The daughter of a powerful politician lives a reckless, untouchable life until a steamy hook up with a man turns it into something she never imagined.
He is the mafia everyone fears, and she is the chaos he cannot controlā¦ or forget.Bound by a past only he remembers, his obsession with her turns into a dangerous game of pursuit. But she isnāt just a targetāsheās a storm, a little unhinged, and the only one who might ruin him first.
Genres - Mafia, politics, past, lovers, forbidden love, smut, dark romance, fluffy, domestic.
Pairing - Mafia! Park Jimin x Politician daughter! Reader
Taglist - @graydolan12 @busanbby-jjk @mikrokookiex @jiminmins-blog @marylu1 @brieally @granataepfelchen @dahliadaenerys
@ae12moonss @next-bex-bet @nayutalvr
The entire ballroom thrummed with the sickening heartbeat of old money, unadulterated luxury, and people so hollow their smiles practically dripped with greed. Beneath the blinding shimmer of diamonds and the clinking of crystal, black market funds and mafia blood ran cold.
Jiminās hand remained steady against your waistāa heavy, protective weight that claimed possession without saying a single word. You maintained a tight, practiced smile for the high-ranking associate currently droning on to your husband, your sharp eyes scanning the room.
"Right. Oh my god... Park Jimin?"
The voice cut through the ambient chatter. Your attention shifted toward a woman in her mid-twenties. She carried herself with the distinct, insufferable arrogance of a brat raised on blood money and unchecked power.
But what actually caught you off guard was the small, knowing smirk that played on Jiminās lips. Your jaw tightened. He was actually smiling at her? A cold spike of irritation hit your chest. An ex, perhaps?
"Hey, Lina," Jimin murmured, his tone smooth, almost familiar.
Lina. What a painfully boring name. You looked away, idly spinning the heavy diamond wedding band on your finger, suddenly losing all interest in her existence.
"Jimin! Gosh, itās been a while," Lina purred, her eyes raking over him before finally landing on you. Her expression shifted into a look that was supposed to be polite, but the warmth never reached her eyes. "Hey. You must be his wife."
You didn't offer a polite nod. You simply shrugged. "Yeah. Kina? Mina? What was your name again?"
Linaās faux-pleasant smile faltered. She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, her eyes narrowing. Beside you, Jimin raised an eyebrow, watching you out of the periphery of his vision. He knew you well enough to know you never weaponized your attitude unless someone dared to step over your boundary.
"Lina," she corrected sharply.
"Right. And yes, Lina, my name is Y/n. Not just 'his wife.' I have an identity, you see," you replied, delivering the words with a slow, taunting smile that promised violence if she pushed further.
The temperature between you three dropped. Lina visibly stiffened, momentarily intimidated by the sheer venom masked behind your elegant composure. You were smiling, yes, but your eyes were dead and calculating.
Jimin cleared his throat, breaking the sudden, suffocating silence. He caught your gaze for a fraction of a secondāa silent warningābefore looking back at Lina. "How is business thriving, Lina? Is your husband still operating as the underboss?"
"Ex-husband," Lina amended, tossing her hair back with a careless shrug.
No wonder she is batting her eyes at your husband.
A sharp, mocking scoff escaped your lips, instantly drawing both of their eyes back to you.
Jiminās grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging slightly into your skin as a quiet command to behave. You merely rolled your eyes, refusing to back down.
"We... uh, we divorced. Due to personal reasons," Lina stammered slightly, her confidence bleeding out as she looked between you and the unbothered mafia boss beside you.
Jimin simply hummed, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his champagne.
"Yeah. It was nice meeting you again, Jimin. See ya around." Desperate to reclaim some ground, Lina stepped forward, leaning in to wrap her arms around him.
Jimin didn't pull away. He offered a brief, polite side-hug, his lips curving into that same smooth smile.
In your two years of marriage, you had watched him cut down associates and freeze out socialites without a second thought. He had never tolerated another woman stepping into his personal space like this. Who the hell was this girl?
As they broke apart, Lina glanced at you, clearly opening her mouth to bid a tense goodbye, but your voice sliced through the air before she could speak.
"You seem entirely too comfortable touching what doesn't belong to you, Kina. Or Mina. Whatever your name is."
Jimin internally groaned, a dark amusement mixing with a flash of irritation. He had grown accustomed to your lethal tongue over the last two years. He never quite knew when this feral, possessive side of you would unleash itselfāand while it was undeniably hot, tonight, it was going to complicate a very delicate alliance.
Lina finally excused herself, unable to withstand the suffocating tension radiating from you a second longer. The moment she slipped into the crowd, Jimin turned his full attention down to you, his dark eyes searching your face.
"Are you jealous?" he whispered, his deep voice scraping low against your ear.
You took a deliberate step back, breaking the contact of his hand on your waist. "No. I am utterly delighted to find my husband smiling at another woman and letting her put her hands on him."
"Touching herā?" Jimin couldnāt even finish the sentence before you turned on your heel and stormed off, cutting a sharp path through the opulent crowd.
He grit his jaw, watching your retreating back as you exited the venue, flanked immediately by one of his personal guards. He looked down at his watch, a dark curse slipping past his lips. He was trapped here for at least another hour to finalize the syndicate's charity front donations. Fuck.
Pulling out his phone, he fired a terse text to your security detail.
Take her straight to the estate. Double the perimeter. Keep her safe.
By the time the armored car pulled up to the gates of the Park estate, the anger bubbling in your chest felt like pure, volatile venom. How dare that bitch touch what belonged to you? And how dare Jimin let her?
You marched through the grand foyer and straight into the kitchen. The late-night culinary staff startled at your sudden entrance, but the moment they saw the lethal expression on your face, they collectively took a step back.
"I need a black coffee. Boiling hot. In two minutes," you barked, your voice cutting through the quiet room like a blade.
Without waiting for a response, you stormed off toward the master wing. The moment you crossed the threshold, you ripped the heavy diamond necklace Jimin had bought you off your throat, throwing it carelessly onto the console table by the door. It hit the wood with a sharp clatter. You kicked off your heels, letting them fly across the hardwood floor, and flung yourself onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Why the hell were you getting this worked up? You knew the rules of this world. But watching her hands on him had triggered a primal, possessive rage you couldn't suppress.
Hours bled by in a tense, agonizing silence. It was past midnight when the heavy double doors of the bedroom finally clicked open. You didn't even look up from your phone.
"You haven't changed yet?" Jiminās voice was laced with exhaustion, but it only grated on your nerves.
You didn't answer, deliberately turning your back to him and scrolling mindlessly through your screen.
There it was. The low, dangerous warning tone he used when his patience was wearing thin.
You let out a harsh sigh and sat up abruptly. "I was perfectly fine before, but now this fucking dress is irking me!" Reaching behind your back, you aggressively yanked the zipper down, shedding the expensive fabric and tossing it onto the floor.
Jimin ran a heavy hand through his hair, watching you as you crawled back under the sheets in just your underwear, eyes glued right back to your phone.
"What is wrong with you tonight?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm as he unbuttoned his cuffs.
"Can't you just fucking fuck off out of here?" you snapped.
Jiminās eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering in the dark. "Watch that tone, baby. You know damn well I don't tolerate it."
"Oh, right. I forgot. You only like it when other women are touching you," you scoffed, propping your back against the leather headboard, your eyes drilling into him.
"Touch me? When the hell did sheā"
"She hugged you, Jimin! She was practically throwing herself at you right in front of my face!" your voice rose, the anger finally bursting through your composure.
"She is a major business partner," Jimin countered, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the bed. "Her family controls half the shipping ports in the east."
"And was she also one of your little flings before the ports?"
"I don't do that messy shit, and you know it." Jimin stood at the edge of the mattress now, looking down at you. "What is the point of this spectacular fight right now? Because I greeted an old associate?"
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, your jaw clenched so hard it ached.
"Y/n. Stop being silly. I bear your attitude, but this is getting ridiculous."
The word snapped the last thread of your restraint. You grabbed the heavy down pillow beside you and threw it full force at his face. "Did you just call me silly?!"
Jimin caught the pillow effortlessly, throwing it to the floor. He let out a long, exhausted sigh and sat on the edge of the mattress. "Keep it down, baby. My parents outside will think weāre actually fighting."
"That is exactly what we are doing, you idiot!"
"But why?" he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Fueled by pure adrenaline and spite, you slid off the bed. Before he could react, you grabbed him firmly by the collar of his crisp white shirt, using all your weight to drag the formidable mafia don right out of the bedroom.
"Sleep somewhere else tonight. Out. Shoo."
Jimin blinked in absolute, stunned disbelief as the heavy oak door slammed violently in his face. The click of the lock turning echoed loudly in the quiet hallway.
He stood there for a long moment, a sharp, incredulous scoff escaping his lips. He was the head of the Park syndicate. Men trembled at his name, and his wife had just physically evicted him from his own bedroom.
