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Location : The Kim Estate

A   U  T   H   O  R '  S      P  O  V

A heavy silence loomed over the grand Kim estate as the first light of dawn barely touched its blackened glass windows. The mansion, a fortress of wealth and secrecy, stood like an untouchable relic of power, concealed behind towering iron gates and a legion of guards who bowed to only one man—Kim Seokjin.

The world knew him as the ruthless third-generation chaebol heir, the CEO of the Kim Empire, and the one who took over after his father’s tragic, yet suspicious, death. Whispers of his cruelty stretched far beyond the boardrooms, murmurs of blood-stained hands and a heartless gaze. Some said he had a taste for destruction. Others believed he had no soul at all.

And yet, in his grand chamber, he slept peacefully—like a king untouched by nightmares, because he was the one who created them.

-----

The world outside was still wrapped in the quiet embrace of dawn, but inside the grand fortress of the Kim Estate, time bowed only to one man. The moment the antique clock struck 6:00 AM, the stillness of the mansion trembled beneath its chimes.

Kim Seokjin’s eyes opened, dark and unreadable, as if pulled from a slumber too deep to be called ordinary. His gaze flickered toward the ceiling, his mind already calculating, strategizing. Unlike most men, he did not wake up sluggish, nor did he need a moment to adjust. He was always in control.

Pushing aside the heavy satin sheets, he sat up, stretching his shoulders slightly before running a hand through his thick, tousled hair. The bedroom around him was nothing short of regal—dark mahogany furniture, a towering bookshelf filled with leather-bound classics, and a fireplace that had long since burned out. On the far wall, an enormous window overlooked the sprawling estate grounds, where carefully manicured gardens lay hidden behind high walls that kept the world at bay.

A sigh left his lips as he rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and precise. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. A predator did not laze about in the comforts of warmth—it commanded the day before it could command him.

He stepped onto the heated marble floors, his feet soundless against the cold expanse. The grand en-suite bathroom was waiting, its polished black interiors gleaming under dim golden lights.

The moment he turned the tap, warm water cascaded down from the rainfall shower, the steam curling around him like a phantom’s embrace. Seokjin stood beneath it, his head tilting back as the droplets streamed over his sharp jawline, tracing the ridges of his toned muscles. His skin, flawless yet marked by faint scars only he remembered, glistened under the dim glow of the vanity lights.

As he ran his fingers through his wet hair, his mind drifted—not to pleasant memories, because he had none—but to calculations, strategies, destruction.

Someone’s life would be ruined today. A business would collapse. A man would beg for mercy and receive none.

And he would be the one pulling the strings.

After his shower, Seokjin stepped into the walk-in closet—a domain of wealth and power.

The air inside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of luxury cologne and polished leather. Rows of custom-tailored suits lined the walls, each one handcrafted by the world’s finest designers.

Armani.
Tom Ford.
Brioni.
Dior.
Gucci .

Every stitch spoke of dominance.

He reached for a Midnight Blue Giorgio Armani three-piece suit, the fabric cool beneath his fingers as he slid into the perfectly tailored ensemble. The silk dress shirt, Deep-red  tie, and silver cufflinks engraved with the Kim family crest completed the image of absolute authority.

Seokjin didn’t just wear power. He was power.

To finalize the look, he clasped his Patek Philippe Grand Complications wristwatch—a symbol of wealth, precision, and control. The platinum dial reflected against his skin as he adjusted it with a single flick of his wrist.

Not a single strand of his dark hair was out of place. Not a single imperfection dared to exist.

He took one last glance in the mirror, his expression as cold as the steel beneath his fingertips.

Flawless. Untouchable. A walking nightmare in a suit.

With that, he turned on his heel and exited the room.

As he descended the grand staircase, the rhythmic click of his leather shoes against the polished floors echoed through the mansion. The hallways were eerily silent, save for the occasional bowing servant who dared not meet his gaze.

The dining hall was a masterpiece of old-money elegance. A long mahogany table, adorned with fine china and silverware that cost more than most people’s annual salaries, stretched across the room. Above, a chandelier of black crystals cast eerie reflections across the walls.

At the far end of the table, a familiar presence sat waiting.

Kim Taehyung.

Unlike Seokjin’s sharp, pristine appearance, Taehyung was the embodiment of controlled chaos. His slightly tousled dark locks, piercing gaze, and the ever-present smirk on his lips made him just as dangerous—though in a different way. Where Seokjin was cold, calculative, and ruthless, Taehyung was unpredictable, a wildfire in human form.

