𝗚𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿: 𝑨 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒍

A/N:

Come closer, gorgeous… let me lace my fingers through your hair and pull you into a world where danger tastes sweet and betrayal feels addictive.

One wrong touch can ruin your whole damn life, and I’ll show you every forbidden thing your pulse is begging for.

Don’t just read this story—

obey it. Be good… and follow me.”

-beee ♡

I threw the drink back in one shot.

The burn hit my throat so fast I sucked in a sharp breath, groaning as I slammed the glass on the counter hard enough to almost break it.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered tonight.

The glass joined the messy army of others lined beside me—empty, useless, just like the promises I had been holding on to.

I was drunk to the core. But the pain was still there. Alcohol couldn’t drown it.

Nothing could.

A sob crawled out of me before I could swallow it back.

It had been sitting in my throat all night, waiting for the moment I finally stopped pretending to be strong.

And once it escaped, the tears followed.

Lily, the bartender, looked at me with wide, worried eyes.

She always tried to be gentle with me, even on nights like this when I knew I looked like a complete disaster.

I didn’t bother wiping the tears.

I just lifted my hand and signalled for another drink.

Lily hesitated, biting her lip.

“Miss Mehra… you really shouldn’t drink anymore.”

I turned to her slowly.

I must’ve been a sight—smudged makeup, swollen eyes, grief licking at the edges of my smile.

And then I laughed.

A loud, broken laugh that made Lily actually flinch.

It didn’t even sound like me.

My laughter faded as quickly as it started, dying somewhere in the back of my throat when my phone buzzed inside my purse.

The sound felt too loud in the quiet corner of the bar.

I blinked hard, trying to focus, and pulled the phone out with shaking fingers.

The name on the screen blurred for a second before becoming clear… then the screen went black—the call rejecting itself because I didn’t pick up in time.

I stared at it blankly.

A second later, the screen lit up again.

Jungkook.

I closed my eyes.

Jungkook.

Because of him… everything started.

Because of him, my life twisted into something I no longer recognized.

Because of him, I was sitting alone in a Seoul city bar, drowning myself in alcohol and memories that refused to die.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

My vision wavered.

And for a moment, the whole room felt like it was spinning backwards—pulling me straight into the past I had been trying so hard to forget.

And just like that…

The flashback swallowed me whole.

Flashback [3 years ago]

“Trust me, Kaku… I’ll pay the rent in a few days.”

My voice sounded thinner than I wanted it to.

Manda Kaku stood at the door of my tiny, falling-apart apartment, her arms crossed and her expression carved from stone. She had been patient for too long, and patience wasn’t free in Mumbai.

“You get five days, Sia,” she said flatly. “Not a day more. If you fail, I’m throwing you out. I have no choice.”

I nodded quickly, even though worry was already choking me.

Kaku gave one last stern look and shut the door, the sound echoing through the small space.

I leaned back against it, pressing my forehead to the peeling wood.

The apartment stared back at me

“Ten thousand rupees for this crap?” I muttered.

But it was all I had.

My only option in a city that didn’t care whether I lived or disappeared.

I closed my eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

I had run away from home just last month—clutching the only precious thing I owned: my mother’s jewellery.

It was the last piece of her I had left, and I sold half of it just to escape.

To escape

him

.

My drunk father, who didn’t even blink before trying to sell me to some man who ran prostitution racket in return for cash.

I fled to Mumbai the same night, heart pounding, vision blurry, hands shaking.

I had just turned eighteen this year, terrified, and alone.

But I found work as a maid.

I found this horrible, broken apartment.

And for the first time in years… I found a small, fragile kind of freedom.

Then the rain started suddenly, like the sky had finally lost its patience.

Within minutes, my ceiling began leaking again—this time like a full waterfall crashing into my room.

“Oh, great,” I muttered, grabbing a bucket and a mop.

But the water kept coming, filling the floor faster than I could push it back.

My tiny apartment slowly turned into a shallow swimming pool.

“This place is going to drown me before life does,” I grumbled under my breath.

And then—

BANG

.

A gunshot tore through the night.

I flinched so hard the mop slipped out of my hand.

My foot skidded on the wet floor and I fell straight into the cold water with a splash.

I didn’t even get the time to breathe.

When my front door burst open so violently it hit the wall behind it, and a huge man stumbled inside my apartment.

He wore a black suit, soaked from the rain, the white shirt stuck to his body with blood.

A deep wound on his waist pulsed with every breath he took.

My eyes followed the blood up his torso… to his face.

He wasn’t Indian.

He looked Korean—sharp eyes, pale skin, dark hair glued to his forehead from the storm outside.

