Obsession | Park Jimin
CHAPTER 1
The daughter of a powerful politician lives a reckless, untouchable life until a steamy hook up with a man turns it into something she never imagined.
He is the mafia everyone fears, and she is the chaos he cannot controlβ¦ or forget.Bound by a past only he remembers, his obsession with her turns into a dangerous game of pursuit. But she isnβt just a targetβsheβs a storm, a little unhinged, and the only one who might ruin him first.
Genres - Mafia, politics, past, lovers, forbidden love, smut, dark romance.
Pairing - Mafia! Park Jimin x Politician daughter! Reader
Taglist - @graydolan12
The music was a physical weight, a thrumming bass that vibrated through your marrow while the strobe lights fractured the room into jagged, blinding shards. You were far past the point of sobriety, adrift in a place where your name should never be whispered.
Around you, your friends were nothing more than blurred silhouettes lost to the rhythm, but you were the center of the storm. You took another long swig of your drink, the burn of the alcohol anchoring you as your body swayed to the relentless, deafening pulse.
It was your friendβs birthday, an excuse to descend upon Seoulβs most elite, gate-kept club. You were draped in the most scandalous dress you had ever dared to own, a sliver of fabric that defied every rule you grew up with. You were drinking like the world was ending and dancing like you had something to prove.
If your father walked in now, it wouldn't just be a scandal; it would be the end of your life as you knew it.
As the daughter of a high-ranking senior prosecutor, you were supposed to be the pillar of grace and discipline. Your father spent his days enforcing the law and his nights trying to break your spirit into perfection. But you didn't just break the rules, you shattered them. You craved the friction of rebellion; the danger was the only thing that made you feel alive.
Pushing a hand through your tangled hair, your gaze drifted upward, snagging on the shadows of the VIP section. Thatβs when you saw him.
He wasn't just watching; he was dissecting you. His eyes were hard, heavy with a dark, predatory focus as they traced the lines of your body. He sat with the terrifying stillness of a man who didn't need to shout to be heard, the kind of man who looked like he owned the building and everyone inside it.
Your eyes locked onto his, and you didn't look away. You lived for this..the intoxicating thrill of seducing men who held the world in their hands. You winked, a silent challenge that made him tilt his head, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face as he brought a glass of amber whiskey to his lips.
For the next ten minutes, the rest of the club ceased to exist. You danced for him and him alone, your eyes never leaving his. You moved with a provocative, calculated graceβarching your back to the beat, letting your hands slide suggestively over your hips, and leaning into the sheer, filthy thrill of being his only focus.
The heat of the room was stifling, a cocktail of expensive cologne and sweat, but the weight of his gaze felt heavier than the air itself. Every time you arched your back or let your hands skim down your thighs, you weren't just dancing for the crowdβyou were performing for an audience of one.
He didn't move. He sat there like a king on a throne of dark leather, his silhouette sharp against the neon flickering of the VIP lounge. He didn't look like the typical trust-fund heirs or chaebols who frequented these spots; there was a predatory stillness to him that made your pulse race faster than the bass drumming in your chest.
Emboldened by the tequila humming in your veins and the delicious rebellion against your fatherβs perfect daughter image, you didn't stop. You leaned into the rhythm, your hair a wild halo around your face as you spun, closing the distance between your eyes and his with every beat.
The haze of the alcohol was absolute until a pair of hands cinched around your waist, pulling you back to reality. You glanced over your shoulder and stifled a groan. Leon. He was a classmate, a recurring distraction who had occupied your bed for the last two weeksβa relationship defined by friction and zero strings.
Ignoring the familiar press of his body, your eyes darted back to the VIP balcony. Your heart sank. The seat was empty; the dark, predatory gaze was gone. A frustrated sound escaped your throat as you scanned the chaotic sea of bodies, searching for that shadow among the neon.
Leon pressed closer, his hips grinding into yours in time with the bass, but the spark wasn't there.
Then, the air in the room seemed to combust. A familiar tingle shot down your spine, that unmistakable sensation of being hunted. You looked to your right and there he was. He had descended from his high perch, cutting through the crowd with a lethal sort of grace, his eyes locked onto yours with terrifying intensity.
A slow, triumphant smirk spread across your lips. You turned to Leon, trailing your fingers through his hair just long enough to pull him close. "Go get me another drink," you whispered against his ear.
