Mumbai, India...

The office is silent except for the faint rustle of papers. Taehyung sits behind the mahogany desk, legs crossed, one hand lazily holding a pen as his sharp eyes scan through files of his new drug operation. The silence is broken by a single knock on the door.

“Come in,” he orders, voice deep and commanding.

The door creaks open. Vikram steps in, head bowed, hands clutching a crimson file as though it carries divine weight.

“Lord,” Vikram begins cautiously, “this is the information on the girl you requested.”

He places the file on the table, his movements slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Taehyung doesn’t spare him a glance. With a flick of his wrist, he dismisses him. Vikram bows low and exits without another word.

Taehyung leans forward, long fingers dragging the file toward him. The crimson cover opens with a soft snap, revealing neatly organized details.

Name: Yn Sharma

Age: 20

Occupation: Runs a bakery while studying

Family: Lives with parents

Relationship status: Single

Address: XYZ

A faint, amused hum escapes Taehyung as his eyes skim the page. “So… that’s who you are.” His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smirk.

He rises from his chair, stepping toward the massive window overlooking the city...his empire. The glow of the setting sun paints half his face in gold, the other half drowned in shadow.

“Yn Sharma…” he murmurs, voice low and laced with danger. “You’ve piqued my interest… and trust me, that will be your biggest mistake.”

A soft chuckle escapes him...dark, ominous, promising ruin.

“One meeting won’t be enough… not for me.” He turns sharply, picks up his phone, and dials.

“Vikram.”

“Yes, Lord?” comes the trembling reply.

“Do exactly as I say.” Taehyung issues his order ... curt, merciless. On the other end of the line, Vikram’s sharp intake of breath is audible, his silence speaking volumes of his shock. But he knows better than to question.

“As you command, Lord,” Vikram whispers.

Taehyung ends the call, his smirk deepening.

Time skip to after some days..

The entire campus is alive with activity. Students rush in every direction, arms full of flowers, fairy lights, and rolls of satin fabric. Laughter mixes with the clatter of ladders and the hum of workers as the university prepares for its grand celebration, the Golden Jubilee.

Yn is at the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, dupatta loosely draped as she directs her juniors where to hang the banners. Her friends scurry around her, tying ribbons and checking arrangements with decorators, while the non-teaching staff carry chairs into the massive hall.

Amid the organized chaos, a hush briefly falls over their group as a familiar figure approaches.

The Head of the Political Science Department...tall, stern, and always impeccably dressed, walks with his usual measured pace. His sharp gaze sweeps over the courtyard, inspecting every detail with the precision of a hawk.

He stops in front of Yn’s group, eyes narrowing in quiet appraisal.

A single nod. “Good.”

Relief flickers across the students’ faces. Praise from him is rare, but it means the world when given.

Finally, his gaze rests on Yn, the department’s pride, the ever-consistent topper. She straightens unconsciously under the weight of his attention.

“Yn,” he says, voice strict but not unkind, “I trust you’ll oversee everything here. And don’t forget, you have your performance as well.”

Yn smiles, dimples deepening, the sunlight catching in her eyes.

“Yes, Professor. Don’t worry. Everything will be perfect. My friends and I can handle it.”

A rare softness graces his features, almost imperceptible to anyone but her.

“I know you will,” he replies, his tone gentler now. He nods toward the rest of the group, acknowledging their hard work. The recognition sparks quiet excitement among the students; they straighten proudly, grinning at one another.

But just as quickly, the softness fades. His face hardens, the air around him shifting as he prepares to address something far more serious.

“But you should know,” the professor begins, voice cutting through the chatter like a blade, “there will be two special... no, chief... guests today.”

Yn nods distractedly, still busy arranging flowers on the table.

“Yes, Professor. I know the first one is our Chief Minister. But who’s the second?”

The question makes him freeze mid-step. His sharp eyes widen ever so slightly, disbelief flashing across his face.

“Yn…” His tone drops low, weighted with surprise. “You don’t know who the second guest is?”

Blinking innocently, Yn shakes her head.

A quiet sigh escapes him, heavy and restrained. “The second guest,” he says slowly, coldly, “is a million times more important than the first.”

Confusion ripples through the group. They exchange clueless looks, none of them had bothered to check the guest list, too busy perfecting their performances.

“And who is this VVVVVIP?” Naina, Yn’s best friend, pipes up dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The group bursts into laughter, their stress melting momentarily. Even Yn bites her lip, fighting the giggle threatening to escape.

