Jungkook didn't even blink. He leaned his lower back against the sleek marble kitchen counter of the crowded beach house, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. A slow, incredibly annoying smirk spread across his face as his dark eyes locked onto yours. He took a deliberate, slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact.

"The kitchen belongs to whoever gets here first," he said, his voice a low, gravelly scratch that usually made girls at Westbridge High lose their minds. To you, it just sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Besides, there’s plenty of space. You’re just annoyed because my presence is throwing off your aesthetic."

You let out a cold, humorless laugh, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him. The bass from the living room speakers vibrated through the floorboards, but the space between the two of you felt dead silent, thick with pure malice. You were wearing your favorite black dress—the one that made you look like an untouchable queen—and you used every bit of your height to look down your nose at him.

"Your presence throws off my mood, which is worse," you snapped, your voice dripping with sweet poison. "And trust me, Jeon, your aesthetic is entirely salvageable if you just put a bag over your head. Now, get out of my way before I accidentally spill this red wine all over your ridiculously expensive, try-hard jacket."

Jungkook’s smirk didn't fade, but his eyes darkened. He loved this. He lived for it. Everyone else in the graduating class walked on eggshells around him because he was wealthy, insanely attractive, and possessed a ruthless streak that could ruin a person's social life with a single rumor. But you? You were the ice queen of the senior hall. You didn't walk on eggshells; you crushed them under your designer heels.

"Try it," he dared softly, leaning down just an inch so his face was level with yours. "Spill it. See what happens."

"Is that a threat?"

"It’s a promise, sweetheart."

You held his gaze for three agonizing seconds, the air between you practically sparking with fire, before you forcefully shoved past his shoulder, making sure to hit him hard enough to make him stumble back against the counter. You didn't look back as you walked out into the humid night air, but you could practically feel his eyes burning a hole in your spine.

Ten minutes later, you were standing on the darkened back balcony, away from the sweaty bodies and the blinding strobe lights of the end-of-term party. You needed a second to breathe without looking at Jeon Jungkook’s stupid, perfect face.

You leaned against the wooden railing, looking out at the dark ocean waves. You took a deep breath, letting the cool wind calm the irritation bubbling in your chest.

Then, you heard voices right below you.

"There is no way in hell, man. She’ll castrate you before you even get her phone number."

It was Mingyu’s voice, loud and slightly drunk, coming from the shadows of the patio directly beneath the balcony.

"I’m serious," another voice chimed in. Yugyeom. "She’s not a girl, she’s a black widow. She literally ruined Seojun’s life last semester because he breathed too loudly next to her in AP Lit. You can’t tame that."

You froze, your fingers gripping the wooden railing tightly. You quietly leaned over the edge, peer-reading through the darkness. There, sitting on the outdoor lounge chairs with red solo cups in their hands, were Jungkook’s closest boys.

And standing right in the middle of them, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his silver lighter, was Jungkook himself. The small orange flame illuminated his sharp jawline and the arrogant tilt of his head.

"I don't need to tame her," Jungkook said, his voice chillingly calm as he blew a cloud of smoke into the night air. "I just need her to fall for me. There's a difference."

"A bet's a bet, Jeon," Mingyu laughed, slapping his knee. "One month. If you can get her to actually date you—like, hold your hand in the hallway, look at you like she doesn't want to murder you, and admit she’s yours—we buy you that vintage motorcycle you've been drooling over. But when she rejects you and shatters your tiny little ego into a million pieces, you hand over the keys to your car."

You felt the blood in your veins turn to absolute ice. A bet. They were turning you into a game.

You waited, holding your breath, wanting to hear exactly what the bastard would say.

Jungkook let out a low, cocky chuckle. He took another drag of his cigarette, looking up toward the sky, completely unaware that you were looking right down at him.

"A month is too long," Jungkook said, his tone full of disgusting confidence. "Give me three weeks. By graduation night, she’ll be begging me to be her boyfriend. The ice queen is going to melt, boys. Watch me."

Up on the balcony, your shock instantly melted away, replaced by a roaring, burning wave of fury. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. How dare he? How dare he think he could play you like one of his stupid little video games? He thought he was the ultimate predator at Westbridge High. He thought everyone played by his rules.

A dangerous, slow smile crept onto your lips. The anger in your chest crystallized into something sharp, cold, and beautiful.

Oh, Jeon Jungkook, you thought, watching him laugh with his friends below. You just picked the wrong girl to mess with.

You weren't going to expose him. That would be too easy, too boring. No, you were going to play along. You were going to let him think he was winning. You would let him pull out every single one of his smooth, pathetic, charming tricks, and right when he thought he had you in the palm of his hand... you were going to destroy him. You would make him fall so hard his head would spin, and then you would break his heart in front of the entire school.

The game was on.

The next Monday morning, the school hallway was a chaotic mess of seniors counting down the days to graduation. Lockers were slamming, people were laughing, and the energy was high.

You walked through the front doors, your hair perfectly styled, your chin held high. People naturally moved out of your way, knowing better than to cross your path before you had your morning iced coffee. You reached your locker, spinning the lock with practiced ease.

"Good morning, sunshine."

A heavy weight leaned against the locker right next to yours. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The scent of expensive cologne and mint gave him away instantly.

Jungkook was leaning against the metal door, dressed in a black leather jacket, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He gave you a look that he probably thought was irresistible. It was his signature "I’m trouble, but you want me" look.

You slowly closed your locker door, turning your body to face him. Usually, you would have told him to drop dead within two seconds. But today, you had a script to play.

You let your eyes travel down his body, slowly, deliberately, making sure he noticed your inspection. Then, you looked back up, your expression completely blank, almost bored.

"You're in my light, Jungkook," you said smoothly, keeping your voice even.

"I am the light, babe," he replied, flashing a grin that showed off his sharp canine teeth. He stepped a bit closer, invading your personal space. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch away from a strand of your hair, before he gently tucked it behind your ear. His touch was warm, but it made your skin crawl with competitive adrenaline. "You looked beautiful at the party on Saturday, by the way. Even when you were trying to murder me with your eyes."

Um, so Phase One of his plan has begun, you thought. The cheesy compliments.

Instead of slapping his hand away like you normally would, you stayed perfectly still. You tilted your head, a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was a bait smile. A dangerous one.

"Are you hitting on me, Jeon?" you asked, your voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing whisper. "Because if you are, it’s a bit pathetic. I thought you had better game than that."

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He had clearly expected you to snap at him, to yell, or to walk away. The fact that you were standing your ground and talking back with a soft tone caught him completely off guard. Your reaction wasn't in his playbook.

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, his eyes narrowing with newfound interest.

"Maybe I am," he murmured, leaning his head down, his voice dropping into that dangerous, intimate register. "Maybe I’ve realized that the mean girls are much more interesting than the nice ones."

"Is that so?" You stepped even closer to him, so close that his chest almost brushed against yours. You could see the slight flare of his nostrils as his breath hitched. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your expression a perfect mix of mockery and temptation. "Well, let me give you a piece of advice, Jungkook. I don't do 'interesting.' And I definitely don't do boys who try too hard."

Before he could respond, you patted his chest twice with your hand—right over his heart, feeling the steady, rapid beat against your palm—and walked past him toward your first class.

Jungkook stayed frozen by the lockers for a moment, watching your retreating figure. He ran a hand through his hair, a genuine, frustrated laugh escaping his lips. His heart was actually beating faster, and it pissed him off.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. This wasn't going to be a simple walk in the park. She wasn't just mean—she was smart.

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire cafeteria was buzzing. You sat at your usual table near the large glass windows, surrounded by the top tier of the school's social ladder. You weren't really listening to whatever drama your friend was talking about; your eyes were fixed on the entrance.

Right on cue, Jungkook entered with his boys. He looked around the crowded room until his eyes found yours.

Instead of looking away, you held his gaze. You picked up your strawberry, taking a slow, deliberate bite while looking directly at him.

Jungkook’s stride slowed down. His friends noticed, looking between him and your table. Jungkook murmured something to Mingyu, broke away from his group, and walked straight toward your table. The entire cafeteria seemed to grow quieter, dozens of heads turning to watch the collision of the school’s two most dangerous seniors.

He stopped right at the edge of your table, placing both hands on the surface, leaning forward.

"We’re going out tonight," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a command.

Your friends gasped softly, staring at him like he had lost his mind. Nobody spoke to you like that.

You wiped your mouth with a napkin, entirely unbothered. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs. "Excuse me? Did I miss a chapter where I suddenly care about what you want?"

