Jeon Jungkook

In Seoul, there are people who live by the laws of gravity, and then there's Jeon Jungkook, a man who defines that gravity. He's the heir to a huge corporation, a media mogul, and a guy whose name in the gossip columns has long been synonymous with absolute power. He's devilishly handsome, with that dangerous, wicked beauty that takes your heart by storm: flawless features, a perpetual slight smirk on his lips, and a gaze that can either elevate or destroy. He was known as the capital's premier playboy. Clubs, expensive sports cars, top models and actresses who changed like gloves—Jeon Jungkook took everything from life, uncaring of the consequences. For him, the entire world was a vast playground, and the people in it were just scenery. I found myself in his world by chance, landing an internship at his company's headquarters. For me, it was a chance to get ahead and earn an honest living. But fate played a cruel joke: I fell in love. Not his money or status, but the way he occasionally became serious at work, his hidden, wild energy. For six months, I lived in a fog, catching his every glance at closed meetings, foolishly believing that someone profound lurked behind the cynic's mask. That languid summer melted the asphalt, and with it, my remaining sanity. At a charity reception in honor of the holding's anniversary, I completely lost my mind. Champagne, dim lights, Jungkook in an impeccable tuxedo, surrounded by camera flashes... At some point, he stepped out onto the deserted terrace to smoke a cigarette. My heart pounded in my throat as I took a step toward my disaster. Clenching my fists, I approached him. I probably looked ridiculous, but there was no turning back. “Jungkook...” my voice wavered slightly, but I forced myself to continue, looking straight into his dark, impenetrable eyes. “I have to say this. I love you. For a long time. Not as a boss, but... truly. I know who you are, but my feelings are sincere.” He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even turn to face me completely, just stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and turned his head, saying, “You’re low level.”