“WAKE UP YOU BRAT!!” A voice sliced through the darkness, followed by a splash of cold water across his face.
“Do you have anything to do other than sleep?! Get ready and come downstairs.” The words dripped with scorn.
This was Jungkook’s morning ritual. He often wondered what he’d done to deserve this life. He hadn’t chosen it. He hadn’t asked to be born into a family fractured by betrayal. His father’s infidelity, a betrayal of his stepmother, had resulted in Jungkook’s birth. Sometimes he wished he’d shared his mother’s fate, dying with her. At least then he wouldn’t have endured this daily deluge of hatred.
He understood his stepmother’s resentment, the step-sister’s disdain. It was difficult to accept another man’s child, especially one born of such deceit. But his father’s hatred… that was the wound that festered deepest. It was his father’s words that haunted him, echoing through the years.
“You disgusting piece of shit. You’re just a mistake, thrown at me. If it weren’t for the need for a son, for an heir to run this company, I would have left you on the doorstep. But I have to look at your face every day, a constant reminder of my failure.”
*Mistake.*
The word lodged in his throat, a bitter shard of glass. It was the only name he’d ever truly known.
He sighed, shaking off the familiar despair. He rose, walked through his morning routine, preparing for another day steeped in stress.
While dressing, a single question consumed him: was there peace in the world? If so, why was it so cruelly denied to him? He was certain it wasn’t meant for him, that he’d never experience it. He was born to be broken, to be forgotten.
Or so he believed.
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He entered Jeon Enterprises after a breakfast he’d barely tasted at his parents’ house. It wasn't *his* house, and they made sure he remembered that every single day. His employees greeted him with nods, their expressions professional, their bodies betraying no emotion. He walked into his office, barely five minutes before his secretary began detailing the day’s meetings.
He immersed himself in work, a desperate attempt to silence the loneliness that gnawed at his core. He accepted his fate: no one would ever fill the void within him. No one understood the hurt he hid behind a polite smile, the emptiness he masked with wealth and power. They saw a lucky heir, a man born into privilege. They didn't see the boy who cried in the dark, overwhelmed by a world he didn’t ask for, abandoned by everyone who should have cared. No one offered a hand to pull him from the darkness.
His office, his bedroom – these were his sanctuaries, the only places he felt safe. He spent hours here, escaping the suffocating weight of his family’s contempt. He arrived early each morning to avoid their words, but by the end of the day, he was always met with a double dose of their venom.
He was drowning in a sea of depression, desperate for a lifeline. He wanted someone to hold him, to pull him from the abyss. He longed to feel something other than pain, loneliness, dread, and despair.
He wanted to feel safe, to feel happiness, to feel free. He wanted to feel loved. He wanted to experience the joy he saw in his friends.
Friends…
They were the only thing keeping him sane, the only reason he held on. Though he rarely saw them, their existence gave him a sliver of hope. They proved that not everyone in the world was cruel.
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He felt a flicker of something like relief. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was a small spark of hope. He had to believe that it would be enough.
He had to believe that he could survive.