Chapter 71: Storm Beneath Silk
The light of early dawn spilled like soft milk over the
marble floors of the mansion, brushing against the lacquered banisters and
trailing across the velvet curtains of the grand library. The warmth of the
sunrise, however, did nothing to quell the chill V felt in his blood.
He stood near the floor-length window of the second-floor
study, a quiet place rarely touched by the household’s rhythm. Today, it became
a war room.
He held a glass of untouched whiskey in one hand, the other
resting on the smooth wooden edge of the desk behind him where three screens
displayed rapidly shifting data—server traces, image origins, timestamps. A web
of digital hunting that could no longer be ignored.
Kim Taehyung walked in without a word, dressed in his usual
morning attire: black silk shirt, two buttons undone, and dark slacks. His gaze
flicked briefly to the untouched whiskey, then to the red line blinking on one
of the screens.
“They traced the auction routes through an old port server,”
V muttered. “One of the backup drop zones we never updated.”
Taehyung didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moved to
the desk, placed down a thick folder of compiled press clippings from the past
twenty-four hours, and finally asked, “Is it revenge?”
The question hung in the air like incense.
V’s jaw flexed. “Possibly. Or greed. Could even be both.”
“The fact that someone even dared to try this while Jungkook
was still resting from last night…” Taehyung’s voice dropped low. “They clearly
don’t know who they’re playing with.”
V’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve allowed too much leniency.”
“And now they’ve mistaken our quiet for weakness.”
They both fell silent.
Then V clicked a button, enlarging a distorted image that
had been posted anonymously to a private art speculation forum. It was a blurry
shot, taken from the back of the exhibition hall. Jungkook’s figure could just
barely be made out beside Niki.
Someone was getting too close.
“I want that forum traced, dismantled, and anyone involved
in that post silenced,” V said. “We start there.”
Taehyung gave a small nod, then leaned in closer.
But neither of them noticed the soft footsteps behind
them—not until a quiet voice broke through the tension.
“Are you going to kill them?”
Both twins froze.
Jungkook stood in the doorway.
He was wearing one of his soft pajama sets, loose around the
sleeves, the collar slipping slightly off one shoulder. His dark hair was
tousled from sleep, but his eyes were wide open and serious, unblinking.
V was the first to move, stepping toward him slowly. “Koo…”
“Are you going to hurt the people looking for me?” he asked
again. “Because… I know it’s not just about stopping them anymore. Not for you
two.”
Jungkook’s small fingers tightened around the doorframe.
“And I don’t want anyone to die because of me. I don’t want our life to be
built on blood.”
There was a pause.
Then Taehyung crossed the room in two strides and gathered
him in his arms, firm and grounding.
“You're not causing anything, Koo,” he whispered into the
crook of his neck. “We're protecting what’s already ours.”
“But protection doesn’t mean silence,” Jungkook murmured,
voice muffled against his chest. “I don’t want to be hidden like a broken thing
anymore. Let me stand with you.”
V stepped behind them, one hand coming to cradle Jungkook’s
head. “Then let us show you how.”
And with that, the tension eased. Not because the threat was
gone, but because Jungkook’s voice, once tremulous and uncertain, now stood
steady beside theirs.
Later that evening, a call from Niki finally came through.
She was safe. Shaken, but unharmed.
“I changed locations,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t take
the chance they’d follow me from the gallery. But Jungkook—someone from the
investors' circuit is involved. They’re trying to force Koo into public reveal
so they can monetize the chaos.”
V and Taehyung exchanged a glance.
That narrowed the suspect list significantly.
“I want names,” Taehyung said. “Quietly.”
“I’m already digging,” Niki replied. “But… Koo needs to
decide what’s next. Does he want to step into the light—or burn the whole thing
down from the shadows?”
Her voice softened as she added, “He holds the match, you
know.”
That night, Jungkook stood at the mirror in their shared
bedroom, brushing his fingers over the small mole under his bottom lip.
The same lips that had smiled through exhibitions, whispered
secrets to ‘Dada’ and ‘Daddy’, kissed paint-covered fingers and bruised
silk-soft skin.
He wasn’t afraid.
But he was done running.
As he turned away from the mirror, the twins were waiting
for him at the edge of the bed. The lights were low, the room dim with golden
warmth.
They didn’t say a word as he walked toward them. Didn’t ask,
didn’t push.
They simply opened their arms.
And he climbed into them.
It was slow at first. A gentle undressing, layer by layer—each
piece of fabric removed not in urgency but reverence. Fingers brushed down bare
skin like prayers, lips trailed soft worship over the expanse of his
collarbones and down his chest.
Taehyung pressed kisses into the base of Jungkook’s throat,
while V’s fingers traced the wings of his hips.
Jungkook whimpered, soft and breathy, as they took their
time with him.
Touch became communication.
Desire became promise.
The intimacy wasn’t rushed—it was aching and slow, a
language made of breaths and shivers and whispered praises.
“You’re ours,” Taehyung murmured into his ear, his voice
rough. “Always.”
Jungkook’s fingers tangled in V’s hair as the elder pressed
kisses just above his hipbone, and he choked out a shaky moan. “D-Daddy…”
V looked up, lips curling into something molten.
“Say it again.”
And Jungkook did.
Between kisses. Between touches.
Between the safety of two men who would raze kingdoms before
letting the world so much as breathe wrong on his skin.
He called them what they were.
His Dada.
His Daddy.
His home.
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