Chapter 5 || "Professor Kim: A victim. A Survivor. A Saint." || BOOK 2 OF PHOENIX IN HIS ARMS.

 

The KJ headquarters shimmered like obsidian in the soft Sunday morning light—its dark glass walls reflecting the overcast sky. Unlike the usual hustle of weekdays, today the building felt like a slumbering beast—silent, mysterious, and exclusive.

A sleek matte black SUV purred into the private underground parking lot, bypassing the regular employee floors. It glided to a halt in the farthest corner, a spot marked discreetly with a small plate: CEO – Private Access Only.

Jungkook stepped out slowly, his lips curled into a soft, irritated pout. His oversized cream hoodie, fluffy enough to bury his jaw in, contrasted sharply with the distressed black jeans clinging to his toned legs. The rips on the knees and thighs gave him an effortlessly stylish look, but even style couldn’t hide the way he winced ever so slightly as he straightened up.

“Damn you, Kim Taehyung,” he muttered under his breath, hissing softly as the dull ache in his lower back flared up. “Who punishes someone this hard for deleting a file that was useless to you in the first place?”

He rubbed his palm at the base of his slightly swollen bum, narrowing his eyes at the elevator panel as he stepped into his private lift—one that led directly to his penthouse-like personal office suite. The fingerprint scanner beeped softly, and the doors closed with a hiss of luxury.

The moment the lift reached the top floor, the hallway welcomed him with dim lights and clean silence. There were no footsteps, no clicking of heels, no anxious interns pacing the floor. It was Sunday, after all. No meetings. No media. No clients.

Just him.

Jungkook stepped into his office, bypassing the main designer floor entirely. He didn’t bother with formal clothes today—not that anyone could see him if he didn’t want them to. His private room, invisible from the outside due to the seamless wall design, opened with a light push.

The space inside was a world of its own—where creativity bloomed and luxury whispered rather than shouted. His office was massive, minimalistic, with a bold color palette of cream, stone, and hints of deep black. At the far side, the personal designing section lay hidden behind a blurred glass partition, separating the corporate from the intimate.

And that’s where he headed—padding across the marble floor in sock-covered feet, his hoodie sleeve sliding off his wrist as he reached for his tablet.

A few sketches were already open on his screen—a breathtaking concept of a wedding gown for a foreign client, who’d requested a fusion of Western elegance and traditional Korean grace. The fabric—ivory silk, softest tulle, and delicate embroidered georgette—was laid out in layers across the long table, some carelessly dropped to the floor during his late-night sketching spree.

The gown was nearly complete.

Only the final detailing remained—the gentle flow of hanbok-inspired sleeves, and the subtle embroidery of magnolia flowers trailing up the skirt, symbolizing nobility and perseverance.

Jungkook pushed his sleeves up, tying his long hair into a loose man-bun, strands falling softly around his jaw. He leaned over the fabric, humming softly to himself, eyes narrowed in precision.

But in his moment of focused immersion, the soft silk betrayed him.

His foot slid on the slippery fabric pooling beneath the table, and before he could catch himself, his legs tangled and his body stumbled sideways. A startled gasp escaped him as his hip slammed against the frosted glass partition, the sharp press of the cool material jolting up his already bruised spine.

“A-ah—dammit!” he hissed, his voice strained, clutching the small of his back as the fresh sting bloomed over the lingering ache.

He dropped to one knee with a groan, clutching at the edge of the table for support, hoodie rising just enough to reveal a glimpse of reddened but soft and milky skin underneath.

“Stupid Taehyung,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth. “Who even hits that hard at 6 a.m.? Who counts that loud while someone’s trying not to moan? Freakin’ sadist…”

He pressed his palm gently over the spot, lips forming a pout that was both genuine and laced with annoyance. Still, a small chuckle ghosted past his lips, despite the pain.

“…And yet I let him. I asked for it after all, didn’t I?” he mumbled to himself, eyes narrowing as if the fabric pile had personally betrayed him.

He sighed, slowly rising again, stretching his back while letting his hoodie fall back into place. He padded over to the mini-fridge in the corner and pulled out a cool water bottle, pressing it briefly to his sore lower back with a satisfying hiss.

The room remained silent, filled only with the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet tapping of a digital pen against a tablet screen.

Outside the frosted glass, the office remained unaware that its elusive CEO was not a myth today, not a ghost or shadow behind a tinted wall—but a hoodie-clad artist, quietly cursing his husband and piecing together a masterpiece born from silk, tradition, and a little pain.

And no one—not a soul—knew that the man who had the world eating out of his palm, who built an empire with inked fingers and sleepless nights, had come in limping this morning... not from stress, but from love disguised as punishment. From spanks he oh so desperately craved. Not from some random one, but by his husband. His hyungie. His love of life.

The only person who is patient enough to tolerate all his brattiness and fulfils his need in the most tempting and sadistic way. Treasures him like the most precious thing in the world. The one and only. Professor Kim. His Taehyungie hyungie hyung.  

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https://novelreadingislife.blogspot.com/2025/05/chapter-6-professor-kim-victim-survivor.html

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