The sky had turned navy blue by the time they all gathered in the main hall. The mission tonight was unlike others—a high-profile mafia gathering, dangerous in every unspoken corner, every handshake laced with secrets and guns hidden under velvet jackets. There was no room for mistakes.

They all stood dressed in black, ready, ruthless—guns strapped, knives concealed.

Yn descended the stairs first.

Black jeans, fitted shirt, heavy boots, her face masked, her aura deadly. The moment she stepped into view, the room paused.

Taehyung blinked slowly. “Damn. That’s not a girl. That’s war walking.”

Jimin whispered, “Is it illegal to look that intimidating and that hot at the same time?”

Yoongi smirked. “She’s going to start a war just by showing up.”

Jungkook, who had been loading his pistol, paused mid-click. He cleared his throat and straightened, walking toward her with something in his hand. A black designer bag.

Yn raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He held it out without flinching. “Go upstairs and wear it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, taking the bag and peeking inside. The color drained from her face—or maybe, bloomed.

Her voice dropped dangerously. “A pink bodycon midi dress?”

Jungkook didn’t blink. “You’re not going in there as a gang member tonight. You’re going in as bait. As a guest. Someone they won’t suspect.”

Her jaw clenched. “I never wear things like this.”

“You’re going to tonight,” he said flatly. “We don’t do anything unless it’s necessary. And this is.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose, fists clenched at her sides. Then she turned, stomping up the stairs with a fury that echoed through the halls.

As the boys watched her disappear, Namjoon turned toward Jungkook.

“Is it necessary to bring her at all?” he asked, frowning. “It’s risky.”

Jungkook’s voice was low and sure. “She has something to do in there. And she’s the only one who can get close without raising flags.”

Just then—

Click. Click. Click.

The sharp, unmistakable sound of heels hitting the marble floor sliced through the tension.

They turned.

And time—stopped.

Yn walked in slowly, wearing the soft pink bodycon that hugged every inch of her like a second skin. Her boots were replaced with nude heels. Her hair pulled back, sleek and elegant. No mask. No weapons visible. Just her.

Deadly and divine.

Every pair of eyes widened.

Jin’s mouth parted. “Holy—”

Taehyung gasped. “Who gave her permission to look like that?”

Jimin actually fanned himself. “I need a glass of water. No—an ice bath.”

Yoongi stared, stunned. “I’m not even going to lie. I’m scared and impressed.”

But what shocked them the most wasn't the dress.

It was her blush.

Yn, cold as steel, fearless as fire—was blushing. Crimson had bloomed across her cheeks, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

She glared at them. “Say one more word and I swear to God—”

“Pretty,” Taehyung coughed under his breath, making Jimin snort.

“Enough,” Jungkook said suddenly, stepping forward. His gaze met hers—not mocking, not amused.

Just intense.

Her breath caught for a moment.

He held her stare a second longer than he should’ve—before finally turning away.

“Let’s go,” he said. His heart Thudding against the ribs, she looks damn hot no doubt she doesn't wear these types of dresses. Because if she does someone will definitely die by her or his hands. Because no one allows to see her like this not until he wants to.

And just like that, the mafia queen in pink followed the king into the night.

The chandeliers sparkled with diamond light. Suits, silk, and sin danced in every corner. Guns disguised under tuxedos. Secrets hidden behind fake smiles. It was a room full of criminals wearing charm like cologne.

Jungkook walked in with his usual cold swagger, the others fanning out quietly behind him. Yn trailed near the back—not on display, not at his side. He didn’t introduce her unless asked. Her presence was a card he didn’t want to play too early.

She hated it.

Yn leaned into him, whispering low.

“I feel like I’m on a leash.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her.

“Good. Stay there. I’ll let you off when I need you to bite.”

He handed her a small photo. A man—well-dressed, mid-30s, cocky smile, glass in hand.

Jake Watson.

“Your target,” Jungkook said under his breath. “Find him. Make him think you’re interested. Just like you’re some sweet, lost little doll in a mafia den.”

Yn’s eyes darkened.

“You jerk,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? I had to act like a fucking—” she paused, voice dripping venom, “lovely, sweetie girl? I don’t even know how to behave like that!”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and turned his head slightly.

