The First Encounter

The city lights shimmered beyond the glass windows of Valhalla, the most exclusive nightclub in Seoul, where only the elite dared enter. The air was thick with the scent of expensive whiskey, cigars, and lust—everything reeked of power.

And at the center of it all sat him.

Kim Taehyung.

Billionaire. Mafia king. A man feared and desired in equal measure.

Dressed in an all-black suit that clung to his sculpted frame, he lounged against the velvet couch, one hand resting on his knee, the other swirling a glass of whiskey. His sharp jawline cast a dangerous shadow under the dim lights, dark eyes scanning the room with lethal precision. People feared him for good reason—because once he wanted something, he took it.

And tonight, his eyes were on her.

On you.

You weren't supposed to be here.

Draped in a sleek black dress that clung to your curves, you felt the weight of his gaze before you even saw him. It was suffocating. Hot. Possessive.

A shiver crawled down your spine as you turned—and met his gaze.

Dark. Unyielding.

Like a predator who had just found his prey.

A slow smirk curled Taehyung's lips, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he already knew how this would end. As if he had already decided.

With a flick of his fingers, his right-hand man, Jimin, stepped forward.

"Boss wants to see you," Jimin said, his voice smooth but firm.

Your heart pounded. "I don't even know who your boss is."

Jimin chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart. You do. And trust me, once he sets his eyes on something… he never lets go."

From across the room, Taehyung lifted his glass to his lips, watching you like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

And you knew—this man, this ruthless billionaire, was about to ruin you.

A Dance with the Devil

You shouldn't have followed Jimin.

Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to run before it was too late. But some dark, twisted part of you—one that craved danger, that craved him—kept your legs moving, step after step, toward the devil himself.

The moment you reached his booth, Taehyung tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he wanted to dismantle piece by piece. Up close, he was even more devastating. Dark, silky hair fell over his forehead, sharp cheekbones, lips so perfectly sculpted they could tempt a saint to sin.

"Sit," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. You weren't the type to be ordered around, and something about his arrogance sent a flare of defiance through you.

"I don't even know you," you said, tilting your chin up. "Why should I sit?"

His lips twitched in amusement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You do know me," he said. "You just don't want to admit it."

A sharp pang shot through your chest. He wasn't wrong.

Kim Taehyung wasn't just a billionaire. His name was whispered in hushed tones, laced with fear and awe. He wasn't merely a businessman—he was the shadow behind the empire, the king who ruled both the legitimate world and the criminal underbelly.

And now, for some reason, he was interested in you.

"I don't belong here," you said, though your voice wasn't as firm as you wanted it to be.

He exhaled a low chuckle, fingers tapping against his whiskey glass. "No, you don't. But you walked in anyway." His eyes darkened. "And now you do."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "What do you want?"

His smirk was slow, lethal. "You."

Your breath hitched.

His bluntness sent heat rushing through your veins. But it wasn't just his words—it was the way he said it. Like a vow. Like a promise of something inescapable.

He tilted his head. "Scared?"

You should have been. But the worst part? You weren't.

You wanted to see what happened next.

Taehyung lifted his hand, and before you could react, his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin upward. The touch was barely there, yet it seared through you like fire.

"I wonder," he murmured, eyes flickering over your parted lips, "do you always walk into danger so willingly?"

"I didn't know I was walking into danger," you whispered.

He smiled—a slow, wicked thing. "Now you do."

And then, without warning, he leaned in, his breath fanning against your skin. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until the space between you disappeared completely.

His lips barely ghosted over yours, but the heat between you was suffocating. A dark promise. A silent claim.

Then—he pulled back.

Your heart pounded in your ears.

"I'll see you soon, princess," he murmured, his voice laced with certainty.

It wasn't a question.

It was a fact.

And somehow, you knew it too.

Kim Taehyung wasn't done with you.

Not even close.

A Trap in Silk and Sin

You should have never gone back.

Should have ignored the way his voice lingered in your mind, the way his touch burned even in memory.

But you couldn't.

And so, when the sleek black car pulled up outside your apartment the next evening—when Jimin stepped out, holding the door open—you hesitated for only a moment.

"Boss is waiting," he said, his eyes unreadable.

Your hands tremble as you step inside.

You knew this was dangerous.

You just didn't know how much.

The car ride was silent, tension crackling like electricity. When the doors finally opened, you found yourself in front of an opulent penthouse, the city skyline stretching behind floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there he was.

Taehyung stood by the window, his back to you, one hand holding a crystal glass filled with dark liquor. He didn't turn when you entered—he didn't need to.

"I knew you'd come," he said.

His confidence sent a shiver down your spine.

He turned then, slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he murmured, stepping closer.

Your throat tightened. "What?"

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist before trailing up your arm. Every inch of skin he touched burned.

"It means you're mine."

A dangerous thrill curled in your stomach.

"I never agreed to that," you whispered.

His smirk deepened. "You didn't have to."

And then, his lips crashed against yours.

There was nothing soft about it—nothing gentle. It was a claiming, a warning, a dark promise wrapped in heat and sin.

Your body betrayed you, pressing closer, your hands gripping the silk of his shirt. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss, stealing every breath, every thought.

By the time he pulled away, you were gasping.

His forehead rested against yours, his voice dark and possessive.

"Too late to run now, princess."

And deep down, you knew—

You had no intention of running.

Not anymore.