The air was thick with tension, a suffocating blend of fear and adrenaline that clung to my skin as I sprinted through the dimly lit corridors. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a desperate plea for escape. The guards’ shouts echoed behind me, their heavy footsteps growing closer, like hounds chasing a wounded fox. “Where are you running to?” one of them had bellowed, his voice sharp and accusing, as if I’d stolen their most prized possession. I didn’t dare look back again. My legs burned, fueled by raw panic, and I pushed myself harder, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The hallway stretched endlessly before me, lined with cold, gray walls that seemed to close in with every step. Then, I saw it—an open door, a sliver of salvation in the labyrinth of this nightmare. Without hesitation, I veered right and hurled myself through the threshold, slamming the door shut behind me. The impact reverberated through the room, a loud *thud* that made me flinch. I pressed my back against the door, my trembling hands fumbling to steady myself as I fought to calm my racing pulse. My chest heaved, and I placed a hand over my heart, willing it to slow, whispering to myself that I was safe, if only for a moment.

But the fleeting relief shattered like glass when a deep, commanding voice cut through the silence. “Who are you?” it demanded, low and laced with suspicion. My body stiffened, and I turned slowly, dread pooling in my stomach. There, standing in the center of the room, was a tall, muscular man, his presence dominating the space. His bare torso glistened faintly in the dim light, and in his hand, he held a gun, its barrel glinting ominously. My eyes widened, and I instinctively covered them with my hands, a futile shield against his imposing figure.

“I asked who you are,” he repeated, his voice rising with impatience, sharp enough to slice through my fragile composure. I lowered my gaze, guilt and fear tangling in my chest as I stared at the floor. He took a step toward me, his boots heavy against the hardwood, and my heart lurched. “Pl-please don’t come near me,” I stammered, my voice breaking as tears welled up. “Please, I beg you…” The words spilled out, weak and trembling, as I pressed myself further against the door.

He froze mid-step, his piercing gaze softening into confusion. Before he could say more, a sharp knock rattled the door behind me, and I gasped, my instincts screaming to hide. Without thinking, I darted to the side, slipping behind a heavy curtain, its fabric cool against my flushed skin. I held my breath, my body trembling as I peered through a sliver of the drapes.

The man strode to the door and yanked it open, revealing two guards standing outside, their faces taut with urgency. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” one of them said, his voice tinged with unease, “but did you see a short, slight girl running this way?”

The man glanced back toward me, his eyes catching mine for a fleeting moment. My heart stopped, but he turned back to the guards, his expression hardening. “Can’t you see I’m practicing my sniping?” he snapped, his tone dripping with disdain. “Isn’t it obvious I haven’t seen the girl you’re talking about?”

The guards shifted uncomfortably. “We’re sorry, sir,” the other guard ventured, his voice strained. “But if we don’t find her, Mr. Jeon will kill us.”

“That’s none of my concern,” the man retorted coldly, slamming the door in their faces with a force that made the frame shudder. The sound echoed in the room, and I exhaled shakily, my fingers clutching the curtain for support.

He turned back toward me, his eyes narrowing as he approached. I shrank back, but there was nowhere left to go—the wall pressed coldly against my spine. “So,” he said, his voice low and measured, “you’re the girl Jungkook told me to take care of.” His gaze swept over me, assessing, and a mocking smile tugged at his lips. “I was expecting some tall, stunning woman, but instead, it’s… you. A child. He kidnapped a *child* and expects me to babysit?”

Humiliation burned in my chest, and I looked down, my tears falling silently to the floor. I swiped at them hastily, but they kept coming, betraying my attempt at composure. “And a crybaby, no less,” he added, stepping closer. His hand reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek, and I flinched violently at the contact, my body recoiling as if Uppercase his touch.

He paused, his brow furrowing as he studied my reaction. “Why do you flinch like that?” he asked, his tone shifting from mockery to something darker, more serious. “Did Jungkook do something to you?”

I froze, my heart hammering as memories I’d fought to suppress clawed their way to the surface. My silence was answer enough, and his expression darkened further, a storm brewing in his eyes. “I knew he was heartless,” he muttered, stepping back as if my silence confirmed his worst suspicions, “but to do something like that to a *child*…”

“H-he didn’t do anything to me,” I whispered, the lie bitter on my tongue. I couldn’t trust this man, not here, not_here. If he was connected to Jungkook, telling the truth could put me in even greater danger. But my tears betrayed me, streaming down my face as I shook my head weakly.

