...Main character:...

Jeon Jungkook (The Cold CEO)

Age:30

A self-made billionaire, is a man with a heart of ice. Cold, calculating, and emotionally distant, he's built an empire on the ashes of his past, never allowing himself to trust or love anyone. But when Taehyung enters his life, his world shifts. His intense attraction to the broken painter evolves into an unhealthy obsession, and as he becomes more possessive and jealous, he must confront feelings that terrify him. Can he truly love Taehyung without losing himself in the process?

“I don't believe in love. But for you... I'd burn the world down just to keep you mine.”

Kim Taehyung (The Broken Painter)

Age:28

Taehyung is a wealthy, successful painter, but his soul is scarred by the past. His ex, a man who treated him like property, left him emotionally shattered. After years of torment, Taehyung has built walls around his heart, hiding his deepest wounds behind his art. His ex's abuse left him with a trauma so deep that any chance of trusting again feels impossible. Taehyung is a walking red forest of brokenness, but when he meets Jungkook, he is drawn into a dangerous spiral of desire and fear, unable to escape the magnetic pull. Can he ever escape his past or is he doomed to repeat it?

“Thought I could escape love. But it always finds a way back, and it rips me apart every time.”

Lee Jihoon (Taehyung's Ex:)

Age:34

"You think you can escape me? I made you, Taehyung. You belong to me, now and forever."

...Side Characters:...

Min Yoongi (Jungkook's Right-Hand Man)

Age:32

Park Jimin (Taehyung's Best Friend)

Age:29

Lee Seokjin (Art Gallery Owner and Taehyung's Admirer)

Age:32

Choi Taehyun (Business Rival of Jungkook )

Age:29

Jeon Seojin (Jungkook's younger Sister)

Age:25

...The whole story based on third person pov ........

...Ep:1...

...CRIMSON SCARS...

The cold studio lights flickered, casting shadows over Kim Taehyung’s exhausted frame. His hands, still stained with splashes of paint, trembled as he stepped back from the canvas, studying the work in front of him. The harsh red swirls seemed to pulse under his gaze, the violent strokes of color almost... alive. The deep crimson felt like it was bleeding out from the canvas, reflecting a truth Taehyung had long hidden from himself.

Pain is the only thing I know.

He inhaled deeply, his chest tightening as memories flooded his mind. The past few years had been a blur of jagged edges and raw wounds that never fully healed. The person he had been before was unrecognizable to him now, buried under the weight of regret, trauma, and betrayal. Every time he looked at the canvas, it was like he was peeling back the layers of his own soul, exposing the brokenness beneath the art.

Could you ever really heal?

Taehyung wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing away the tears he hadn’t realized had fallen. He didn’t have time for weakness. There was no room for it in his world anymore. Not after Jihoon.

Jihoon. The name echoed in his mind, like a bad memory that refused to fade. He had been everything Taehyung thought he wanted once—passionate, charming, intense. But Jihoon was also a monster in disguise. He had broken Taehyung, shattered him into pieces, and then walked away like it was nothing.

I’m nothing but a piece of his wreckage.

The thought twisted in his chest. He couldn’t escape Jihoon’s ghost, even though the man had left him—physically—years ago. The scars Jihoon had left weren’t just on his skin, but deep inside him. The emotional scars festered, leaving him numb to anything resembling love.

In the silence of the studio, Taehyung heard the unmistakable sound of the door creaking open. It wasn’t the first time someone had come to look at his work—his art was selling, after all, and the money was always a good distraction. But the voice that followed was unfamiliar. Cold. Professional. Almost too sharp for the quiet of the space.

“Impressive,” the voice spoke, its low timbre cutting through the stillness.

Taehyung froze. He hadn’t expected anyone, certainly not someone who would interrupt his solace. His pulse quickened, his body on high alert. He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the doorway for the intruder.

A figure stood there, tall and imposing, with the air of someone who owned the room. The man's suit was tailored to perfection, crisp and sharp, an expensive shade of gray that seemed to sharpen his already intense features. Taehyung couldn’t make out the details, his mind too clouded by exhaustion and confusion to focus.

"Who are you?" Taehyung’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, still hoarse from the endless nights of sleeplessness.

The man studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping forward. "Jeon Jungkook," he replied simply, his voice calm but with an undertone of something... commanding. He paused, his dark eyes scanning Taehyung’s art, pausing momentarily on each piece. "You’re Kim Taehyung, the artist. I’ve heard a lot about your work."

