♠️🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹♠️

♠️🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹♠️

Location: Kim Mansion, Late Night

A  U  T  H  O   R  'S     P   O   V

The grand mansion was silent, save for the occasional rustle of the wind against the towering windows. The moon hung high, casting a pale glow over the dimly lit room where Layla stood, brushing out the knots in her long hair. She let out a tired sigh, exhaustion settling into her bones after a long day.

Between the unexpected visit of the so-called ‘Godfathers’ and her mischievous prank that backfired, Layla was drained. The day had been suffocating, filled with too many expectations and veiled threats lurking in the air.

She slipped into the satin sheets of her bed, pulling the comforter over her legs, eager to drift into sleep and escape the overwhelming presence of those men who called themselves her caretakers.

Just as her mind began to relax, the door creaked open.

Her eyes snapped open.

The dim hallway light outlined a tall silhouette standing at the threshold. The faint golden glow highlighted the broad shoulders and sharp features of the man who stepped inside.

Kim Seokjin.

His presence was effortless yet suffocating, the air in the room shifting as he entered with an amused grin. The sight of him alone made Layla groan internally. She rolled her eyes before pushing herself up on her elbows, her irritation evident.

"Should I be honored by this late-night visit?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Or did you just miss me too much already?"

Seokjin chuckled under his breath, slowly closing the door behind him. He took unhurried steps toward her, his gaze unreadable.

“Cocky, aren’t you?”, He asked.

Layla held her ground, refusing to show weakness.

"Didn't know you had a habit of sneaking into women's rooms at night," she mused, tilting her head. "Should I be concerned?"

Seokjin didn’t answer. Instead, his grin faded slightly, and his eyes darkened, carrying something far more unsettling. Layla’s confidence wavered, but she kept her face neutral.

"You don’t take things seriously, do you?" Seokjin murmured, more to himself than to her.

Layla shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. "If by ‘serious,’ you mean being intimidated by you, then No. Sorry to disappoint.”

The next moment happened in a blur.

Seokjin moved swiftly, his grip firm as he grabbed Layla’s wrist and yanked her forward before she could react. In an instant, she found herself pressed against the mattress, her back against the soft sheets as his weight loomed over her.

Her heart pounded in surprise.

"What the hell—"

His hand wrapped gently but firmly around her throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message. Layla’s breath hitched as she instinctively gripped his wrist, trying to push him off, but he didn’t budge. His face was too close, his warmth radiating against her skin as he lowered himself to her level.

His lips hovered near her ear, his voice a hushed whisper that sent a chill down her spine.

"You think this is a joke, don’t you?"

Layla clenched her jaw, glaring up at him. "Get off me,  Kim Seokjin."

He ignored her.

"You don’t get to disrespect us and walk away without consequences," he continued, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "Tomorrow morning, you will apologize to Yoongi for your behavior at dinner."

Layla narrowed her eyes. "And if I don’t?"

His grip on her throat didn’t tighten, but his fingers pressed slightly against her pulse, a silent warning.

Seokjin tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Then I’ll have to make you regret it.”

Layla refused to show fear, but her pulse betrayed her, hammering wildly beneath his palm. She glared at him, her lips parting to throw another sharp remark, but she caught the flicker in his eyes.

For a second—just a second—his gaze softened, as if he saw something else. Someone else.

Then, just as quickly as he had overpowered her, he pulled away

"For someone who grew up under our roof, you have a bad habit of forgetting your place," he said simply. "We took you in. Gave you a home. The least you can do is show some respect."

Layla's expression hardened. "A home?" she repeated, scoffing. "More like a gilded cage."

Seokjin chuckled again, shaking his head. "Call it whatever you want, princess. But remember this—you are ours to protect, ours to control."

Layla’s fists clenched at his words. She hated that word. ‘Ours.’ As if she was nothing more than a possession, something to be owned.

Seokjin stood up, adjusting his suit jacket, while Layla gasped for breath, feeling the ghost of his touch linger.

“Be a good girl, Layla.” , His voice was light, almost teasing. “You wouldn’t want to see what happens when I lose my patience.”

Layla sat up quickly, glaring daggers at his back. "Or what?"

Seokjin paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with an unreadable expression.

"You don’t want to find out," he murmured before stepping out and With that, he turned on his heel and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Layla lay still, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She clenched her fists, anger replacing the fear that had momentarily gripped her.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

[    T    i   m   e     S   k   i   p   ]

Layla lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body stiff with tension. Seokjin’s words from the night before still echoed in her mind, each syllable pressing against her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

"Be a good girl, Layla. You wouldn’t want to see what happens when I lose my patience."