Shaking his head, a mixture of dark amusement and lingering irritation tightening his chest, Jimin turned on his heel and walked out of the wing, heading straight down to the private bar.
It was nearly two in the morning when you sat up in the sprawling, empty bed, the heavy silence of the master bedroom broken only by the sharp, demanding rumble of your stomach. You glanced at the untouched, pristine sheets on Jiminās side of the bed and let out a frustrated sigh. Under normal circumstances, you would have ruthlessly shaken him awake and made him go fetch you a midnight snack.
Begrudgingly sliding out of bed, you threw a silk bathrobe over your shoulders, tying the belt tightly around your waist before slipping out of the wing. The grand estate was dimly lit, cast in long, dramatic shadows. As you navigated the grand staircase and headed toward the kitchen, a faint glow caught your eye.
Jimin was seated on the leather sofa in the expansive living room, bathed in the cold blue light of his laptop, a thick manila folder resting open on his lap. Even at two o'clock in the morning, stripped down to his black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked every bit the ruthless boss and calculating mafia heir he was born to be.
Sensing your presence, Jimin looked up. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto yours, and he simply raised a cool, unbothered eyebrow. He wasn't going to apologizeāin his mind, he hadn't done a single thing wrong. After a beat of silent defiance, he deliberately dropped his gaze back to his screen.
You let out a harsh, incredulous scoff. Did he really just look away?
"I didn't come down here for you!" you snapped across the quiet room.
"I didn't ask," he replied smoothly, his voice a low, raspy rumble that didn't even waver as his fingers tapped away at the keyboard.
Fisting your hands at your sides, you stormed past the living room and into the kitchen. Whacking the heavy stainless-steel refrigerator door open, you scanned the shelves until your eyes landed on the pints of premium ice cream. You aggressively snatched one, grabbed a spoon, and marched back out. On your way to the stairs, you paused just long enough to throw one last lethal, burning glare in his direction.
Jimin didn't say a word, but his eyes followed you this time. He watched in silence as the hem of your bathrobe fluttered and your hips swayed, tracking your firm, irritated retreat all the way back up to his wing.
The next morning, the heavy fog of a restless sleep was broken by a sharp, persistent patting on Jiminās shoulder.
He groaned deeply, his muscles aching from the cramped position on the sofa. Squinting against the morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he rubbed his eyes and blinked up at the elegant woman staring down at him.
"Why on earth are you sleeping down here?" Mrs. Park asked, her brow furrowed with genuine concern.
Jimin ran a hand over his face, his voice thick with sleep. "Oh. My wife kicked me out."
"Kicked you out? There are other rooms in this huge mansion," His motherās expression instantly shifted into one of deep suspicion. "What did you do to her, Jimin?"
"Wow. I didn't do anything, Mom," Jimin muttered, ruffling his messy hair as he let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. He glanced at the laptop and the scattered syndicate files on the coffee table; he couldn't even remember at what hour he had finally passed out. "Why does everyone automatically assume Iām the villain here?"
Before his mother could answer, a soft, pathetic sniffling sound caught both of their attention.
Mother and son looked up simultaneously toward the grand staircase. You were slowly making your way down the marble steps, wrapped in a plush blanket, your eyes watery and the tip of your nose a bright, irritated red.
The irritation in Jimin's chest vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp spike of protectiveness. He stood up from the couch and stepped toward the stairs. "Are you sick? Look at your face."
You rubbed your temples, wincing as a dull ache throbbed behind your eyes. "Cold... fuck... I caught a cold in a span of just a few hours."
Jiminās eyes dropped to the empty ice cream container sitting on the kitchen counter in the distance, and pieces of the puzzle clicked together. "Itās that damn ice cream! Why the hell were you eating freezing cold food at two in the morning?"
Beside him, his mother let out a soft, amused hum. Watching the two of you, she decided she didn't even need to ask why he had been kicked out of bed; the domestic chaos spoke for itself.
You shuffled over, letting out a miserable groan, and completely collapsed against Jiminās chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck.
"Because of you!" you mumbled against his skin, lifting a weak hand to poke a finger sharply into his hard, defined chest.
Jimin stared down at the top of your head in utter disbelief, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist to hold you steady. "What?"
"Yeah! I only ate it because I was angry at you!" you sniffled, accusing him with a hoarse voice.
"Wow. Yeah, that makes perfect, logical sense," he scoffed, though the corners of his lips twitched with a faint, fond smile. He gently guided you over to the couch, making sure you were comfortable.
His mother quietly slipped away toward the kitchen, a knowing smile on her face as she went to brew a pot of hot herbal tea.
Kneeling on the floor right in front of you, Jimin reached up, using the back of his hand to check your forehead for a fever. His touch was incredibly gentle for a man who handled weapons for a living. "Do you need me to call the doctor?"
You let out a weak, raspy laugh, batting his hand away. "No... it's just a common cold, Jimin. Not cancer.ā
The heavy, gold-trimmed double doors of the master wing creaked open with a muted click. It was well past midnight when Jimin finally stepped inside, loosening his silk tie with one hand while the other carried the exhausting weight of a long day of syndicate meetings. The crisp scent of rain and expensive cologne clung to his dark suit jacket, but the moment he crossed the threshold, the only thing he looked for was you.
The bedroom was dimly lit, bathed in the soft, warm glow of a single bedside lamp. Under the heavy duvet, a small, blanket-wrapped mound indicated you were fast asleep.
Before he could take off his jacket, a quiet rustle of silk caught his attention. He turned to see his mother stepping out of the adjoining sitting room, a empty mug of chamomile tea in her hands. She closed the distance between them with silent, graceful steps, her face etched with soft, maternal concern.
"You're late," she murmured under her breath, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the quiet room.
"Business ran long," Jimin replied, his voice a deep, gravelly whisper. His eyes immediately drifted past her shoulder, anchoring onto your sleeping form. "How is she? Did the cold get worse?"
Mrs. Park let out a quiet, fond sigh, reaching up to gently pat her son's shoulder. "Her congestion settled in, and she ran a mild fever a few hours ago. I gave her some medicine, but she was stubborn, Jimin. She kept tossing and turning, complaining that the bed felt 'too cold' without you."
A tender, aching warmth bloomed right in the center of Jimin's chest, melting away the cold, rigid exterior he had worn all day in the underworld. "Is the fever down?"
"Itās breaking now, but she needs rest. Take care of her," his mother whispered with a knowing smile, turning to slip out of the bedroom and leave the two of you in peace.
Once the door clicked shut, the ruthless Don vanished entirely. Jimin shed his heavy suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt. He practically stripped out of his formal wear, impatient to get rid of the clothes that smelled of smoke and cold concrete, replacing them with a pair of soft, grey sweatpants.
He walked over to the side of the bed, his bare feet making no sound against the hardwood floor. Sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress, he leaned over to look at you.
Your nose was still a little pink, your lips parted slightly as you breathed through a slight pout. You looked incredibly small beneath the oversized duvet. Jiminās expression softened into something purely beautifulāa look he only ever reserved for you. Slowly, with immense reverence, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.
The skin was warm, a little clammy, but the burning heat from earlier had faded.
As if sensing his touch, your eyelashes fluttered open. Your glassy, tired eyes took a moment to focus on him through the dim light. "Jimin..." your voice came out as a tiny, raspy squeak.
"Hey, baby," he whispered, his thumb gently wiping away a stray strand of hair that clung to your cheek. "I'm right here."
Without a word of complaint about the ice cream or the fight from the night before, you immediately shifted beneath the blankets, weakly reaching your arms out toward him like a child demanding comfort. "You're late. It's cold."
A soft, breathless chuckle escaped his lips. "I know. I'm sorry."
Jimin carefully lifted the heavy duvet and slid into the bed beside you. The moment his body heat radiated through the sheets, you didn't waste a second. You crawled straight into his space, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, your hands curling into the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Your body was warm from the slight fever, but to Jimin, you felt perfect.
He wrapped his strong, heavily tattooed arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He hooked one of his legs over yours, effectively trapping you in a tight, protective embrace that shielded you from the rest of the world.
"Your chest is hard," you mumbled miserably against his skin, your breath hot against his collarbone. "But you're warm."
"Just close your eyes and sleep, Y/n," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your cheek.
He began to trace slow, soothing circles on your back, his large hand rubbing through the fabric of your pajamas to ease the chills racking your body. With his other hand, he gently stroked your hair, running his fingers through the silky strands over and over in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. Every few moments, he would press a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of your shampoo.
Nestled securely in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city, the lingering ache in your head finally began to dull. The safety of his hold was an instant remedy.
"Don't leave," you whispered into the dark, your voice growing heavier as sleep pulled you back under. "Even if I kick you out tomorrow... don't go."
Jimin's chest rumbled with a quiet, amused laugh. He tightened his grip, pulling you so close there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he whispered against your forehead, his eyes closing as he finally let himself relax. "I've got you. Just sleep."