"Seven o'clock. I’ll pick you up," Jungkook continued, ignoring your bite. His eyes were intensely focused, a challenging glint in them. "Unless, of course, the ice queen is too scared to spend two hours alone with me."

Ah. Reverse psychology. How incredibly basic.

You let out a soft sigh, looking at him like he was a mildly amusing puppy. You knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to get you alone so he could charm you, make his move, and secure the bet. And you wanted to get him alone so you could start breaking his sanity.

"Scared of you?" you asked softly, loud enough for your friends to hear. You stood up, picking up your tray. You leaned across the table, your face just inches from his, mirroring his posture. The energy between you was so sharp the people sitting next to you looked uncomfortable. "Keep dreaming, Jeon. I'll give you two hours. But let’s make one thing clear: if you bore me, I’m leaving you on the side of the road."

Jungkook’s eyes flared with a mix of triumph and something hotter, something greedier. "Deal."

"Seven o'clock," you whispered, giving him a cold, gorgeous smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Don't be late. I hate waiting."

As you walked away to trash your lunch tray, you felt a massive rush of adrenaline. He thought he had just won the first round. He thought he had successfully baited you into a date. He had absolutely no idea that he had just walked right into a trap of his own making.

The hunter thought he was tracking a deer, but he had just poked a sleeping lion.

The black sports car pulled up to your curb at exactly 6:59 PM.

You watched from your second-story bedroom window as the sleek engine purred to a halt. Jungkook didn’t get out to open your door. He just sat there, the headlights cutting through the twilight, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He wanted to see if you’d make him wait.

You let out a slow, amused breath, checking your reflection one last time. You wore a tight, cropped white top, baggy low-rise cargo pants, and sharp designer boots. It was casual, effortless, and screamed I didn’t try at all for you.

You walked out of the house at exactly 7:10 PM.

When you pulled open the passenger door and slid into the leather seat, the scent of his expensive, smoky cologne hit you instantly. The interior of the car was immaculate, glowing with faint blue ambient lights.

Jungkook was leaning back, one wrist resting lazily on top of the steering wheel. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes scanning your outfit with a slow, calculating gaze. A familiar, mocking smirk played on his lips.

"Ten minutes late," he said, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. "Trying to make a statement, sweetheart?"

"I was busy forgetting you were coming," you replied instantly, your tone dripping with sweet, careless malice. You pulled down the sun visor to check your lip gloss in the mirror, not even giving him a real glance. "Be glad I showed up at all. Drive."

Jungkook let out a low, dry chuckle. He shifted the car into drive, the tires screeching slightly as he pulled away from the curb with a bit too much speed. He was trying to intimidate you with his driving. Typical.

"You look like you’re going to a streetwear photoshoot, not a date," he remarked, his dark eyes flicking to you before focusing back on the road.

"That’s because this isn't a date," you said smoothly, snapping the sun visor back up. You crossed your arms, leaning back comfortably. "This is an audition. And so far, your conversation is getting a failing grade. Where are you taking me, Jeon? If it’s some tacky diner, I’m jumping out at the next red light."

"Relax," he murmured, his smirk widening. "I have taste. Unlike your exes."

"Bold of you to assume anyone compares to you in the tacky department," you shot back, looking out the window. "Your leather jacket looks like it was stolen from a middle-aged biker."

Jungkook’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white. You saw the faint twitch in his jaw. Score one for me, you thought, a surge of vicious satisfaction rushing through your veins. He hated his style being questioned. He prided himself on looking flawless.

"Keep talking," Jungkook muttered, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register that vibrated through the quiet car. "We’ll see if you keep that same energy in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to an exclusive, high-end rooftop arcade and lounge overlooking the city skyline. It was the kind of place that required a heavy membership fee, glowing with neon purple lights and filled with vintage game cabinets, private booths, and a sleek bar. It was empty tonight—he had clearly rented out the entire terrace.

"Impressive," you said, stepping out of the car and looking around the neon-lit space. You turned to him, putting a hand on your hip. "Did you use your daddy’s credit card for this, or did you actually have to use two brain cells to make a phone call?"

Jungkook closed his car door with a loud thud, walking over to stand right in front of you. The neon purple light caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look dangerously handsome. He was tall, his broad shoulders completely blocking your view of the city behind him. He stepped so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I use my own money," he said softly, leaning down just enough so his breath brushed against your ear. The sudden proximity made your pulse jump, but you refused to move back a single inch. "And I don't need a script to deal with a girl like you. Pick a game. Let's see if your skills match your mouth."

"Oh, they exceed it," you whispered back, looking directly into his dark, intense eyes. The physical tension between you was so heavy it felt like a physical weight, pressing against your chest. You were both practically vibrating with the urge to tear each other down. "Name the stakes, Jeon."

Jungkook walked over to a vintage racing simulator—two leather seats with steering wheels and massive screens side by side. He patted the top of one seat.

"Three rounds. Corner drifting allowed," he said, his eyes flashing with a competitive fire. "If I win, you have to let me hold your hand on the walk back to the car. In public."

Your mind immediately flashed to the bet. Ah, he’s trying to secure his first milestone for his friends. Holding hands in public was step one.

You let out a soft, mocking laugh, stepping up to the machine. "And when I win?"

"If you win, you can ask for whatever you want."

"When I win," you corrected him sharply, sliding into the leather racing seat, "you are going to carry my shopping bags across the entire school courtyard tomorrow during lunch. Like a good little assistant."

Jungkook’s eyes flared with pure, undiluted irritation at the thought of his reputation being ruined like that. He sat down in the seat next to yours, his long legs barely fitting under the machine. "Deal. Prepare to cry, sweetheart."

The game started. The countdown flashed on the screen: 3... 2... 1... GO.

For the next ten minutes, the arcade was filled with the aggressive clicking of buttons and the screeching of digital tires. You weren't just good; you were ruthless. Every time Jungkook tried to pass your digital car, you deliberately rammed your vehicle into his, forcing him into the wall.

"Are you serious right now?" Jungkook growled, violently spinning his steering wheel to recover from a crash you caused. "That's dirty playing!"

"There are no rules in war, Jeon," you mocked, your eyes glued to the screen as you took a sharp turn, keeping the lead. "Cry louder. It helps me focus."

He let out a frustrated, breathless sound, his focus intensifying. His face was dead serious, his veins popping slightly on his forearms as he gripped the wheel. By the final lap of the third round, your cars were neck and neck. The finish line was right there.

In a split-second move, Jungkook smoothly drifted around the final corner, clipping the back of your car just enough to spin you out, and crossed the finish line a fraction of a second before you.

The screen flashed: PLAYER 1 WINS.

Jungkook threw his hands up, a loud, triumphant laugh bursting from his chest. He looked over at you, his face glowing with pure, arrogant victory. "Yes! Look at that! Who's the assistant now?"

You sat back in your seat, your jaw clenched, staring at the screen in genuine frustration. You hated losing more than anything. You slowly turned your head to look at him, your expression dark and murderous.

"You got lucky," you snapped, stepping out of the seat.

"A win is a win," Jungkook said, stepping out of his seat too. He blocked your path before you could walk away, his chest almost touching yours. He was breathing a bit heavily from the intensity of the game, a smug, unbearable grin plastered across his face. He extended his right hand toward you, his fingers open. "Pay up. Hand."

You stared at his hand like it was covered in garbage. "We are in an empty arcade, Jungkook. There's no one around to see it."

"I don't care," he murmured, his voice suddenly losing its playful edge, becoming deep and heavy. He took a half-step closer, completely invading your space. The smell of his cologne, the neon lights, and the absolute silence of the rooftop made the atmosphere suffocatingly tense. "A deal's a deal. Give me your hand."

You looked up at him, your breath catching for a brief second at the sheer intensity in his gaze. He wasn't just playing a game anymore; he wanted to break your resistance.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted your hand. But instead of placing your palm in his, you forcefully grabbed his wrist, twisting it slightly so he was forced to step closer, his chest pressing right against yours. You looked up at him with a cold, fierce smile.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Jeon," you whispered, your voice a soft, dangerous hiss against his lips. You were so close you could see the dark golden flecks in his eyes. "You won a video game. You didn't win me. You want to hold my hand? Earn it."

You let go of his wrist with a harsh flick, pushing past his shoulder.

