5:30 AM

The shrill cry of the alarm shattered the silence of the dimly lit bedroom. With a tired sigh, you reached over to switch it off, blinking against the faint glow seeping through the curtains. Your body moved instinctively, conditioned by months of routine—wake up before Jungkook, prepare breakfast, arrange his things, and ensure everything was in place before he even asked. It wasn’t obligation that drove you, but something deeper, something unspoken.

Turning your head to the left, your gaze softened as it fell upon him. Jungkook lay still, his face relaxed in sleep, the harshness he usually carried nowhere in sight. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to admire him—the curve of his lips, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the tousled strands of dark hair against his forehead. He looked almost… peaceful. Almost like the man you wished he would be with you.

Like every morning, you leaned in, pressing a hesitant yet warm peck against his forehead before slipping out of bed. A part of you hoped—prayed—that one day he would wake up and acknowledge the love you tried to pour into these small gestures. But he never did.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you tied your apron, securing your messy bun with practiced ease. The scent of fresh batter filled the air as you prepared waffles, knowing Jungkook preferred something light in the morning. In six months of marriage, you had learned everything about him—his food preferences, his habits, his pet peeves. Like how he got irritated when he couldn't knot a tie properly. So, every morning, without fail, you did it for him. And though he never thanked you for it, he never stopped you either.

And for you, that small allowance was enough.

It wasn't physical intimacy that you longed for—not his touch, not his body. No, what you truly wanted was far more unattainable. You craved his heart, his care, his love. But only if he wanted to give it. Love, after all, was never meant to be forced.

By the time breakfast was set, you made your way back to the bedroom to wake him. The moment you stepped inside, however, you froze.

The bed was empty.

He’s in the shower, you realized, shaking off the strange pang of disappointment.

Smoothing out the sheets, you moved toward his dresser, pulling out his accessories with methodical precision. You laid out his gray suit, making sure everything was in place before turning around—

And then you saw him.

Jungkook stood before you, freshly out of the shower, with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Droplets of water trailed down his sculpted torso, glistening under the soft light. His wet hair clung to his forehead, framing his sharp features in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment—just a moment—your eyes locked.

But then reality came crashing in, and you quickly turned around, heat creeping up your neck. Embarrassment pooled in your stomach as you mentally scolded yourself. Why did you react like this every time?

His voice cut through the silence, cold and devoid of emotion.

"Wanna say something?"

You swallowed, your fingers gripping the fabric of your apron. "Uh… B-breakfast is ready. Come soon."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Hmm. Now leave. I need to get ready."

You nodded, biting your lip before stepping out immediately, ignoring the sting in your chest.

---

After Breakfast

As Jungkook finished the last of his meal, you hurried to his side, picking up his suitcase and glancing at his unbuttoned collar.

"Jungkook," you called softly, hesitating. "Your tie."

He didn’t argue. Instead, he handed it to you, standing still as you stepped closer. Your fingers worked swiftly, fixing his collar, looping the fabric into a perfect knot. He never said anything during these moments, but you could feel his eyes on you—watching, observing. And whenever you caught him, he would look away, almost embarrassed.

You didn’t understand it.

But you cherished it.

"Done," you whispered, brushing the collar one last time before stepping back.

"Hmm. I’m leaving now."

Your lips parted slightly, waiting—hoping for even the smallest acknowledgment.

"Drive safely," you murmured, trying to mask the longing in your voice. "And don’t overwork yourself."

He didn’t respond.

With a nod, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving behind nothing but the ache in your chest.

At the Office

"Come in."

Jungkook didn’t bother looking up from his laptop as the door opened. His secretary stepped inside, carrying a familiar green box.

"Sir, here’s your lunch."

Jungkook sighed, rubbing his temple. He already knew who had sent it.

She never listens.

"Leave it here," he muttered.

The secretary hesitated. "Sir… if I may say something?"

Jungkook exhaled impatiently. "What?"

"You’re really lucky to have a wife like Mrs. Jeon," the young man said with a small smile. "She cares about you a lot. I mean… she never misses a day without sending you lunch."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

"Done with your little speech?"

The secretary’s smile faltered. "I just thought—"

"I don’t need your thoughts. Get out."

With an awkward bow, the boy left.

Jungkook turned his gaze to the green box, his expression darkening. He picked it up and, with no hesitation, tossed it into the trash.

A bitter scoff left his lips.

Lucky?

No. He was the most unlucky man in the world.

His hands curled into fists as resentment churned inside him.

She destroyed my life.

She stole everything from me.

She took away my happiness. My love.

His grip tightened around the armrest of his chair, knuckles turning white.

And the worst part? She had no idea.

She didn't even know that there was another woman before her. That she was nothing but a cruel replacement for the one he had truly loved.

I will never forgive you, Y/N.

His phone buzzed, cutting through the storm of his thoughts. With a deep breath, he answered.

"Hello, Mom."

"Jungkook, dear! How are you?" His mother’s voice was filled with excitement.

"Tired," he started to say, but she cut him off.

"And Y/N? How is she? Are you taking care of her?"

Jungkook scoffed. Of course. From the day he married Y/N, his mother had begun to dote on her more than she ever had on him.

You even took my parents from me, Y/N.

"She’s fine," he replied flatly. "Why did you call?"

"Oh! Your cousins are coming tomorrow evening. They’ll be staying with you two for a while."

"Really?" His tone softened slightly. "That’s great."

"You don’t mind?"

"Why would I?"

"Good! Just wanted to inform you. Now, behave properly with Y/N, okay?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Bye."

"Bye, dear."

The call ended, leaving him alone in his silent office.

Alone with his thoughts. His bitterness. His hatred.

And the

woman waiting at home—unknowing, undeserving of the weight he placed on her shoulders.

How was it?

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