Taehyung blinked, his head spinning slightly. Jungkook? The name was unfamiliar, but the way the man said it... like he expected Taehyung to know him, or perhaps even respect him. That wasn’t a feeling Taehyung was used to. He frowned.

"What do you want?" Taehyung's words were blunt, defensive. He didn’t have time for games, not now. Not when his heart was still wrapped in chains.

Jungkook’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though there was no humor in it. “I’m here to offer you something.” His gaze flicked back to the canvas, where Taehyung’s dark, swirling reds caught the light. “You’re a talented man, Taehyung. But it seems like you're drowning in your own pain.”

Taehyung's heart pounded harder at the words. Drowning in pain. The phrase stung, but not as much as it should have. There was no denying the truth in it. He had been drowning for years, and yet he still clung to the surface, pretending to breathe.

“I’m not interested in anything from you,” Taehyung said quickly, turning his attention back to his painting. Anything that would make this man think he had the right to offer him anything.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stood his ground, an immovable force in the small space. His eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, though the hardness never fully left his gaze. “You don’t need to be so guarded. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Taehyung let out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and sharp in the quiet studio.

"PEOPLE ALWAYS SAY THAT BEFORE THEY DESTROY YOU."

There was a long pause before Jungkook spoke again, his voice just a shade quieter. "Not everyone is like that."

Taehyung’s eyes flicked up to meet Jungkook’s, but his face remained impassive. "I’m not like other people, either," he replied coldly.

Jungkook's eyes darkened slightly, though his expression remained unchanged. He took a step back, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "We'll see. I’ll be back."

And just like that, he turned and left the studio, leaving Taehyung alone once again in the silence.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Taehyung let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His heart was racing, but there was something else, too—a sensation, a flicker of something… unfamiliar.

For the first time in a long time, Taehyung wondered if the man who had just walked out was more than just another stranger. Maybe he was the one thing Taehyung had been running from for so long.

But he couldn’t afford to let anyone close again.

...To be continued....💜...

...FRACTURED REFLECTION ...

The studio was quiet again, but it felt different. The weight of the space had changed since Jungkook’s visit—an unsettling stillness had settled over Taehyung, as if the air itself was charged with something dangerous. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to. The last thing he needed was to let a man he barely knew make him question his own mind.

I’m fine, Taehyung told himself. I’m fine. Just focus on the painting.

But as he stared at the canvas, the once vibrant red swirls now seemed almost… dead, as though they were slowly being suffocated under a layer of invisible pressure. The harsh strokes he’d poured so much of himself into were now mocking him.

Was this really all I am?

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. The question, so simple, was too difficult for him to answer. He couldn’t think of a time when he had been truly free of pain. Not when Jihoon had been there, whispering sweet promises in his ear that were as empty as the space between them now. Not after the violent outbursts, the cruel words, the betrayal. Taehyung had never known love to be anything but a weapon, something that left deep scars.

He had tried to move on. He had tried to forget, but no matter how many brushstrokes he used to drown out the memories, the pain always found its way back in.

His phone buzzed, dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts. He glanced at the screen, seeing an unknown number. He had learned long ago not to trust unfamiliar contacts, but something in his gut told him it was important.

Reluctantly, he answered.

“Kim Taehyung,” came a deep voice from the other side. Jeon Jungkook.

“...Yes?” Taehyung's voice faltered for a moment, the name heavy in his mouth. It felt too soon. He didn’t want to deal with him again—didn’t want anyone poking at the fragile walls he had so carefully built around himself.

“I’m coming to your exhibition tomorrow,” Jungkook said without preamble. “You’ve got a showing at the gallery in Soho, right?”

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat. His exhibition was private—by invitation only—and he had specifically kept the guest list tight, ensuring that only those who truly appreciated his work would be there.

“How do you know about the exhibition?” Taehyung asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice. “You didn’t….”

“I don’t need an invitation,” Jungkook interrupted, his tone cool and matter-of-fact. “Consider it a business opportunity. I want to talk about a potential partnership.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust business people. He never had. And while Jungkook’s words were about business, there was something underneath them that made Taehyung uneasy.

“I’m not interested,” Taehyung replied quickly, his hand tightening around the phone. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“You’ll reconsider,” Jungkook said, and there was a strange finality in his voice. “You’ll see me tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it.”