Jungkook stood frozen by the game machines, his heart thudding violently against his ribs. He looked down at his wrist where your fingers had just been, his skin burning from the contact. The bitchy, confident attitude you had wasn't pushing him away—it was pulling him in like a black hole. He was supposed to be making you fall, but every time you looked at him like he was nothing, it made him want to conquer her even more.

By the time he drove you back to your house, the moon was high in the sky. The drive back had been filled with more biting banter, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word.

He pulled up to your curb, idling the engine.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to him with a bored expression. "Well, that was mildly amusing. You get a C-minus for effort."

"C-minus?" Jungkook repeated, leaning his head back against his seat, turning to look at you with a dry smile. "I literally rented out a whole rooftop for you."

"And you lost your temper over a racing game," you replied smoothly, opening the passenger door. "Goodnight, Jeon. Try not to dream about me too much. I know it’s hard."

Before he could respond with another sarcastic comment, you slid out of the car and shut the door behind you.

You walked up your front steps, feeling his eyes tracking your every move through the tinted glass of his car. You didn't look back until you reached the front door. When you finally turned around, you saw the taillights of his sports car disappear down the street.

You walked into your quiet house, leaning your back against the closed front door. Your heart was beating remarkably fast, the adrenaline from the night still rushing through your veins.

"Three weeks," you whispered to the empty hallway, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across your lips. "Let's see who breaks first, Jungkook."

The next morning, the Westbridge High courtyard was drenched in bright, humid sunlight. It was lunch hour, the peak time for social positioning. You sat at your usual concrete table beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, sipping an iced matcha latte. Your friends were gossiping about graduation dresses, but your eyes were tracking a specific group across the courtyard.

Jungkook was leaning against a brick wall, surrounded by Mingyu, Yugyeom, and a few varsity guys. He was laughing, his head tilted back, looking every bit the untouchable, arrogant king of the senior class.

Then, his dark eyes scanned the crowd and locked onto yours.

You didn’t blink. You slowly lifted your latte, taking a sip while giving him a cold, challenge-filled look. Jungkook’s laugh faded into a smirk. He murmured something to Mingyu, broke away from the group, and began walking across the grass toward you. Every head at your table went silent.

He stopped right beside your seat, towering over you, casting a long shadow. He was wearing a fitted white tee that showed off the sharp lines of his shoulders, his hands tucked lazily into his pockets.

"You left your lip gloss in my passenger seat last night," he said, his voice loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the girls around you. He pulled the small, sleek tube from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. "Come get it."

Yeah?. A public power move, you thought, your blood instantly humming with competitive fire. He wanted everyone to know you were in his car last night. He wanted to score points for the bet.

You slowly stood up, smoothing down your short plaid skirt. You didn't look flustered at all. Instead, you took a step closer to him, closing the distance until you were dangerously deep in his personal space. The scent of his smoky cologne hit your senses, thick and intoxicating.

"You could have just thrown it away, Jeon," you murmured, your voice a smooth, careless purr as you reached out. Instead of grabbing the lip gloss, your fingers brushed deliberately over the warm skin of his knuckles, sliding the tube out of his grip. "But I guess you just needed an excuse to talk to me today. Pathetic."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened instantly, his jaw clenching at your public insult. "Watch your mouth," he muttered, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours, his tone dropping into a rough, private whisper. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself last night."

"I’ve had more exciting dental appointments," you shot back, giving him a sweet, vicious smile. You tapped the lip gloss against his chest—right over his heart—before turning on your heel and walking away toward the empty library building, knowing exactly what his bruised ego would force him to do.

You walked deep into the back stacks of the school library, past the rows of old reference books where nobody ever came during lunch. It was dimly lit, silent, and smelling of old paper and dust.

A second later, the heavy wooden door of the aisle clicked shut.

You turned around just as Jungkook stepped into the tight space between the bookshelves. His face was a mask of pure, frustrated irritation. He looked dominant, dangerous, and completely done with your games.

"What the hell is your problem?" he growled, stepping forward until he crowded you back against the cold metal bookshelf. He slammed his hand against the shelf right next to your head, trapping you. "You play nice in the car, and then you try to humiliate me in front of the entire school?"

"I don't play nice anywhere, Jungkook," you hissed, your hands coming up to press firmly against his broad chest, keeping him from crushing you. The physical contact sent a sudden, heavy jolt of lightning straight down your spine. The tension between you two was no longer just a verbal match—it was a ticking time bomb. "You wanted to play with the ice queen. Don't complain when you get burned."

"You think you're so untouchable," he muttered, his eyes dropping to your lips, his breathing turning ragged and heavy. The anger in his eyes was rapidly melting into lust. He hated how much he wanted you. He hated that your attitude was driving him completely insane. "You think I can't break you?"

"I know you can't," you whispered back, teasing him, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you felt the hard, hot planes of his chest beneath your palms.

Jungkook let out a low, feral growl. He didn't think. He just reacted.

His hand moved from the bookshelf to the back of your neck, his fingers tangled firmly into your hair as he violently pulled your face up and crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss wasn't sweet. It was a collision of teeth, friction, and pure malice. It was rude, dominant, and desperately hot. You let out a breathless gasp against his mouth, and Jungkook took the opportunity to force his tongue inside, tasting you deeply, claiming your mouth with a possessive, aggressive hunger that made your knees instantly go weak.

You didn't push him away. Your bad-bitch exterior crumbled into pure, ravenous desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until there was absolutely no space left between your bodies. You bit his lower lip hard enough to make him let out a dark, muffled groan into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening until it was almost bruising.

He lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back hard against the metal bookshelf. Books rattled behind you, but neither of you cared. Your legs naturally wrapped around his waist, pulling his heat right against your core. The friction through your clothes was unbearable, a sharp, electric ache building rapidly between your thighs.

"You're a brat," Jungkook panted against your lips, his mouth leaving yours to trail a path of burning, wet kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck. He bit down gently on the soft skin right above your collarbone, making you arch your back with a quiet, breathless moan that echoed in the silent library.

His large, calloused hand slid underneath your short plaid skirt, his warm palm tracing up the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, your fingers clutching tightly into the fabric of his white shirt as his hand moved higher, his fingers slipping underneath the lace edge of your panties.

When his fingers made contact with your wet, swollen center, you let out a sharp, choked gasp against his ear. You were completely soaked for him, your body betraying every single cold word you had ever spoken to his face.

"Look at you," Jungkook whispered, his voice a deep, rough growl of pure satisfaction as he slid one long finger inside you, testing how tight and wet you were. He began to stroke you, a slow, torturous rhythm that had your head rolling back against the bookshelf. "So mean to everyone out there, but you're dripping wet for me in the dark. Say my name."

"Shut up," you gasped, your hips helplessly rolling against his hand, begging for more pressure. "Just... shut up and move."

Jungkook let out a dark chuckle, his ego completely fed by your desperation. He added a second finger, shifting his thumb to rub heavily against your sensitive nub. The sudden, intense friction sent a blinding wave of pleasure straight through your core. You clamped your teeth onto his shoulder to muffle your scream as your body violently spasmed, your walls tightening aggressively around his fingers as you rode a fierce, shattering climax.

He held you tightly, absorbing the tremors of your body, his own breathing heavy and uneven as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.

A few minutes later, the bells for the next class rang through the hallways, shattering the heavy, silent atmosphere of the library.

The reality of what just happened crashed back into the room.

Jungkook slowly let your legs slide down to the floor. His white shirt was wrinkled, his dark hairs messy, and his lips were swollen and red from your teeth. He looked down at you, his eyes still dark with lingering lust, but that familiar, arrogant smirk was already trying to crawl back onto his face. He thought he had won. He thought he had broken the ice queen.

You smoothed down your skirt, your heart still racing, but your expression instantly hardened into a mask of pure, icy indifference. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, looking at him like he was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.

"Not bad, Jeon," you said, your voice remarkably steady, cold, and entirely unbothered. You adjusted your collar, looking him up and down with a bored gaze. "Next time, try to be a little quicker. I have a class to get to."

Jungkook’s smirk completely vanished. His eyes widened in absolute disbelief. He had just given you a shattering orgasm against a bookshelf, and you were treating it like a mediocre homework assignment.

"Are you kidding me right now?" he muttered, his voice laced with pure irritation as you picked up your backpack from the floor. "That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want, a trophy?" you shot back smoothly, walking past him toward the aisle exit. You stopped at the edge, looking back over your shoulder with a dangerous, beautiful smile. "See you around, assistant."

You walked out of the library, leaving him standing alone in the shadows, his knuckles white with anger and his body still aching with unfulfilled tension. He was supposed to be the predator, but as he watched you walk away completely unfazed, a terrifying thought hit his mind.

