Chapter Text
Jeon Jungkook ripped off the condom and tossed it in the trash without looking. Beside him lay a pretty little thing—an omega, flushed and ruined, legs trembling, face slack with the haze of orgasm. Jungkook didn’t even remember their name. Not that he cared. But she is a daughter of a prominent minister.
Smirking, Jungkook pulled on his black slacks—expensive, wrinkled, and unapologetically so—then threw on a white tee. His abs flexed in the mirror, sharp lines carved by privilege, power, and a personal trainer who charged more per hour than most people made in a week.
He looked good. He always did.
The apartment was expensive. Not his, of course. Nothing about the night was his—except the pleasure. And the power.
Whistling softly, Jungkook strolled out the door and into the quiet morning light, the omega already forgotten.
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Jeon Jungkook was a name that meant something. Money. Legacy. Power.
Son of one of the nation’s most elite families, Jungkook was the golden boy of the Jeon Empire. His mother, head of an international conglomerate; his father, a high-ranking official whose influence was whispered about in backrooms and boardrooms alike. Jungkook had been born with everything—looks, charm, money, and the kind of arrogance that can’t be taught, only inherited.
He was an alpha, of course. A natural-born predator, heir to generations of refined dominance. It bled from his every pore—from the sharpness of his gaze to the confidence of his stride. Wherever he walked, people parted. Eyes followed. Mouths whispered.
And he knew it.
He had never been told ‘no’ — and if he was, he simply didn’t hear it.
Alphas loved him. Omegas wanted him. Betas either idolized or despised him. But Jungkook? He didn’t care.
Fucking was a game. Love didn’t exist. Commitment was a joke. And queerness?
He didn’t understand it — didn’t care to. It made him uncomfortable. Not because it threatened him, but because it didn’t fit into his version of the world. His circle of rich alpha friends mocked anything outside their carefully curated norm.
At 23, Jungkook was in his third year of Law at one of the most prestigious universities in the country. A degree he didn’t care much about, a path paved for him before he was even born. He went to class. He took exams. But his real education was in the women he fucked, the parties he ruled, the whispered power he wielded with a glance.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome. It was criminal, really—how good he looked. Tousled black hair, sharp jawline, eyes like trouble. A smirk that could make omegas ache and alphas flinch.
He liked the library—not for the books, but for the quiet. And the privacy. There were corners in that massive building where he could pin a pretty thing against the shelf and make them forget their own name. It was also the one place he had to frequent—Law majors lived in case studies and legal precedents.
Still, Jungkook wasn’t a complete slacker. He didn’t get average grades. Not because he worked hard, but because he was naturally good at everything he did. It annoyed his professors, frustrated his classmates, and gave him one more reason to be cocky.
He had friends—mostly other alphas from similar bloodlines. They drank together, hunted together, talked about conquests like trophies. None of them knew him, not really. Not even close.
Because beneath all that polish and predatory charm, there was something Jungkook didn’t understand. A hollowness. A hunger he couldn’t name. And he buried it—under bodies, under bravado, under the echo of his own smirk.
He didn’t believe in soulmates. Thought omegas were soft, and betas forgettable. He scoffed at rumors of Enigmas—called it fairytale shit for romantics and fools.
He had never met someone who made him stop.
He didn’t know he was about to.
Not yet.
But soon.