Sleep has become impossible. The darkness of her room only served as a reminder that she was trapped in a world she never chose.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw off the covers and sat up. The clock on the nightstand read 4:37 AM. She didn’t care. She needed an escape, even if it was temporary.

Her bare feet padded against the cold marble floor as she walked out of her room, making her way through the mansion’s silent halls. The air felt heavy with secrets, the weight of the past lingering in every shadow.

It wasn’t long before she reached the art room—a sanctuary she had claimed as her own.

Flicking on the dim lamp, she grabbed a brush and let her emotions spill onto the canvas. The strokes were violent, raw, driven by the storm within her.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. She didn’t know anymore.

But when she stepped back, her breath caught in her throat.

She had painted a scene from her childhood.

And it was one she had tried to forget.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

[   F   l   a  s  h   b  a   c   k   ]

She had been six years old the last time they visited. She still remembered how excited she was, wearing a pretty blue dress, thinking that One of the Godfather's birthday party just another grand celebration.

She hadn’t known the truth.

She hadn’t known that the seven men who surrounded her like guardian angels were, in reality, the devils in disguise.

That night, she had wandered off, curious about the hushed voices coming from behind the large wooden doors of  Godfather’s study.

She  had peeked inside, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the door.

And what she saw changed her forever.

A family of five—father, mother, three children—kneeling on the floor. Their faces were streaked with tears, their hands bound.

And in front of them, standing in an unshaken line, were her godfathers.

Kim Seokjin.
Min Yoongi.
KimNamjoon.
Jung Hoseok.
Park Jimin.
Kim Taehyung.
Jeon Jungkook.

There was no hesitation in their movements. No mercy in their eyes.

One by one, they pulled the trigger. The sound of gunshots echoed through the room, followed by the dull thuds of bodies collapsing.

The children had been the last to fall.

Layla had wanted to scream, but no sound had come out. She had backed away, her small hands trembling.

And that was when Namjoon’s eyes met hers.

For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then, slowly, he had walked toward her, kneeling so that they were at eye level.

His voice had been gentle when he spoke. “Little girls shouldn’t be wandering in places they don’t belong.”

He had patted her head, his fingers brushing against her hair like a mockery of comfort.

And just like that, the memory had been buried deep within her.

Until now.

[ E n d  o f F l a s h b a c k ]

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

[   P    r   e   s   e   n  t  ]

Layla exhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as she tried to steady her breathing.

The painting was disturbing. Dark. A mirror of the nightmare she had kept locked away.Stroke after the stroke, the painting began to take shape—something dark, twisted. A distorted face. A shadowy figure. Blood. It was a reflection of everything bottled inside her.

A slow clap echoed from behind.

She stiffened.

Turning, she found Jungkook leaning against the doorway, a sinister grin stretching across his face.

“Well, well,” he mused, his gaze flickering between her and the painting. “That’s quite the masterpiece.”

Layla exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. "Do you people ever sleep?"

Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes scanning the painting. "Interesting choice of colors. Disturbing. What’s the story?"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing you'd understand."

Jungkook smirked. "Try me."

She hesitated, staring at the painting. The twisted strokes, the deep red that looked too much like blood. the memory sharpened—she remembered a man’s screams, the way his blood splattered onto white marble.

The seven men who stood over the lifeless bodies of a family of five.

And she had called them her angels.

But They're Devil's Spawns.

Layla narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

Jungkook took his time stepping into the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. “I was just passing by,” he said nonchalantly. “Didn’t expect to see this.” He gestured toward the painting.

Layla folded her arms. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “Feisty as ever.” He stepped closer, tilting his head as he examined the canvas. “Tell me, Layla. When did you start remembering?”

She stiffened. “Remembering what?”

Jungkook’s smirk widened. “Don’t play dumb. I see it in your eyes.” He tapped the painting. “You know, don’t you? You remember what we did that night.”

Layla swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook sighed, stepping back. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Jungkook studied her for a moment, then sighed. “It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” she bit out.

“How time changes things.” His voice had a strange softness to it. “How memories come back when you least expect them to.”

Layla frowned. “What are you—”

He studied her for a moment, then his expression shifted—like he was remembering something.

And then, just like that, he was lost in his own memories.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

[   F   l   a   s   h   b   a   c   k   ]

He had been nothing more than the son of a maid.