“Silence!” The professor’s voice booms, sharp as a whip. Instantly, the courtyard falls quiet.

“This is no laughing matter,” he scolds, eyes sweeping over them like a hawk. “Do you even understand who’s coming here?”

Heads bow, guilty murmurs fading into silence. The professor exhales, massaging his temples before finally delivering the name like a thunderclap:

“The second chief guest… is Kim Taehyung.”

The collective gasp is loud enough to echo across the courtyard. Eyes widen. Mouths drop open.

“Kim T-T-Taehyung?” Yn stammers, disbelief lacing every syllable.

The professor gives a single, grave nod.

“B-But… why would the Crime Lord come here?” she blurts out, half whisper, half panic.

His gaze sharpens at her words.

“He isn’t just the Crime Lord, Yn,” the professor corrects, voice clipped and firm. “He is also the most successful CEO in the world. The Chief Minister himself has invited him.” A faint trace of unease flickers in his eyes. “Frankly, I’m surprised he accepted. But the fact remains... he is coming. And all of you must be careful. With your behaviour… and your hospitality.”

Time skip to evening......

The golden evening lights bathe the campus in a warm glow, fairy lights draped over every archway and tree shimmering like stars brought down to earth. Excitement buzzes in the air...laughter, applause, and the distant hum of music filling the courtyard.

The principal stands at the gates, hands folded respectfully as the convoy pulls up. Security swarms instantly...men in black suits forming a wall between the world and the car door about to open.

The Chief Minister steps out first, welcomed by cheers and camera flashes. It’s expected and familiar. But then… silence.

A hush ripples through the crowd as another figure emerges.

Kim Taehyung.

Beneath the dazzling lights, he looks like something sculpted not born. His black suit is razor-sharp, tailored to perfection, hugging every inch of his tall, commanding frame. The fabric catches the glow of the fairy lights, gleaming faintly with every shift of his shoulders. A luxury that doesn’t beg to be seen, but demands it.

The black dress shirt underneath is buttoned up to his throat, no tie, no frills. Sleek. Minimal. Dangerous. A single silver serpent brooch gleams against the darkness of his lapel, coiled as if poised to strike.

His dark hair, effortlessly tousled, frames his chiseled face...sharp jaw, sculpted cheekbones, lips curved in the faintest smirk that feels almost… predatory. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but somehow, everyone feels them. The weight of his gaze sweeping the crowd, measuring, dissecting, owning.

He doesn’t dress to impress. He dresses to dominate.

And he does. Without a single word.

The principal’s voice trembles slightly as he bows in welcome. “W-We are honored to have you here, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung merely hums in acknowledgment, a faint tilt of his head passing as courtesy. Even this restrained gesture makes the man visibly exhale in relief. Fear lingers in the air, thick and unspoken.

Flanked by guards and dignitaries, they head toward the grand auditorium. Its vaulted ceiling draped in silks, golden lights shimmering off polished marble floors. The Chief Minister walks beside him, words flowing endlessly about economic opportunities and state development, desperate to win his favor.

Taehyung doesn’t hear a word. His mind is elsewhere. His eyes, hidden behind dark shades, sweep over every corner, every shadow. Searching.

Searching for her.

But she’s nowhere to be seen. His jaw ticks, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. He isn’t here to applaud cultural dances or speeches. This entire charade, the Golden Jubilee, the political theatrics is nothing but white noise to him.

He’s here for Yn.

They settle in the front row, dignitaries filling seats around them. The lights dim, and the cultural program begins. Music rises...classical ragas, the thunder of tablas, the soft tinkling of ghungroos. Students take turns on stage, dancing, singing, playing instruments, dramatizing India’s vibrant heritage. The crowd cheers with every performance.

But Taehyung barely blinks. His focus remains razor-sharp, waiting and anticipating.

And then her name.

The announcer calls it, and something inside him snaps taut.

Taehyung’s heart skips a beat. The world tilts.

The stage lights bathe her in a golden halo as she walks out, every step unhurried, fluid almost ethereal. Dressed in traditional Indian attire, her anklets chime softly with each movement. Her hair cascades down her back in soft curls, adorned with fresh jasmine flowers. Her lips, her eyes, her delicate wrists...everything about her feels crafted to undo him.

She takes her position. A hush falls over the auditorium.