In the quiet sanctuary of their room, surrounded by luxury but anchored only by each other, the Don and his wife fell asleep, tangled together in a beautiful, fierce kind of love that no one else could ever touch.
The clock on the nightstand ticked softly, the glowing green numbers shifting to read 3:15 AM.
Jimin woke up instantly, his internal clock finely tuned to the slightest shift in his environment. Beneath his arm, you were tossing uncomfortably, a low, miserable whimper escaping your throat. He pressed his lips to your temple and frowned. Your skin was burning up again; the fever medicine his mother had given you earlier had clearly worn off.
With a quiet sigh, Jimin carefully disentangled himself from your limbs, ignoring the chilly air as he slid out of the warm bed. He walked over to the en-suite bathroom, turning on the dim vanity light. He grabbed a glass of water and the small brown bottle of fever syrup the syndicate doctor had sent over earlierāa notoriously potent, but wretchedly bitter concoction.
He walked back to the bed, setting the items on the nightstand. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he leaned down and shook your shoulder gently. "Y/n. Wake up, baby. You need to take your medicine."
You groaned loudly, burying your face deeper into the plush pillow. "No... go away. I'm sleeping."
"Your fever is back up. Just take this and you can go right back to sleep," Jimin coaxed, his voice patient but firm. He slid his large hand under your neck, gently but unyieldingly lifting your upper body until you were propped up against the headboard.
Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and heavy with sleep, glaring at the small plastic cup he was holding out to you. "I don't want it."
"Y/n." The Donās commanding tone bled into his voice, just a fraction. "Take it."
Knowing you couldn't win a battle of willpower with Park Jimin while you were this weak, you snatched the plastic cup from his fingers, glared at him, and tossed the liquid down your throat.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Your face contorted in absolute horror. The syrup tasted like a mixture of crushed batteries and battery acid, coating your throat in a thick, wretched film.
"Oh my god! Fucking hell!" you gasped, choking on the taste as you violently slapped the water glass out of Jiminās hand before he could even offer it to you. The glass shattered against the hardwood floor, water splashing everywhere.
"Y/n!" Jimin barked, startled by the sudden outburst.
"That is fucking bitter! Are you trying to poison me?!" you shrieked, your voice raspy but full of venom. The fever was making you completely irrational, and the horrific taste had pushed you over the edge. You grabbed the nearest down pillow and launched it at his chest. "You did that on purpose! You're trying to kill me because I kicked you out last night!"
Jimin caught the pillow with one hand, staring at you in absolute, stunned disbelief. "It's medicine, you lunatic, not cyanide."
"I don't care! It's disgusting! I'm going to throw up!" You threw yourself back down onto the mattress, violently yanking the duvet entirely over your head, curling into a tight, angry ball. "Leave me alone! Go sleep in the bar with your precious shipping ports and your stupid bitter poison!"
Jimin stood at the bedside, looking down at the massive, shaking mound of blankets. He looked at the shattered glass on the floor, then at the pillow in his hand, and finally at the bottle of syrup. He ran a hand over his face, a sharp, incredulous laugh escaping his lips.
If any of his men threw a tantrum like this, they would be buried under the concrete of the shipping docks by sunrise. But this was his wifeāa fiery, dramatic creature who apparently became a feral toddler when she had a temperature of 101 degrees.
Stepping carefully around the broken glass, Jimin walked to the bathroom to grab a towel. He quickly cleaned up the water and swept the shards into the bin, shaking his head the entire time. Once the hazard was cleared, he walked back to the bed and forcefully yanked the duvet away from your face.
"Don't touch me!" you hissed, your eyes red-rimmed and watery, your lips pressed into a harsh pout.
"Shut up for a second," he murmured, his tone entirely devoid of anger, replaced instead by a dark, amused indulgence.
He reached into his sweatpants pocket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped square, tossing it onto your lap. You blinked down at it. It was a piece of expensive dark chocolate he always kept in the house.
"Eat it. It'll get the taste out of your mouth," he commanded softly.
You looked from the chocolate up to his face. Your jaw clenched, but the craving for anything to kill the bitter taste won. You snatched the chocolate, tore the foil with your teeth, and shoved it into your mouth. The rich, sweet cacao immediately melted over your tongue, erasing the wretched flavor of the medicine.
You chewed aggressively, still glaring at him, but the fiery tension in your shoulders visibly deflated.
Jimin watched you, a smirk playing on his lips as he slid back into the bed. He pulled you by your waist, dragging your stubborn, blanket-wrapped body right back against his chest. You resisted for a fraction of a second before melting into his warmth, resting your chin on his chest with a heavy, dramatic sigh.
"You're an idiot," you mumbled, the chocolate making your voice sound thick.
"And you are a brat," Jimin replied smoothly, kissing the tip of your nose. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, anchoring you to his chest. "Now shut up and let the medicine work. I'm not cleaning up any more broken glass tonight."
You let out a weak hum, the sweetness of the chocolate and the cooling effect of the medicine finally bringing peace back to the room. Within minutes, your breathing evened out, and Jimin fell asleep with a fond, tired smile, holding his dangerous, beautiful handful of a wife close to his heart.
By nine the next morning, the vicious fever had finally broken, leaving you exhausted but definitively back in control of your senses. The lingering congestion only fueled your irritability. After slipping into a silk lounge set, you made your way downstairs to the sunlit dining pavilion, where the long, mahogany table was already dressed for breakfast.
The silver platters were overflowing with poached eggs, fresh fruit, and artisanal pastries, but your focus was entirely locked on the delicate porcelain cup in your hand.
You took a single sip, and your brow immediately furrowed.
"What is this?" you asked, your voice quiet but slicing cleanly through the morning air.
The two maids standing by the sideboard instantly stiffened, their hands clasping tightly in front of their aprons.
"Itās... itās the dark roast you prefer, Ma'am," one of them stammered gently, keeping her eyes lowered.
"If this is my preferred dark roast, then someone has fundamentally altered the definition of coffee," you replied, setting the cup down with a sharp, deliberate clink against the saucer. "Itās lukewarm, it lacks the proper acidity, and it tastes like it was brewed with a whisper rather than actual espresso beans. Did I not explicitly state three shots? A child could brew a more formidable cup than this."
"We are so sorry, Ma'am, we will remake it immediatelyā"
"See that you do. And ensure the milk is actually frothed this time, not just wept into the cup," you sighed, waving a dismissive hand.
"Good morning to you too, darling," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the archway.
You looked up to see Jimin walking into the dining room, looking devastatingly sharp in a tailored charcoal trousers and a crisp, half-buttoned white shirt. His hair was styled, but his eyes carried the faint, dark shadows of a man who had survived a midnight pillow assault and a fractured water glass. Right behind him were his parents. Mr. Park was adjusting his cuffs, looking every bit the retired, yet terrifying, former Don, while Mrs. Park carried her usual air of calm elegance.
The poor maids looked at Jimin as if he were a liberating army, quickly bowing and scurrying off into the kitchen with the offending coffee cup.
"Don't look at them like Iām a tyrant," you muttered, leaning back in your chair as Jimin took his seat right beside you. "They know I canāt function when the kitchen staff loses their collective minds."
Mr. Park let out a low, booming chuckle as he sat at the head of the table, unfolding his linen napkin. "Ah, the house has its heartbeat back. I knew you were feeling better the moment I heard the staff apologizing from the hallway."
"She was a feral cat at three in the morning, Dad," Jimin murmured smoothly, reaching across the table to pour himself a glass of orange juice. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a dangerous, teasing glint in his dark eyes. "You should have seen her. Throwing pillows, smashing glassware, accusing me of trying to assassinate her with syndicate poison."
"It was poison," you shot back, glaring at him over your empty saucer. "It tasted like liquefied asphalt."
Mrs. Park took her seat, a graceful smile gracing her lips as she watched the exchange. "Medicine is notoriously brutal, Y/n. But I see Jiminās alternative remedy worked. I found a chocolate wrapper on the vanity this morning."
Jimin paused, his juice glass halfway to his lips, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "She had to be bribed, Mom. Otherwise, I would have been sleeping in the private bar permanently."
"You deserved it for making me drink that garbage," you sniffed, though the faint blush creeping up your neck betrayed you.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and the maid returned, carefully placing a fresh, steaming cup of coffee in front of you. The thick, dark crema on top was perfect, and the rich aroma immediately filled the space. You took a slow, experimental sip. The heat was perfect, the bitterness exactly where it needed to be.
You looked up at the anxious maid and gave a small, approving nod. "Much better. Go ahead and take the rest of the morning off from the pavilion."
The maidās face flooded with relief. "Thank you, Ma'am," she murmured quickly before bowing and exiting.
Mr. Park shook his head, a fond smile on his face as he reached for the serving platters. "Terrible behavior, but excellent management skills. She rewards efficiency."