“Just do it. Half an hour. That’s all we need to get what we came for.”

But before he could fully turn away—

Yn grabbed his collar.

Yanked him forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Roll your eyes at me one more time, and I’ll take them out of your sockets,” she growled, voice low and deadly.

But Jungkook didn’t flinch.

Didn’t growl back.

Didn’t move away.

He just… stared.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. Her perfume—something sharp and floral—hit his senses like a memory he didn’t own. The pink dress clung to her body like sin itself. But it was the fire in her eyes that undid him.

God, she was stunning.

A mafia queen in disguise. Flames in heels.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Her touch and gaze on him. Her eyes doing something in him and the worst he couldn't resist it. Then he cleared his throat and gently loosened her grip from his collar, stepping back before he did something… irrational.

“Fine,” he muttered, gaze unreadable. “Just do it. I’ve got other things to handle.”

And then he turned on his heel, walking off like he didn’t just have a war break out in his chest.

The soft music, the clinking of expensive glasses, the aroma of wine and danger—it all swirled around Yn as she spotted Jake Watson by the bar, laughing too loudly with a woman already too drunk to walk straight.

He was exactly what she hated. Arrogant. Powerful. Filthy-rich with filthier hands.

She took a sharp inhale. She could do this.

Be soft. Be naive. Play the game.

Her heels clicked softly as she walked toward him, slow, elegant, head held high—but inside, her rage snarled in a cage.

Jake’s eyes slid to her. They widened—hungry. He turned toward her fully.

“Well… aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Are you lost, sweetheart?”

Yn smiled. Too wide. Too fake.

“Oh, I just saw you… and thought you looked familiar.”

Her voice was higher than usual. Lighter. Like a girl who didn’t know how to load a gun.

Jake chuckled and gestured to the stool beside him.

“I wouldn’t forget a face like yours. Sit. Have a drink.”

From a balcony above, Jungkook’s sharp eyes were fixed on her.

Jaw clenched. Arms crossed.

“She's in. She’s talking to him,” he muttered into his mic.

Taehyung’s voice buzzed in his earpiece.

“She’s got him hooked. Looks like she took your advice.”

“I never said cling to him,” Jungkook grumbled under his breath, ignoring the amused chuckles from his members.

Then—

“Everyone,” J-Hope’s voice came through, clipped, sharp.

“There’s movement near the back hall. Might be someone from Red Claw. They weren’t supposed to be here.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. He glanced back at Yn—still talking, awkwardly twirling her hair like some clueless party girl.

His gut screamed to keep watching.

But—

“Track them. I’ll meet you,” he said, tearing his gaze away.

Downstairs, Jake slid another glass toward Yn.

“Here. Try this one. Special vintage. My favorite.”

Yn hesitated for a split second. But she couldn’t blow her cover. Not yet.

She raised it, forcing a shy smile.

“To… new friends?” she said.

He grinned. “To unforgettable nights.”

They clinked glasses. She took a small sip.

Within minutes, she felt her head spin—not much, just a tilt. A weight behind her eyelids.

The room swam slightly.

What the hell…

Jake stood, offered his hand.

“Let me show you something upstairs,” he said smoothly, already placing a hand on her lower back.

She stumbled slightly, realizing the wine was laced—but her limbs were slow, heavy.

Before she could protest, his grip tightened.

He took her upstairs.

No one stopped them.

The hallway twisted. She fought to keep her eyes open.

“Jake…” she muttered, her voice dazed. “I don’t feel… so…”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine. Just lie down for a minute.”

He opened a room and dragged her inside.

Yn’s knees hit the edge of the bed. Her vision blurred. Jake pushed her down with a disgusting gentleness. His fingers traced her jaw.

“You’re too beautiful to be standing around like a statue. Let me make you feel good.”

But in that haze—Yn’s hand snapped up.

She grabbed his wrist. Tight.

Eyes still glazed—but inside, a fire screamed awake.

Yn’s head spun with nausea as Jake’s filthy hands roamed over her. His stench—the stale whiskey on his breath—triggered a rush of memories she’d buried deep: her uncle’s forced touch, the night her childhood cracked. When he moved to tear at her dress, something primal snapped inside her.

