Chapter 16 || "Professor Kim: A victim. A Survivor. A Saint." || BOOK 2 OF PHOENIX IN HIS ARMS.

 

The front door clicked shut with a dull echo as Taehyung stepped inside, the late evening air clinging to his coat like exhaustion wrapped around his frame. His briefcase, usually carried with confidence, now dangled loosely from his fingers before he dropped it on the small entryway bench.

It had been a long day.

As the President of Phoenix Rigid University and one of its most respected professors, the weight of the upcoming annual exams had pressed harder than usual. Endless meetings, last-minute scheduling, and frustrated staff had pulled every thread of energy from his body.

He loosened his tie with one hand as he moved through the silent house, each step heavy. The soft click of his polished shoes against the wooden floor echoed in the quiet, making the stillness feel more pronounced.

Their shared bedroom was dimly lit when he entered.

His fingers hovered for a moment on the light switch, but he didn’t turn it on. Instead, he walked to the en-suite bathroom, his mind still fogged with memories of the previous night—a complicated mixture of disappointment and aching affection.

He wasn’t angry with Jungkook.

No, anger never even crossed his mind.

He was… sad. Hurt. And maybe—just maybe—feeling a little helpless.

He had raised that boy since he was six. He had held him through nightmares, taught him how to ride a bike, bandaged his scraped knees, and years later, stood beside him on their wedding day, proud and in love.

So, to hear Jungkook question his worth… to see that spark of insecurity in the boy he’d always encouraged to be brave; to be enough… it had cracked something in him.

After a long, quiet shower, Taehyung came out with his hair damp and curling softly around his temples. He wore simple black lounge pants and a loose grey sweater. The usual confidence in his posture was subdued tonight, his movements slower.

He walked back into the bedroom—only to stop.

A small table had been set up near the balcony doors, where sheer curtains swayed lightly in the breeze. The room was bathed in warm candlelight, flickering gently from a few tall holders placed carefully around the space.

The table itself was modest, but beautifully decorated — two white plates arranged with food, garnished lovingly, with a small bouquet of baby’s breath and violets tucked in a small glass jar between them.

Jungkook sat quietly in one of the chairs.

He was wearing a soft white silk shirt, looking like an angel, hair brushed neatly, eyes wide and nervous as they lifted to meet Taehyung’s.

But Taehyung said nothing.

He walked over slowly, his face unreadable, and took the empty seat opposite Jungkook. Not a word, not even a glance.

Instead, he picked up the serving spoon and began putting food on his plate.

Jungkook watched every movement with anxious eyes, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. The silence between them was thick, like fog—settling around them heavily.

Unable to bear it any longer, Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his lower lip pushed out in a dramatic pout.

“Hubbyyyyyyyy...” he whined, dragging out the syllables like a child seeking forgiveness. “Don’t ignore me…”

Still, Taehyung didn’t look at him. He just took a slow bite of his rice.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly. “I was wrong. I’ll never think like that again, I promise.”

Nothing.

Jungkook pouted harder, his big doe eyes glittering under the candlelight, looking more like a guilty bunny than a grown man. His mind flashed with what Jimin, Niki, and Soobin had told him that afternoon:

“He’s not just your husband, Kook. He’s basically your parent figure too.”
“He raised you. He watched you grow. He built you strong.”
“And now you’re doubting yourself like this? He must be hurting. Not angry. Just... hurt.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

And now, sitting across from him—Taehyung’s every quiet bite, every unspoken word—confirmed it. He wasn’t mad. He was disappointed.

That realization stung more than any scolding ever could.

The clink of cutlery on porcelain marked the only sound in the room, save for the quiet flicker of candle flames. Taehyung sat still, calm on the surface but carrying the weight of thoughts beneath it. His expression unreadable, his movements refined—every bite he took seemed calculated, emotion carefully tucked away. He didn’t look up, even once.

Across from him, Jungkook sat anxiously, fingers playing with the edge of the tablecloth. He had tried everything—his softest voice, his most apologetic pout, even his signature bunny eyes—but nothing broke through Taehyung’s silence. Not yet.

And then, slowly, Jungkook stood.