He wasn't winning this game at all. He was drowning in it.

…

The days leading up to graduation were a psychological warfare.

You didn’t soften. If anything, the library incident made you twice as vicious. Every time Jungkook tried to look at you with that smug, possessive *I’ve-seen-you-undone* glint in his eyes, you cut him down with a single, freezing glance. You made it clear that what happened in the dark stayed in the dark, and in the bright, judgmental lights of Westbridge High, he was still just an arrogant target.

And it was driving him absolutely insane.

"You're late with the senior committee notes, Jeon," you said coldly, slamming a heavy leather folder onto his desk during study hall. The room was mostly empty, just a few students scattered in the back rows.

Jungkook was slouched in his chair, a black snapback turned backward on his head, spinning a silver pen between his fingers. He didn't look at the folder. He just leaned back, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, intense irritation.

"I'll finish them when I feel like it," he muttered, his voice a rough, disrespectful drawl. "Stop breathing down my neck. Unless you miss the view from the library stacks."

You leaned forward, resting both palms on his desk, bringing your face inches from his. The air between you instantly turned to pure friction, thick with a toxic mix of hatred and unyielding attraction.

"Don't flatter yourself," you whispered, your voice a sharp, dangerous blade. "That was just a charity case. I wanted to see if the campus playboy actually had any talent. Turns out, you’re just loud."

Jungkook’s silver pen snapped down onto the desk with a loud crack. He stood up abruptly, his towering frame immediately crowding you, his chest almost brushing yours. The heat radiating off him was suffocating.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" he hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "You act like you're better than everyone else, but you're just a mean, selfish brat who likes to play with fire."

"And you're a cocky, insecure little boy who thinks a leather jacket and a sports car make him a man," you shot back, your eyes flashing with pure malice. "I hate everything about you, Jungkook. Your voice, your face, your pathetic little ego."

"Good," he growled, his hand suddenly shooting out to grip your chin, his thumb pressing firmly against your jawline, forcing you to look up at him. His touch was rough, possessive, and entirely devoid of gentleness. "Because I absolutely loathe you. I hate how you look at me. I hate how you talk to me."

"Then let go," you breathed, your heart hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against your ribs as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

"No," he whispered, his grip tightening just a fraction. "Not until you admit you're thinking about me every single night."

Before you could respond with another biting insult, he yanked you out of the classroom and straight into the narrow, dimly lit janitor's closet across the hall, slamming the door shut and locking it with a sharp click.

The darkness of the closet was absolute, smelling of citrus cleaner and industrial bleach, but the only thing you could focus on was the heavy, ragged sound of Jungkook’s breathing.

He didn't waste time talking. He shoved you back against the concrete wall, his heavy body pinning you in place. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them high above your head against the cold wall.

"Let go of me, you savage," you hissed, kicking his shin with your designer boot.

"Make me," he growled back, entirely unbothered by the pain. He leaned his full weight into you, his hard, muscular thighs flattening your legs against the wall. The physical contrast was staggering—his sheer brute strength completely overpowering your fierce resistance.

He dropped his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your expensive perfume like a drug. He bit the sensitive skin right under your ear, hard enough to elicit a sharp, angry gasp from your throat.

"I hate how much I want to ruin you," Jungkook panted against your skin, his mouth moving aggressively down to your collarbone. "I want to tear that pretty, arrogant smile right off your face."

"Try it," you challenged, your voice breathless but still laced with pure defiance. "You don't have the nerve."

Jungkook let go of your wrists, but before you could strike him, his hands were tearing at the buttons of your silk blouse, popping two of them off completely. He shoved the fabric away, his large, rough hands mapping the bare skin of your waist, squeezing your flesh with a bruising, desperate hunger.

He unzipped your skirt in one violent motion, letting it drop to your ankles. You reached for him, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his black t-shirt, tearing it upward until your bare breasts pressed against his warm, tensed chest. The sensation was electric, a blinding rush of pure, raw need that erased every ounce of logic from your brain. You hated him, you despised his very existence, but your body was screaming for him to take you.

Jungkook groaned, a dark, primal sound, as his hand slid down between your thighs, ripping your lace panties to the side. He didn't bother with foreplay this time. He didn't care about being gentle. He grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly off the ground.

With one heavy, aggressive thrust, he drove himself completely inside you.

You let out a loud, choked scream, your fingers digging so deep into his shoulder blades that your nails nearly broke the skin. He was so thick, so impossibly hot, stretching you to your absolute limit.

"Fuck," Jungkook swore loudly, his head rolling back as your tight, wet walls clamped around him like a vice. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He began to move inside you with a brutal, relentless rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a primitive, angry force.

Every thrust rattled your bones against your wall. It was a battle of dominance, a physical manifestation of the war raging in your heads. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, arching your back, meeting every hard, deep stroke with an aggressive tilt of your own hips.

"You're mine," Jungkook muttered darkly, his lips finding yours again, smothering your breathless moans with a deep, invasive kiss. His tongue copied the brutal rhythm of his hips, dominating your mouth while he stretched you inside out. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Never," you gasped against his lips, tears of pure, overwhelming pleasure pricking the corners of your eyes as the friction hit a fever pitch. "You... you don't own me, Jeon!"

"We'll see about that," he growled, his pace turning fast, frantic, and incredibly deep. He hit a specific, sensitive spot inside you, and your vision went completely white.

A violent, shattering climax ripped through your entire body, your internal muscles spasming aggressively around him. The sheer intensity of your release pushed Jungkook over the edge. With two last, deep, desperate thrusts, he buried himself as far inside you as possible, letting out a roar as he spent himself deep inside your warmth.

For a long time, the only sound in the closet was the heavy, synchronized thudding of your hearts and the ragged gasps of your breathing. Jungkook stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his large hands still gripping your waist like he was terrified you'd disappear if he let go.

There was a strange, heavy silence between you now. It wasn't just physical satisfaction; it was the terrifying realization that this wasn't just a game anymore. The hatred was still there, but it had morphed into something deeper, something permanent. You didn't just want to destroy him; you wanted to keep him. And he didn't just want to win a bet; he was completely obsessed with you.

Slowly, Jungkook pulled out of you, the sudden loss of his heat making you shiver.

He stepped back, adjusting his clothes in the dim light. He looked at you, his eyes completely dark, lacking his usual arrogant spark. For a second, he looked almost exposed.

You picked up your skirt, pulling it up and stepping into your boots. Your blouse was missing buttons, but you tied the ends together in a tight, effortless knot, hiding the marks he had left on your chest. You smoothed your hair back, your bad-bitch mask locking right back into place with practiced ease.

"We're even now," you said coldly, your voice cutting through the quiet room like a knife.

Jungkook paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned his head, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Even? You think this is a scoreboard?"

"Everything with you is a scoreboard, Jungkook," you said smoothly, stepping past him to look out the small crack of the door to ensure the hallway was clear. "Tomorrow is graduation night. Enjoy your final day of thinking you're the king of Westbridge High."

Before he could ask what you meant, you slipped out of the closet and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone in the dark.

Jungkook leaned his head against the door, a frustrated, self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips. His hands were still shaking. He was supposed to make her fall in three weeks to win a motorcycle. But as he looked at the empty space where you had just been, the brutal truth finally hit him.

He didn't give a damn about the motorcycle. He was completely, utterly ruined for anyone else.

…

The Westbridge High graduation gala was a massive, glittering sea of black ties, expensive silk dresses, and fake smiles. It was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s finest luxury hotel. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a bright, blinding light over the hundreds of seniors celebrating the end of an era. Everyone was laughing, taking photos, and drinking champagne, pretending they were all best friends.

But for you, the real event hadn't even begun. This night wasn't about celebrating a graduation. It was about executing a perfect, ruthless plan.

You stood near the massive chocolate fountain, slowly smoothing down the front of your dress. You had chosen an emerald green silk gown that fit your body like a second skin. It had a dangerously high slit up the left leg, showing off your sharp designer heels every time you took a step. Your hair fell down your back in perfect, glossy waves, and your lips were painted a sharp, bloody red. You looked absolutely stunning, like an untouchable queen—and a lethal weapon.

"You look like you're about to murder someone," your friend whispered, nudging your shoulder as she looked at your intense expression.

"Just taking out the trash," you replied smoothly. Your voice was calm, sweet, and entirely empty of warmth.