His gaze met mine. And I saw his eyes getting wide, and his mouth fell open.

I swear… I heard his breath hitch.

Then he collapsed.

He hit the flooded floor hard, clutching his waist as his face twisted in pain.

Instinct took over before fear could.

“Oh my god—” I gasped, rushing to him and falling to my knees beside his shaking body.

He lifted a trembling finger to his lips, signaling me to keep quiet.

His eyes were begging.

I nodded without thinking.

And then he fainted.

His body went still, and the water around us slowly turned red his blood curling into the puddles.

The moment he fainted, I heard it

footsteps.

Too many of them.

My heart jumped into my throat.

Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the door shutting it close, turning the lock as quietly as I could. My fingers shook so hard I almost dropped the bolt.

The footsteps were getting closer.

Voices were Shouting. Panic hit me.

I ran back to him—this stranger bleeding all over my floor—and pulled him onto my lap. His body was heavy, his suit soaked, but I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him tight, hiding him behind me.

If someone peeked through the window, they wouldn’t see him.

They would only see me.

Just a scared girl in a ruined apartment.

Shadows swept across my window—tall shapes, moving fast.

Someone shouted something in a language I didn’t understand.

Someone else banged on a door down the corridor.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, forcing myself to stay silent.

My breathing was loud, too loud, like the whole building could hear it.

The shadows paused outside my door.

I froze.

Seconds stretched like hours.

My heartbeat punched against my ribs.

Then—slowly—the shadows moved away.

The shouting faded. Footsteps grew distant. And finally… silence.

I let out a shaky breath, every muscle in my body loosened at once.

Only then did I look down at him again.

He was still unconscious, head resting against my shoulder, his dark hair brushing my cheek.

And now that I saw him up close—

God… he was young not a old man that I had imagined him to be.

And he was beautiful in a way that didn’t feel real.

Strong jaw, soft mouth, long lashes resting against pale skin.

Even covered in blood, he looked unreal.

And I sat there, soaked, trembling, holding a stranger who could ruin my entire life…

While thinking how impossibly handsome he was.

---

By the time night settled in, the rain had finally stopped.

My apartment smelled like damp walls and Dettol, but at least the water was gone.

I had spent the last hour mopping, drying, fixing, cursing…and somehow dragging the stranger all the way from the living room to my bed.

He was heavy.

Huge, actually.

A wall of muscle and dead weight.

But adrenaline turns anyone into Superman, I guess.

His wound wouldn’t stop bleeding, and I didn’t know whether the bullet was still inside or not.

I wasn’t a doctor.

I wasn’t even close.

But I cleaned it carefully, dressed it the best I could, and prayed he wouldn’t die in my bed.

Now I stood in my tiny kitchen, stirring the last bit of food I had left.

A simple dinner—rice and boiled vegetables.

My stomach growled, but my eyes kept drifting to the bedroom door.

Was he even alive?

I turned the gas off and finally walked to check.

My heart thumped strangely as I pushed the door open.

He layed there on my bed—shirt half unbuttoned, abs peeking out, skin pale under the yellow bulb.

Blood stained the makeshift bandage.

His hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, and even injured… he looked unfairly good.

I hated that my first thought was: Wow… he’s sexy.

Why was my brain like this?

I stepped closer, watching his chest carefully.

His breathing was shallow.

Not steady.

Not safe.

Panic crawled up my spine.

I leaned in, reaching out to check his temperature—just to see if his skin was cold or burning or anything that meant he was alive.

But the moment my fingers neared his forehead His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist.

I gasped so loud it echoed in the tiny room.

His eyes snapped open—bloodshot red, wild, confused—and locked onto mine.

My breath froze, stuck somewhere in my chest.

Before I could say a word, he shoved me back, not violently, just with the desperate strength of someone who didn’t know where he was.

I fell on my butt with a painful thud.

“Ow—” I groaned.

He groaned too, sitting up, clutching his side.

My eyes widened when I saw blood seeping through the fresh bandage again.

“Oh god, no—no, no, no,” I rushed up immediately.

“You’ll open it more—just lie down, please—please—”

He blinked at me with those huge, doe-like eyes, still foggy, still confused, still trying to understand why he was on a stranger’s bed…

And why that stranger was begging him to stop bleeding.

He was trying to steady his breath, and then his voice came out low and rough.

“…Where am I?”

I froze for a second.

He spoke my language.

Perfectly.

The shock made my words catch in my throat before they finally found their way out.

“You’re in my house,” I said slowly. “Well… apartment.”

I pointed toward the door.

“You barged in. Fell on my floor. And I… wrapped your wound because you were bleeding everywhere.”

His gaze dropped to his side.

Blood had already soaked through the cloth again.