He disappeared into the crowd without a second thought. You didn't wait; you moved toward the stranger. Standing before him, the sheer scale of him made you feel deliciously small. He was the embodiment of powerβobsidian hair swept back perfectly, eyes narrowed and dark enough to swallow the light.
He didn't waste time with introductions. His hand shot out, reeling you into his space. You let out a soft gasp as he twirled you, slamming your back against the iron-clad heat of his chest. He was dressed in a crisp grey shirt and black trousers that hugged a frame honed to perfection.
His breath fanned across your neck, his lips grazing the shell of your ear until you tilted your head back, exposing your throat to him. God, he was lethal.
You didn't know his name, but the mere ghost of his touch had you aching. You thrived on this, the danger, the unknown, the high of a powerful man losing his composure. You pressed your curves back into him, your lips tracing the sharp, clean line of his jaw. He responded with a low growl, his hand dropping to grip you with a bruising, possessive force. You didn't shy away; instead, you turned the assault to his neck, marking the smooth skin with sharp bites and velvet kisses.
The friction between you was electric. You could taste the luxury on himβthe sharp, expensive burn of top-shelf whiskey. He was wealthy, he was dangerous, and he was currently focused entirely on you. You arched into him, pulling at the roots of his hair as you felt the heavy weight of his desire pressing against you.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes hooded and dark with a raw, carnal hunger. "As much as Iβd love to ruin you against this wall," he murmured, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a sharp tug that made your knees weak. "Let's go, baby."
His voice was a deep, charcoal raspβa sound so resonant it felt like a physical caress.
The walk to the backrooms was a blur of neon and adrenaline. He threw open a door to a private suite and guided you inside, the click of the lock sounding like a starting pistol. You turned and shoved him against the wood, your mouth crashing onto his. Your tongues tangled in a desperate, alcohol-fueled dance while he ground his weight against you, the heat between your bodies reaching a boiling point.
Clothes were discarded in a frantic heap on the floor. Every inch of skin he claimed with his mouth felt like a brand, sending you spiraling into a feverish, exquisite heaven.
He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath. His hands were like iron, bruising your skin as he hiked your legs up around his waist and slammed you back against the cold surface of the door. The contrast of the freezing wood and his scorching skin made you cry out, but he silenced you with a kiss that tasted like whiskey and raw, unfiltered hunger.
"Wrap your legs tighter," he growled against your lips, his voice a low, vibrating command that made your core throb.
You obeyed instantly, locking your ankles behind his back as he fumbled with his belt. The sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor was the only warning you got before he positioned himself. He didn't ease in; he didn't play fair. With one brutal, possessive thrust, he buried himself inside you, filling you so completely that your head snapped back against the door.
"Fuck," he hissed, his forehead resting against yours as he took a moment to adjust to your tightness. "Youβre so fucking wet for a someone you just met."
He didn't wait for an answer. He started moving, his pace frantic and punishing. Each stroke was a deep, guttural thud that rocked your entire frame. You clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt as you tried to keep up with the sheer power of him. He was rough, his movements devoid of gentleness, treating your body like something he intended to break and rebuild.
"Look at me," he commanded, his thumb hooking into your jaw to force your eyes to meet his.
His gaze was dark, blown out with lust, watching every flicker of pleasure and pain cross your face. He gripped your ass with enough force to leave marks, hoisting you higher so he could hit even deeper. You were a mess of tangled hair and desperate gasps, your body reacting to the friction with a sensitivity that felt like electricity.
"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for.
"Please what, baby? You want it harder?" He let out a dark, jagged laugh, his hips snapping against yours with even more violence. He turned you around, shoving your face against the door so he could take you from behind. The cool wood pressed against your cheek as he arched your back, his hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back.
He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing with a ruthless rhythm that sent you over the edge. You screamed into the empty room, your walls clenching around him in a tight, rhythmic pulse. He groaned, a deep, primal sound that tore from his chest as he delivered a final, bone-deep thrust, marking you as his in the dark silence of the backroom.
β-
The morning light was an intruder, sharp and unforgiving as it cut through the heavy curtains of the suite. As your consciousness drifted back, the first thing that hit you wasn't the light, but the scentβa heady, intoxicating blend of expensive sandalwood, crisp tobacco, and the musky afterglow of a night spent in total hedonism. It was a masculine aroma that felt dangerously like home.
