Chapter 92: Velvet Chains
The world had always been a quiet hum beyond the estate’s
high walls. Distant, muffled, like a record playing in another room. But now…
now it was knocking.
Hard.
And loud.
It started with a tweet. A single grainy photo of a hand
hovering over an unfinished painting, delicate veins and the glint of a
signature ring catching the light. The caption read:
“This isn’t just art. This is Koo. And I think we’ve found
him.”
Jungkook didn't see it at first. He was wrapped in V's arms,
nestled deep beneath a thick blanket, giggling softly into the elder’s shoulder
as Taehyung braided his hair with silky precision. The room smelled of fresh
strawberries and vanilla, the aftermath of a chaotic little space baking
session that had ended with flour in V’s eyelashes and a smear of frosting on
Taehyung’s cheek Jungkook refused to lick off in front of “Dada.”
The peace was sacred.
But it didn’t last.
V’s phone buzzed once. Then again. Then a string of non-stop
vibrations that broke through the sanctity of Jungkook’s quiet world.
Taehyung moved first, rising without a word to retrieve the
device. His silence told everything.
“…dada?” Jungkook asked quietly, doe eyes fluttering with
sleep.
Neither of them answered.
Taehyung handed the phone to V. On the screen—tweets, forum
posts, headlines. Dozens of them.
“Anonymous artist ‘Koo’ possibly revealed.”
“Rare brushstroke study may confirm Jeon Jungkook as Koo.”
“Tattoo matches billionaire’s reclusive heir.”
It felt like glass cracking.
V’s voice was grave. “They’re not stopping.”
Taehyung sat beside him, back rigid, expression carved from
marble. “How much have they seen?”
“Enough.” V exhaled. “Not his face. But enough.”
They turned toward the boy curled in the center of the
massive bed. Jungkook, sensing the change in the atmosphere, had stopped
fidgeting. His plush bunny had slipped from his lap.
“…Did I do bad?” he whispered.
Taehyung’s heart broke at the tremor in his voice.
“No, baby,” he said immediately, crawling back toward him.
“No. You were perfect. You are perfect.”
Jungkook’s lower lip trembled. “But now everyone gonna see…”
V took his hand. “That’s not your fault. That’s the world’s
greed.”
Jungkook sniffled once, then blinked up at them both. “What
we do now?”
V glanced at Taehyung. It had been coming for months, this
moment. The unveiling. The slow erosion of secrecy. They had thought they could
keep him hidden forever. That their mansion could hold the brilliance of Koo
behind heavy gates and velvet curtains.
But light, by its very nature, finds the cracks.
V squeezed his hand. “Now we protect you. In the open.”
The Press Conference
It was supposed to be a soft event. A quiet unveiling of a
new collection. But with the rumors swirling, reporters flooded the venue.
Hundreds packed the gallery. Paparazzi circled outside.
Then the double doors opened.
And they walked in.
Kim Taehyung in midnight silk. Kim V in a three-piece
tailored obsidian suit. And between them, their hand clasped in each of
his—Jeon Jungkook.
He wore no mask.
Only soft curls, a loose white shirt speckled with paint,
and his signature ring—glistening under the lights like it had always belonged
there.
Cameras clicked like gunfire.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The curator stumbled to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen…
tonight, for the first time, the artist Koo will speak.”
Jungkook stepped forward, his fingers gripping the edges of
the podium. His breath trembled, but he didn’t falter. He glanced to his
left—V’s steady gaze. Then to his right—Taehyung’s gentle nod.
And then he smiled.
“Hi…” he said, voice soft. “I’m Koo. I paint ‘cause I can’t
talk like others. Colors help me speak.”
The room went silent.
“I didn’t want no one to see me,” he admitted, looking down
for a second. “But Daddy and Dada said I don’t gotta hide. That love don’t
hide.”
Gasps. Murmurs. Confusion. The media’s collective brain
short-circuited.
Daddy?
Dada?
V took the mic next. “What you see tonight is not just art.
It’s soul. It’s the result of love, pain, silence, and healing. Koo is not a
product. He’s not a brand. He’s our heart.”
Taehyung added, “We ask for respect. For boundaries. For
recognition not just of talent—but of personhood.”
They didn’t answer questions.
They didn’t pose for press.
They left, hand in hand, the three of them wrapped in
silence louder than applause.
Back at the Mansion
That night, Jungkook stood barefoot in the garden, looking
up at the stars. The house was still. The city was roaring outside, but here,
it was just wind and leaves.
He heard the footsteps before he felt the arms.
Taehyung’s body pressed against his back first, warm and
solid.
Then V’s arms circled him from the front, lips brushing his
temple.
“You were so brave, baby,” Taehyung whispered.
“So beautiful,” V added.
Jungkook turned in their arms and tucked himself between
them.
“I wanna be yours forever,” he murmured, eyes glassy.
“You already are,” Taehyung said, kissing his forehead.
V took his hand and slid a small black box into it. “Open
it.”
Jungkook blinked, confused, and then opened the velvet lid.
Inside was a ring.
Three interlocking bands—gold, black, and silver.
A perfect symbol.
“I thought we already married,” Jungkook said softly, eyes
wide.
“We did,” V smiled. “But this one… this one the world can
see.”
Jungkook’s lips curved. Then trembled. He nodded.
“Put it on me.”
Taehyung slid it onto his left hand.
And as V kissed him, slow and tender, Taehyung whispered
against his ear:
“No more hiding, love. Now, you’re ours in the light.”
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