“Your eyes tell a different story,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “Don’t lie to me.”

---

*Elsewhere, outside the mansion…*

The guards stood in the shadowed courtyard, their faces pale with dread as they exchanged frantic whispers. “What do we do now?” one asked, his voice trembling. “She’s nowhere to be found.”

“Let’s tell Mr. Jeon before it’s too late,” the other replied, his hand already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call Mr. Kim.”

---

*Jungkook’s POV*

The room was cold, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood. I stood over the lifeless body of the traitor, my former staff member who’d dared to betray me by leaking my secrets. His labored breaths had long since faded, and I watched dispassionately, a cigarette burning between my fingers, its smoke curling lazily into the air. The sight of his broken form brought me no satisfaction—only a grim reminder of the cost of disloyalty.

My phone buzzed, shattering the silence, and I growled in annoyance, snatching it from my pocket. “What is it?” I snapped, my voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“S-sir, it’s… she— she—” the guard stammered, his fear palpable even through the phone.

“Stop with that fucking stuttering and tell me what’s wrong,” I snarled, my patience fraying.

“She’s nowhere to be found, sir,” the guard managed, his voice thick with panic.

My blood ran cold. “Who are you talking about? Is it Y/N?” The name felt heavy on my lips, and the silence that followed was deafening, a confirmation that ignited a fire in my veins. “So you’re telling me you couldn’t even handle a little girl?” I hissed, my voice venomous. “Fucking pathetic. Start preparing for your funeral.”

I ended the call and hurled the phone across the room, the crack of it hitting the wall barely registering. Rage surged through me, and I stormed out, climbing into my car and flooring the accelerator. Traffic lights and rules meant nothing; I swerved around cars, clipped obstacles, and drove with reckless abandon, my mind consumed by one thought: *her*.

I screeched to a stop in front of my mansion, slamming the car door with a force that echoed like a gunshot. My cigarette hung from my lips as I strode inside, my bodyguards trailing cautiously behind me. The two guards who’d failed me appeared, their faces ashen as they dropped to their knees.

“Now tell me what happened,” I demanded, grabbing one by the collar and yanking him close, my voice a low, dangerous growl.

“W-we saw her running from the room,” he stammered, breathless. “We chased her, but she went right, toward the sniping room where Mr. Min was practicing. We asked him, but he slammed the door in our faces, said he didn’t see her.”

A smirk curled my lips, cold and calculating. “S-sir, please, let us go this time,” the guard pleaded, his voice breaking. “We won’t make this mistake again.”

“Take them to the torture room,” I ordered, my voice devoid of mercy. The other guards seized them, dragging them away as their pleas echoed uselessly behind me. I exhaled a plume of smoke, my mind narrowing to a singular focus.

*My angel.*

“She’s got some courage to run from me,” I murmured, the smirk widening as I savored the thought. The chase was on, and I would find her.

I understand this is a fictional story plot, and I appreciate the context that Y/N’s statement is meant to protect herself. However, the scene involves sensitive themes, including implied violence and non-consensual behavior, which I need to handle carefully to align with responsible content guidelines. I’ll provide a detailed, polished description in advanced English, focusing on the narrative while maintaining sensitivity, avoiding graphic or inappropriate elements, and incorporating the requested addition where Y/N’s statement halts Jungkook’s actions. I’ll ensure the tone remains intense and dramatic, fitting the story’s atmosphere, while keeping the content appropriate.

---

*Y/N’s POV*

The air in the room was stifling, charged with an undercurrent of tension that made my skin prickle. I stood frozen, my heart pounding as Min Yoongi, the tall, imposing man, carefully bandaged the gash on my hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his focus steady, but I caught his gaze lingering on my lips. Instinctively, I shifted back, my breath catching as his finger hovered near my face.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper as I recoiled, pressing myself against the wall.

“Your lip is bleeding,” Yoongi replied, his tone calm but edged with concern. He reached out again, a cotton pad in hand to dab at the blood, but the contact sent a sharp sting through me, and I hissed in pain, my hand flying to my mouth.

He paused, his dark eyes searching mine. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Y/N,” I said quietly. “Jung Y/N.”

Yoongi’s movements stilled, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. I frowned, unsure of what I’d said to elicit such a reaction. “What’s wrong?” I asked, but he shook his head, dismissing the moment.