With a roar that tore itself from her throat, she lashed out—fingers closing around his wrist, yanking him off the bed. He slipped and hit the floor hard, his groan of shock drowned by her pounding heartbeat. Dizzy and disoriented, she forced herself upright, stumbling toward the bathroom door as Jake’s curses followed her.

Slamming the door shut, Yn locked it with trembling hands and collapsed against the cold tile. Bile rose violently, and she retched until her stomach felt hollow. The acrid taste of drugged wine burned in her mouth. She splashed water on her face until her vision cleared, furious tears stinging. The word bitch burned on her lips as she leaned over the sink, palm smashing against the porcelain. “Come to your senses,” she hissed at her reflection.

Cold rage rushed through her veins like wildfire. The door behind her shook, Jake’s frustrated shouts turning into frantic pounding.

“Open this! Today I'll make you mine!”

Yn’s chest heaved. She ripped a heavy marble mortar from the counter, clutching it like a weapon forged from her fury. When the door burst open, Jake lunged for her—overconfident, savage smirk still on his face. Yn swung the mortar with every scrap of strength she could muster. The impact cracked his skull, and he fell backward, blood pooling beneath him.

She didn’t stop. Dragging his hair, she pulled him to a small table, hidden shards of glass catching the dim light. With brutal precision, she slammed his head onto the table again and again. Glass shattered, cutting deep into his scalp. Bone against bone, tendons tearing—he whimpered, but she showed no mercy.

His body slid against the broken glass. She delivered a kick in her heel that cracked his jaw, then pressed the heel of her other boot into his mouth. He gurgled, a broken, watery sound. Blood spurted inside his mouth and trickled down his chin.

As he slumped, she grabbed his arms behind his back and twisted ruthlessly, her nails gouging through the skin. Break the hands which try to touch her. Every struggle, every scream fueled her rage. She kicked his face again—flesh met steel, a sickening crack that echoed in the tiny room.

Only when Jake’s body went limp, and the room was soaked in blood and glass, did Yn feel her strength falter. She stood, panting, blood from her knuckles and her dress mixing together—her hair plastered to her face, eyes wild.

The room door burst open again.

“Get away from him!” Jungkook’s voice roared.

Yn flung the remainder of a stall away—her gaze erupting into his, as if he’d broken her spell. Taehyung and Jimin rushed in, backs stiffening at the grotesque sight: Jake’s half-ruined face, the broken table, the shards of glass embedded in his scalp.

Yn pivoted, rocketing herself toward the door. Her vision blurred; her knees buckled. She reached for the wall’s edge, but as her legs gave way, she collapsed like a tree felled in the forest.

Jungkook was on her in an instant, strong arms scooping her into his chest. “Don’t move,” he said, voice guttural.

Taehyung and Jimin forced their way through, pulling Yn’s bloodied hand away from Jake’s broken form. Yoongi covered the man’s mouth to stanch the blood; Jin and Namjoon circled to restrain any further damage.

They were shocked and feared seeing his condition. The horror clearly visible on their face. She almost kill him.

Yn’s eyes slipped closed. Her last breath was a ragged whisper: “I didn’t—”

And then the world went black.

Jake Watson’s Fate:

When Jungkook finally let the others tend to him, they found him barely recognizable—face shattered, eyes vacant. They dragged him from the room, bound and broken. By the time Jake surfaced in the depths of their compound’s medical wing, it was to a world he would never recognize again. His sound box damage, hands broken even fingers and he got mentally disabled. She didn't kill him but made his life worst than hell.

Hours later, under dim lantern light in Jungkook’s office, he laid Yn gently across a couch. He dabbed her bruised knuckles with a cool cloth and pressed gauze against a gash on her forehead.

She stirred, blinking up at him, eyes haunted. He didn’t look away. “You… you’re safe,” he murmured.

Her voice was a brittle rasp: “He…” She swallowed. “I couldn’t—”

Jungkook’s gaze was soft but fierce. “He had it coming.”

She forced a nod, eyelids fluttering closed again as exhaustion claimed her. Jungkook watched her sleep—her chest rising and falling—understanding at last that the monster she’d become was born from a childhood no one should endure.

And as he sat there, he realized: protecting her was no longer just a business decision. It was something deeper—something he never would have believed possible.

To be continued...