The room has fallen into a reverent hush, every eye drawn to the stage but none more intently than Kim Taehyung’s.

He sits in the front row, expression unreadable at first, the ever-composed businessman and feared crime lord. But the moment she steps onto the stage, the mask slips just slightly. Dressed in flowing traditional attire that shimmer under the soft stage lights, she looks like something pulled from a painting...graceful, regal, untouchable. As the music begins, her body moves with the fluid elegance of Indian classical dance. Every step precise, every hand gesture telling a story, her eyes sharp with emotion, her expression a shifting tapestry of passion and devotion.

Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, completely still. His gaze never leaves her, not even for a second. The world around him fades into a blur of muted sound and shadow. All he can see is her, the woman he is surprisingly attracted to, now transformed into something divine, powerful, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He has seen a thousand performances. He has owned entire theaters. But this isn't just dance. This is art born from soul. And it belongs to her.

For once, the man who can control anything feels entirely at someone else’s mercy. And he welcomes it. Mesmerized, breath catches in his throat, Taehyung watches her with quiet awe, as if he is witnessing a goddess walk the earth.

The dance ends and Yn leaves the stage getting thousands of applause from all the people present there. The applause still echoes through the grand hall, fading like the last notes of the music she has danced to. But Taehyung doesn't clap. He can't. He is too still...too caught in the after glow of what he has just witnessed.

She has vanished behind the curtains, her silhouette swallowed by shadows, but her presence lingers like incense in the air. His heart beat slower now, but heavier. Each thud is a wordless realization. She isn't on stage anymore, yet she has never felt more powerful in his eyes.

He sits back in his seat, jaw tense, gaze fixed on the place where she has last stood. His mind, so used to calculations, deals, strategies has only one thought pulsing through it: Her.

She has danced like she belongs to no one. And that was exactly why now he wants her.

A slow breath escapes him as leans back against his chair, straightening his jacket with quiet resolve. The decision isn't dramatic. It doesn't need to be.

Tonight, he has made his final choice.

She will be his.

And he will make sure the whole world knows it.

Time skip to three days after the function...

The heavy silence of the office is broken only by the faint clink of crystal against wood. Taehyung stands near the massive window, city lights sprawled beneath him like a kingdom already in his grasp.

“Have you prepared everything? I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, voice low and dangerous, every syllable weighted with finality.

Vikram, standing stiff near the door, bows instantly. “Yes… Lord. Everything is prepared.”

A single curt nod is all the acknowledgment he gets.

“Leave,” Taehyung orders with a flick of his wrist.

Vikram vanishes without another word, the door shutting softly behind him and the silence returns.

Taehyung lifts his glass of whiskey, amber liquid catching the faint light. He swirls it lazily, gaze fixed on the horizon, on something far beyond what the world can see.

A slow, devilish smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he whispers to himself, voice thick with amusement and obsession—

“I came to India with my drugs for business... But now—” he takes a slow sip, savoring the burn, “—I’m leaving India taking my drug with me.”

Time skip to next day...

The morning feels normal.

Yn hums softly as she ties her dupatta, giving herself one last glance in the mirror before rushing downstairs. The smell of her mother’s parathas fills the house, warm and comforting.

“Good morning,” she chirps, sliding into her usual seat. Her parents smile, exchanging a glance at her cheerful tone. She eats quickly, heart fluttering with excitement for the Golden Jubilee festivities still lingering in her mind.

Just as she stands to leave, something strange tugs at her chest. She pauses mid-step, turns around and throws her arms around her parents.

They both freeze in surprise. “What happened to you suddenly?” her mother asks, half-laughing. “Why are you being so lovely today?”

Yn buries her face in her mother’s shoulder, voice soft. “I just… wanted to hug you both. Is that so bad?”

Her father chuckles, kissing her forehead. “Never.”

After a few moments of quiet laughter and light chatter, she finally waves goodbye and steps out the door, completely unaware she just gave them her last carefree hug.

The sun is bright, the street alive with honking cars and rushing people. Yn scrolls through her phone, smiling faintly at the notification from her college about the next event. She barely notices the black van crawling up the curb...moving too smoothly, too quietly.

Before her brain can register the danger, the van door flies open.

A rough hand grips her wrist. Another clamps over her mouth.

The world blurs, screeching tires, gasps from pedestrians, her own muffled scream lost in the chaos.

It happens in seconds.