His mother had been a secret—kept hidden in the shadows, used and discarded by a man too powerful to face consequences.

Yoo-na’s father.

His mother had been nothing to Yoo-na’s father—just another disposable woman in his life.

Jungkook had grown up watching his mother cry, knowing she was nothing more than a stain on that man’s perfect life.

And he had  hated him for it.

When his mother had died, Jungkook had sworn revenge.

And then he had  met Yoo-na.

She had been nothing like her father—kind, warm, untouched by the darkness that surrounded her.

That had made it easy for Jungkook to come up with a plan.

Make her fall in love.

Earn her trust.

And then break her, the same way her father had broken his mother.

But things hadn’t gone the way he had expected.

Because Yoo-na had fallen for him.

And he had fallen for her first.

By the time he realized it, it was too late. He no longer wanted revenge. He no longer wanted to see her hurt.

His need for revenge had disappeared, replaced by something far more dangerous.

Love.

He still remembered the night he had proposed.

A simple painting—his own creation. A picture of her, bathed in golden light, smiling as if she belonged to the stars.

She had laughed, tears in her eyes, as she ran her fingers over the strokes.

"You drew this for me?"

He had smiled. "Of course. You're the only muse I'll ever need."

And she had accepted him.

For a brief moment, he had thought they could escape the world they were born into.

But love in their world was a weakness.

And when she had been taken from him, there had been no one left to blame but himself.

[  E  n   d  o  f   f  l  a   s  h  b  a  c k   ]

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

[   P  r  e   s   e   n  t   ] 

Jungkook’s expression darkened as he snapped back to reality.

Layla straightened, masking her unease with a smirk. “I didn’t expect you to appreciate art, Mr. Jeon.”

He stepped into the room, his gaze flickering between her and the painting. “I appreciate honesty,” he said. “And this… this is honesty in its rawest form.”

Layla arched a brow. “And what exactly do you see?”

Jungkook’s smile faltered for a split second before he masked it with amusement. “I see a girl who just realized the world isn’t as kind as she once thought.”

Layla folded her arms. “And what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “A boy who learned that a long time ago.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes as he stared at the painting.

“I used to think revenge was simple,” he murmured.

Layla tilted her head. “Revenge?”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “I wasn’t always part of this world. My mother… she was just a maid. A nobody in a house of power.” His fingers curled into fists. “Until That Vile Man  used her. Loved her. Then threw her away.”

Layla remained silent, sensing the storm brewing beneath his words.

“I hated him for it,” Jungkook admitted. “And when I saw His Daughter, I saw my perfect revenge. Make her fall in love. Break her heart.”

Layla swallowed. “But that’s not what happened, is it?”

Jungkook let out a dry chuckle. “No. Because I was the one who fell first.”

His eyes darkened, the weight of old wounds pressing down on him.

“She loved me,” he whispered. “And for the first time in my life, I wanted to be worthy of it.”

Layla’s breath hitched. There was something painfully familiar in his story—a reflection of her own entrapment in this world of power and bloodshed.

But before she could say anything, Jungkook’s expression hardened again.

“That’s why I know people like us don’t get happy endings.” He looked at her, gaze piercing. “You’re not going to escape them, Layla. No matter how much you fight.”

Layla clenched her jaw, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Maybe not.  I am not like You all .. I am different.... I am unique. I don't belong To Your World. And  I’m not going to let them own me either.”

Jungkook smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “ Oh~ My Dear Doll, You are Pretty Much Part Of This World. If You Think Like that, Then I hope you’re ready for the price that comes with that.”

With one last glance at the painting, he turned and walked away, leaving Layla alone with the demons of her past.

And the terrifying realization that she might never be free of them.

•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•

•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•

♠️TO BE CONTINUED ♠️

VOTE ⭐ AND COMMENT 💭

SHARE IT ON YOUR MESSAGE BOARD 🧾🧾🧾🧾

HOPE YOU WILL ENJOY IT ☺️☺️😄

AUTHOR'S RANT:

hi!!! Welcome 🤗 back to a new chapter!! I hope you will like it 😺!!!!

Finally, The vote goal completed!!!

By the way, Do You like this book?!

What's Your Thoughts on it?!

And I still can't believe we have only 4 months left for BTS to comeback as a whole group!!! It's nostalgic, isn't it?!

Guys, Vote if you want quick update!!!!

VOTE GOAL: 35 votes and 15 comments

Please fulfill the vote goal if you want me to update quickly.....

Next Chapter sneak peak:

Guess what it will be?!