You forced your eyes open, a soft groan escaping your throat. Next to you, the man from the VIP section stirred. His arm, which had likely been pinning you to him all night, slid off your body as he shifted. He was gloriously, unapologetically naked.
The memories flooded back in vivid, jagged flashes: the friction of his skin, the bruising grip of his hands, the way he had dismantled your composure until you were nothing but a mess of breathless peaks. The ache between your thighs was a dull, throbbing reminder of just how rough he had been. It felt incredible.
"Shit," you hissed under your breath. Youβd broken your own rule. No strangers. No complications. Yet here you were, in a room that looked like it cost more than a prosecutorβs yearly salary.
Your eyes scanned the opulent interior until they snagged on a sleek, matte-black object resting on the nightstand. A gun. Your heart did a frantic somersault.
"Morning," a voice rumbled. It was deep, gravelly with sleep, and it sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.
You scrambled out of bed, ignoring the way your body protested the sudden movement. "Listen, Mr. Unknown," you began, your voice trembling slightly as you clumsily stepped into your dress. "Last night was....amazing. Truly. But I have to go. Goodbye."
You didn't wait for a response. You grabbed your phone and bolted for the door, but you weren't fast enough. Before your fingers could even graze the handle, a solid wall of heat slammed against your back. He was there, his arms caging you against the door, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck.
You turned slowly, finding yourself trapped between the door and his towering, naked frame. You tried to look anywhere but down, your cheeks burning a vivid crimson. "Wear something!" you snapped, pushing against his chest. It was like trying to move a mountain.
"You weren't this shy last night," he remarked, his voice steady and teasingly dark.
"I was drunk," you countered, fidgeting with your hem.
"What's your name?" He leaned in, his fingers tracing the line of your cheekbone with a feather-light touch that made your knees want to buckle.
"I don't give my name to strangers," you said, reclaiming a bit of your bratty edge.
"Iβm Jimin," he replied, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. The name felt like a distant bell ringing in the back of your mind. "You really don't know who I am?"
"No... should I? Why do you have a gun? Are you a cop?"
He let out a dark, melodic chuckle that vibrated through your very soul. "A cop? Far from it, baby. Iβm Park Jimin. But the world knows me as JM."
The air left your lungs in a rush.
Park Jimin.
The ghost of the underworld. The man who sat atop the Park Empire, a shadow king that even your fatherβs highest-ranking colleagues spoke of in hushed, frustrated tones. You hadn't just slept with a stranger; you had slept with the most dangerous man in South Korea.
"Remember now?" he asked, his eyes darkening with amusement at your shock.
"I... I really need to go," you stammered, turning back to the door.
He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "I'll drop you."
"No!" The thought of a mafia king pulling up to the Kang residence was enough to give you a heart attack. If your father, the Senior Prosecutor, saw you stepping out of a car owned by the man he was desperately trying to indict, it wouldn't just be the end of your freedomβit would be a national scandal.
Your phone began to blare in your hand.
Mom.
"Answer it," Jimin commanded. Before you could react, his thumb swiped the screen and hit the speakerphone.
"Y/n! Where are you?" your motherβs voice shrieked through the line. "Your father is out on a raid, but heβll be back within the hour. If you aren't in your room when he walks through that door, God help you!"
She hung up before you could even defend yourself. Jimin was grinning now, clearly enjoying the chaos of your double life.
"See? I'm getting killed," you huffed, crossing your arms.
"You won't be killed," he said, stepping back to finally pull on a pair of silk boxers and his trousers, tucking the gun into his waistband with practiced ease. "I'm dropping you off. It's faster."
You looked at himβdangerous, lethal, and devastatingly handsome and felt that familiar, twisted thrill rise up again. You were the prosecutorβs daughter, the girl who was supposed to be perfect, and you were about to be chauffeured home by the very man your father wanted behind bars.
The danger was intoxicating. You grabbed your heels and followed him out, wondering if this was the best or worst mistake of your life.
Jimin guided you through the dimly lit hallway, where guards stood like statues, their hands resting heavily on their weapons. The cold, metallic scent of iron and gunpowder lingered in the air, and instead of fear, a familiar, intoxicating heat rose within you.
You were the daughter of a prosecutor, raised in the light of the law, yet you were hopelessly addicted to the shadows. There was something about raw, unchecked powerβthe kind that demanded silenceβthat made your blood sing.
