𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 ||𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅🔞||

C H A P T E R : 8

The sound of footsteps echoed through the spacious halls of the building, each step deliberate, heavy, and calculated. Jungkook didn't glance at the faces that turned to watch him; he didn't acknowledge the whispered conversations or the occasional nod of respect. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind a fortress no one dared to breach.

The world expected perfection from him. And Jungkook delivered. Always.

Stepping into his office, he shut the door with a soft click, his jaw tightening at the sight of another stack of documents waiting on his desk. Financial reports, partnership proposals, and a slew of other matters that required his attention. He tossed his leather jacket onto the chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the tattoos that crawled along his forearms like whispered secrets.

This was his domain-the empire he had built with blood, sweat, and an unrelenting drive that had crushed every obstacle in its path.

But lately, even this sanctuary felt suffocating.

Jungkook sat down, leaning back in his chair as his eyes flicked to the skyline outside. The city stretched endlessly, a maze of lights and chaos that reflected the very core of his life. Yet, in this moment, it felt empty-hollow, even.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his dark hair. His phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification. A board meeting in an hour. Another reminder of the relentless pace he had set for himself.

He should feel pride. Satisfaction. But instead, there was a gnawing void he couldn't quite name.

The scar on his left hand itched-a phantom reminder of a night Jungkook rarely allowed himself to revisit. He clenched his fist, willing the memory away, but it surged forward like a wave crashing against a broken dam.

He was seventeen again, standing in the rain outside his childhood home, the weight of his father's words ringing in his ears.

"You'll never amount to anything if you keep dreaming like this."

The house had been cold, its walls filled with silence sharper than any words. His father had always spoken in ultimatums, never leaving room for mistakes or redemption. And Jungkook, stubborn and defiant, had made a promise to himself that night: I'll prove him wrong. I'll build a life so untouchable, he'll regret ever doubting me.

But now, years later, with success clinging to him like a second skin, Jungkook wondered if the life he had built truly belonged to him-or if it was merely a monument to his father's disapproval.

He reached for the glass of whiskey on his desk, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. The burn was familiar, grounding. It didn't silence the doubts, but it dulled them enough to function.

_________________________________________

Jungkook's phone buzzed again, this time with a name he recognized immediately: Min Yoongi.

He hesitated before answering, his voice clipped and professional. "Hyung."

"Don't 'hyung' me like you're some stranger," Yoongi drawled. "You missed the dinner meeting last night."

"I had work."

"You always have work," Yoongi replied, his tone sharp but not unkind. "You're running yourself into the ground, Jungkook. Take a breath. The world won't collapse if you step back for a second."

Jungkook bristled at the suggestion. "I don't have the luxury of slowing down."

Yoongi sighed on the other end, the sound heavy with something Jungkook couldn't quite place-concern, perhaps, or resignation. "You know, there's more to life than this. Success doesn't mean much if you're too burnt out to enjoy it."