Jungkook’s thoughts were a whirlwind as Isabella’s fingers worked their way down his body, teasing and testing him in ways that made his blood boil. He had wanted her—desired her in a way that he’d never wanted anyone before. Her power, her presence, her beauty, everything about Isabella drew him in like a moth to a flame. But this—this was definitely not what he had imagined. She wasn’t yielding to him as he had dreamed. Instead, she was the one with all the control, and he found himself bound and powerless.

He clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing as her hand continued to stroke him intimately, eliciting responses from his body that were completely beyond his control. The room felt hot, stifling, the air thick with tension. Jungkook’s mind screamed at him to resist, to fight back, but his body—traitorous and overwhelmed by her touch—was giving in to her every whim.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was Jungkook—the feared mafia leader who could bring entire empires to their knees with a single command. He wasn’t supposed to be at the mercy of anyone, especially not a woman who had been his target. Yet, here he was, handcuffed, bound by both the metal around his wrists and the invisible strings of her dominance.

Her touch was torturous, and the tension building within him only made him angrier. His breath came out in sharp, ragged bursts as she continued her slow, deliberate movements, playing with him like he was nothing more than a toy for her amusement. He wanted to tell her to stop, to make her pay for this humiliation, but no words came. Instead, all that escaped his lips were short gasps and the occasional low growl of frustration.

Isabella, meanwhile, looked thoroughly amused by his plight. She had him exactly where she wanted him—on his knees, quite literally, and completely at her mercy. She leaned in close, her breath brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Not what you had in mind, is it?”

Jungkook’s entire body went rigid at her words, his anger flaring once more. His eyes burned with fury as he turned to meet her gaze, but the smirk on her face only deepened, as if she was daring him to fight back. She knew he couldn’t—at least not right now.

Without warning, his body betrayed him. The tension that had been building within him for what felt like an eternity reached its peak, and despite every effort he made to resist, his release came in an explosive, involuntary wave. His entire body trembled as it happened, and he couldn’t stop the low groan that escaped his throat. It was both mortifying and infuriating. He hadn’t wanted this—he hadn’t wanted to give her the satisfaction.

But Isabella didn’t miss a beat. As Jungkook slumped slightly, his body spent from the forced climax, she pulled back, a look of pure satisfaction on her face. She gave him one more teasing stroke before grabbing a tissue from the nearby table and wiping her hands clean, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She wasn’t in any rush, and she seemed to relish in the fact that she had reduced him—Jungkook, the feared mafia leader—to this.

Jungkook glared at her, his fury palpable. His chest heaved as he struggled to regain control of his breathing, his body still trembling from the aftershocks. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off her face, to turn the tables and make her pay for what she had just done to him. But he was still cuffed, still bound, and there was nothing he could do.

Isabella, however, didn’t seem the least bit concerned by his anger. In fact, it only seemed to amuse her more. She tossed the tissue aside and straightened up, her hands resting on her hips as she gazed down at him with that same infuriating smirk. “I have to admit,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery, “I didn’t expect you to give in so easily. You really are just a man, after all.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, and he fixed her with a glare that would have sent most people running for their lives. But Isabella didn’t flinch. If anything, his anger seemed to excite her. She stepped closer again, leaning down so that their faces were inches apart.

“You look so cute when you’re mad,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing. Her hand came up to brush against his cheek, her fingers trailing down to his jaw. “But here’s the thing, Jungkook—you’re mine now. And I think I’m going to keep you.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed dangerously at her words. “You think I’m just going to let you get away with this?” he growled, his voice rough and filled with barely-contained rage.

Isabella’s lips curled into a sly smile, and she tilted her head as if considering his question. “Oh, I don’t think you have much of a choice, darling,” she purred. “After all, you’re in no position to argue, are you?”

Her words stung, but there was truth in them. Jungkook was completely at her mercy right now, and it was a position he had never found himself in before. He hated it—hated the powerlessness, the humiliation. But more than that, he hated the way his body had reacted to her. Even now, as she stood over him, her words taunting and teasing, a part of him was still drawn to her.

Isabella’s hand slid down his chest again, her touch sending unwanted shivers through him. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. After all, you’re going to be my plaything for a while.”

Jungkook’s entire body tensed at her words, and he fought the urge to lash out, to break free of the cuffs and put an end to this once and for all. But he knew that wouldn’t work. Isabella had planned this—she had outsmarted him, just as she always did. And now, he was at her mercy.

But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let her have the last word. He might be down now, but Jungkook wasn’t the type to stay down for long. He would find a way out of this—he always did. And when he did, Isabella would pay for every second of this humiliation.

Isabella must have sensed the shift in his demeanor because she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I see that look in your eyes,” she said with a laugh. “You’re already planning your revenge, aren’t you? Well, good luck with that.”

With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, her hips swaying seductively as she moved. Jungkook’s eyes followed her every step, his mind already racing with plans for how to turn the tables on her. He wasn’t going to let her win. Not like this.

Just before she reached the door, Isabella paused and looked over her shoulder, giving him one last smirk. “By the way,” she said, her voice filled with amusement, “I hope you’re comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

And with that, she disappeared, leaving Jungkook alone in the room, still bound to the chair, still seething with anger—and still determined to make her pay.

As the door clicked shut, Jungkook took a deep breath, his mind settling into a cold, focused state. He might have lost this round, but the game was far from over. Isabella had made a mistake by underestimating him, and he was going to make sure she regretted it.

Because one thing was for certain: no one—no matter how powerful—humiliated Jungkook and got away with it.