Your eyes scanned the crowded ballroom, moving past the dancing couples and the crying groups of friends, until they finally landed on the VIP lounge area in the back corner.

Jungkook was there. He was looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored black suit that made his broad shoulders look even wider. His white collared shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, giving him that careless, arrogant bad-boy look he loved so much. His dark hair was styled perfectly, falling slightly into his eyes. Mingyu and Yugyeom were crowding around him, laughing loudly, drinking from crystal glasses, and slapping his back. They kept checking the silver watches on their wrists.

The three-week deadline was up tonight. The game was reaching its final seconds.

You watched from across the room as Yugyeom reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a sleek, heavy silver set of keys. It was the key to the vintage motorcycle Jungkook had been drooling over for months. Yugyeom handed them over with a smirk, shaking Jungkook’s hand.

Jungkook took the keys, his fingers wrapping around the silver metal. But he didn't look happy. He didn't look like a guy who had just won a massive bet. Instead, his face looked exhausted, his jaw tightly clenched as his dark eyes restlessly scanned the massive ballroom. He was looking for someone. He was looking for you.

When his eyes finally locked onto your emerald dress, he stopped breathing for a fraction of a second. The arrogant smirk on his face completely died.

You didn't look away. You held his intense gaze across the crowded room, slowly lifting your glass of champagne in a mocking, silent toast. A dangerous, beautiful smile spread across your red lips. Then, you turned on your heel, the silk of your dress whispering against your skin, and walked toward the large glass doors leading out to the grand outdoor terrace. You knew exactly what he would do. He was too proud, too angry, and too obsessed to stay inside. He would follow you like a dog on a leash.

The outdoor terrace was completely empty, cooled by the midnight breeze coming off the city streets below. The loud, pounding bass of the ballroom music became a distant hum behind the thick glass doors. The air out here was fresh, smelling of wet concrete and night air. You walked over to the edge, leaning your hands against the cold marble balustrade, looking out at the million blinking lights of the city skyline.

A few seconds later, the heavy glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and then closed again.

Heavy, confident footsteps echoed on the stone floor behind you. You didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. The sharp scent of his expensive, smoky cologne cut through the midnight air, wrapping around your senses. Jungkook stopped just a foot away from you, his presence immediately making the wide-open terrace feel suffocatingly small. His breathing was heavy, a chaotic mix of frustration, anger, and a deep, lingering desire radiating off his body.

"You've been avoiding me all night," Jungkook said. His voice was a low, rough growl that vibrated through the quiet air. He stepped closer, crowding your space, his large shadow completely falling over you. "Are you finally ready to admit defeat? The game is over tonight, sweetheart. Graduation is happening, and you're still standing next to me."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh. It was a cold, cruel sound that cut right through his confidence. You slowly turned around, resting your lower back against the marble railing, crossing your arms over your chest. You looked up at his handsome face, entirely unbothered, your expression full of brutal amusement.

"You're right, Jungkook. The game is over tonight," you said smoothly, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Did you enjoy your little victory lap with the boys inside? Did Yugyeom give you the shiny new keys to your motorcycle?"

Jungkook completely froze. The smug, arrogant look on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a rare flash of genuine, pale shock. His eyes widened, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, come on, Jeon. Did you really think you were that smart?" You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you until the emerald silk of your gown was almost brushing against the dark fabric of his expensive suit. You looked up into his dark eyes through your eyelashes, your smile dripping with sweet, lethal poison. "I heard every single word of your pathetic little conversation on the beach house balcony three weeks ago. I knew about the motorcycle. I knew about the three-week deadline. I knew exactly what the ice queen was supposed to do."

Jungkook’s breath hitched loudly in his throat. For the first time since you had known him, he looked completely defenseless, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven movements. The terrifying realization was washing over him, painting his pale skin with panic. "You... you knew the whole time? From the very first day?"

"The entire time," you whispered, mocking him with your calm tone. "Every single word. Every cheesy compliment at the lockers, every stupid little date, every touch... I was playing along, Jungkook. You thought you were the predator at Westbridge High? You thought you were tracking a deer? You were my entertainment. I let you think you were winning because it was amusing to watch you try so hard. I let you touch me because I wanted to see how desperate and pathetic you would get. And look at you now."

You let your eyes travel down his suit, then back up to his face with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"You didn't win me, Jungkook. You didn't break the ice queen," you said, each word hitting him like a physical blow. "You ruined your own sanity for a piece of metal. I let you into my space because I wanted to destroy you. I loathe you, Jungkook. I always have, and I always will. You mean absolutely nothing to me."

Jungkook’s face contorted into an expression of pure, burning fury, mixed with something agonizingly raw, something that looked almost like heartbreak. His eyes turned incredibly dark, wild with a toxic mix of hatred and obsession. He couldn't handle it. His massive ego had just been shattered into a million pieces by the only girl he had ever actually cared about conquering.

With a low, angry sound, his hands shot out, his fingers locking tightly around your upper arms. He yanked you forward with a violent pull, crashing your body hard against his chest. The physical impact made you gasp, your hands automatically pressing against his lapels to keep yourself from suffocating under his weight.

"So it was all a lie?" Jungkook hissed, his face dropping down until his lips were inches from yours, his hot breath fanning across your skin. His grip on your arms was so tight it was going to leave bruises, but he didn't care. He was completely out of his mind with rage. "Everything we did? In the library stacks? In the janitor's closet? You're telling me you felt absolutely nothing when I was inside you?"

"I felt physical attraction, obviously. You're not bad to look at, Jeon," you shot back instantly, your voice remaining steady and cold, refusing to let him see the frantic, terrified pounding of your heart against your ribs. "But love? Affection? Connection? Don't be pathetic. It was just a game. And I won."

Jungkook let out a dark, broken laugh that sounded more like a sob of pure anger. He looked at you like he wanted to tear you apart, but at the same time, he looked like he wanted to swallow you whole. The physical tension between your bodies was heavy, thick, and completely suffocating, vibrating with an dangerous mix of revenge and a dark obsession that neither of you could kill.

"You think you won?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a terrifying, deep register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He leaned down, his eyes burning into your soul with a promise of absolute destruction. "You think you can just walk away from this, put your little mask back on, and pretend I didn't ruin you for anyone else? You hate me? Good. Keep hating me, you beautiful, selfish brat. Because I'm going to make sure I'm the only thing you think about, the only name you scream, for the rest of your pathetic life."

Before you could open your mouth to scream another biting insult, he slammed his lips against yours.

The kiss was brutal, toxic, and utterly filled with a desperate need for revenge. There was absolutely no gentleness in it. He tasted like expensive liquor, mint, and pure desperation. He used his tongue to aggressively force his way inside your mouth, dominating you, punishing you for every single cold word you had just spoken to his face.

Your hands gripped the fabric of his suit jacket tightly, your fingers curling into the material as you tried to fight his weight, but your body was betraying you once again. The raw, violent chemistry between you two was too strong, too addictive.

You bit his lower lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of iron as blood broke on his skin, but Jungkook only groaned darkly into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening until he lifted your feet slightly off the stone floor, driving himself deeper into the kiss. It was a silent, desperate declaration that he would never let you go, even if it destroyed you both.

With a harsh, breathless gasp, you finally found the strength to forcefully shove his chest, tearing your lips away from his. You were both panting heavily, your chest heaving, your perfect red lipstick smeared across your mouth and his jaw. You looked at him with absolute, unyielding coldness, your eyes like two chips of ice in the moonlight.

"We are done, Jungkook," you said, your voice remarkably steady as you reached down to smooth the silk of your green gown, hiding the shaking of your hands. "Enjoy your motorcycle. You paid a very high price for it."

You turned around, not giving him another second of your time, and walked back toward the glass doors. You didn't look back as you slid the door open and stepped back into the warm, brightly lit ballroom, leaving Jeon Jungkook standing alone in the darkness of the terrace, his hands trembling and his chest heaving with a fury he couldn't escape.

An hour later, the graduation gala was finally winding down. The music had stopped, and the entire senior class was gathering in the massive, marble-floored lobby of the hotel, waiting for the final graduation announcements and saying their final goodbyes.

Suddenly, a loud, synchronized chorus of pings echoed through the entire lobby.

Almost every single student reached into their pockets, pulling out their phones as a mass text notification flashed on their screens. A mass message had just been sent to the entire Westbridge High student database from an untraceable, anonymous number.

You slowly pulled your phone from your small designer clutch, a vicious, deeply satisfied smile spreading across your lips as you looked down at the screen.