Jimin leaned in closer to you, his large hand sliding under the table to rest heavily on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles against the silk of your trousers. "See? A little discipline and everyone wins," he whispered against your ear, his voice low and raspy. "Are you still planning on kicking me out tonight, or has the coffee bought my way back into our bed?"
You turned your head slightly, your lips nearly brushing his jaw line as you offered him a tight, elegant smile. "That depends entirely on how well you behave.ā
The maids returned a moment later, their movements fluid and practiced as they began laying out the silver serving platters down the center of the mahogany table. The rich, savory aroma of the breakfast spread filled the pavilionāroasted tomatoes, garlic-infused sausages, and a large, central platter of truffle-shaved eggs Benedict.
It was your absolute favorite. Under normal circumstances, you would have already reached for the silver tongs.
Jimin, fully aware of your preferences, picked up a clean porcelain plate and began serving a generous portion of the eggs Benedict for you. "Eat up," he murmured, his voice laced with that quiet, protective attentiveness he only ever showed behind closed doors. "You need to regain your strength after throwing a tantrum all night."
But as the maid set the steaming platter directly in front of you, the heavy scent of the truffle oil and the rich egg yolk hit your nose.
Instantly, your stomach didn't just rumbleāit violently flipped.
A sudden, aggressive wave of nausea crashed over you like a tidal wave. The rich aroma that usually made your mouth water now smelled entirely putrid, sending a sharp, cold jolt straight up your spine.
You froze. Your hand, which had been lifting your coffee cup, trembled slightly. You carefully set the porcelain back down onto the saucer, your jaw clenching tightly as you fought with every ounce of your willpower to control your expression.
You swallowed hard, taking a slow, deep breath through your nose to steady the rising heat in your throat.
Beside you, Jiminās sharp eyes caught the sudden rigidity in your shoulders. His hand paused over your plate. "Y/n?"
"I'm fine," you forced out, your voice sounding tighter and more clipped than usual. You tried to focus on a spot on the tablecloth, pressing your thighs together, praying the cold sweat breaking out across your forehead would fade.
"You look pale, sweetheart," Mrs. Park noted, her gentle voice laced with a sudden, perceptive curiosity as she watched you.
The maid stepped forward, lifting the silver dome off another side dish of seasoned meats, sending a fresh wave of warm, spiced air directly into your face.
That was the breaking point.
The absolute revulsion was uncontrollable. Your hand flew to your mouth as a gag threatened to escape your throat. Clattering back in your chair, you didn't say a single word of apology. You violently pushed yourself away from the table, the legs of your chair screeching harshly against the marble floor, and sprinted out of the dining pavilion.
"Y/n!" Jiminās voice cut through the room, loud and commanding, the chair scraping behind him as he slammed his napkin onto the table and immediately bolted after you.
You barely made it to the powder room down the hall, throwing the door open and collapsing onto your knees in front of the marble toilet. You gripped the porcelain bowl with white knuckles, your entire body racking with a violent, agonizing heave as you emptied your stomach, the cold tiles beneath your knees doing nothing to soothe the sudden fire burning through you.
The heavy thud of Jiminās dress shoes echoed frantically down the marble hallway, followed closely by the hurried, anxious footsteps of his parents. Behind them, the kitchen staff stood in frozen, breathless silence, the sudden eruption of chaos shattering the orderly routine of the Park estate.
Before Jimin could even cross the threshold of the powder room, the harsh, agonizing sound of you heaving cracked through the air.
Jimin didn't hesitate. He threw the door wide open and dropped to his knees on the cold tile right beside you. His expensive trousers were ruined against the floor, but he didn't care. His large, tattooed hands immediately went to workāone holding your hair securely back away from your face, while his other hand rubbed firm, soothing circles across your trembling back.
"I've got you," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, frantic rumble, completely stripped of its usual Don-like composure. "I've got you, baby. Just let it out."
Another violent wave wracked your body, leaving you gasping for air, your fingers digging so hard into the porcelain rim that your knuckles turned blood-white. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of the nausea. You felt entirely exposed, stripped of all your usual fierce dignity, but Jimin didn't move an inch, holding you steady against his chest as you emptied your stomach.
Shadows fell over the doorway as Mr. and Mrs. Park hurried into the frame.
"Oh, goodness," Mrs. Park breathed, her elegant facade slipping to reveal pure, maternal panic. She immediately turned to one of the head maids who was lingering anxiously in the hall. "Go fetch a flask of cold water and a damp cloth immediately! Move!"
The maid scurried off as if her life depended on it.
Mr. Park stood just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes scanning your pale face with deep concern. The former Don looked ready to call in an entire regiment of syndicate medics. "Is it the food? Did someone touch the kitchen shipments?" his voice low and dangerous, the instinct to suspect a poisoning attempt always present in his line of work.
"No," Jimin snapped over his shoulder, his focus never leaving you as you finally slumped back, resting your forehead against the cool edge of the marble bowl. "The staff eats the same supply, Dad. It's not a hit."
The maid sprinted back into the room, handing the cold water and a fresh, damp towel to Mrs. Park, who immediately knelt on your other side. She gently took the towel and began wiping the cold sweat from your forehead and the back of your neck.
"Drink a little, darling. Rinse your mouth," Mrs. Park urged softly, handing the glass to Jimin.
Jimin brought the glass to your lips, his hand incredibly steady despite the tight, fierce worry shifting in his eyes. You took a small sip, rinsing the bitter taste from your mouth, before leaning completely into his side. Your strength was entirely gone, your breathing coming in shallow, exhausted puffs.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice a hoarse, pathetic rasp as you looked up at the gathered family. "I ruined breakfast."
"Are you insane?" Jimin muttered, his jaw tightly clenched as he carefully lifted you off the floor, scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He held you tightly against his chest, cradling you like something fragile. "Nobody cares about the damn breakfast, Y/n."
He carried you out of the bathroom and back into the hallway. His parents followed closely, the air in the estate heavy with a suffocating, protective worry.
"Take her upstairs, Jimin," Mr. Park commanded, his tone firm but laced with genuine care. "I'll have the personal doctor here in ten minutes. No exceptions."
Jimin nodded once, his eyes locked on your pale face as you buried your nose into his neck, seeking his warmth. As he began to carry you up the grand staircase, Mrs. Park lingered at the bottom, her eyes darting from your retreating form to the kitchen, a sudden, quiet realization flickering across her elegant features. She didn't say a word, but a knowing, breathless smile began to play at the corners of her lips.
You felt completely drained, as if the sudden bout of sickness had stripped every ounce of energy straight from your bones. You lay limp against the plush pillows of the massive bed, your eyes half-closed. Jimin sat tightly beside you, his imposing frame practically vibrating with a tense, protective aura, while Mrs. Park sat gracefully on the very edge of the mattress.
"Work?" you whispered, your voice a faint, raspy breath as you looked at his crisp shirt. You knew he had a syndicate meeting scheduled for the afternoon.
"Shut up," Jimin murmured, his voice low and fiercely tender as he reached down, his large palm rubbing slow, soothing circles over your side to calm your shallow breathing. "I'm not leaving this room."
Mrs. Park kept her gaze anchored on your pale face, her eyes shimmering with a quiet, intense hope. She bit the inside of her cheek, deliberately holding her tongue. She didn't want to voice the theory aloud just yetāwhat if she was wrong and gave everyone a sudden, devastating false hope? No, she had to control herself.
Within minutes, the private syndicate doctor hurried into the master suite, his medical bag in hand. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence as he performed a quick, thorough checkup, checking your pulse, your temperature, and your eyes.
Finally, the doctor stepped back, looking a bit perplexed as he noted his findings. "Ummm... physically, you seem perfectly fine, Ma'am. There are absolutely no signs of food poisoning, no internal infections, and no sudden food allergies..."
"Then what the fuck is it?" Jimin snapped, his patience officially evaporating. He towered over the doctor, his dark eyes narrowing into a dangerous, predatory glare.
"Jimin," his mother grounded him, her voice a sharp, authoritative warning that forced the young boss to exhale a harsh breath and rein in his temper.
The doctor let out a hesitant sigh, adjusting his glasses before turning his attention directly back to you. "Mrs. Park Y/n... if you don't mind me asking, did you get your period this month?"
The air in the room instantly shifted. The heavy, dark tension vanished, replaced by a sudden, electric stillness. Jiminās entire expression changed at the question, his jaw unlocking as his eyes darted from the doctor straight down to you.
You, however, were still entirely oblivious, your hazy mind struggling to process the words through your sheer exhaustion. You blinked slowly, trying to force your tired brain to track backwards through the calendar. Last month... you remember. But this month?
The doctor nodded, making a quick mental note. "How many days due are you?"
Jimin stared down at you, a raw, uncharacteristic hope completely taking over his handsome features. Beside him, his motherās eyes were practically dancing, a breathless smile threatening to break across her face.
You spent a few grueling minutes thinking through the mental fog before you finally replied, "One week."
The doctor cleared his throat, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at the mafia boss. "In that case... I highly recommend a pregnancy test, Mr. Park. The symptoms line up perfectly."
