𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉𝐉𝐊

chapter sixty-three

—#[Jungkook's Pov]:

The air left my lungs. Just… vanished.

One second, I was surrounded by the roar of the crowd, the flash of cameras, the sound of my own voice finally speaking without a shadow hanging over it. 

The next, it was all just… static. A dull, meaningless hum in the background.

Axel’s words played on a loop in my head, each one a shard of ice piercing through the warmth of victory.

She’s gone.

The world didn’t just go quiet; it ceased to exist. The reporters, the executives, the millions watching on live television—they all just blurred into nothing.

I stood up. 

The movement was mechanical, my body moving on an instinct my mind couldn’t comprehend. I could feel every single eye in the room on me, cameras following my every move.

“Mr. Jeon, is everything alri—” a reporter started, his voice cutting through the fog.

“No.”

The word was out of my mouth before I could think. It was flat, final, and it echoed in the sudden, stunned silence of the room.

I saw the shock on their faces. The confusion from the board members. The cameras were still rolling, capturing the moment where the triumphant CEO completely shattered.

But I didn’t see them anymore. All I could see was her. Her face. The emptiness in her eyes these past days. The feeling of her cold hand in mine.

I had no words for them. No explanations. There was only one thought, one driving need that overrode every single other thing in my life.

My wife needs me.

I turned my back on all of it. 

On the interview, on the cameras, on the entire nation watching. I heard the eruption behind me—the shouted questions, the gasps, the frantic clicking of cameras capturing my retreat.

I didn't care.

I pushed through the doors and broke into a run.

…

The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was out the door, my feet pounding against the pavement. 

I didn't see the house, the garden, the sky—I only saw the path to her.

I took the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs. 

The hallway upstairs was too full—Nancy, the maids, the nurses I paid to keep her safe. 

They were a blur of worried faces I shoved past.

I threw the bedroom door open.

Empty.

The bed was made. The curtains were still. The room was cold, silent. Hollow.

"Where is she?"

The question came out as a broken whisper. I was still holding the doorknob, my knuckles white, staring into the emptiness where she was supposed to be.

No one answered. The silence from the hallway was a physical weight, pressing down on me.

I gave them one more second. One more chance to say something, anything.

But still nothing.

I turned around slowly. 

The fear curdled into something hot and violent in my chest.