“You’re late,” Taehyung mused, lifting his black coffee to his lips as he observed his cousin’s entrance with mild amusement. “Unusual for someone who claims to control everything.”

Seokjin’s smirk was razor-sharp as he took his seat, picking up his crystal coffee cup with a grace that made even the simplest actions feel like a power move. “And yet, the world still waits for me.”

A chuckle rumbled from Taehyung’s throat. “I assume today will be the same as every other?”

Seokjin took a slow sip, letting the rich aroma fill his senses before placing the cup back down. His fingers tapped idly against the porcelain rim, his expression unreadable.

“Another company falls,” he murmured, voice laced with a chilling finality. “Another empire swallowed whole.”

Taehyung leaned back, stretching lazily. “I wonder how long before there’s nothing left to conquer.”

Seokjin smirked. “There will always be something left to destroy.”

The conversation ended there, yet the air between them remained heavy—two men who understood each other far too well.

Breakfast continued in comfortable silence, the occasional clink of silverware the only sound in the vast dining hall.

But beneath the tranquility lay the quiet storm of a man who owned the world—and yet still craved more.

A morning fit for a tyrant.

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[   T   i   m   e     S    k    i    p  ]

The Kim Empire was not built on trust, nor on the foundations of legacy or honor. It was built on something far more absolute. Fear.

Fear was a language more universal than love, more powerful than loyalty. Fear did not waver, did not betray, did not require affection to remain steadfast. It only required pain.

And Kim Seokjin understood this better than anyone.

He stood before the tinted windows of his office, a god overseeing the empire he had sculpted with his own hands. Below, the city stretched endlessly, its skyscrapers clawing at the heavens. But not a single one stood taller than the Kim Corporation Tower.

Because he made sure of it.

Behind him, the air inside his office was suffocatingly silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of a grand antique clock mounted on the wall. Every sound in this room belonged to him, every breath permitted at his discretion.

His nameplate, engraved in pure gold, gleamed under the dim lighting:

KIM SEOKJIN, CEO

Three simple words that sent shivers down the spines of businessmen, politicians, and criminals alike.

His office was not just a room—it was a throne.

The walls, adorned with dark wood panels, held portraits of past rulers of the Kim dynasty—his father, his grandfather, and every ruthless king before them. But Seokjin had surpassed them all. Where they had ruled with power and diplomacy, he ruled with something far more unshakable. An iron grip wrapped around the city’s throat.

A sharp knock broke the silence.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, revealing his most trusted companion and shadow—Park Jaebeom.

The man stepped inside, his tall frame rigid, exuding discipline and danger. His black suit blended seamlessly with the dark ambiance of the office, but his presence was unmistakable—a wolf among sheep.

“Everything has been taken care of,” Jaebeom reported, his voice even. “The chairman of Han Global has signed the acquisition papers.”

Seokjin smirked, his fingers lazily tapping against the polished black marble desk. “Did he sign it willingly?”

Jaebeom’s lips curled slightly—a ghost of amusement in his otherwise unreadable face. “He signed it after a little… persuasion.”

Persuasion.

A gentle word for what had really happened. For the broken bones, the trembling hands were forced to grip a pen, the quiet sobs of a man who had been powerful until Seokjin decided he wasn’t.

Seokjin leaned back into his chair, the supple Italian leather molding to his frame like a throne designed for a king. His empire had expanded once more. Another company, another CEO reduced to a pathetic, quivering mess.

"Send his family an apology gift," Seokjin said, voice devoid of emotion. "Something expensive enough to make them feel like they mattered, but not enough to let them forget who really holds their leash."

Jaebeom nodded. "Understood."

Seokjin's cold gaze returned to the city skyline, his reflection in the glass sharp, unyielding. A god surveying the mortals below.

They feared him.

And fear was the only thing that had ever kept the world in order.

-----

The day ended with another victory. Another company devoured by his empire. Another man ruined beyond repair.

Returning home, Seokjin loosened his tie, his body humming with satisfaction as he strode toward his private study. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this room was different. Dark. Sinister. It was a sanctuary for his most twisted pleasures.

Deep within the grand Kim estate, beyond the lavish halls adorned with priceless art and suffocating luxury, lay a place unseen by the eyes of the world. A place no servant dared to step into, no visitor could stumble upon.

A place known only to Kim Seokjin.

The Hidden Chamber

The entrance was discreet—tucked away behind the towering bookshelves of his personal library. To an unsuspecting eye, it was merely a wall lined with aged, leather-bound tomes, their spines whispering tales of history and wisdom. But to him, it was a gateway to something far darker.