Your eyes flew wide open, the exhaustion instantly draining from your body as a jolt of pure shock shot through your veins. "What?" you gasped, sitting up slightly. "But... we took protectionā"
Your voice cut off abruptly as your memory flashed back vividly to the previous week. You remembered the dark, stormy night when Jimin had come home stressed from a turf warāthe intense, feral, unbridled passion that had overtaken both of you.
You had ended up tangled in the sheets thrice in a single week, completely blinded by adrenaline and desire... entirely forgetting about condoms.
The realization hit you like a freight train.
Slowly, your wide, stunned gaze drifted over to meet your husband's. Jimin was already looking down at you, his rough, heavily tattooed hands moving up to gently cup both sides of your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he nodded tightly, his dark eyes filled with a fierce, beautiful assurance.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion you had never heard from him before. "I think we did.ā
The bathroom door felt miles away as you stood inside, the small plastic stick resting on the marble vanity. Outside, the silence in the master bedroom was heavy, thick with an anticipation that made the entire estate seem to hold its breath.
You stared down at the digital window of the test, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. One minute bled into two. The little hourglass icon blinked mockingly before it finally dissolved, replaced by a solid, undeniable symbol.
Two lines. Clear, bold, and life-changing.
Your breath caught in your throat, a shaky hand flying up to cover your mouth as a wave of emotionānot nausea this time, but pure, unadulterated shock and a strange, blooming warmthāwashed over you. You were going to have a baby. A child with the most dangerous man in the city.
Slowly, you unlocked the door. The moment the handle clicked, Jimin snapped to attention. He had been pacing the length of the bedroom floor, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, but now he froze, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that could burn. Standing near the window, Mrs. Park stood up from her chair, her hands clasped tightly against her chest.
You stepped out, the small stick held loosely in your fingers. You didn't know what face you were making, but the second Jimin saw your wide, glassy eyes, he knew.
He closed the distance between you in two long strides. He didn't even look at the test. He just searched your face, his breathing shallow. "Y/n?" he breathed, his voice a low, raspy plea.
"Jimin..." you whispered, a soft, tearful laugh escaping your lips as you held up the stick. "It's... it's positive. I'm pregnant."
A breathless, incredulous laugh ripped from Jimin's throat. Before you could say another word, his large hands clamped around your waist, and he pulled you flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his strong arms tightening around you so securely it felt as if he were trying to shield you from the entire universe. You could feel the fierce, rapid thud of his heartbeat against your own.
"Oh, thank goodness!" Mrs. Park gasped from behind him, tears instantly spilling over her cheeks as she let out a joyful, emotional laugh. "I knew it! I knew it!" She hurried over, throwing her arms around both of you, murmuring endless blessings into your shoulder.
Jimin finally pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving up to cup your jaw with a tenderness that completely erased the ruthless Don. His eyes were bright, a rare, breathtaking smile splitting across his handsome face as his thumbs wiped away the stray tear that had escaped your eye.
"A baby," he murmured, the words tasting foreign but entirely beautiful on his tongue. He pressed his forehead firmly against yours, his voice dropping into a deep, fiercely possessive whisper meant only for you. "We're having a baby, sweetheart. I've got you. I've got both of you now."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning into his solid warmth, the lingering exhaustion of the morning completely forgotten. You were still the fierce, attitude-clad wife of the Park Jimin but looking into Jimin's soft, devoted eyes, you knew everything had just beautifully changed.
By evening, the news of the impending Park heir had rippled through the estate like a silent, joyous wildfire. The atmosphere in the grand dining hall had shifted dramatically from the morningās tense breakfast.
The long mahogany table was glowing under the warm light of the crystal chandelier, but the focal point was no longer the foodāit was you.
Mr. Park sat at the head of the table, a rare, booming laugh echoing off the walls as he raised a crystal glass of aged scotch. For a man who usually ruled his syndicate with an iron fist, his face was split into a brilliant, proud smile.
"An heir!" he declared, slamming his glass down with immense satisfaction. "The Park bloodline remains unbroken and strong. Jimin, you done well. Y/n, my dear, you have brought the greatest blessing to this house."
"Thank you, Father," you murmured, forcing a tight, polite smile. In reality, you were gripping the edge of the table, fighting the absolute war currently waging in your stomach.
"Now, hush, dear, let her breathe," Mrs. Park chided her husband gently before turning a sharp, authoritative gaze toward the head maid standing at the sideboard. The matriarch was fully in her element now. "Listen to me very carefully. From this moment on, the kitchen menu is completely rewritten. No heavy grease, no overwhelming spices, and absolutely no truffle oil near this wing. Y/n is to be served only the freshest, healthiest ingredients, and whatever specific craving she hasāno matter the hourāyou make it happen. If she so much as looks at a dish and pales, you whisk it away immediately. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Madam. Perfectly," the maid replied quickly, bowing deeply.
You let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in your chair. The attention was suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the man sitting right beside you.
Jimin hadnāt touched his food. He hadn't taken his eyes off you for more than a second all evening. The second you slumped back, his large, warm hand was instantly on your lower back, supporting you.
He reached over with his other hand, meticulously cutting your chicken breast into tiny, bite-sized pieces with a delicate care that looked completely ridiculous on a man with scarred knuckles and mafia tattoos.
"Here," Jimin whispered, his deep voice dripping with an agonizingly soft tenderness as he held a small piece of food out to you. "Try to eat just a little bit, baby. For the strength."
Your jaw clenched. Your raging pregnancy hormones, fueled by the persistent wave of nausea, suddenly spiked into pure, unadulterated irritation. The ruthless, terrifying Don who usually commanded armies of hitmen was currently treating you like you were made of spun glass, and it was driving you entirely insane.
"Jimin," you hissed under your breath, turning a sharp, venomous glare on him. "I am pregnant, not paralyzed. Put the fork down before I stab you with it."
Mr. Park let out another loud, delighted chuckle from the head of the table, completely unbothered by your attitude. "Ah, the fire is still there! The child will be fierce."
Jimin didn't even flinch at your sharp tongue. Instead, a faint, amused smirk played on his lips as he set the fork down, his thumb gently rubbing your hip beneath the table in a slow, possessive rhythm.
"Watch the attitude, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in so close his warm breath brushed against your ear, his voice dropping into that low, raspy tone that always made your pulse race. "I'm being delicate with you because you look like a strong breeze could knock you over right now. Eat your food, or Iāll resort to feeding you myself in front of my parents."
You let out a sharp, frustrated huff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you snatched the fork from his hand. "You are infuriating."
"And you're gorgeous when you're spiteful," he replied smoothly, his eyes darkening with a beautiful, fierce devotion as he watched you take a small, hesitant bite.
Despite the nausea, the hovering in-laws, and your completely chaotic hormones, the heavy, reassuring weight of Jimin's hand on your thigh grounded you. You were carrying the future of the syndicate, but wrapped in the fierce protection of the Park family, you knew you could handle whatever storm came next.
Six years had passed, and the sprawling Park estate had a brand-new ruler.
She was a tiny, devastating storm of a child named Min-jee, and she had inherited every ounce of her parents' lethal DNA. At just six years old, she didn't just walk through the grand hallwaysāshe commanded them. With a single, unblinking glare inherited directly from her father, and a razor-sharp, silver-tongued wit passed down from her mother, she currently had the entire Park syndicate, from the highest-ranking underbosses to the veteran guards at the gates, completely trembling in their leather boots.
But at 7:30 on a soft Tuesday morning, the miniature tyrant was still just a warm, sleepy weight tucked securely in her motherās arms.
The morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer silk curtains of the master suite. You blinked your eyes open, a soft smile immediately gracing your lips as you felt the tiny, rhythmic breaths against your chest. Min-jee was curled into your side, a tangled mess of dark silk hair, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of your nightgown with the same fierce possessiveness her father always displayed.
You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Good morning, my little shadow," you whispered, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face.
Min-jee stirred. Her long eyelashes fluttered open, revealing a pair of dark, piercing eyes that were an exact, uncanny replica of Jiminās. She didn't stretch or yawn like a normal child. Instead, her tiny brow immediately furrowed into a sharp, unimpressed pucker as the morning light hit her face.
She looked up at you, her little lips pressing into a tight, haughty pout. "The sun is entirely too loud today, Mommy," she grumbled, her voice a tiny, raspy squeak that still managed to sound incredibly demanding.
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, squeezing her closer. "The sun doesn't make noise, Min-jee."
"It hurts my eyes. Therefore, it is loud," she corrected with absolute, unshakeable confidence, crossing her tiny arms over her chest as she rested her chin on your shoulder.
She looked around the massive bedroom, her sharp gaze instantly landing on the empty space beside you. She clicked her tongue in pure disapproval. "Where is Father? He slipped away without kissing my forehead. This is the second time this week. Itās unacceptable."