Outside, a Spirit of Ecstasy caught the morning light. It was a custom, blood-red Rolls-Royce Spectre, a car so rare in Seoul that it felt like a myth. You had seen pictures of it in magazines, but the reality was far more menacing.
"Get in," Jimin commanded, holding the door open for you.
The interior was a sanctuary of starlight headliners and hand-stitched leather. As Jimin slid into the driverβs seat and ignited the engine, the car didn't just start; it breathed. The low, guttural vibration of the motor traveled through the seat, making your body tremble with a sudden, sharp thrill. He caught your expression, his smirk deepening as he pulled away from the curb with effortless control.
"Address?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk.
You gave him the coordinates with a hint of hesitation. He didn't flinch, navigating the winding streets of Seoul with a predatory grace.
"Still holding onto that name of yours?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the road, though you could feel his attention pinned entirely on you.
"Like I said, I don't give names to strangers," you replied, leaning back into the luxury of the seat, your bratty defiance returning in full force.
"Youβre not scared of me," he noted, his tone devoid of surprise.
"Iβm not. I like itβthe weight of your name, the dirtiness of your world. Itβs a rush," you admitted, looking at him. Up close, he was a work of art designed for destruction. His jawline was razor-sharp, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings, gripped the steering wheel with a casual, terrifying strength. "But youβre still a stranger, JM. Even if you are the most feared man in this country."
A dry, dark chuckle escaped him. "Fear is a useful tool. Is that how they describe me?"
"Among other things," you countered. "Do you own that club?"
"Every inch of it."
"No wonder we fucked in a room that looked like a palace."
Jiminβs eyes flickered to you for a split second, a flash of genuine amusement in his dark orbs. "You have a habit of saying the most unexpected things."
"Thatβs my specialty," you whispered, your eyes trailing down to the heavy, diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist. You loved the aesthetic of his lifeβthe danger wrapped in silk and steel.
As the car approached the elite, high-security neighborhood where the governmentβs most powerful lived, the tension in your chest tightened. "Don't stop at the main gate. Take the back alley," you directed, pointing toward the towering stone wall that shielded your home.
Jimin raised an eyebrow but complied, bringing the car to a silent halt in the shadows of the rear wall. The engine cut out, leaving a heavy, charged silence between you.
"It was a pleasure, mystery girl," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"Yes, JM," you replied, your heart racing. The way his name felt on your tongueβunafraid, almost possessive made his smirk widen. He leaned across the console, his hand sliding into your hair to tilt your head back. He claimed your lips in a sharp, searing kiss that tasted of power and promise, leaving you breathless.
You cleared your throat, struggling to regain your composure. "Goodbye."
"Until next time," he whispered.
He watched from the driverβs seat, expecting you to scurry away. Instead, he watched in pure, unadulterated amusement as you tossed your heels over the wall and began to climb the stone surface with practiced, effortless agility.
He let out a loud, genuine laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet car. You were a chaotic masterpieceβa prosecutor's daughter with the soul of a rebel. He watched until you disappeared over the ledge, his mind racing with the memory of your body against his.
As he shifted the Rolls-Royce back into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened. He felt a familiar, heavy ache in his trousers just thinking about the fire in your eyes. Heβd spent his life taking what he wanted, and right now, he wanted you.
He accelerated, the car cutting through the morning fog like a blade as he whispered to the empty cabin, "Finally... I found you y/n.β
Β°
The days following that night were a blur of restless agitation for Jimin. His mind was an endless loop of your defiance, the taste of whiskey on your lips, and the way you had scaled that wall like a shadow in the night. He had spent years looking for a thrill that didn't feel hollow; he hadn't expected it to come in the form of a prosecutor's daughter.
"And sir, regarding the expansion into the Tokyo sector, the Japanese clients are requesting a formal sit-down next month," his assistant droned on, his voice trembling as he felt Jiminβs piercing, predatory gaze fixed on him.
Jiminβs rings clicked rhythmically against the polished mahogany of his desk. He wasn't hearing a word about logistics. "Fine. What does my schedule look like for next week?"
"Your father expects a visit over the weekend, sir," the assistant replied, adjusting his glasses nervously. "And there is the Blue House Charity Gala on Saturday. Itβs a mandatory appearance, nearly every major politician and high-society figure in the country will be in attendance."
