van door slammed shut, sealing him in darkness except for the thin sliver of light that crept in through the front windshield. The air smelled faintly of leather, sweat, and gun oil. Outside, one of Jungkook’s men leaned into the driver’s window.
“Boss told me to bring him straight to him. You know where to go, right?” His voice was sharp, businesslike, though his eyes lingered on Taehyung like he was less than human.
The driver, a stocky man with a scar running down his jawline, smirked. “Yeah, I know the place. But tell me, why the hell would he ask that? I can make things easy right now and dump this bastard in a river.”
“No,” the man outside snapped, his tone darkening. “Don’t touch him. Make sure he arrives alive and in one piece. If you so much as bruise him more than he already is, you’ll be the one the boss gets rid of.” His words carried a weight that silenced the smirk from the driver’s face.
Still, the man couldn’t help but mutter, “This guy put a blade in our boss’s chest. And he’s the one who gets to deal with him? Doesn’t sit right.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” the guard growled, straightening up. His lips curled into a grin as his gaze darted back to Taehyung. “But one thing’s certain—he’ll regret the day he laid a hand on Jeon Jungkook.”
For a moment, their eyes locked. The man’s grin widened as he leaned close, his breath hot and foul against Taehyung’s face. “Oi. Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to put a bullet right between your eyes.” With a sharp, mocking laugh, he slammed the butt of his gun against Taehyung’s temple.
The blow snapped his head sideways, pain radiating through his skull. But Taehyung didn’t flinch. His expression stayed cold, his eyes devoid of fear. He gave the man nothing—no reaction, no satisfaction.
“Hey!” the driver barked, scowling. “You just said not to lay a hand on him, and now you’re the first to hit him? You want the boss to gut you instead?”
The man outside clicked his tongue in annoyance, stepping back from the van with a sharp glare. “Tsk. Just go. Before I really lose it and end him myself.”
The driver grumbled but started the engine, the low growl filling the tense silence. The van pulled away, tires crunching against the pavement, carrying Taehyung deeper into the unknown.
Bound and bruised, Taehyung slowly lifted his head, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. They hadn’t noticed. Hidden inside his hoodie pocket, small and discreet, his phone had been recording the entire exchange—the threats, the orders, the mention of Jungkook. Evidence. Proof.
They thought they had broken him. They thought dragging him into Jungkook’s den would crush him. But instead, every word they had spoken was now his weapon. His chance to expose Jungkook as something more than the world’s “perfect CEO.”
The ropes burned against his skin, the cuffs cut into his wrists, but Taehyung didn’t care. His rage and grief burned hotter than the pain. This is just the beginning, he told himself, eyes narrowing as the city lights flickered past the tinted glass.
They wanted him silent. Instead, he was going to make Jungkook’s world bleed.