"Your father had an early morning shipment at the docks, sweetheart," you explained, amused by the six-year-old currently demanding an account of a mafia Don's schedule. "He left hours ago."
Min-jee let out a dramatic, heavy sigh, rolling her eyes in a way that made you feel like you were looking into a mirror. "Business, business. I will have to restructure his schedule when he returns. He works for us, doesn't he?"
"Technically, he works for the entire syndicate, minx," you laughed, tossing the duvet aside and shifting so she was sitting on your lap.
Min-jee lifted her chin, her small face adopting an expression of sheer, unadulterated bratty elegance. "The syndicate answers to him, and he answers to me. So, logically, I own the docks."
You couldn't help but burst out laughing, cuping her chubby, soft cheeks in your hands and squishing them until her pout turned comical. "You are six years old, Park Min-jee! Stop talking like a mob boss and go wash your face."
"Mommy, please. Watch the hands. You're ruining my aura," she complained, though she didn't actually pull away from your touch. Instead, she leaned her head forward, pressing her forehead against yours, her dark eyes softening into something purely sweet and loving. "But... you can kiss me twice. To make up for the loud sun."
"Deal," you whispered, kissing her nose and then her cheek, your heart swelling with an overwhelming warmth.
She was a handful, a brilliant, terrifyingly sassy extension of the love you and Jimin shared. As she slid off the bed, adjusting her silk pajamas with a practiced flick of her wrist before marching toward the bathroom like a queen heading to her throne, you could only shake your head.
The house was definitely going to tremble today, and Jimin was going to have his hands completely full the moment he walked through the door.
The grand dining pavilion was bathed in the crisp light of mid-morning as the Park family gathered around the mahogany table. Mr. and Mrs. Park sat in their usual seats, enjoying their tea, while you sat at the center with Min-jee right beside you.
The morning routine was running like clockworkāuntil the head maid placed a silver platter of freshly made breakfast options down on the table.
Min-jee reached out with her small, silver tongs, lifting a piece of brioche toast onto her porcelain plate. She turned it over once.
Her tiny, dark eyes narrowed into a piercing, deadpan stare that could have frozen water. Right on the corner of the golden crust was a small, unmistakable patch of dark, slightly blackened char.
Min-jee slowly dropped the tongs back onto the silver tray with a sharp, echoing clink. She didn't yell. Instead, she leaned back in her high chair, crossed her tiny arms over her chest, and fixed the trembling maid with a cold, utterly unimpressed glare that she had perfected from watching her father execute interrogations.
"What," Min-jee began, her little voice cutting through the quiet room like a razor blade, "is this?"
The maid's breath caught in her throat. "Itāsāit's your toast, Min-jee..."
"This isn't toast," Min-jee interrupted smoothly, her tone dripping with a haughty, six-year-old arrogance. "This is charcoal. Do I look like a fireplace to you, Nina?"
Before the maid could even stammer out an apology, you leaned forward, your eyes instantly dropping to the blackened crust. Your own protective, fiercely particular maternal instincts flared up, and your jaw tightened. You shifted your gaze, locking a matching, lethal glare onto the poor woman.
"She is entirely correct," you said, your voice dropping into that quiet, suffocating register that always signaled trouble. "I pay this staff an exorbitant amount of money to ensure perfection. If you cannot manage to watch a toaster for ninety seconds without burning my daughter's breakfast, perhaps we need to find a crew that can. Take it back."
"Yes, Ma'am! Immediately, Ma'am!" the maid squeaked, her face turning completely pale as she frantically snatched the plate away and bolted back into the kitchen as if the devil himself were chasing her.
Sitting at the head of the table, Mr. Park paused, his teacup hovering just an inch from his lips. He looked at you, your eyes still flashing with cold authority, and then looked at his six-year-old granddaughter, who was currently smoothing down the front of her silk dress with an elegant, dismissive flick of her wrist.
The former Don let out a loud, booming chuckle that shook his formidable frame. He set his cup down and shook his head in absolute, proud amusement.
"Well," Mr. Park declared, a brilliant, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he looked over at his wife. "No DNA test needed for that one. She is a hundred percent a Park. And terrifyingly, a hundred percent her mother."
Mrs. Park chuckled softly into her linen napkin, her eyes shimmering with fond delight. "She certainly knows how to manage the staff, dear. Just like Y/n."
Min-jee lifted her chin, completely unbothered by her grandparents' teasing. She looked over at you, her dark eyes softening just a fraction into a look of smug solidarity. "Thank you, Mommy. Efficiency must be rewarded, and failure must be corrected."
You couldn't help the smirk that tugged at your lips as you reached over, gently smoothing down her tangled dark hair. "Drink your orange juice, you little dictator. Your father will be home soon, and you can complain to him about the kitchen crisis.ā
By seven in the evening, the heavy oak doors of the estateās private office wing were heavily guarded. Two of the syndicateās most seasoned sentries stood like statues outside the double doors, where Jimin was currently locked in a tense, high-stakes virtual meeting with European suppliers.
The silence of the hallway was abruptly shattered by the rhythmic, purposeful patter-patter of tiny slippers.
The guards immediately looked down to see Min-jee marching toward them, a plush white teddy bear tucked under her arm and a fierce, unblinking glare fixed on her face.
"Min-jee," the guard on the left murmured, clearing his throat as he cautiously stepped into her path. "I'm sorry, but the Don is in a very important meeting right now. He explicitly said no interruptions."
Min-jee stopped right in front of him, planting her tiny hands on her hips. She tilted her head back, her dark eyes narrowing into an exact, chilling replica of her fatherās interrogation stare.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice a tiny, raspy squeak that she tried very hard to make sound menacing. "I am Park Min-jee. If you do not move your big, giant feet right now, I will tell my father that you stole my teddy bear. And then he will feed you to the guard dogs at the gate. Shoo!"
The two heavily armed, scarred mobsters exchanged a completely panicked, helpless look. They could face down rival cartels without blinking, but a threat from the Don's six-year-old daughter was a death sentence.
"Uhā" the guard stammered, stepping back instantly. "Right away, Princess."
Min-jee gave a smug, victorious little nod, grabbed the heavy brass handle with both hands, and pushed the door wide open, sprinting right into the lion's den.
Inside the dimly lit, expansive office, Jimin was leaning back in his leather chair, his jaw tightly clenched as he listened to a chaotic report on his laptop screen. The air in the room was cold and suffocatingāuntil the door burst open.
Jiminās eyes snapped up, a dangerous, lethal reflex instantly taking over his features. But the moment his gaze landed on the tiny girl in pink silk pajamas, the terrifying mafia Don vanished as if he had never existed. The hard, rigid lines of his face completely melted into a look of pure, breathtaking adoration.
"Meeting dismissed. We will resume tomorrow," Jimin cut off the suppliers mid-sentence, slamming the laptop lid down without a single shred of hesitation.
The second the computer closed, Min-jeeās fierce, sassy demeanor completely evaporated. She wasn't the miniature syndicate dictator anymore; she was just his little girl.
"Papa!" she squealed, dropping her teddy bear on the Persian rug as she ran full speed across the massive room.
Jimin let out a deep, breathless laugh, kicking his legs back from the desk and opening his arms wide. He caught her effortlessly, scooping her up into his lap and pulling her flush against his chest. He buried his face in her dark hair, inhaling her sweet, innocent scent, his strong, heavily tattooed arms wrapping around her like an unyielding fortress.
"Hey, my beautiful princess," Jimin murmured, his deep voice thick with a raw tenderness he reserved entirely for her. He pressed a lingering, soft kiss to her forehead. "What are you doing awake? Didn't your mother tell you it's almost bedtime?"
"The guards tried to lock me out, Papa," Min-jee pouted dramatically, wrapping her tiny arms securely around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder. "They were very rude. And Nina burned my toast this morning. It was a very difficult day for me."
Jiminās chest rumbled with a quiet, amused chuckle as he stroked her back, his thumb rubbing slow circles just like he did with you. "Is that so? A difficult day? Should I handle the guards for you?"
"No," she sighed magnanimously, twisting a lock of his dark hair around her little finger. "I already handled them. But you owe me. You left this morning without kissing my forehead."
"Ah, you caught me," Jimin smiled, his eyes softening beautifully as he pulled back to look at her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Papa had to go to the docks early. What can I do to make it up to you? Anything you want."
Min-jeeās eyes sparkled with mischief. "I want the giant chocolate cake from the downtown bakery. The one Mommy said I can only have on birthdays."
Under normal circumstances, you would have strict rules about sugar before bed. But looking down at his daughterās pleading, dark eyesāeyes that looked exactly like his ownāJimin stood absolutely no chance. He was completely, utterly wrapped around her little finger.
Reaching over with his scarred hand, he picked up his desk phone and speed-dialed his head of security. "Get a car to the downtown bakery. Buy the largest chocolate cake they have and bring it to the estate wing immediately," he commanded smoothly before hanging up.
