Chapter 83: Blood in the Frame

 

The photograph arrived in a black envelope, slipped beneath the garden gate before the sun could rise. It was the only thing on the front lawn that morning—a single breath of dread laid gently against dew-covered stone.

 

The envelope was matte, its edges pristine. Taehyung found it first.

 

He stood over it, barefoot in silken morning pants and a thin black robe, with the wind tugging lightly at the hem as if whispering don’t open it. But his hand didn’t hesitate. The seal tore soundlessly.

 

Inside was a glossy, full-colored image.

 

Jungkook.

 

And not just him—all three of them.

 

Captured in a stolen moment two nights ago, curled together on the east terrace couch under one of Jungkook’s oversized blankets. Jungkook was fast asleep with his cheek pressed to V’s chest, his legs lazily tangled with Taehyung’s. The photo was intimate. Too intimate.

 

The angle was close.

 

As if someone had been there.

 

But it wasn’t just the photo that made Taehyung’s breath turn cold.

 

It was what was written on the back, in scrawled black ink:

 

“You can only protect one secret. Choose wisely.”

 

He stormed inside.

 

V was in the breakfast solarium, feeding Jungkook spoonfuls of sweet porridge while the younger giggled at the strawberries on top.

 

“D-daddy, s’mushy,” Jungkook whined, tongue out dramatically. “Me wants toasties!”

 

“You’ll get toast when you finish three more spoons,” V replied firmly, smiling with the patience only Jungkook could draw from him.

 

“Two.”

 

“Three.”

 

“One.”

 

“You’re getting five now.”

 

Jungkook shrieked in betrayal.

 

Taehyung entered then, silent as a shadow, and laid the photograph down between them.

 

The laughter stopped.

 

Jungkook blinked at the glossy image, his nose twitching as he leaned forward, head tilted.

 

“Is dat us?” he asked softly.

 

V slowly placed the spoon down. “Yes, sweetheart.”

 

“Why is it here?” Jungkook asked. His voice had shifted slightly, still soft, still innocent, but laced with that uncanny sense he always carried—like he felt something his mouth didn’t know how to say yet.

 

Taehyung answered gently, brushing back Jungkook’s bangs. “Because someone wants to scare us.”

 

Jungkook reached for the photo and turned it around. His eyes scanned the message—he didn’t quite understand the words, but the tone struck him, like thunder heard through walls.

 

V caught the flicker in his expression. His little star was starting to understand the weight of shadows.

 

“No one’s going to hurt us,” V said calmly, reaching for his hand. “Not ever. Not while we breathe.”

 

Jungkook leaned forward into his arms, whispering, “Okay, Daddy,” but the photo stayed clutched in his fingers, like a puzzle piece he wasn’t ready to let go of.

 

—

 

By noon, security was doubled.

 

The twins had spent years creating a quiet empire, hidden behind layers of shell companies and offshore accounts. Their wealth was a fortress. Their reputation was a knife. But Jungkook—he was the heart. The vulnerable pulse in the middle of a war they never wanted to pull him into.

 

Now someone had found a chink.

 

Not in the money.

 

Not in the power.

 

But in them.

 

“They want him exposed,” V said flatly, pacing the underground surveillance room, walls lined with monitors flickering in grayscale. “Or they want to test us. How far we’ll go.”

 

Taehyung leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “We’ll burn the city before we let them touch a strand of his hair.”

 

“No hesitation.”

 

“Not for a second.”

 

They stood together for a beat, the weight of the choice unspoken. If it came down to it—his identity as Koo would be protected. Their relationship would remain a secret. The world couldn’t have that part of him. Not yet. Not ever, if they could help it.

 

“We should pull back from public appearances for a while,” V murmured.

 

“And the next gallery?”

 

“Handled. Quiet. Anonymous. Niki’s on it.”

 

—

 

That evening, Jungkook wandered up to the attic.

 

He’d never been allowed up there before, but the hatch had been left ajar, and the golden light spilling from it made him curious. He tiptoed up the narrow steps, past forgotten trunks and antique mirrors.

 

In the far corner, half-covered by a velvet curtain, stood a gramophone.

 

It was beautiful. Old. Gilded.

 

Next to it was a single vinyl record in a red paper sleeve.

 

Jungkook's fingers touched the edge of the sleeve, and a shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t know why, but something about the whole room felt like a memory waiting to wake up.

 

He placed the record on the turntable and gave it a slow spin. The needle dropped.

 

And then—

 

A crackle.

 

A hum.

 

Then a voice, ghosted in static:

 

“If you’re hearing this… then you’ve already chosen love.”

 

Jungkook froze.

 

“You don’t know me yet, little one. But I know you. I knew you before your first canvas. I knew you before they did. You are not alone, no matter how many threats come. I am watching. And I am not the enemy.”

 

The voice was gentle. Masculine. Familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

 

It ended as suddenly as it started.

 

He sat there, silent, the sound still vibrating in the air like the last chord of a song that hadn’t been written yet.

 

Below, V and Taehyung called for him.

 

“Jungkook?”

 

“Koo, where are you, baby?”

 

He came down quietly and ran into their arms without a word.

 

He didn’t tell them about the record.

 

Not yet.

 

But that night, when they curled around him in bed and whispered soft nothings against his skin, Jungkook stared into the dark and whispered:

 

“I think someone’s trying to help us.”

 

V kissed his cheek.

 

Taehyung kissed his shoulder.

 

Neither of them heard him.

 

But the attic remembered.

 

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