The hour of the pig had come and gone, the moon rising high over the tiled roofs of the Jeon estate, casting silver shadows across the ancient timbers that had witnessed centuries of family secrets, whispered betrayals, and now—this. This corruption. This surrender. This deliberate, delicious destruction of every moral boundary that had once held Taehyung's world in place.

She stood before the heavy oak door of the east wing master suite, her hand trembling as it hovered over the brass handle shaped like a coiling dragon, the metal cool against her fevered skin. She had spent the hours since Jungkook's departure from his study in a haze of anticipation and terror, her body still marked by his earlier claiming—the drying essence on her skin, the bruises blooming on her hips, the ache between her thighs that reminded her with every step exactly who she belonged to now.