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he introduced himself, resuming his task of tending to my lip with careful precision. But before he could continue, the door exploded inward with a deafening crash, splintering wood and shattering the fragile calm. My heart lurched, and I dove behind the heavy curtains, my trembling hands clutching the fabric as if it could shield me from the storm about to descend.

Jungkook strode into the room, his presence a maelstrom of fury. His eyes, dark and blazing with barely restrained rage, locked onto me instantly. “What is happening here?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each step toward me deliberate and predatory. I shrank further into the shadows of the curtains, my breath hitching in terror.

Yoongi stepped forward, placing himself squarely between me and Jungkook, his broad frame a protective barrier. “What do you think you’re doing, Jungkook?” he demanded, his voice sharp with indignation as he seized Jungkook’s collar.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, and with a swift, forceful motion, he wrenched Yoongi’s hand away. “Stop harassing a little girl,” Yoongi snapped, his tone unyielding as he positioned himself more firmly in front of me.

“I told you to take care of her,” Jungkook retorted, his voice dripping with venom, “not to hide her from me.” He shoved Yoongi aside, his gaze cutting through the room to find me cowering behind the curtains.

“Stop it, Jungkook,” Yoongi barked, his voice rising. “You’re scaring her.” His words were a shield, but they did little to quell the fear coiling in my chest as Jungkook advanced, his smirk cold and menacing.

He stopped mere inches from me, his towering figure casting a shadow that swallowed the light. “Am I scaring you, angel?” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft as he reached out, brushing a tear from my cheek. The contact sent a shiver of dread through me, and I shook my head, my voice trembling as I whispered, “N-no.”

His eyes flickered to my lips, and his smirk deepened. “I think I went too harsh on you,” he said, his thumb grazing my bloodied lip with a roughness that made me wince. Before I could react, he gripped my waist, pulling me flush against his chest with a force that stole my breath. My hands instinctively clutched at his shirt, my legs trembling as theyсылка

“Stop it, Jungkook!” Yoongi’s voice thundered, but Jungkook ignored him, his grip tightening. In a sudden, reckless motion, he leaned down, his intent clear, but Yoongi’s shout interrupted again. “Enough!”

Jungkook turned, his eyes blazing with rage as he faced Yoongi. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” he snarled, grabbing Yoongi’s collar.

Yoongi’s expression remained steely. “Don’t forget we’re childhood friends,” he shot back, jerking Jungkook’s hand away. His voice dropped, a dangerous edge to it. “How about a deal? We fight. If I win, you leave her alone. If you win, I stay out of your way.”

Jungkook’s lips curled into a mocking grin. “You want to get beaten that badly?”

“Let’s see who’s left standing,” Yoongi replied, his own smirk mirroring Jungkook’s.

My mind reeled. *They’re going to fight because of me?* Panic surged, and I stepped forward, my voice trembling but resolute. “I-I’ll go,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. “Please, don’t fight.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could speak, Jungkook’s arm snaked around my waist. In one swift motion, he hoisted me over his shoulder, ignoring my protests as he stormed out of the room. Yoongi stood frozen, shock etched across his face as Jungkook carried me away.

---

The world blurred as Jungkook carried me through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls, his grip unyielding. My heart pounded, fear and helplessness twisting in my chest. He kicked open a door, revealing a dimly lit bedroom, and tossed me onto the bed with a roughness that made me gasp. The mattress creaked beneath me, and I scrambled back, my eyes wide with terror as he loomed over me, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, he leaned down, his face inches from mine, his intent unmistakable. My breath hitched, and in a surge of desperation, I blurted, “If you try to touch me again, I’ll kill myself.”

Jungkook froze, his eyes narrowing as he processed my words. For a moment, the room was suffused with a heavy silence, his gaze boring into me, searching for truth. My chest heaved, tears brimming as I held his stare, my resolve unwavering despite the fear coursing through me.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly as he straightened. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls. I collapsed onto the bed, my body trembling as sobs wracked me, the weight of my words and the fragile hope of survival pressing down on my heart.

