TWISTED LOVE JEON JUNGKOOK X (READER) {Complete}

Jungkook

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and took a leisurely sip before responding. "I'm not sure why you're calling me, Andrew. I'm the COO. You should talk to Jin."

"That's nonsense," Andrew retorted. "You're the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, and everyone knows it."

"Then everyone is mistaken, which wouldn't be the first time," I replied, glancing at my limited edition Patek Philippe watch. "Unfortunately, I have a meditation session soon. Good luck to you. I'm sure you'll have a successful second career as a busker. You played in band in high school, didn't you?"

"Jungkook, please," Andrew's voice turned pleading. "I have a family and kids to support. My oldest daughter is starting college soon. Whatever issue you have with me, don't drag them or my employees into it."

"But I don't have any issues with you, Andrew," I said calmly while taking another sip of coffee. "This is just business."

It still amazed me that people didn't understand that personal appeals had no place in the corporate world. It was survival of the fittest, and I intended to stay on top.

"Jungkook"

I grew tired of hearing my name incessantly - always people asking for time, money, attention or affection. It really was exhausting.

"Goodnight." I hung up before he could make another plea for mercy; there was nothing more pitiful than witnessing a CEO reduced to begging.

The hostile takeover of Gruppmann Enterprises would proceed as planned; it was merely a stepping stone toward bigger ambitions within telecommunications, e-commerce, finance, and energy sectors.

Besides, I knew Andrew wasn't innocent; he had settled multiple sexual harassment cases with his former secretaries out of court.
I blocked Andrew's number for good measure and made a mental note to fire my assistant for letting my personal cell information fall into the hands of someone outside my tightly controlled contacts list. She had already made several mistakes - paperwork errors, appointments scheduled at incorrect times, and missed calls from VIPs. This was the last straw. I had only kept her employed as a favor to her father, a congressman who wanted his daughter to gain "real work experience." However, her experience would end at eight a.m. tomorrow morning.

I would deal with her father later.

As I placed my coffee cup in the sink, silence filled the room. Heading towards the living room, I sank onto the couch and closed my eyes, letting chosen images play through my mind. This was not meditation but rather a unique form of therapy.

October 29, 2006.

My first birthday without parents.

It may sound depressing, but it was merely a part of life.

Birthdays held no meaning for me. They were just dates on a calendar that people celebrated to feel special when, in reality, they weren't extraordinary at all. How could birthdays be unique when everyone had one?

I used to think they meant something special because my parents always went above and beyond. One year they took our entire family and six close friends to Six Flags in New Jersey for hot dogs and roller coasters. Another year they gifted me the latest PlayStation, making me the envy of my class. Despite these grand gestures, some things remained the same each year: The surprise breakfast of blueberry pancakes with hash browns and crispy bacon served in bed by my excited parents and later joined by my sister as soon she could walk.

But now they were gone-no more family trips or special breakfasts in bed nor birthdays that mattered.

My uncle tried his best. He bought me a large chocolate cake and took me to a popular arcade in town.

I sat at a table, staring out the window-thinking, remembering, and analyzing. I hadn't touched any of the arcade games.

"Jungkook, go play," my uncle said. "It's your birthday."
He sat across from me, a powerfully built man with salt and pepper hair and light brown eyes, strikingly similar to my father's. He wasn't handsome, but he was vain, always ensuring his hair was perfectly coiffed and his clothes immaculately pressed. Today, he wore a sharp blue suit that stood out among the sticky children and exhausted, casually dressed parents wandering through the arcade.

I hadn't seen Uncle Jin much before "That Day." He had a falling out with my father when I was seven, and my father never mentioned him again. Nevertheless, Uncle Jin took me in to spare me from the foster system - which was decent of him, I suppose.

"I don't want to play," I rapped my knuckles against the table.

Knock. Knock. Knock. One. Two. Three. Three gunshots. Three bodies collapsing to the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut and used all my strength to push those images out of my mind. They'd return, as they had every day since That Day, but I wouldn't face them in the midst of a musty suburban arcade with cheap blue carpet and water ring stains on the table.

I despised my "gift." But beyond cutting out my brain, there was nothing I could do about it; so I learned to live with it. And one day, I would weaponize it.

"What do you want?" Uncle Jin asked.

I met his gaze, holding it for a few seconds before his eyes dropped.

People never used to do that to me; but ever since my family's murder they behaved differently. When I stared at them, they looked away-not out of pity but fear: some primal impulse within urging them to flee and never look back. It was absurd for adults to fear a twelve-year-old boy like me, but I didn't blame them; they had cause for concern.

Because one day, I would tear the world apart with my bare hands, making it pay for all it had taken from me.

"What I want, Uncle," I said, my voice carrying the unmistakable pitch of a boy yet to hit puberty, "is revenge."

I opened my eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the memory wash over me. That moment marked the discovery of my purpose and I had relived it daily for fourteen years. In the wake of my family's death, I saw several therapists at my uncle's behest, but none made progress and were subsequently replaced.

Each one told me the same thing: that focusing on the past would hinder my healing process, and that I should channel my energy into more constructive endeavors like art or sports.

I told them where they could put their suggestions; those therapists didn't understand. I didn't want to heal - I wanted to burn, bleed, and experience every searing ounce of pain.

And soon enough, whoever caused that pain would experience it too- a thousand times worse.

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