Taehyung's fork paused mid-air. His eyes flicked up, and in an instant, the air changed. It thickened, heavy with tension. Jungkook stepped around the table, the candlelight dancing across his bare legs—long, toned, and completely exposed under Taehyung’s crisp white shirt. 

The hem fell just barely below his hips, teasing glimpses of his dick made Taehyung’s throat tighten.

But what truly robbed Taehyung of breath—what nearly shattered the restraint he was desperately clinging to—was the delicate piece of jewellery wrapped around Jungkook’s upper thigh. A thin, glinting chain adorned with dangling charms, each soft movement causing a subtle, musical jingle. A sensual melody that seemed to echo louder than it should in the quiet room.

Taehyung’s jaw clenched.

Jungkook stepped forward, slowly, like a feline closing in. His gaze never left Taehyung’s eyes, unwavering, knowing. He gently moved Taehyung’s plate aside, clearing space—his movements innocent in action but sultry in execution. 

Then, without asking, he sat on the edge of the table, right in front of Taehyung. One leg lifted slightly—resting on Taehyung’s thigh. Soo close to his now hard on. The chain kissed Jungkook’s soft legs with every slight motion, cool metal brushing warm skin.

Taehyung stared, eyes now dark as night, but his face remained unreadable. Jungkook leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper, as he rested one hand on Taehyung’s chest.

“Please, hyung... don’t be disappointed in me,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the better of me. I just... I didn’t mean to think like that. I know you’ve always made me feel safe, loved… But last night, my head just… wasn’t right.”

His voice trembled, vulnerability dripping from every word. It wasn’t seduction anymore. It was an apology—raw and real.

Taehyung closed his eyes for a moment. A sigh escaped his lips, part frustration, part exhaustion, and maybe part surrender. When he opened them again, the softness in his gaze returned. Still intense, but no longer cold.

“You think I’m ignoring you because I’m angry?” Taehyung asked, his voice low, rough. “I’m not. I’m disappointed because you thought so little of yourself. Because you believed—after all this time—that I could ever look away from you. That I could leave you.”

Jungkook’s eyes welled, but he bit his lip, nodding.

“I don’t need you to beg for attention or wear chains to earn forgiveness,” Taehyung said, his hand finally lifting to cradle Jungkook’s jaw. His thumb swept over Jungkook’s cheek gently. “But I won’t lie, you do look... unfairly stunning right now.”

A shy smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips.

Taehyung smirked slightly, but it didn’t reach the mischief it usually did. Instead, it was warm, wistful.

“You’re not getting off the hook this easily, though,” he added, rising from his chair.

Jungkook blinked. “Huh?”

Without warning, Taehyung reached behind Jungkook and pulled off his tie from the back of the chair. He slid it smoothly around Jungkook’s waist, securing it gently—not tight, but enough to guide.

“Come on,” he said, voice a quiet command. “Let’s finish this conversation... somewhere else.”

And with that, he gave the softest tug, pulling Jungkook down from the table. The charms on his thigh jingled once more as he followed, willingly, toward the bed—guided by the silk of Taehyung’s tie, and the bond only they truly understood.

Taehyung’s gaze dropped slightly—to Jungkook’s clothes, the subtle nervous tremble in his fingers, the flushed pink rising in his cheeks. So soft. So guilty. So heartbreakingly sincere.

Taehyung’s throat went dry. His body froze for just a second, and he could swear his soul left his body at the look on Jungkook’s face.

Vulnerable. Ashamed. Loving.

And waiting to be forgiven.

Taehyung sighed, his expression softening, even if he tried to keep it firm.

Jungkook blinked. “Hyung...?”

“We’re not done,” Taehyung said softly, his voice low but without coldness. “But you’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

And then, without another word, he gently tugged the tie, guiding Jungkook with him near the bed, across the dimly lit room.

Not rushed. Not angry.

Just… quietly dominant. Controlled. And somehow still tender.

CLICK THE LINK BELOW FOR NEXT CHAPTER:

https://novelreadingislife.blogspot.com/2025/05/chapter-17-professor-kim-victim.html

.

.

.