(Jungkook's POV)
I hadn’t slept in three days.
The silence in my Moscow suite was unbearable—too still, too clean. Jimin had swept the entire system. Yoongi rewrote our firewall. Boris dropped off-grid.
But I could still feel her.
Like smoke that lingered after a fire. Like a whisper in a locked room.
She was gone.
And yet she wasn’t.
I tried to drown her out—with vodka, with rage, with the bodies of willing women who meant nothing—but she was etched behind my eyelids. Her words kept crawling through the cracks in my skull.
"You bleed louder than you think, King.”
I didn’t even know her face.
And yet I could feel her fingerprints on my thoughts.
She hadn’t just broken in.
She’d marked me.
It started with a headache.
A sharp, knifing pulse behind my eyes as I sat at the desk, staring into static.
Then—darkness.
I thought I’d passed out.
But when I opened my eyes, the room wasn’t mine anymore.
Everything was off.
Too quiet. The shadows didn’t move right. The air was thicker, hotter, laced with something that wasn’t smoke but felt like sin.
Then I saw her.
Standing by the far wall.
Backlit by flickering monitors that weren’t plugged in.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t need to.
She looked like a hallucination hand-carved by the devil.
Long raven hair in tangled waves. Eyes black as oblivion. Skin kissed with moonlight and war. Tattoos coiled over her arms like sacred geometry, winding down to her fingers, crawling over her ribs and disappearing beneath—
A black bra top.
Tight. Barely covering her.
A short, strappy skirt clung to her hips, swaying with her breath. Sharp boots laced up her thighs. Every inch of her was crafted like a warning.
And her mouth?
That smirk alone could trigger a war.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
But it wasn’t her beauty that stole my breath.
It was the power in her stillness.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t care.
Her eyes flicked over me slowly.
Like I was just another code to break.
“Who the fuck are you?” I said.
I didn’t recognize my own voice. It came out hoarse. Hungry.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Instead—she laughed.
Low and dark. A cigarette burn across my spine.
The monitors behind her blinked.
One word at a time appeared, repeating, glitching.
NYX
NYX
NYX
I took a step forward.
She didn’t move.
Another step.
Still nothing.
I was close enough to see the gleam of metal on her lip ring. The shimmer of ink above her navel. The coldness in her stare that turned my blood to ice.
Then—her fingers reached out.
And touched my chest.
Just one finger.
That was all it took.
My veins lit up.
As if someone had injected fire into me. I staggered, choking on the sensation. Every nerve in my body screamed with something I couldn’t name. Pleasure, pain, fury—lust.
I grabbed her wrist.
But she didn’t pull away.
She leaned in, lips brushing my ear, and whispered:
“You’ll burn for me, King.”
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, heart galloping like a bullet train.
The room was exactly how I left it.
Dark.
Empty.
But I could still feel her.
My shirt stuck to my chest. My throat was dry. My hands trembled.
I looked down—and saw the faint outline of a fingerprint burned into my skin.
Dead center of my chest.
Exactly where she touched me.
I scrambled to the mirror, dragging my shirt up.
Nothing.
Gone.
Like it never happened.
But it had.
Somehow.
Jimin stormed in ten minutes later, pistol drawn. “I heard you yell. What the fuck—?”
“She was here,” I rasped.
He stilled. “Who?”
“Her.”
His face darkened. “NYX?”
I nodded, wiping sweat from my brow.
“In your room?”
“No. In my head.”
Jimin didn’t laugh. He didn’t question. That scared me more.
“She got in, Jimin. Not through code. Through me.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t—dream?”
“It wasn’t a dream.”
I remembered the sound of her voice. The cold silk of her skin. The scent of cigarettes and frost and electricity.
“You saw her face?”
“No,” I said.
I saw something else.
Something I couldn’t erase.
I shut down all access to my systems for 24 hours.
Locked myself in.
Cameras off. Phones dead.
I paced for hours, trying to scrub her from my brain. But the harder I tried, the louder she became.
The vision kept playing in my head on repeat.
That finger on my chest.
That smirk.
That body.
That power.
She didn’t seduce me.
She overloaded me.
I wanted to kill her.
I wanted to touch her.
I wanted her to beg.
I wanted her to burn.
Yoongi called.
I ignored it.
Denis messaged.
I deleted it.
Only one voice mattered now.
Only one woman existed.
And she wasn’t even real.
Or maybe she was.
And I’d just seen a slice of the goddess who lived in wires and smoke.
Either way—
She’d won this round.
But I’d win the war.
One day, she’ll slip.
She’ll think I’m broken.
She’ll get close again.
And when she does?
I’ll be ready.
I’ll wrap my hands around her throat, not to kill—
—but to force her to look at me the way she deserves to:
In awe.
Because I’ve never craved anything more in my life.
Not revenge.
Not blood.
Not power.
Her.
And yet… I don’t even know her name.
To be continued...
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