[ complete ] 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅

49. Attacked.

Jungkook's Perspective -

I stirred awake, groaning lightly at the soft pull of the sunset against the blinds. Instinctively, my arm stretched out, moving over the cool sheets. Searching. Reaching.

Empty.

My eyes opened, slowly, just one at first. The spot beside me was vacant-only the crumpled blankets and her faint scent lingered. My brows furrowed. She never left the bed before me. Not unless something was wrong. Not unless she wanted to be away from me.

I sat up, the blanket sliding down my torso, pooling at my waist. A note sat on her pillow, neatly folded.

"Going to meet a friend. I'll be back by 8. Don't worry - love you."
- Y/N

A friend? She barely had any friends here. Not without my approval.

I placed the note back where it was, pressing my thumb into the paper until it crumpled beneath the pressure. Something didn't sit right in my chest. I glanced at the clock. She'd been gone for hours.

Just as I was about to get up, the door creaked open. Footsteps. Slow, hesitant. I turned.

There she was.

She stood at the doorway in a pair of fitted jeans and a black tank top. Her hair was slightly messy, face pale, but still-still she looked like a goddess who'd accidentally fallen into the mortal world. My eyes drank her in.

I smiled and got up, my feet padding over the marble floor as I moved to hug her. "Jagi," I whispered, arms open.

She flinched.

I stopped mid-step. My smile dropped.

"What happened?" I asked, voice low, calm-too calm for the volcano brewing beneath my chest.

"Nothing," she replied, brushing past me like I was a stranger.

My eyes narrowed. That wasn't her voice. That wasn't the girl who clung to me every night, who called me her safe place. That voice was foreign. Empty.

Her eyes-glass-like, rimmed with red. The khol smudged, like the aftermath of crying too hard for too long.

I caught her face in my hands gently, like porcelain. "Did you cry?" I asked softly, brushing the corner of her eye with my thumb.

She looked away and... removed my hand.

Removed my hand.

That was when the pit in my stomach dropped. My girl-mine-was hiding something.

She dropped her satchel on the side table and went into the bathroom without another word. The lock clicked.

I stood there, staring at the closed door like it had just slammed into my soul.

"Y/N," I knocked, voice firmer this time. "Open the door."

No response.

I clenched my jaw and stepped back, running a hand through my hair. Something was wrong. I could feel it. The walls of the room seemed to tighten around me.

My phone buzzed.

Aiden.

I opened the message, and my blood turned to ice.

Photos.

One after another.

Y/N standing next to Officer Min Yoongi. The same man who ruined my family name. The same man who betrayed me to the police and now played the hero. My own fucking half-brother.

My sweet wife, my innocent little dove, was talking to the enemy behind my back.

The screen dimmed, and I caught my reflection on the glass-eyes darker than night, jaw sharp enough to cut, and a smile stretching across my lips. But it wasn't happiness. It was rage. Cold, unshaken, calculated rage.