It was an audio file. Specifically, it was the crystal-clear, undeniable recording of Jungkook, Mingyu, and Yugyeom from three weeks ago at the beach house party.

The loud, arrogant voice of Jungkook echoed through hundreds of pairs of headphones and speakers across the lobby: "A month is too long. Give me three weeks. By graduation night, she’ll be begging me to be her boyfriend. The ice queen is going to melt, boys. Watch me."

The entire lobby went dead, terrifyingly silent. The laughter stopped. The crying stopped. Hundreds of heads slowly, deliberately turned to look at the entrance of the lobby, where Jungkook was standing with his hands in his pockets.

The whispers started instantly—sharp, judgmental, and mocking. In a matter of mere seconds, Jungkook’s carefully built, untouchable reputation as the flawless, dominant king of the school was utterly shattered. He wasn't the cool, mysterious bad boy anymore. He was exposed to the entire world as a tacky, desperate loser who used girls as playground bets to win a motorcycle.

Mingyu and Yugyeom looked panicked, their faces turning completely red as people started staring at them with disgust. But Jungkook didn't even reach for his phone. He didn't have to. He already knew exactly what it was.

He slowly turned his head, his dark, intense eyes moving across the crowded lobby, cutting through the sea of whispering students until they found yours. He knew exactly who did it. He knew this was your final, devastating stroke of revenge. You had let him believe he was winning, let him take his prize, and then you had publicly executed his social standing in front of everyone he knew.

You didn't hide. You stood directly under the massive, bright crystal chandelier in the center of the lobby, your green silk dress glowing under the light. You looked right back at him, your chin held high, a cold, triumphant smile plastered on your face. You had won. You had destroyed him.

But as Jungkook continued to stare at you across the silent room, his expression didn't change to shame. He didn't look defeated. He didn't look embarrassed.

Instead, a slow, incredibly dangerous, and terrifying smirk began to creep onto his bloody lips. His dark eyes flared with a new kind of hunger, a dark, promises-filled fire that made your blood run cold. He wasn't broken by your revenge. He was challenged. Your public betrayal hadn't pushed him away; it had only fueled the toxic fire inside him, turning his competitive bet into a permanent, deeply dangerous obsession.

This wasn't an ending. This was a brutal declaration of war.

You both knew that high school was officially over tonight. You both knew that college started in exactly two months. And most importantly, you both knew that you had both been accepted into the exact same elite university city campus. As you stared at each other across the ruined remnants of your high school social ladder, a chilling, addictive thrill rushed through your veins.

The high school game was finally finished, but the real, toxic war was about to begin. And neither of you had any intention of losing.

The heavy mahogany doors of the luxury hotel ballroom slammed shut behind you, cutting off the suffocating noise of the crowd. You stepped into the dim, deserted corridor that led to the private executive suites. The adrenaline that had carried you through the public exposure in the lobby was beginning to morph into something heavier, a thick, throbbing ache between your thighs and a wild, racing pulse that refused to slow down.

Before you could take another step, a hand clamped onto your wrist like a steel shackle.

You were violently yanked backward, your back hitting the plush wallpapered wall of the corridor with a soft thud. A massive, looming body immediately crowded you, cutting off all light and escape. The familiar, intoxicating scent of tobacco, dark whiskey, and expensive cedarwood flooded your senses.

Jungkook.

His jacket was gone, his white button-down shirt wrinkled and torn open at the collar, showing the frantic, heavy rise and fall of his chest. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The muscle in his jaw was twitching violently, his teeth grinding together so hard you could hear it in the silence of the hallway. But beneath the rage, his eyes were wide, dark, and completely consumed by a terrifying, dangerous addiction.

He didn't look at you like he hated you. He looked at you like you were his oxygen, and you had just cut off the supply.

"You absolute bitch," he breathed, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent a violent shiver down your spine. He leaned his face down, his nose almost brushing against yours, his hot, ragged breath hitting your lips. "You leaked it. You had the tape the entire time and you played me like a fucking fool."

You didn't flinch. You tilted your chin up, your emerald green dress shifting against his legs, your eyes wide and burning with your own defensive malice. "I told you, Jeon. You're a child playing a man's game. Did you think I was going to let you walk away with your pathetic little pride intact? I ruined you. Look at you. You’re nothing but a joke to the entire school now."

"You think I care about them?" Jungkook roared, his voice cracking with a sudden, raw vulnerability that shocked you. He slammed both palms against the wall on either side of your head, the sound echoing loudly in the narrow hallway. He was shaking. The untouchable, arrogant Jeon Jungkook was physically trembling with rage and desperation right in front of you. "You think I give a single fuck about a motorcycle or those idiots in the lobby? I was a fool because I thought I was the one pulling the strings. I was a fool because I actually believed you were letting your guard down for me."

He took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes dropping to your lips, dark and wild with an intense, agonizing craving.

"I’m addicted to you," he whispered, the admission sounding like a curse, torn directly from his throat. "I hate you so much it makes my blood burn, but I can't look at anyone else. I can't touch anyone else. You did this to me. You planned this whole thing to break my ego, and all it did was make me want to tear you to pieces."

A cruel, mocking smile spread across your red lips, though your heart was hammering so hard against your ribs it felt painful. "Then tear me to pieces, Jungkook. But you’ll still be the loser of this game."

Jungkook let out a feral, frustrated sound, completely pushed past his limit. He grabbed the front of your silk dress, his fingers bunching the green material tightly as he violently pulled you up against his body. He didn't ask. He didn't tease. He just conquered.

His mouth crashed down onto yours with a primitive, angry force that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

The kiss was a war zone. It was rude, mean, and hundred times more vicious than anything you had shared in the dark corners of the school. He bit your lip hard, drawing blood instantly, his tongue forcing its way past your teeth to claim your mouth with a possessive, toxic hunger. You groaned against his mouth, the metallic taste of blood making your head spin, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, pulling him closer even as you tried to fight him off. You hated him. You truly, deeply despised his arrogance, but your body was completely screaming for his touch, melting against his hard chest with a desperate, heavy heat.

Jungkook didn't stop. He was completely out of his mind, driven by a chaotic mix of revenge, anger, and pure lust. He slid his large hand down the high slit of your dress, his rough palm scraping against the bare skin of your thigh. He gripped your hip tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks, and lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist.

He pinned you against the wall with his hips, the hard, rigid length of him pressing directly against your soaked center through the layers of fabric. You let out a sharp, breathless gasp against his lips, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he began to grind his hips against yours in a heavy, torturous rhythm.

"You think you won because you exposed me?" Jungkook panted, tearing his mouth away from yours to bite down on the sensitive skin of your neck, his voice a dark, rough growl against your skin. "Look at you. You're begging for me. You're dripping wet for the guy you claim to loathe. We're both going to hell, sweetheart, and I'm dragging you down with me."

"Shut up," you hissed, your head rolling back against the wall as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone. "Just... shut up and finish it."

"No," he whispered dangerously, his fingers sliding underneath the lace of your panties, finding your swollen, slick nub and rubbing it with a cruel, agonizingly slow pressure that made your vision instantly blur. You arched your back, a loud, helpless moan escaping your lips. Jungkook looked up at you, his dark eyes wide and filled with a sick, triumphant satisfaction. "I'm not going to make it easy for you. You want to hate me? Then hate me while I do this to you."

He added another finger, pushing deep inside your tight, wet heat, driving a frantic, breathless pace that had your body violently trembling in his arms. The physical tension between you was so high, so incredibly thick with malice and pure attraction, that every single touch felt like an explosion. You locked your arms around his neck, pulling his head back down to yours, drowning his arrogant smirk in another desperate, bruising kiss as your hips helplessly rolled against his hand, chasing the friction.

With one final, heavy press of his thumb against your center, your body completely fractured. A violent, shattering climax ripped through you, your internal walls clamping aggressively around his fingers as you let out a muffled scream into his shoulder.

Jungkook held you tightly against the wall, absorbing the frantic tremors of your body, his own breathing heavy, ragged, and completely broken. He didn't let you slide down. He kept you pinned there, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes looking down into your dazed, exhausted face.

The silence that followed was suffocating. There was no softness. There was no sweet afterglow. The air was still thick with an overwhelming sense of rivalry and revenge. You had exposed his secret, and he had exposed your desperation.