One moment she’s on the sidewalk, sunlight warming her skin.

The next, she’s shoved into darkness, the van door slamming shut, her phone slipping from her grasp, her world turned upside down.

The van speeds away, leaving behind nothing but silence and shock.

The screech of tires jolts Yn out of her terrified daze. The black van jerks to a halt, and before she can brace herself, the doors yank open. Rough hands seize her arms, dragging her out into blinding sunlight.

Her feet scrape against the ground, her body twisting violently as she kicks and screams, but her captors are merciless.

“Let me go!”Her voice cracks, raw from shouting. Panic claws at her throat as she’s forced forward, every step taking her closer to a private jet gleaming under the sun like a predator waiting to swallow her whole.

Standing at the foot of the stairs is Vikram. And beside him… Her breath stutters.

Kim Taehyung.

Dark suit. Cold eyes. The kind of presence that silences entire rooms without uttering a single word.

The Devil himself.

“W-Why… why have you abducted me?!” Yn’s trembling voice barely rises above a whisper, her eyes wide with horror.

“What wrong have I done?”

Taehyung chuckles—low and dangerous. The sound curls around her like smoke, making her shiver.

“You,” he says simply, eyes gleaming, “are coming with me. To Korea.”

The words hit her like a death sentence. Her body freezes, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.

“No,” she chokes out, shaking her head violently. Tears blur her vision. “No, I won’t go with you!”

But Taehyung doesn’t argue. Doesn’t explain. He merely tilts his head, unreadable, and flicks his hand. The signal.

Two guards seize her instantly, dragging her toward the jet. Yn thrashes wildly, nails clawing, feet kicking, every muscle screaming in defiance. In her desperate struggle, one guard’s grip slips.

Freedom.

She bolts. The wind whips against her face as she sprints across the tarmac, lungs burning, heart pounding with a single frantic thought...run, run, run!

But she doesn’t make it far.

A strong, veiny hand clamps around her wrist.

Before she can scream, she’s yanked backward, her body colliding with a hard chest, her breath stolen by the sudden closeness. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker, more dangerous, envelops her.

Warm breath ghosts her ear as a deep voice murmurs...low, husky, possessive:

“You can’t run from me, princess.”

Her body trembles violently.

“I am your fate… and your destiny.”

Before her shocked mind can comprehend, she’s lifted off the ground effortlessly, cradled against him in a bridal carry.

Gasps ripple through the men surrounding the jet, shock evident in their eyes. Their Lord, untouched by love or compassion, is carrying a girl as though she’s priceless.

But Taehyung’s face remains unreadable except for the faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

Without a word, he ascends the stairs, taking her straight into the Devil’s lair.

The heavy door shuts behind them with a muted thud, sealing Yn inside the luxurious yet suffocating confines of the jet’s private bedroom. The faint hum of the engines feels irrelevant compared to the pounding of her own heartbeat.

Taehyung doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain. He simply walks forward, silent and predatory, until he stands beside the plush bed.

And then, without warning, he throws her onto it.

Yn gasps as her body bounces on the mattress, disoriented, her palms scrambling for purchase against the silk sheets. She barely manages to push herself up when a shadow looms over her...him.

In an instant, he’s hovering above her, pinning her wrists to either side of her head with ease. His weight cages her in, suffocating and overwhelming.

Yn’s breath hitches violently. She’s never been this close to anyone before, let alone the most feared man in the underworld. Every instinct screams run, but there’s nowhere to go.

“P-Please… let me go,” she stammers, her voice trembling. “I don’t even know you—what wrong have I done?”

Taehyung’s lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. His gaze roams over her face...not with lust, but with possession.

“Wrong?” His tone drips mockery as he leans closer, voice a low purr in her ear. “You committed the greatest sin of all, princess.”

She freezes, his breath ghosting against her skin.

“You caught my attention.”

Before she can react, he buries his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. The intoxicating scent of jasmine mixed with something uniquely hers hits him like a drug. His grip tightens, savoring her helplessness.

Yn whimpers, disgust and terror coiling in her stomach. The sound makes Taehyung chuckle darkly, a vibration against her throat.

“What’s wrong, my princess?” he teases, voice deep and sinfully smooth. “Don’t you like my special treatment?”

Her tears spill over, but fury burns beneath them.

“Let me go,” she whispers, stronger this time.

“I said let me go!” The venom in her voice amuses him even more. He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, smirk widening.