"Leave," Jimin commanded, a sudden, sharp interest flickering in his dark eyes.
As the assistant scurried out, the door swung open again. Jungkook stepped in, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face as he tossed a thick manila folder onto the desk. "I have everything, Jimin. Sheβs a ghost to most, but not to me."
Jungkook was more than a hacker; he was a digital surgeon, and Jiminβs most trusted shadow.
"Sheβs currently enrolled at Royale University, finishing up a degree in Business Analytics," Jungkook began, leaning against the doorframe. "She keeps her circle dangerously small. Most people around her are just leeches looking for a taste of her fatherβs influence or her inheritance. According to the campus chatter, sheβs a total ice queenβsharp-tongued, arrogant, and utterly untouchable. The only person she actually seems to care about is her best friend, Min-hee."
Jungkook paused, his grin turning wicked. "Oh, and sheβs quite the regular on the nightlife scene. She likes the high of a hookup, but she never lets anyone close enough to remember her name the next morning."
Jimin let out a low, dark hum of approval, his eyes tracing the surveillance photos Jungkook had captured. In them, you looked cold and composedβthe perfect contrast to the wild, breathless creature heβd pinned against that backroom door.
He reached into his drawer, pulling out a thick stack of bills and tossing it across the table. Jungkook caught it with a mock salute and disappeared, leaving Jimin alone with your secrets.
Jimin leaned back, a lethal smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. So, you were a bratty princess by day and a thrill-seeker by night. He wondered how much of that ice queen persona would remain once he cornered you in the middle of your fatherβs prestigious gala.
"Business analytics," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Letβs see how you calculate the odds of escaping me twice.β
Β°
The weekday routine was a slow, agonizing crawl. You sat in the back of the lecture hall, the professorβs drone about market fluctuations bouncing off you like white noise. You didn't belong in a business suit or behind a spreadsheet; you were here because your father had decided your future was a strategic asset for the Kang family.
"Drinks later?" Min-hee whispered, leaning into your space.
You didn't look up from the sharp, jagged doodles you were carving into the back of your notebook. "Canβt. My dad is home tonight. I have to play the part of the dutiful daughter."
"Ugh, tragic," she sighed, sinking back into her seat.
When the bell finally signaled your release, you moved through the hallways with a cold, practiced indifference, your eyes glued to your phone while Min-hee rambled about her latest heartbreak.
"Y/n!"
The voice made you stop. You looked up to see Leon weaving through the crowd, a hopeful, desperate look in his eyes.
"Hi," he panted, coming to a halt in front of you.
"Hi," you replied, your voice flat, devoid of a single spark of interest.
"Do you want to hang out tonight? Maybe grab dinner?"
Min-hee didn't even give you a chance to speak. She clicked her tongue, a mocking tilt to her head. "Oh, she canβt, Leon. Family dinner tonight. Sorry, lover boy." You let out a sharp, dry chuckle at the way he withered under her gaze.
As you turned to leave, Leonβs hand caught your arm. "Y/n... wait. I need to talk to you. Privately."
You gave Min-hee a look, and she rolled her eyes, stepping back to give you space. You stood in the corner of the corridor, arms crossed, staring down at the campus courtyard while Leon fidgeted like a schoolboy. It was pathetic; he only ever seemed to find his spine when he was three drinks deep and looking for a bed.
"Don't waste my time, Leon. What is it?"
"I was wondering... if youβd go on an actual date with me? Like, a real one."
You stared at him with a deadpan expression. "A date? I don't do dates, Leon. I thought I made the terms of our 'arrangement' very clear. One night, no strings."
"But I really like you, Y/n..."
"Like me? Eww," you cut him off, the word dripping with disdain. "I was only in it for the sex. Now, get your hands off me." You brushed his grip away as if he were a speck of dust and walked back to your circle.
Min-hee was already busy recounting Leonβs rejection to your group, her laughter ringing through the hall.
"I seriously wonder if youβll ever date anyone, Y/n," Luna chimed in. She was the daughter of some textile tycoon, and she lived to get under your skin. "With a father as strict as yours? You're going to end up in an arranged marriage with some sixty-year-old politician just to secure his next term."
The group erupted into laughter, and you felt your jaw tighten, your eyes flashing with a cold, dangerous light. You were about to snap back when a sound tore through the airβa deep, rhythmic roar that silenced the entire courtyard.