Seokjin stepped into the dimly lit library, his fingers trailing along the cool mahogany surface of his desk before halting at an ornate bronze statue perched on the far shelf. With a single, deliberate twist of the figure’s head, a soft click echoed through the silence.

The bookshelf shuddered before it began to shift, the weight of its secrets groaning against the hidden mechanisms. And then, as if swallowed by the shadows, a passageway emerged.

A corridor of darkness and despair.

The scent hit first. A damp, acrid mix of blood, sweat, and hopelessness clung to the stale air. It was the unmistakable stench of suffering, a scent Seokjin had long become accustomed to. He descended the narrow staircase with measured steps, each footfall swallowed by the void beneath him.

Then came the whimpers.

Soft. Weak. Pathetic.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy steel door loomed—a barrier between the world above and the horrors lurking beneath it. Seokjin reached into his pocket, retrieving an old brass key, its jagged edges slick with time and use.

With a slow turn, the lock clicked open.

The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing the caged nightmare within.

A girl.

No, this one was merely another fleeting amusement, another plaything crushed beneath the weight of his power.

She huddled in the farthest corner of the small, barren cell, her frail body trembling like a leaf in the winter’s cruel embrace. Skin once soft and supple was now sickly pale, stained with filth and bruises. Her lips were cracked, dry beyond salvation, and her once-bright eyes were nothing more than hollow pits of despair.

She was fading.

And Seokjin enjoyed watching the light go out.

As he stepped forward, the girl flinched violently, her fragile fingers curling into the tattered fabric of her dress. A broken doll discarded by time.

“P-please…” she rasped, voice hoarse from days without water. Her lips barely moved, her breath shallow. “W-water…”

Seokjin’s lips curled into a smirk. Ah. Thirst.

The simplest of needs. The most exquisite form of torture.

With agonizing slowness, he pulled a bottle of clear, cool water from his coat. The liquid sloshed enticingly within the plastic, a cruel promise of relief.

“Thirsty?” he murmured, voice laced with mock sympathy.

He crouched before the cage, just close enough for her to see it, to smell it. Her eyes, dull yet desperate, locked onto the bottle with an intensity that would have been amusing if it weren’t so pitiful.

Seokjin tilted the bottle, letting a few drops slip over the cap and onto the cold cement floor. Just enough for her to taste hope.

The girl weakly stretched out her arms through the rusted iron bars, her thin fingers trembling as they reached toward salvation.

And then—

He poured it all onto the ground.

The water splashed against the concrete, darkening the floor as it was greedily absorbed into the dust.

The girl let out a broken sob, her body lurching forward, desperate, devastated.

Seokjin watched in delight as the realization set in—the cruelty of it, the sheer inhumanity. Her shoulders shook, a pathetic whimper slipping past her lips as her fingers scraped against the wet floor in a feeble attempt to reclaim what was never meant for her.

How fragile.

How weak.

How utterly, utterly entertaining.

With slow precision, Seokjin reached into his pocket once more, retrieving a sleek, black phone. He lifted it, angling the camera towards her as he hit record.

“Desperation looks good on you,” he whispered, his grin widening.

Her suffering was art.

And he?

The artist.

Every broken sob. Every tremor of despair. Every flicker of dying hope.

Captured forever.

A sick grin stretched across his lips.

This was power.

This was his kingdom.

---

As Seokjin exited the chamber, his smirk remained.

Power. Control. The thrill of watching something so delicate shatter beneath his hands—it was intoxicating.

He loosened his cuffs, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, his mind already plotting the next game, the next victim.

Because in the world of Kim Seokjin, mercy did not exist.

And those who crossed his path never escaped unscathed.

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♠️TO BE CONTINUED...... ♠️

And with that, First  chapter of The Tyrant’s Prisoner comes to an end. But this is just the beginning of Seokjin’s twisted reign, the storm before the true darkness unfolds.

What will happen next? What new depths of cruelty will Seokjin sink to? And when fate finally brings Dayeun into his world, will she be able to endure the hell he has prepared for her? Or will she break like all the others before her?

The game has only just begun.

I would love to hear your thoughts, theories, and predictions in the comments! Do you think Dayeun will be able to stand against Seokjin, or will she fall victim to his manipulations? What kind of hidden truths do you think lie in Seokjin’s past? Your feedback keeps this story alive, and I enjoy reading every single comment!

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See you in the next chapter… if you dare.