Hello friends

This is my first chat story , hope u guys enjoy and support me . If I make any grammatical or spelling mistake sorry

It was hot afternoon in Busan strawberry farm , everyone in the farm was working effortlessly with small chit chat was going on, suddenly the loud voice interrupt everyone in the farm

jimin ( taehyung elder brother) who was working on peach field came running and ask his mother what happened

She was so worried. The staff members would come at the end of the shift and check the weight of every basket before it reached the market. What if they found out? What would happen to her only job? How would she be able to raise her sons and daughters? Fear took over her face. She sat down on a nearby stone, and tears threatened to come out. Then a hand came on her shoulder like a good sign. Park Shinhye saw her elder son standing there, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

*Park Shinhye gave her elder son a reassuring smile and went to help him fill the basket. Meanwhile, Taehyung was running nonstop. He reached the end of the farm. His shirt bulged slightly, like a pregnant belly, because he was holding strawberries in his shirt. His left hand held his shirt, while his right hand held a half-eaten strawberry. His lips glistened with strawberry syrup, and there was sweat on his forehead. He looked around, and seeing no one, he walked slowly with heavy breaths and reached the specific hut.*

*The big mansion in Seoul rose at the edge of the Han River, all sharp edges and dark glass, as silent and cold as the enigma who owned it — Jungkook.*

The heavy oak doors at the top of the grand staircase swung open without a sound. Jungkook descended, each step measured and deliberate. He wore a formal black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and tailored black pants that cut a sharp silhouette against the mansion’s pale marble. Not a single crease out of place. Not a single hair. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The air in the hall shifted the moment he appeared — colder, heavier. The staff near the foyer instinctively lowered their eyes, their breathing shallow. His aura alone was enough to make knees weak and words die in throats. This was Jeon Jungkook: mateless, merciless, and entirely untouchable.

Jungkook was only 15 when the war took his parents. His father, a soldier from an old-money family with estates across the country, died on the front lines. His mother followed soon after, leaving Jungkook with nothing but a surname and the weight of the Jeon legacy. At that time, Namjoon’s father served as his family’s secretary — the only one who stayed when relatives circled like vultures. Overnight, every business, every estate, every responsibility fell into Jungkook’s hands. A boy forced to become a man. He juggled school by day and boardrooms by night, signing papers he barely understood while his elderly grandparents watched, too frail to help but too proud to let the name fall. He didn’t get to grieve. He got to survive. And somewhere between textbooks and company ledgers, the boy died — leaving behind the cold, untouchable Jeon Jungkook everyone feared today.