Prologue

The K-pop industry doesn't nurture stars. It devours them, polishes their bones, and parades them under spotlights as proof of perfection.

And Taehyung?

He learned early how to devour it back.

It was never just about fame for him. Not the blinding lights, the screaming fans, or even the towering record-breaking charts. It was about power. Control. Creating art so immaculate, it forced the world to watch—even when it burned him from the inside out.

Now, with a solo empire under his name and a luxury label that trains idols like weapons, Kim Taehyung is untouchable. Cold-blooded in the boardroom. A god on stage. The industry bowed not out of respect, but fear. He demanded perfection—and he got it.

So when he saw him, everything shifted.

Not in some soft, poetic, love-at-first-sight way. No. That wasn’t how Taehyung functioned.

He was just scrolling through submissions—videos of hopeful trainees groveling for a spot in his elite program—when a clip caught his eye.

Grainy footage.

A shitty dance studio.

Horrible lighting.

And in the middle of it all: Jeon Jungkook.

Hair sweat-drenched, body cut with defiant grace, movements sharp like shattered glass. And eyes—those damn eyes—like he dared the world to touch him. Taehyung leaned forward.

The boy didn’t perform like he wanted to be accepted.

He performed like he couldn’t care less if he was rejected.

It pissed Taehyung off. But It intrigued him more.

“Who is this?” he asked, voice low and unreadable.

His assistant fumbled for the file. “Jeon Jungkook. Trainee from Zenith Entertainment. Small company. Barely has funding to feed its staff.”

“Not anymore,” Taehyung said flatly, already pulling out his phone. “Buy it.”

The assistant blinked. “The whole agency?”

Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Every last brick.”

–––

Three weeks later, Jungkook was standing in the sleek, chrome training halls of V-Verse Entertainment, staring at the company logo like it personally insulted him.

He didn’t want to be here.

He didn’t want him.

“Mr. Kim has requested you to attend the choreography session today. He’ll be observing,” the staff member said.

“Observing or playing puppet master?” Jungkook muttered.

She flinched. “He’s...very hands-on.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “More like controlling. Tell him I’m not some lapdog.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she whispered and scurried off.

Jungkook turned, jaw tight, heart thumping with rage and adrenaline. He’d worked too hard, clawed too far, to become someone’s project. He knew what Taehyung’s type was—perfect, obedient idols, easy to brand and easier to break.

Well, he wasn’t one of them.

And if Kim Taehyung thought he could just toss a leash around his throat—

The door opened.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

And then he walked in.

Kim Taehyung.

Dressed in black from head to toe, sharp jawline casting shadows, rings glinting under cold white lights. His gaze swept the room, then landed on Jungkook like a hunter spotting prey.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t bow.

He just crossed his arms and tilted his head with mock innocence. “So, this is the control freak who bought my life.”

Taehyung’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk. “And you must be the stray I picked up from the alley.”

Jungkook’s blood simmered. “I’m not here to be tamed.”

“Good,” Taehyung murmured, walking forward. “Tamed idols are boring. I prefer something... volatile.”

He circled Jungkook like he was inspecting merchandise. Jungkook stood still, spine straight, eyes locked with his like a challenge.

“Strip,” Taehyung said suddenly.

Jungkook blinked. “Excuse me?”

“For measurements,” Taehyung said calmly. “Your current styling is tragic. I want full control over your wardrobe. Your body is a brand now. My brand.”

“Go to hell,” Jungkook shot back, fire rising behind his eyes.

Taehyung leaned in close—too close. “Baby boy, you’re already in it.”

–––

The war started that day.

Jungkook would show up late to training, only to find the doors locked on purpose.

Taehyung would rewrite his song lyrics without telling him, making subtle changes to expose vulnerability Jungkook never wanted on display.

Jungkook would purposely mess up choreography during recording, smirking at the cameras.

Taehyung would pause the footage, replay it with a click of his fingers, and whisper in his ear: “Again. This time, don’t dance like a brat who needs punishment.”

Sometimes, late at night in the studio, Jungkook would catch Taehyung watching him through the glass. Not with approval.

But hunger.

Something dark and slow-burning. Like obsession.

And when he asked, “Do you enjoy controlling me?”

Taehyung simply smiled. “I enjoy watching you try to break free.”

–––

But fame had its cost.

With every viral stage, Jungkook’s popularity exploded. His fan cams dominated social media. Fans called him a “visual savage.” Stylists gushed about him. Other idols flirted.

And that’s when things changed.

Taehyung didn’t smile when he saw Jungkook laughing with a backup dancer.

Didn’t speak when he caught someone touching his wrist too long.

But that night, Jungkook found his choreography schedule replaced.

“Room B3. Private. With Mr. Kim.”

He showed up annoyed—and left with legs shaking, breath ragged, lips bitten from how close they’d gotten in that suffocating room.

Still no kiss. Still no confessions.

Just tension that clung like smoke.

–––

The industry watched the two of them with curiosity and fear.

The prodigy idol turned emperor.

The defiant rogue turned rising star.

Together, they were unpredictable. Dangerous.

And somewhere between the control and chaos, the sparks turned into wildfire.

But in the world of velvet chains—where power is currency, desire is weaponized, and love is the biggest vulnerability—

only one thing is certain:

The show has only just begun.

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