Before Taehyung could protest, Jungkook hung up.

He stared at the phone in his hand, his heartbeat drumming against his chest like an ominous warning. What the hell just happened?

Later that night, Taehyung found himself standing in front of his studio mirror, studying his reflection. The harsh overhead light cast shadows under his eyes, making the exhaustion more visible than he’d like. His body looked the same—his face, his posture—but something was different. A sense of unease gnawed at his insides, tightening his throat.

He couldn’t help but remember the way Jungkook had looked at him earlier. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t pity. It was something else—something cold, calculating, yet strangely compelling. The way his gaze had lingered on the painting, on Taehyung himself, had unsettled him in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.

Why does this man feel like a threat?

The thought lingered, unanswered. Taehyung had never let anyone get close enough to challenge him like this, and the fact that Jungkook had made such an impact in such a short amount of time both frightened and intrigued him. But he would not be drawn in again, not by anyone. Not after Jihoon.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a message from his best friend, Seokjin.

“You ready for the exhibition tomorrow?” the message read.

Taehyung stared at it for a moment, before responding. “I guess. If it’ll get people to stop asking questions.”

Seokjin didn’t take long to reply. “Don’t worry, Tae. Just focus on your art. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel the weight of those words, even though he knew Seokjin meant well. But the truth was, the rest did matter. More than anyone would ever understand.

The day of the exhibition arrived too quickly, and Taehyung found himself standing before the doors of the gallery, adjusting his jacket as he prepared to face the crowd. The gallery was busy, filled with people who had come to admire his work—his pain—his art. But Taehyung wasn’t focused on the people. He wasn’t even focused on the art, though he knew it would sell itself.

His eyes kept flickering to the door, wondering when Jungkook would make his appearance.

And when he did arrive, it was exactly as Taehyung had expected. Jeon Jungkook stepped into the room like he owned it—like he owned everything. He was a man who commanded attention without uttering a word. His sharp gaze moved over the room, and Taehyung could feel it land on him, even before he saw the dark eyes meet his own.

It’s happening. He’s here.

Taehyung’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t allow himself to flinch. He had faced worse, hadn’t he? He could face this man too.

Jungkook approached him with deliberate steps, his presence imposing and suffocating. Taehyung refused to acknowledge the flutter of nerves in his chest. He wouldn’t let this man see him waver. Not when everything was so carefully controlled.

“Impressive,” Jungkook said, his voice low, cool, and calm. “I told you I’d be here.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his posture stiff. “And now you’re here. What’s your point?”

Jungkook smirked, as if he had expected this reaction. His eyes swept over the paintings again, and then, after a moment, his gaze returned to Taehyung’s face.

“You should start trusting people more,” Jungkook said quietly, almost to himself. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Jungkook said, his voice lowering, “that you can let go of the past. You don’t need to carry it around anymore.”

For a moment, Taehyung stood frozen, his heart beating faster. Let go of the past? How could he possibly let go of everything that had scarred him? Everything that had broken him?

“Don’t act like you know anything about me,” Taehyung said sharply, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and something darker. Vulnerability—the one thing he couldn’t afford to show. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Jungkook’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes softened just slightly. “I might not know everything, but I see more than you think.”

...To be continued...💜...

...WALLS CRUMBLE ...

...The gallery buzzed with the hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the soft shuffle of people admiring the art that hung on the walls. But to Kim Taehyung, it was all just noise. All he could focus on was the man standing across the room—Jeon Jungkook. His presence was undeniable, like an electric current running through the air, shifting the atmosphere around him. Taehyung could feel his gaze even from a distance, though Jungkook was standing amongst a small group of art collectors, his sharp features relaxed but still commanding....

...For the past hour, Taehyung had been avoiding him—pretending not to notice the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered over to him every few seconds, as if he were measuring him, analyzing him like one of the paintings on the wall. But every time their eyes met, there was a weight to it. A tension that made the room feel too small....

...Taehyung had made his way through the exhibition, greeting old acquaintances and pretending to be polite. But it all felt like a performance. A show he had long learned to master. Keep the mask on, he told himself. Nothing can get through. No one can get through....

...And yet, as the night dragged on, there was something unsettling about Jungkook’s presence, something that gnawed at the edges of his composure....

Why is he here?