Every head turned. Students began whispering, pointing toward the campus entrance. Your heart did a slow, heavy roll in your chest as a familiar flash of blood-red paint cut through the mundane greyscale of the university parking lot.
The Rolls-Royce Spectre.
The car didn't just drive; it commanded the pavement, gliding forward until it came to a purring halt directly in front of your group. The sheer presence of the vehicle was enough to make the girls around you start fanning themselves, their eyes wide with greed and curiosity.
You felt the air leave your lungs. You knew that car. You knew the man behind the wheel. And you knew that your perfect daughter cover was about to be blown to hell.
Jimin stepped out of the car, and the atmosphere on campus shifted instantly from academic boredom to pure, unadulterated chaos. The gasps were audibleβsome girls were paralyzed by his lethal good looks, while others, the ones who kept up with the darker side of the news, looked genuinely terrified.
You stood frozen, your brain short-circuiting as you watched him. He didn't look like a businessman or a student; he looked like a god of the underworld who had accidentally wandered into a playground. His dark leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and the silver rings on his fingers glinted as he ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair.
Then, he looked straight at you and winked.
Min-hee nearly tore your sleeve off, her voice a frantic hiss. "Did he... did he just wink at you? Y/n, who is that?"
Jimin didn't give you a chance to concoct a lie. He sauntered over, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. "Hi, baby," he rumbled, his voice a low, charcoal rasp that seemed to vibrate against your skin.
The collective gasp from the girls around you was deafening. Your face went from pale to a scorched, vivid red in seconds. Without a word, you lunged forward, grabbed his handβnoticing how warm and solid it feltβand dragged him toward the Rolls-Royce. You scrambled into the passenger seat before the campus paparazzi could even pull out their phones.
Jimin let out a dark, melodious laugh as he slid behind the wheel, the engine purring to life.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" you hissed, the second the windows were rolled up. "Are you insane?"
"What?" he asked, leaning back and resting one hand casually on the steering wheel. "Iβm just here to pick up my girlfriend."
You scoffed so hard it hurt. "Girlfriend? Since when?"
"Since the moment you climbed that wall," he replied, his eyes dancing with amusement.
"Shut up. I am not your girlfriend. And don't you ever come to my university again! Do you have any idea what happens if someone tells my father?"
"So what?" he asked, completely unfazed.
"So what? Do you even know who my father is?"
"Who?" He tilted his head, playing along with a maddening smirk.
"Kang Min! The Senior Prosecutor! He works for the government, for the ministry! And you... youβre a mafia kingpin! This isn't a romance novel, Jimin, this is a death sentence!"
Jiminβs gaze darkened, the playfulness replaced by a heavy, possessive intensity. "But you love the friction, don't you? The thrill of defying him with the one man he canβt control."
Your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat because he was right. You lived for this edge. "No... I don't. Maybe I do, but thatβs not the point. My father will have me buried six feet under if he finds out Iβm even speaking to you. Or worse, that I slept with you!"
Jimin let out a low chuckle, his hand reaching over to trace the line of your jaw. "I dare him to even lay a finger on you. Youβre mine, baby. And no one touches what belongs to me."
The sheer arrogance of his words left you breathless. He was so nonchalant about the danger, so certain of his own power. "I am not yours!"
"Yes, you are."
You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "Why are you even here? Really?"
"I told you. I came to see my girlfriend."
"You haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend!" you snapped.
"Fine. Be my girlfriend."
You stared at him, your jaw dropping at the casual, half-hearted proposal. "No!"
"And that," he said, shifting the car into gear and pulling out of the lot, "is why I didn't ask. I don't ask for permission. I just claim."
"Where are we going? Stop the car. I need to go home."
"I have a better idea. We're going on our first date."
"You didn't even ask me out!" you yelled, your frustration mounting.
"Didn't I?" He smirked, clearly enjoying how easy it was to bait you into a rage. He looked you over, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips. "Did I mention you look breathtaking today? Even when you're being a brat."
Your cheeks flamed again, but you lifted your chin defiantly. "I know Iβm beautiful."
Jiminβs smirk turned predatory. He leaned slightly toward you, his scent filling the small space of the car. He looked like he was seconds away from kissing the defiance right out of your mouth. "Good. I like a girl who knows her worth. It makes it more fun when I finally break her.β
"Now, tell me, where exactly are you taking me?" you demanded again, leaning your hand on the sleek center console. You fixed him with your best doe-eyed stare, a calculated mix of innocence and provocation.
