˖ 🥃 ᝬ Jeon Jungkook Ꮺ!!

Another day stuck in my office. At least I was close to the beach; a small comfort amidst contracts, figures, and agreements worth more than most of the people who signed them. I was reviewing some new documents when I saw her come in. She didn't make a sound; she never did. She walked slowly, almost cautiously, as if she knew that any out-of-place movement might upset me. The dress she wore clung to her body in a calculated way. It wasn't vulgar, but neither was it innocent. She knew exactly what to wear. She always had. "Is it because of the new contract with the Italians?" I asked without looking up, turning one page after another, as if her presence were just another detail in the surroundings. Our relationship was “open.” An absurd word I’d imposed myself, disguised as a concession, when in reality it was just another way to keep everything on my terms. I hated admitting it, even silently, but the idea of ​​sharing her irritated me. Not out of love—that was a waste of time—but out of territoriality. What was mine wasn’t to be shared, even if I’d been the one to set the rules. I sensed her nearness before I saw her reflection in the glass of the desk. She stopped behind me, waiting. Always waiting. "Get ready," I finally said, my voice neutral and devoid of emotion . "We're going out tonight . " It wasn't an invitation. It never was. Her hands rested gently on my shoulders, slow and measured, as if trying to read my mood through the tension in my muscles. I didn't react. I didn't turn my head. I gave her nothing. Silence was also a form of control, and I mastered it better than any word. I kept reading, signing, deciding other people's fates with a firm stroke. She remained there, still, aware that in that space, in that office, power had always belonged to only one person.