Min-jee squealed with delight, kissing his cheek repeatedly. "You're the best Papa in the whole wide world!"
"I know, baby," Jimin smiled widely, cupping her face and booping her nose, completely ruining any shred of his fearsome reputation. "Just don't tell your mommy, alright? Otherwise, weāre both sleeping outside tonight.ā
The heavy office doors clicked open before the security detail could even warn Jimin. You stepped into the room, your hands resting on your hips, your eyes instantly locking onto the criminal mastermind and his six-year-old accomplice.
"I knew it," you said, your voice laced with a mixture of amusement and mock severity. "The entire security detail looks like theyāve seen a ghost, the staff is whispering about a cake run, and my daughter is missing from her bed."
Min-jee immediately gasped, burying her face into Jimin's neck, though a tiny, guilty giggle escaped her lips.
Jimin looked up at you, his arms tightening around her defensively. He gave you a completely shameless, innocent smile, the exact same smirk he used whenever he got caught breaking your rules. "We were just discussing business strategy, sweetheart. Very high-level syndicate matters."
"Is that what we're calling chocolate cake now?" You walked over to the massive desk, leaning against the edge right in front of him. You reached down and gently nudged Min-jee's back. "Park Min-jee, out of your fatherās lap. It is past your bedtime, and you are actively corrupting the leader of the Park organization."
Min-jee peeked out from Jimin's shoulder, her little bottom lip sticking out in a perfect pout. "But Mommy, Papa was lonely. He needed my aura to feel better."
"Your aura is currently smelling like a sugar heist," you shot back, though your eyes softened with immense love.
Jimin laughed softly, a deep, raspy sound that vibrated through the room. He kissed the side of Min-jee's head before setting her gently on her feet. "Your mother is right, princess. Run along to your room. Papa will be up to tuck you in properly in a few minutes."
"Fine," Min-jee sighed dramatically, grabbing her plush teddy bear from the rug. She looked between the two of you, her sharp, sassy little mind clearly tracking the way her fatherās eyes had completely shifted to lock onto her mother. She rolled her eyes with an arrogance that was purely a copy of yours. "You two are going to do that kissey now, aren't you? Disgusting."
Before you could even gasp at her mouth, the tiny tyrant turned on her heel and marched out of the office, closing the heavy doors behind her with a definitive click.
Silence descended on the room, the atmosphere instantly shifting from domestic sweetness to something thick, heavy, and intoxicating.
Jimin didn't waste a second. He rolled his leather chair forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you right between his thighs. His large, tattooed hands slid up beneath the silk of your lounge top, his warm skin instantly sending a shiver down your spine.
"You're strict today, Mrs. Park," he murmured, his dark eyes raking over your face, a devastatingly handsome smirk playing on his lips. "Am I in trouble too?"
You leaned back slightly, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, your face adjusting into a cold, arrogant expression that you knew drove him absolutely insane. "You are always in trouble, Jimin. You spoil her to death, you ignore my rules, and frankly, your face is annoying me right now."
"Is that so?" Jimin chuckled, his grip tightening on your waist as he pulled you down closer, his thumb rubbing slow, agonizingly hot circles on your hip. "My face is annoying? Funny, because last night you couldn't get enough of it."
"That was last night," you sniffed, lifting your chin in a display of pure, untouchable sass. "Tonight, I find you completely insufferable. Youāre a terrible Don. A six-year-old commands you, and you tremble."
"I only tremble for two women in this world, baby," he whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made your knees weak. He leaned up, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. "And right now, the older one is being a very bad girl."
"Watch the mouth, Park," you whispered back, though you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck as he placed soft kisses against your skin. "I can still kick you out of this room. Don't think your title frightens me."
"I know it doesn't," he murmured against your skin, a low, satisfied growl escaping his throat. "Thatās why I married you."
He pulled back just enough to lock his eyes onto yours. The teasing glint vanished, replaced by a fierce, burning devotion that had only grown stronger over the last six years. Before you could utter another arrogant remark, Jimin leaned up and captured your lips with his.
The kiss was deep, possessive, and entirely consumingāa perfect blend of the dangerous world he ruled and the beautiful, chaotic love you both shared. You melted against him, your arrogance bleeding into absolute surrender as his hands anchored you to his chest, shutting out the rest of the world completely.
Jimin pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against yours for a fraction of a second before he completely let go. A low, breathless chuckle escaped his throat as he rested his forehead against yours, his dark eyes shining with a deep, fierce affection that entirely contradicted his reputation.
"You're a menace, Mrs. Park," he murmured, his hands smoothing down the silk of your waist.
"And you're a fool, Mr. Park," you replied, a genuine, beautiful smile breaking through your usual arrogant facade as you booped his nose. "Come on. We need to check on our other trouble before she actually succeeds in ordering that bakery cake."
Hand in hand, the two of you left the dimly lit office, the heavy tension of the underworld completely washing off as you walked back into your private wing. Jiminās thumb traced lazy, comforting circles over the back of your hand, the quiet hallway peaceful and still.
Until you pushed open the double doors of the master bedroom.
The peace shattered instantly.
Sitting right in the center of your plush, cream-colored rug was Min-jee. She had dragged your expensive, imported mahogany vanity stool over to the mirror, and scattered all around her were the casualties of war, your limited-edition designer lipsticks, shattered pressed powders, and open bottles of liquid foundation.
Min-jeeās face was an absolute catastrophe of luxury cosmetics. She had attempted to draw a dramatic, gothic wing over her eyelidsāa terrible imitation of your signature lookāresulting in thick, black streaks that reached almost to her hairline.
Her lips were smeared with a vibrant, blood-red liquid lipstick that was currently smudging into her cheeks, and she was aggressively stabbing a hundred-dollar blush brush into your favorite palette.
You froze in the doorway, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp, horrified gasp. "Park. Min. Jee."
At the sound of your icy, deadly calm voice, Min-jeeās hand froze mid-air. Her dark eyes snapped to the doorway, widening in a rare moment of genuine panic as she realized she had crossed a line even her royal aura couldn't protect her from.
"Oh my god," you hissed, your blood pressure instantly spiking as your eyes scanned the ruined, expensive makeup scattered across the rug. "That is my limited-edition Chanel! What in the absolute hell do you think you are doing?!"
"Mommy!" Min-jee squeaked, her sassy confidence completely evaporating into pure survival instinct. She dropped the brush onto the ruined carpet and scrambled to her feet.
"Don't 'Mommy' me! You are grounded until you are thirty!" You took a menacing step forward, your arms crossing over your chest as your eyes flashed with absolute maternal fury.
Seeing the impending storm, Min-jee didn't waste a single second. She bolted across the room like a tiny, pink streak of silk, screaming in terror. But she didn't run toward the door; she ran straight toward her ultimate shield.
"Papa! Save me! The monster is coming!" she shrieked, throwing herself violently at Jiminās legs. She wrapped her tiny arms around his knees, burying her messy, makeup-stained face right into his crisp trousers, completely ruining the expensive fabric with red lipstick.
Jimin stood frozen, a sharp, incredulous laugh ripping from his chest as he looked down at his daughter, then up at your absolutely murderous expression.
"Y/n, waitā" Jimin started, raising a hand in defense, but his eyes were dancing with a helpless, hysterical amusement that only fueled your wrath.
"Park Jimin, do not shield her!" you barked, pointing a dangerous finger at him. "Look at my rug! Look at my palette! If you don't move out of the way right now, I will bury both of you under the docks!"
Min-jee peeked out from behind Jiminās thigh, her eyes watering dramatically as she sniffled, clutching his trousers tighter. "Papa, sheās using her scary voice! Tell her I was just practicing my aura!"
"Your aura is a crime scene!" you yelled, though the sheer absurdity of the father-daughter duo was starting to chip away at your anger.
Jimin let out a deep, gravelly chuckle, slowly kneeling down to scoop the tiny, chaotic creature into his arms, completely unbothered by the black and red streaks now transferring onto his white dress shirt. He tucked her securely against his chest, turning his dark, meltingly soft eyes up to look at you.
"Alright, alright, truce," Jimin murmured, a devastating, dimpled smile spreading across his face as he looked from the ruined makeup back to your glaring face. "I'll buy you ten more of whatever she broke, baby. Just don't execute our daughter tonight.ā
The bath had been a chaotic affair of scrubbing black eyeliner and blood-red lipstick off a giggling six-year-old, but finally, the master suite was quiet. Well, relatively quiet.
You were currently buried under the duvet on your side of the bed, your back turned completely to the two accomplices, sulking with every fiber of your being.
The loss of your limited-edition Chanel palette still weighed heavily on your soul, and you were letting the entire room know it through your aggressively loud, irritated silence.
On the other side of the mattress, Jimin lay propped up against the leather headboard, his white dress shirt long gone, replaced by a dark grey t-shirt that was already ruined with faint makeup smudges. Tucked right into his side, her tiny head resting on his bicep, was Min-jee.