Jimin merely hummed, a low vibration that seemed to harmonize with the purr of the Rolls-Royce. Five minutes later, the car glided to a halt in front of a soaring glass monolith that seemed to pierce the Seoul skyline. He guided you inside, the heavy glass doors held open by a guard who bowed so low it was clear who really ran this city.
You raised an arched brow, taking in the clinical, expensive silence of the lobby. The sheer luxury radiating off him was intoxicating; you didn't just like itβyou craved it.
The elevator climbed at a dizzying speed, opening directly into a private penthouse lounge. A single table was set near the floor-to-ceiling balcony, with two waiters standing at attention like soldiers. Jimin pulled out your chair with a mocking sort of gallantry. You sat, watching as the courses began to arriveβeach dish a work of art.
You started eating without a word of protest, which earned you a dark smirk from across the table. "Youβre remarkably trusting," Jimin noted, picking up his own chopsticks. "What if Iβd poisoned the appetizer?"
You halted, a piece of meat halfway to your mouth, and fixed him with a sharp look. Seeing the slight twitch of amusement in his left eye, you took the bite anyway, chewing slowly while maintaining a glare. "Why did you bring me here, Jimin?"
"You've waited twenty minutes to ask that?" he countered, his voice dripping with dry wit.
You set your chopsticks down, dabbing your lips with a silk napkin before standing up and wandering toward the railing. From this height, the bustling city was reduced to a grid of flickering lights. Everyone down there looked tinyβinsignificant. Vulnerable. A slow, dark smile spread across your face.
Suddenly, you felt the heat of him behind you. Jimin wrapped his arms around your waist, his touch surprisingly soft as he leaned down to look at your profile. "Why does that view make you so happy?"
"I like the perspective," you replied honestly, leaning back into him. "From up here, everyone looks like they could be crushed with a single thought."
"You are far too cynical for a prosecutorβs daughter," he murmured, his thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles into your side.
"So you really do know who my father is?"
Jimin let out a dark, melodic chuckle. "Of course I do. Iβm Park Jimin. Did you think Iβd let my girl climb over my back wall without digging into every corner of her life?"
You turned in his arms, jabbing a defiant finger at his chest. "I am not your girl."
"You are," he insisted, stepping closer until he pressed you firmly against the glass railing. The chill of the night air clashing with the furnace-heat of his body made you shudder. The wind whipped your hair around your faces, tangling the strands together.
Your eyes dropped to his lipsβfull, plush, and currently curled into a smirk. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, a silent, filthy invitation.
You wanted to take it, but you shoved against his chest instead. "We canβt do this. Youβre a ghost, a kingpin. My father is the man the government sends to hunt people like you."
"Who said I was doing anything illegal?" Jimin ran a hand through his hair, his eyes hooded and dangerous.
"Oh, please. Don't play the innocent with me," you rolled your eyes. "I know exactly what you are."
"Do you, baby?" He laughed, the sound vibrating through your chest. "Thatβs even better. Because if you know what I am, then you know why you're really here. You like this power more than your fatherβs stagnant 'justice.' You like the way the world bows when youβre on my arm. You like feeling like a queen in my car instead of the caged princess your father tries to keep."
The words hit you like a physical blow. You swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth. Your father provided wealth, but Jimin provided dominance.
"Iβve become obsessed with you, Y/n," he confessed, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive whisper. "Be mine. Only mine."
"And if I decide I want other men?" you challenged, tilting your head back with a bratty shrug. "You know Iβm not exactly 'virtuous' in bed."
Before the sentence could even leave your lips, he moved. His hand fisted in your hair, a firm, bruising grip that forced your head back and arched your chest directly into the hard planes of his. His eyes were no longer amused; they were black with a raw, territorial hunger.
"Try it," he hissed against your mouth. "And see how fast I burn their world down just to get you back.β
A sharp gasp escaped you as his teeth caught your bottom lip, the sting followed immediately by the velvet heat of his tongue soothing the wound.
You stared into the abyss of his eyes, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"And what if I do?" you challenged, your voice breathless but defiant. "What if thereβs someone else? What if I already have a boyfriend?"