“You think you can demand things from me?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

“No, princess… you don’t get to leave. Not now. Not ever.”

Rage surges in Yn’s chest. Summoning every ounce of strength, she shoves him hard catching him off-guard. He stumbles back onto the mattress with a sharp grunt, momentarily losing his hold.

Yn doesn’t waste the chance. She bolts for the door, heart hammering.

But when she yanks at the handle, a cold realization strikes...it’s locked. A keypad glows red, demanding a password she doesn’t have.

Trapped.

Behind her, Taehyung’s low laugh cuts through the silence.

A sound more terrifying than any scream.

“Run all you want,” his voice rumbles, smooth and cold.

“There’s nowhere to go. Come here, my princess.” The deep timbre of Taehyung’s voice vibrates through the confined space, smooth yet laced with steel.

Yn stiffens, pressing her back against the locked door as if she could somehow disappear into it. Her head jerks violently side to side. “N-No,” she breathes, voice trembling.

A muscle ticks in Taehyung’s jaw. His eyes narrow, a storm gathering behind them.

“Come here yourself, princess…” His tone drops lower, lethal. “…before I make you. And trust me, you won’t like it if I use force.”

The quiet menace in his voice chills her blood. But still, her legs refuse to move.

Taehyung rises slowly, deliberate, his towering figure eclipsing the soft light of the room. The silence is suffocating—until his chair scrapes back and breaks it.

Yn flinches. Panic claws at her chest.

“Three,” Taehyung says softly, as if counting down to something inevitable but she doesn’t move.

“Two.”

His steps are slow but unrelenting, each one echoing like a death knell.

“One.”

Yn’s resolve shatters. With tears brimming in her eyes, she stumbles toward him, her feet dragging like lead.

Taehyung smirks, satisfaction curving his lips.

“Good girl.”

The moment she’s within reach, his arm snakes around her waist, yanking her onto his lap in one swift motion. Yn gasps, writhing, trying to scramble away, but his grip is unyielding like iron around fragile porcelain.

One sharp glare from him stills her completely. She freezes, trembling in his hold.

“Better,” he murmurs, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them. The heat of him sears through her clothes, and Yn feels suffocated.

His hand trails slowly up her spine, fingers tracing the curve of her neck, before cupping her jaw. He studies her face with unsettling calm, thumb brushing over her trembling lower lip.

Yn jerks her face away, revulsion twisting her stomach.

The defiance earns her a harsher grip. His fingers dig into her cheeks, forcing her gaze back to him.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, commanding.

“Please… stop it… plea—”Her words are swallowed whole when Taehyung crashes his lips onto hers. The kiss is deep, forceful, a collision of dominance and resistance. Yn’s muffled cries are drowned by him. He doesn’t kiss her to please her, but to claim her.

Her hands beat weakly against his chest; she pushes, claws, taps at his shoulder desperately as her lungs burn for air.

But Taehyung doesn’t relent.

Only when her body goes limp in his arms does he finally pull back, breathing steady, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips as he stares down at her unconscious form.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Now you’re mine.”

Taehyung’s POV........

I tried—God, I tried to control myself. She’s innocent. Fragile. Untouched.

But every time she begged me to let her go, her trembling voice only fanned the fire inside me. Each plea, each desperate shake of her head, made my blood boil, not with anger, but with hunger.

And those lips....Those soft, luscious lips that moved when she spoke… I didn’t even think. Instinct took over. My self-control snapped like glass under pressure.

I crashed my mouth against hers.

Fuck.

She tastes like strawberries, sweet and sinful. My first kiss. And I know...I know it’s hers too. That thought alone makes me ache with a possessiveness I’ve never felt before. She’s mine. Mine to claim. Mine to ruin.

She struggles beneath me, tapping weakly at my shoulder, pleading for air. I should stop. I know I should. But the way she feels against me, the way her scent fills my lungs, I can’t and won’t let go.

Not yet.

Not when she’s this close. Not when I’ve finally had a taste.

Then, suddenly, her body goes limp.

I pull back, chest heaving, and stare at her unconscious form. For a moment, I just watch her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her lashes rest against her cheeks. She looks like temptation incarnate like a full-course meal laid out just for me.

I could take her now. No one would stop me.

But I don’t.

Because when I finally claim her, I want her awake. I want her to feel every second of it.

I want her to know she belongs to me.