Both father and daughter were staring at your rigid back, their dark, matching eyes glittering with a highly controlled, silent amusement. Jiminās chest rumbled with a muted chuckle, a slow smirk playing on his lips as he watched you pull the sheets higher over your shoulder in a dramatic huff. Min-jee mirrored his expression perfectly, a tiny, smug grin plastered on her freshly scrubbed face.
Sensing the audience, you turned your head just enough to shoot a lethal glare over your shoulder.
Min-jee didn't even flinch. Instead, she chose violence. Shifting her weight, she snuggled even closer into Jiminās side, draping her tiny arm possessively over his chest. She locked eyes with you and, with absolute bratty precision, poked her pink little tongue out at you.
Your jaw dropped. You let out a dramatic, offended gasp, the lingering anger over your makeup instantly morphing into a fierce, territorial instinct.
"Oh, that is it," you snapped, throwing the duvet off your body. You scrambled across the mattress, invading their space, and forcefully wrapped your arms around Jiminās neck. You buried your face in his shoulder, pulling him toward you and throwing a triumphant, arrogant glare down at your daughter. "He is my husband first, you little gremlin! Find your own mob boss!"
Min-jeeās eyes widened in sheer disbelief. She grabbed Jiminās forearm, trying with all her six-year-old might to pull him back to her side. "No! He is my Papa! He belongs to me! Papa, tell her to go back to her side!"
"I am the queen of this castle, Min-jee! I gave him his title!" you fired back, tightening your grip around his neck until Jimin let out a breathless, choked laugh.
"I had him first!" Min-jee squealed, tugging at his shirt.
"scientifically impossible, you tiny tyrant!" You lifted your chin, looking down your nose at the six-year-old with the ultimate, unfiltered arrogance of a woman who had won the Don's heart. Driven completely by a chaotic surge of petty, competitive pure sass, you let a ridiculous dialogue fly right out of your mouth. "Listen to me, you sassy bag. If I hadn't fucked your dad, you wouldn't even be here right now!"
The bedroom fell into a sudden, horrifyingly sharp silence.
Jiminās eyes widened to the size of saucers. His entire body froze beneath the two of you, his hands stopping mid-air. He snapped his head toward you, his jaw practically dropping to the mattress. "Y/n! What the hell?! That is not what you tell a six-year-old!"
You blinked, the words echoing in the quiet room. A sudden jolt of panic hit your chest as your own brain finally processed what your mouth had just unleashed. Oh, shit.
Before you could scramble for damage control, Min-jee stopped pulling on Jiminās arm. Her tiny brow furrowed into a deep, genuinely perplexed pucker. She looked from your pale, horrified face up to her fatherās stressed expression, her dark eyes completely wide and innocent.
"What's... fuck?" Min-jee asked, pronouncing the curse word with a clear, high-pitched curiosity that made the air in the room completely vanish.
You instantly deflated, the arrogant, fierce queen vanishing in an instant. You looked like the ultimate victim of your own big mouth, your eyes darting to Jimin in a silent, panicked plea for salvation. Help me.
Jimin slowly closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as a long, deeply exhausted sigh escaped his lips. He had negotiated peace treaties between warring international syndicates, he had survived turf wars and assassination attempts, but sitting in his own bed between his foul-mouthed wife and his sponge-brained daughter, Jimin officially gave up.
He opened his eyes, looking at you with a heavy, deadpan stare that screamed 'you are entirely on your own.'
"Congratulations, sweetheart," Jimin murmured smoothly, his voice dripping with a dark, deeply amused sarcasm as he leaned his head back against the headboard, completely removing himself from the equation. "You just taught our daughter her first swear word. Have fun explaining that to my mother at breakfast tomorrow.ā
The morning sun streamed through the dining pavilion windows, casting a serene, golden glow over the mahogany table. It was a picture-perfect scene of domestic elegance. Mr. Park was calmly reading through a security report over his morning espresso, while Mrs. Park was gracefully pouring herbal tea. You and Jimin sat side by side. You kept your eyes trained on your plate, while Jimin looked like a man bracing for an ambush, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against his coffee cup.
Right next to you, Min-jee was swinging her legs under her chair, completely oblivious to the ticking time bomb she was sitting on.
The head maid walked out of the kitchen, carefully setting a fresh platter of perfectly golden, completely unburnt brioche toast right in front of the little princess.
Min-jee inspected the plate, her dark eyes tracking every inch of the bread. When she saw that it was completely flawless, a wide, triumphant smile broke across her face. "Wow!" she squeaked, clapping her tiny hands together. "The toast isn't charcoal today! It's actually perfect!"
The maid let out a visible sigh of relief, bowing gracefully. "I am so glad it pleases you, Princess."
Min-jee nodded with her signature, haughty nod. "Yes, Nina. It is very good. Last night, Mommy told me that if she hadn't fucked Papa, I wouldn't be here to eat it. So I am very glad she did!"
The entire dining pavilion went dead, brutally silent.
The maid choked on her own breath, her eyes widening in absolute horror before she frantically bowed and bolted into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
Mr. Parkās espresso cup frozen halfway to his mouth. He blinked, slowly turning his head toward his granddaughter, before a massive, repressed smirk began to twitch at the corners of his lips. He quickly lowered his cup, coughing into his fist to hide the booming laugh threatening to rip from his chest.
But the real danger sat across the table.
Mrs. Park slowly set her silver teapot down. The delicate porcelain made a sharp, echoing clink against the saucer. She didn't yell. She didn't raise her voice. Instead, the elegant matriarch of the Park syndicate leveled a slow, piercing glare straight across the table, her eyes locking onto you and Jimin with the terrifying authority of a queen mother. She knew her granddaughter's vocabulary didn't just appear out of thin air. Someone had lost their tongue.
"Jimin. Y/n," Mrs. Park said, her voice dropping into a calm, freezing register that made your spine instantly stiffen.
You immediately looked down at your eggs, suddenly finding the yolk incredibly fascinating. Beside you, the formidable mafia boss, a man who commanded a multi-million dollar criminal empire, visibly cleared his throat and adjusted his collar, looking completely text-book guilty.
"Mother," Jimin began, his smooth voice wavering just a fraction. "It was an accidentā"
"I do not care if it was an accident," Mrs. Park interrupted, her sharp gaze cutting him off effortlessly. "She is six years old. She is a sponge. For years, I have maintained a standard of absolute elegance and vocabulary in this household, and the two of you are upstairs behaving like street thugs in front of my granddaughter."
"Mom, it was a competitive situationā" you tried to whisper, your usual untouchable arrogance completely crumbling under his mother's glare.
"A competitive situation does not warrant a sailor's vocabulary, Y/n," Mrs. Park scolded, turning her piercing eyes onto you. "Both of you should know better. I expect proper etiquette, especially behind closed doors. If I hear that word come out of her mouth one more time, I will personally come upstairs and manage your wing myself. Am I understood?"
You and Jimin both nodded in unison, looking like two teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew.
But while you two were willing to take the scolding, the little tyrant sitting next to you was absolutely not.
Min-jeeās tiny brow furrowed into a deep, furious pucker. Her dark eyes flashed with a lethal, protective fire as she watched her grandmother scold her parents. Min-jee was a brat, and she was sassy, but she was fiercely, venomously possessive of her mother and father. No oneānot even her beloved grandmotherāwas allowed to use that tone with them.
Min-jee slammed her small silver fork onto the table with a sharp clack, standing up in her high chair.
"Halmeoni! Stop it!" Min-jee demanded, her tiny voice raspy but full of unyielding attitude as she pointed a chubby finger at Mrs. Park. "You cannot talk to my Mommy and Papa like that! They are the bosses! Papa owns the docks and Mommy owns Papa! You are being very rude to them!"
Mr. Park couldn't hold it in anymore; a loud, booming laugh finally ripped from his chest, shaking the entire table as he leaned back in his chair.
Mrs. Park blinked, completely taken aback by the sudden, fierce defense from the six-year-old. Her strict expression softened just a fraction into a look of sheer amusement, though she kept her composure.
Jimin quickly reached over, his large hand gently grabbing Min-jeeās waist and pulling her back down into her seat before she could cause an international incident at the breakfast table. "Sit down, princess. Halmeoni is right. We don't use that word."
Min-jee pouted heavily, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and glaring at her grandparents. "But Mommy said it because she loves you, Papa. I was just trying to be loving too."
Jimin ran a heavy hand over his face, a helpless, breathless laugh finally escaping his lips as he looked across the table at his mother, who was now shaking her head with a fond, defeated smile.
He leaned close to your ear, his warm breath brushing your skin as his hand slid under the table to squeeze your thigh. "See what you started, you beautiful menace?" he whispered, his dark eyes glittering with a chaotic, deep adoration. "Good luck untangling this one. She's got your exact, terrifying loyalty.ā
A/n : what did you think of this final extra chapter?? Your reviews would mean alot to me!!! Thank you for reading!