"You don't have a boyfriend," he hissed, the words vibrating against your skin. His certainty was terrifying, a reminder of just how much of your life he had already dismantled and mapped out.
He loosened the iron grip on your hair, but he didn't give you an inch of space. You let out a jagged, mocking scoff.
"So thatβs the plan? I become your latest acquisition? I play the part of the devoted girl, a pretty puppet in exchange for diamonds and fast cars?"
Jimin finally stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets with a calculated, lethal composure. "Not a puppet," he corrected, his voice dropping into a dark, possessive register. "Just mine. My woman. Thereβs a difference."
You rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see how much his words actually affected you. Taking a sharp side-step, you moved past him, grabbing your phone from the marble table with a snap.
"Youβre far too full of yourself, Mr. JM. I have no interest in being a footnote in your underworld empire."
You marched toward the elevator, your heels clicking a sharp, angry beat against the floor. But before your finger could even graze the call button, he was thereβa shadow that moved faster than light. He slammed his hand against the wall beside your head, pinning you into the small space between his body and the cold stone.
"You were part of my world even before you know," he hissed, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. The heat radiating from him was suffocating, intoxicating.
He trailed his index finger down the side of your face, a touch so light it made your skin crawl with anticipation. "Iβll give you twenty-four hours to think," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying finality. "But understand this, Y/n: I don't accept 'no' as an answer. Youβre already mine. Youβre just the last one to realize it.β
Β°
You popped a grape into your mouth, the sweet burst of juice doing little to settle the tension humming in the air. Around the cavernous dining room, the maids moved like ghosts, their silent efficiency a testament to the suffocating order your father demanded. Your mother descended the stairs, her gaze sweeping over your relaxed posture with a familiar, sharp disapproval.
"Your father is joining us for dinner tonight," she warned, taking her seat with a practiced elegance. "Don't talk back. Not even once."
"Mama, please. Youβre lecturing me like Iβm ten," you pouted, though you took your seat opposite her.
"You act like it often enough," she countered, pouring water with a hand that didn't tremble. She never approved; she only endured.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as your father entered. It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out, replaced by his heavy, stifling authority. The staff stiffened, and your mother fell into a submissive silence. Dinner was a rhythmic, quiet affair until he finally set his sights on you.
"Y/n, I spoke with your principal. Your grades are slipping," he stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Iβm trying, Dadβ"
"Trying is for the mediocre!" he snapped, his voice echoing against the high ceilings. You dropped your chopsticks, the clatter sounding like a gunshot in the silence. "Iβve hired a tutor for your statistics modules. You will spend all of tomorrow in intensive sessions. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dad," you murmured, keeping your eyes on your plate.
"I hope you aren't wasting your time with the wrong crowd," he added, his eyes narrowing. "I won't hesitate to enforce discipline if I find youβve been 'influenced' by the wrong element."
Later, in the sanctuary of your bedroom, you let out a long, jagged exhale. This was the cycle: the nagging, the control, the silent threats. And yet, the tighter he pulled the leash, the more you wanted to snap it. That was where the thrill lived.
You took a long, steaming shower, letting the water wash away the residue of the dining room. You stepped out with a towel cinched tight around your chest, your skin flushed and damp. You were humming along to a song when your phone buzzed on the vanity.
Jimin: Iβll be waiting for that answer. Tomorrow, after your classes.
A blush you couldn't suppress crept up your neck. He was the only person who didn't want a piece of your fatherβs name; he already had a kingdom of his own, even if it was built on shadows.
You: I canβt. Stuck in stats tutoring all day tomorrow. Strict orders from the Senior Prosecutor himself.
Jimin: Iβll be outside the university regardless. You can text me the answer, or I can walk into that tutoring session and kiss you senseless. It would be a hell of a message for your father.
A sharp laugh escaped you. He was insane, and you loved it. Looking at your reflection in the mirrorβdamp hair, flushed skin, and the towel barely clinging to your curves, you felt a surge of pure, unfiltered mischief. You leaned back against the headboard, angled the camera, and snapped a shot.
The focus was tight on the valley of your breasts, where stray droplets of water still glistened against your skin.
You hit send.
The response was almost instantaneous.
Jimin: Someone is begging to be ruined.
Jimin: Iβm hard.
Jimin: Brat.
You laughed, a genuine, wicked sound, and tossed the phone aside. Let him wait. The anticipation was the best part of the game.
Next chapter