You slowly let your leg drop back to the floor, your hands releasing his shirt. You smoothed down your ruined dress, your expression instantly hardening back into that cold, untouchable mask of pure, unbothered malice. You wiped the blood from your lip with the back of your hand, looking at him like he was nothing more than dirt under your designer heels.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum, Jeon?" you said smoothly, your voice remarkably steady, cutting through the quiet hallway like ice. "Because I have a ride waiting."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened to a terrifying shade of black. The anger rushed right back into his face, his jaw clenching so hard a vein popped on his temple. He looked at you, his chest heaving, completely infuriated that even after this, you could still look at him with so much disrespect. He was a fool, he was an addict, and he was completely, utterly ruined by you.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous threat as he stepped back, his hands curling into tight fists. "You think you can just walk away and leave me like this? You think you can go to college in two months and pretend I don't exist?"

"I don't think, Jungkook. I know," you replied coldly, adjusting the strap of your dress as you turned away from him. "Enjoy your broken reputation. You earned every bit of it."

You began walking down the long corridor, the sharp click of your heels echoing against the walls, your head held high. You didn't look back. You didn't dare to.

Behind you, Jungkook stood in the middle of the empty hallway, his breathing still ragged, his body still aching with an unfulfilled, toxic desire. He stared at your retreating figure, a slow, deeply twisted, and dangerous smile spreading across his bloody lips. His eyes were wide with a manic, terrifying promise. He hated you with every single fiber of his being, but the thought of ever letting someone else have you made him want to burn the world down.

He didn't want to fix his reputation. He didn't want to win the bet anymore. He just wanted to conquer you, to break your cold pride until you were just as addicted and ruined as he was.

As you reached the exit doors, a sudden, heavy wave of competitive adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You both knew what was coming in two months. You both knew you were heading to the same city, the same campus, the same elite circle.

This wasn't a fresh start, and it certainly wasn't a peaceful truce. It was a toxic, permanent tether. You were going to spend the next four years trying to destroy each other's lives, driven by a mutual, burning hatred that felt more intense, more consuming, and more violently addictive than any love story could ever be.

…

Jeon Jungkook was a man who lived and breathed by the absolute precision of the clock. In the high-stakes kitchen of his restaurant, Suzel Gallery, time was the ultimate currency to command a staff of twenty with a single, quiet look. He was a master of control, a king of pacing, and a man who prided himself on never letting a situation get away from him.

But absolutely none of those credentials meant a single thing to his eighteen-month-old daughter, Suhwi.

"Look at me, baby. Look at Daddy’s eyes," Jungkook pleaded, his voice a mix of exhausted desperation and tightly coiled impatience.

He was sitting right on the razor-thin edge of the wooden rocking chair in the nursery, leaning so far forward that his broad, tattooed shoulders hovered directly over the railing of the crib. His expensive black button-down shirt from the restaurant was already wrinkling, the sleeves rolled up haphazardly past his elbows to reveal the tense veins tracing down his forearms. It was 10:15 PM.

"We had a verbal agreement, Suhwi," Jungkook continued, keeping his voice in a low, intense whisper that he hoped sounded authoritative but was actually just frantic. "At 9:00 PM, you close your eyes. It is now over two hours past your bedtime. Daddy has a very specific, very time-sensitive agenda tonight, and right now, you’re the only one talking and not stopping."

Suhwi, who was wearing a pair of footprint pajamas with little yellow ducks on them, did not look remotely tired. In fact, she looked like she had just consumed a double shot of espresso. She was currently using her crib mattress as a personal trampoline, bouncing on her tiny heels, her messy tufts of dark hair bobbing up and down.

When her father finished his sentence, she stopped bouncing for a split second, blinked her massive, doughy eyes at him, blew a giant saliva bubble, and clapped her sticky hands together. "Ba! Daba-ba!"

"No, not 'ba.' Do not change the subject," Jungkook groaned, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples where a headache was actively forming. "We are not talking about 'ba.' We are talking about sleep. S-l-e-e-p. That three-hour afternoon nap you took today was a tactical error on your part. You are hyperactive, your mother is currently standing in the hallway, and I am running out of minutes."

Just beyond the doorway of the nursery, leaning comfortably against the wooden frame, Hazel swallowed a loud laugh. She had to bite her lower lip so hard it hurt just to keep from ruining the comedy happening right in front of her.

She was, to put it mildly, the entire reason Jungkook was on the absolute verge of a psychological meltdown.

Tonight, Hazel had decided to get properly dressed up. It wasn't just a casual "let's have dinner" look; it was a wardrobe choice explicitly designed to test the structural integrity of her husband’s legendary self-control. She wore a striking, long-sleeved black mesh dress that fit her like a second skin. The front featured a blurry, abstract graphic print in shades of muted cream and dark gray, hugging every single curve of her waist, her breasts, and her hips with agonizing precision. The sleeves were completely sheer, showing off the soft skin of her arms, and she had styled her dark hair back, leaving just a few soft strands to frame her jawline. She smelled faintly of vanilla, warm amber, and pure temptation. She looked radiant, she looked dangerous, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

Jungkook’s eyes darted toward the doorway for the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. His breath hitched audibly in his throat. His gaze dragged from the high neckline of her dress, down the graphic print and swell of her hips, all the way to where the hem hit her legs. A sharp, heavy muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Hazel," he growled, his voice dropping an octave into a rough, gravelly register that sent a delicious, wicked shiver straight down her spine. "You are actively sabotaging me. You are not helping."

"I’m just standing here, Chief," Hazel purred back, crossing her ankles and deliberately shifting her weight to one hip, making the fabric of the dress tighten beautifully against her skin. "Take all the time you need. Suhwi seems deeply moved by your lecture on corporate time management. Don't let me interrupt."

"She’s mocking me. I know she is," Jungkook muttered, turning his attention back to his daughter, though his eyes lingered on the curve of Hazel's waist for three agonizing seconds too long before he could force himself away. He turned back to the crib, pointing a long, tattooed finger directly at the toddler. "Listen to me, su-ya. Look at your mother right now. Do you see what she is wearing tonight? Do you understand the sheer gravity of the situation your father is currently in? Every single minute you spend awake, jumping around like a cricket, is a minute you are actively inflicting psychological torture on me. Look at her! Does that look like a woman who wants to wait until midnight?"

Suhwi stopped, looked over at her mother, let out a high-pitched, screeching giggle, and then looked back at Jungkook. With absolute, cold-blooded precision, the eighteen-month-old reached down, grabbed her heavy, stuffed plush rabbit by its ears, and hurled it with maximum toddler force directly at her father’s face.

The plush rabbit hit Jungkook on the nose and bounced pathetically onto the carpet.

Hazel couldn't hold it in anymore. A loud, ringing laugh escaped her lips, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as her shoulders shook violently. "Oh my god! Jungkook, she just rejected your bribe before you could even offer one!"

Jungkook didn't move. He sat perfectly still on the edge of the rocking chair, his eyes slowly closing as he let out a long, agonizingly slow breath through his nose. He counted to five in his head—a trick he usually used when a line cook dropped a tray of expensive glassware, though this felt significantly more high-stakes.

Slowly, he reached down, picked up the stuffed rabbit by its ears, tossed it back into the crib, and stood up.

The casual, exhausted father facade completely vanished. He turned toward Hazel, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath his black shirt. The impatience in his dark eyes was thick enough to cut with a knife. He walked over to the doorway, his strides slow, heavy, and deliberate, not stopping until he was standing a mere inch away from her. The overwhelming scent of his cologne—smoky cedarwood, black pepper, and expensive leather—wrapped around her instantly, erasing the innocence of the nursery.

He reached out, his large, warm hand catching her chin, his thumb tilting her face upward. His eyes burned into hers with a dangerous, hungry intensity.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" he whispered, his voice vibrating against her lips. His other hand slid down to her waist, his palm burning hot right through the thin mesh of her dress. He gripped her hip, his fingers digging in just enough to let her know he wasn't playing. "You got dressed up in this specific, ridiculous dress just to watch me suffer. Admit it."

"Maybe a little," Hazel whispered back, her eyes dancing with pure amusement as she looked up at him through her lashes. She reached up, her small fingers lightly tracing the stiff collar of his button-down, feeling the rapid, heavy thud of his pulse against his neck. "You’re always so calm, Jeon. So in control of every little detail. I wanted to see what happens when the great chef completely loses his patience."

"I am losing it right now," he murmured, his gaze dropping heavily to her mouth, his thumb rubbing over her lower lip with a rough, possessive pressure. His eyes dragged down to the graphic print on her chest, watching the way her breathing had quickened just from his proximity. "This dress should be illegal. Who told you you could wear this when we are legally trapped in a house with a tiny human who refuses to sleep? Huh?"