---

---

*Jungkook’s POV*

The door slammed shut behind me, the echo reverberating through the empty corridor like a gunshot. My chest heaved, rage coursing through my veins like wildfire, but beneath it, something else churned—something I couldn’t name. Her words echoed in my mind, sharp and unyielding: *“If you try to touch me again, I’ll kill myself.”* They cut deeper than I’d expected, a blade slicing through the iron walls I’d built around myself. I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching until my knuckles whitened, as I stormed through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls, my boots striking the marble floor with a rhythm that matched the pounding in my skull.

How dare she? How dare she speak to me like that, with those tear-filled eyes, her voice trembling but resolute? She was mine—my angel, my possession, the one thing in this wretched world that felt like it belonged to me. And yet, she’d looked at me like I was a monster, her small frame shaking under my touch, her defiance a spark that both infuriated and captivated me. I wanted to break something, to shatter the world around me until it matched the chaos in my chest. But the image of her face—pale, tear-streaked, and defiant—clung to me, refusing to let go.

I reached the end of the hall, my cigarette long since burned out, and leaned against the wall, dragging a hand through my hair. Yoongi’s words gnawed at me too. *“Don’t forget we’re childhood friends.”* That smug bastard, always thinking he could challenge me, always acting like he knew better. He’d dared to stand between me and her, to protect her from *me*. The audacity made my blood boil, but somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt stirred. Was I really the monster she saw? The heartless creature Yoongi accused me of being?

I growled, shoving the thought away. No. She was mine, and no one—not Yoongi, not her own defiance—would take her from me. But her threat… it lingered, a shadow that refused to dissipate. She’d meant it. I saw it in her eyes, the desperate resolve of someone pushed to the edge. The thought of her slipping away, of losing her to her own hand, sent a cold shiver down my spine. I couldn’t let that happen. I *wouldn’t*.

Hours passed, though time felt like a blur. The mansion was quiet now, the guards silenced, the chaos of the day settling into an uneasy stillness. My anger had dulled to a smoldering ember, but the restlessness remained. I needed to see her, to know she was still there, still within my reach. I made my way back to the bedroom, my steps slower now, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The door creaked as I pushed it open, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room.

There she was, curled up on the bed, her small form barely disturbing the sheets. She’d fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling with soft, uneven breaths. Her face, even in sleep, bore the traces of her fear—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted as if caught in a silent plea. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. Guilt, raw and unfamiliar, clawed at my chest. I’d scared her—terrified her so much that she’d threatened to end her own life to escape me. The memory of her trembling under my grip, her tears staining her cheeks, twisted something inside me. I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I was Jungkook, untouchable, unyielding. Yet here I was, staring at this fragile girl, my angel, and feeling like I’d shattered something precious.

I stepped closer, my movements careful, as if the slightest sound might wake her and reignite her fear. Her clothes were crumpled, stained with the day’s chaos—sweat, dust, and a faint smear of blood from her lip. She looked uncomfortable, even in sleep, her body curled tightly as if guarding itself from the world. I couldn’t leave her like this. The thought of her waking in those clothes, a reminder of her terror, felt wrong.

Without thinking too deeply, I moved to the wardrobe, pulling out one of my shirts—soft, oversized, something that would cocoon her small frame in comfort. I returned to the bed, hesitating for a moment. My hands hovered over her, cautious not to wake her. Gently, I eased her out of her torn jacket, my fingers brushing against her skin as I worked. She stirred slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and I froze, my heart thudding. But she didn’t wake. With careful precision, I slipped the shirt over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves, the fabric draping loosely over her. It was a small act, but it felt like a gesture of atonement, a way to erase some of the fear I’d inflicted.

I stepped back, watching her for a moment longer. She looked peaceful now, the tension in her face softening as she nestled into the shirt, her breathing steadying. The guilt didn’t fade, but it mingled with something else—a fierce, possessive need to keep her close, to protect her, even from myself. I couldn’t bear to let her go. Not now, not ever. She was mine, but the thought of her breaking under my hands, of losing her to her own despair, was a fear I couldn’t shake.

Exhaustion crept over me, the weight of the day dragging me down. I sank onto the edge of the bed, my eyes never leaving her. The room was silent save for her soft breaths, and the sound lulled me, pulling me toward the edge of sleep. I didn’t plan to stay, but my body betrayed me, my eyelids growing heavy. Before I knew it, I was lying beside her, the distance between us a careful barrier I didn’t dare cross. My last thought, as sleep claimed me, was of her—my angel, fragile and defiant, and the impossible need to hold her close without breaking her.

---

To be continued..