The question had been circling Taehyung’s mind ever since Jungkook had walked into the gallery. He wasn’t the typical buyer—the typical art enthusiast. No, there was something different about Jungkook. There was something dangerous in the way he carried himself, in the way he made Taehyung feel exposed without even trying.

“You look like you’re avoiding someone,” a voice pulled Taehyung out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to find Seokjin standing beside him, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Is it Jungkook? I saw him walking in earlier. He’s been looking at your work all night.”

Taehyung didn’t immediately respond, his gaze still locked on Jungkook, who was now talking to one of the more well-known art collectors, the older man laughing at something Jungkook had said. Jungkook wasn’t just an outsider in this world—he owned it. Every step he took seemed to command respect.

“I don’t trust him,” Taehyung muttered, his words barely audible over the chatter.

Seokjin chuckled softly, nudging his shoulder. “You don’t trust anyone, Tae. But Jungkook… there’s something about him, isn’t there?”

Taehyung didn’t look at his friend. His eyes stayed fixed on Jungkook. You don’t know anything about him, Seokjin. And you never will.

He blinked rapidly, as if to shake the feeling away. He couldn’t let Jungkook into his head. He had too much to lose. The last time he had allowed someone close, it had been Jihoon, and the pain of that relationship still festered in his chest, a wound that would never fully heal.

“I’ll be fine,” Taehyung replied stiffly, taking a step away from the crowd. “I’ll just check on the next piece.”

But Seokjin wasn’t finished. “I know you, Tae. I know you’ve been avoiding him. But you’re only going to keep pushing him away until you can’t anymore.”

Taehyung didn’t respond. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake. The last thing he needed was to let someone like Jungkook close. It had taken years to build the walls around his heart—he wasn’t going to let them crumble now, not for anyone.

As the night wore on, Taehyung found himself increasingly restless. The soft hum of conversation faded into the background, and his thoughts became louder. His gaze kept drifting to Jungkook, who had moved across the room and was now standing alone, seemingly detached from the rest of the crowd. His posture was still confident, but there was a certain stillness to him, a quiet intensity that only drew Taehyung in further.

And then, as if he had felt the pull of Taehyung’s attention, Jungkook looked up, his eyes locking with Taehyung’s from across the room. It was as if the world around them slowed down, the noise, the people, the laughter all faded into a distant hum. For a split second, everything felt completely still—just the two of them, staring at each other in the midst of the chaos.

What the hell is this?

Taehyung felt his heart pound in his chest, but he refused to look away. He couldn’t. There was something in Jungkook’s gaze—something that made his blood run hot, made his breath catch in his throat. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t even interest. It was something darker, more primal. Jungkook wasn’t just looking at him—he was studying him, reading every inch of him.

The moment stretched on, an invisible thread pulling them together, taut and unrelenting.

And then, without another word, Jungkook pushed away from the wall and began walking toward him.

No.

The thought was fleeting but urgent. Taehyung’s instincts screamed at him to turn away, to walk in the opposite direction, to get out of the room before it was too late. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Jungkook stopped in front of him, his gaze still sharp and unwavering. He didn’t smile, didn’t offer pleasantries. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to command attention.

“Kim Taehyung,” he said, his voice low and steady, sending a ripple through Taehyung’s senses. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to be this… interesting in person.”

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat. Interesting?

“I didn’t expect you to show up at all,” Taehyung replied, his tone colder than he intended. He couldn’t let his guard down—not now, not ever.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “You think I wouldn’t? I told you I’d be here. You’re not the only one with plans, Taehyung. I don’t back down from what I want.”

Taehyung’s chest tightened at the underlying implication in Jungkook’s words. What do you want from me?

He didn’t ask the question out loud. Instead, he took a step back, putting distance between them. His heart was beating too fast for comfort, and his mind was too clouded.

“You’ve seen my work,” Taehyung said, his voice clipped. “That’s all I’m offering. Nothing more.”

Jungkook didn’t step back. If anything, he leaned in closer, just enough to close the gap, just enough to make Taehyung’s breath catch. “Don’t be so sure,” Jungkook murmured. “You’re not offering me art, Taehyung. You’re offering something far more valuable. Your trust. And you don’t even know it yet.”

Taehyung froze, his mind racing. Trust?

But before he could respond, Jungkook turned and walked away, his presence lingering like a shadow. And Taehyung, for the first time in years, felt something stir deep within him—a feeling he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore either.

...To  be continued...💜...