"I just wanted to look nice for my hard-working husband," she said innocently, giving him a small, teasing pout that she knew drove him insane. "Don't you like it?"

"I absolutely hate it," he growled, pulling her an inch closer until her chest brushed firmly against his, the friction of his cotton shirt against her mesh dress creating a sudden, electric heat between them. "Because I’m standing in a nursery and I can't take it off you. I’m going to tear it, Haze. The second she closes her eyes, I am going to rip this piece of fabric right off your body."

"You better not, it’s brand new," she laughed softly, though her heart was hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Before Jungkook could respond with the dark promise lingering in his eyes, a sudden, loud, dramatic yawn echoed from behind them.

Both of them froze instantly. They turned their heads in perfect unison, like two apex predators spotting movement in the brush.

Suhwi had finally, mercifully, crashed. The high-energy adrenaline of her late-night protest had vanished in a split second, replaced by the heavy, crushing weight of her delayed sleep cycle. Her tiny eyelids were fluttering uncontrollably. She let out one final, uncoordinated, half-hearted babble, rolled entirely onto her stomach, tucked her knees under her chest into a little ball, and shoved her thumb into her mouth.

Jungkook held his breath. He didn't move a muscle. He stood there in the doorway, his arm still wrapped tightly around Hazel’s waist, keeping her glued to his side while they both watched the crib like a ticking time bomb. One minute passed. Then two.

The soft, rhythmic, heavy sound of their daughter’s deep breathing finally filled the quiet, darkened room.

Jungkook let out a massive breath, his entire posture shifting from tense frustration to a dark, focused, and absolute hunger. The exhaustion was completely gone from his face, replaced by an expression that made Hazel’s knees go weak.

He looked down at his wife, his grip on her waist tightening until there was no space left between them.

"Game over," he whispered against her ear, his voice sending a wave of heat straight down to her toes. "No more talking."

The very second the nursery door clicked shut behind them, Jungkook didn't even give Hazel the chance to take a single step. Before she could breathe, his arm hooked securely under her knees and his other arm scooped behind her back, lifting her clean off her feet in one swift, incredibly smooth motion.

Hazel gasped, her hands instinctively flying around his neck to steady herself as her feet left the hardwood floor. "Jungkook! Put me down, you lunatic! You’re going to trip in the dark!"

"I have never tripped in my life, Hazel," he muttered, his strides long, heavy, and full of pure determination as he carried her down the hallway toward their master bedroom. He didn't look down at the floor once; his dark eyes were locked entirely onto hers, burning with a heavy focus. "I’ve been waiting for three agonizing hours. I’ve been bribed, I’ve been assaulted with a stuffed rabbit, and I’ve been forced to watch you stand there looking like an absolute goddess. No more walking for you tonight."

Hazel let out a bright, bubbling laugh, her head dropping against his shoulder. "Assaulted? She’s eighteen months old!"

"She has an accurate arm and zero respect for my authority," he grumbled, kicking their bedroom door open. He nudged it shut with his heel behind them, and the sharp click of the lock turning into place made Hazel’s stomach do a delicious, nervous flip.

Instead of throwing her carelessly onto the mattress, Jungkook lowered her slowly, his movements surprisingly gentle despite the frantic energy rolling off him. He sat her down on the edge of the unmade bed, but he didn't back away. Not even an inch. He pressed his body weight forward, forcing her back onto the pillows while he hovered directly over her, his knees framing her hips on either side, pinning her beautifully beneath him.

"Now," he breathed, his large, warm hands coming up to cup her face, his thumbs wiping across her cheekbones with a tenderness that contrast sharply with his heavy breathing. "Let me actually look at you without a baby monitor blinking in my face."

Hazel looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly under the tight mesh of her dress. The contrast between them was dizzying. Jungkook looked beautifully undone—his dark hair was slightly messy from his hands running through it, his sharp black restaurant shirt was wrinkling, and his collar was open. He looked completely unraveled compared to the immaculate, collected chef who ran Suzel Gallery.

"You look so beautiful it actually hurts, love," he said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, fierce reverence. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Every single time I think it’s impossible to want you more than I already do, you do something like this. You put on a dress like this, you laugh at me, and you completely ruin my ability to think straight."

Hazel giggled, her fingers tangling in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him just a fraction closer. "I told you, I like seeing you lose your mind. You’re always the one in control. It’s fun watching you squirm."

"Oh, you think my suffering is a joke?" Jungkook let out a low, husky chuckle, his lips brushing against her jawline. "I was in that nursery running a high-stakes negotiation with a toddler, holding onto the last shred of my sanity, while you were standing in the doorway shifting your hips. Do you know what that did to my blood pressure?"

Hazel burst out laughing, raising her hand to bring a playful slap right against his broad chest. Smack. "Oh, stop being so dramatic! Your blood pressure is fine!"

Jungkook caught her wrist right after the slap, kissing the palm of her hand before pinning it gently next to her head. "It is a medical miracle that I didn't pass out, Hazel. I’m serious. The restaurant was busy, the kitchen was sweating, and all I wanted was to come home to my wife. And what do I find? A beautiful woman wearing a sheer, painted-on dress specifically designed to send me to an early grave."

"It’s an abstract print, Jungkook," she laughed, her face flushing at the intense warmth in his eyes.

"It’s a weapon," he corrected, his voice dropping into that gritty, low register that always made her knees feel weak. "And you used it perfectly."

He leaned down and finally kissed her.

It wasn't a rushed kiss, but it was incredibly deep, heavy, and full of the raw impatience he had been holding back for hours. He poured everything into it—the exhaustion of his long day, the maddening delay in the nursery, and the fierce, protective love he felt for her. His tongue parted her lips easily, tasting her with a deep, possessive hunger that left her completely breathless. His hands slid down from her face, tracing the smooth, sheer mesh of her sleeves, his large palms feeling the heat of her arms.

Hazel let out a soft, whimpering sigh into his mouth, her body arching up instinctively to meet his weight, her fingers gripping his shoulders.

"Jungkook," she breathed when he parted his lips to trail his mouth down the smooth column of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right beneath her ear.

"You’re so perfect, baby," he muttered against her skin, his hands moving down to her waist, tracing the curves of her hips. He pulled back just enough to look into her dazed eyes, his hands gripping her waist a little firmer. "Tell me the truth. Did you miss me today?"

"I missed you so much," Hazel whispered honestly, her eyes soft and full of love as she reached up to smooth down his messy hair. "Every time I looked at the clock, I was just waiting for you to walk through that door."

A dark, incredibly satisfied smile broke across Jungkook’s face. "Good. Because I don't care about the restaurant, I don't care about anything else right now. There's only you."

With a smooth, deliberate movement, Jungkook reached down and grabbed the edge of the heavy, plush duvet, pulling it completely over both of them. He created a private, shadowed tent beneath the blanket, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving just the two of them in a warm, cocooned space filled with the scent of her vanilla and his smoky wood cologne.

Under the blanket, everything felt softer, more intimate, and incredibly safe.

Jungkook slid his hands down to the hem of her dress, slowly bundling the fabric up, his fingers moving up her thighs with an agonizingly slow, teasing touch. The cool air of the room was entirely blocked out by the heavy blanket, leaving only the searing heat of his calloused skin against hers. He stroked the smooth skin of her legs, his touch gentle but firm, making her shiver beneath him.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Hazel," he whispered in the dark, his breath hot against her cheek. His fingers traced the edge of her lace underwear, finding her already warm and ready for him. He let out a low, rough groan of pure satisfaction. "Look at you. All that teasing in the hallway, and you’re just as impatient as I am."

"Because you take too long," she whispered back, her voice shaking slightly as his fingers applied a gentle, soothing pressure through the lace.

"I’m taking my time because you deserve to be praised, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into a deep, dirty-talking purr that made her heart race. "You look so beautiful tonight. This body... god, you’re perfect. Every single inch of you. I’m going to make you forget about everything else tonight. I’m going to love you so thoroughly you won't even be able to think."

"Jungkook, please," she sighed, her fingers frantically unbuttoning his shirt, wanting the fabric gone.

He helped her, pulling the black shirt over his head and tossing it into the darkness outside the blanket. When he came back down, his bare chest pressed flat against her, the feeling of his warm, tattooed skin against her was so intense she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his hands sliding under her lower back to lift her closer, his lips finding hers again in a soft, deeply romantic kiss that tasted like a promise. "I've got you, baby. No more waiting."

…