Chapter 94: Beneath the Silence
The marble floors echoed differently now.
Jungkook walked barefoot through the eastern wing of the
mansion, the newly renovated side V had insisted on after the exhibition. A
soft breeze filtered in from the glass corridors, lifting his silk robe
slightly as he passed the antique mirrors, the gilded frames catching his
reflection in flashes.
He looked peaceful—almost ethereal. But beneath the soft
fabric and the gentle expression, a quiet storm stirred.
The public knew the artist.
The public adored the muse.
But no one—not yet—knew the prince carved from blood and
bone and unspoken legacy.
His fingers traced the line of a locked door hidden at the
far end of the hallway. A door most thought was decorative.
But he knew better.
Behind it lay the room his family once forbade him from
entering. The room filled with old letters, thick velvet files, dusty ledgers…
and guns.
“Baby.”
Jungkook turned at the sound of V’s voice—deep, low, like
thunder over the sea.
V approached in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled just
slightly, eyes darker than shadows. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Jungkook blinked, lips curling softly. “It was calling me.”
V frowned, stepping close, one hand sliding around
Jungkook’s waist. “That door shouldn’t be calling anyone.”
Jungkook leaned in, voice light. “But it does. Every night.
In dreams I don’t want.”
Before V could reply, Taehyung’s footsteps echoed from
behind them. He was barefoot too, wearing a loose, open robe, eyes still warm
with sleep. “You felt it again?” he asked softly, voice lined with concern.
Jungkook didn’t need to explain. They already knew.
The nightmares had started the night after the exhibition.
At first, they were fragmented—a voice, a scream, the sound
of shattering porcelain. Then names came. Faces. Cold hands gripping his
shoulders.
And then came the blood.
Not on his hands.
In his mouth.
Later that night, as they lay tangled in bed, Jungkook
curled up between them like always, but something had shifted. The nightlight
he usually kept on was off. The curtains had been left open.
And Jungkook’s fingers… they trembled.
V was the first to notice. He sat up slowly, brushing the
boy’s cheek. “Koo… are you in your little space?”
Jungkook shook his head.
“No, Daddy.”
The voice was firm. Not his childlike whisper. Not his shy
softness.
Taehyung turned on the lamp, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Kook?”
Jungkook slowly sat up, the silk falling from his shoulders.
“There’s something I never told you,” he said quietly,
looking between them.
Something cold settled in the air.
“You know I was homeschooled. You know my parents controlled
everything. But you don’t know what they were hiding me from.”
Taehyung’s fingers twitched.
V’s jaw flexed.
“I wasn’t their son,” Jungkook whispered, voice hollow. “I
was a heir.”
“To what?” V asked, though something in his tone suggested
he already knew.
Jungkook looked down.
“…The White Orchid Syndicate.”
Silence.
Only the wind answered.
It was Taehyung who finally spoke, his voice a hoarse rasp.
“That syndicate disbanded a decade ago. After the last leader died.”
Jungkook met his gaze. “He didn’t die.”
Both twins froze.
Jungkook placed a small silver pendant into V’s palm. It was
shaped like an orchid, its stem curled around a blade.
“That’s my birthright.”
Outside the mansion, two men in tailored suits stood near
the security fence, their heads bowed in quiet conversation.
One of them held a photo.
Of a boy.
A boy with stars in his eyes and blood on his hands.
“Jeon is alive,” the man said quietly. “And if he reclaims
the seat, the underworld will bow again.”
The second man lit a cigarette. “Then we either get to him
before that happens…”
He exhaled smoke.
“Or we prepare to kneel.”
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