Without thinking, I reached forward to check the bandage, my fingers brushing gently against the wet fabric.

“Did the bullet hit you?” I asked quietly. “Is it still inside?”

He didn’t answer.

So I looked up.

He was staring at me.

Not in anger.

Not in suspicion.

Just… staring.

There was something in his eyes I didn’t recognize—something raw, searching, almost startled.

Like he was trying to understand why a stranger had touched him at all.

I felt my cheeks warm under his gaze.

After a long moment, he finally spoke.

“No. It didn’t go in. Just… grazed me.”

A breath I’d been holding slipped out.

“Good. That’s… good.”

Silence filled the space for a moment, soft and strange.

Then I cleared my throat.

“I should change your bandage. This one’s already ruined.”

He nodded once, slow and quiet.

But his eyes stayed on me, steady and unblinking, as if he didn’t trust the world but was somehow trusting me.

And for a second—

just a tiny, ridiculous second—

I felt another blush creeping up my neck.

I sat beside him and began changing the bandage carefully, trying my hardest not to touch his skin.

And trying even harder not to stare at his abs—because God, they were right there, and my eyes had zero discipline.

Focus, Sia.

Not the time.

His gaze stayed on me the whole time, heavy enough to make my stomach twist.

I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of my messy hair, old T-shirt, and the fact that a literal stranger was staring at my face like he was studying every detail.

Questions kept filling my mind, one after another.

Who is he?

Why was he shot?

Why were so many people chasing him?

Why did he run into my apartment?

My eyebrows were practically glued into a frown.

I looked up by mistake…and caught him frowning too—like he could read every thought spilling out of my head.

It startled me enough to force out a tiny smile.

“What?” I asked. “What are you looking at?”

His answer was simple.

Too simple for my liking.

“I’m a gangster,” he said quietly.

“There was a gang war. I escaped. They’re after me.”

I stared at him.

No blinking.

No breathing.

My brain completely lagged.

A gangster.

In my house.

On my bed.

Eating up all my oxygen.

I felt dizzy. I felt stupid. I felt terrified.

And also somehow fascinated.

“How do you even know what I’m thinking?” I blurted out, nearly falling off my chair.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t look nervous.

He just gave me this small smile—soft, unexpected, all teeth.

A bunny smile.

A gangster with a bunny smile.

Great. My brain was breaking.

“Why would you tell me all this?” I asked, “Aren’t you scared I’ll call the police or something?”

His smile lingered for a second longer.

I waited for an answer.

Maybe a threat.

Maybe a warning.

Instead, he said calmly, “I know you won’t.”

That freaked me out more than anything else. I almost got up to run, but I forced myself to stay still.

I took a deep breath.

Wiped my mind clean, so he couldn’t “read” whatever he was reading.

I focused on wrapping the fresh bandage tightly. When I finished, I stood up quickly, avoiding his eyes.

“You should eat,” I muttered.

He nodded.

I brought two plates to the room and sat on the floor, both of us eating in complete silence.

Just the sound of spoons hitting cheap steel.

“I’m sorry the food is not good,” I said softly. “I’m low on money.”

He didn’t say anything.

He just kept eating quietly… like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days.

And somehow… that made me smile.

After we finished eating, I quietly cleaned the plates and pushed my small mattress to the floor.

I spread out the thin blanket, trying to ignore the fact that a complete stranger — an actual gangster — was lying on my bed.

Before turning off the light, I pointed a finger at him.

“Just so you know,” I warned, trying to sound dangerous, “if you try anything funny while I am asleep, remember I can kill too. You may be a gangster outside, but this is my house. Here, I’m the gangster.”

For a second, he just stared at me.

Then he burst out laughing.

Not a small laugh — a full, loud, sudden laugh that made him clutch his side in pain.

“Ah—ah—stop—” he groaned, holding his stomach.

I crossed my arms, frowning.

“I’m serious!”

Which somehow made him laugh even harder.

I threw a pillow at him.

That finally shut him up, though he was still smiling like an idiot.

After a moment, he looked at me, eyes softer than before.

“So… you’re a gangster now?” he teased.

“Are you trying to be my competitor?”

I rolled my eyes and turned away so he wouldn’t see me smile.

“Just sleep… um—”

I stopped.

I didn’t even know his name.

He seemed to realize that too. He held my gaze for a second, then answered quietly,

“…

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

The name wrapped itself around the room like a shadow, like a warning, like a strange new beginning.

I nodded once.

“

Sia

,” I said. “

Sia Mehra

.”

We didn’t speak after that.

He lay back on my bed, eyes closing slowly.

I curled up on the mattress on the floor, hugging my blanket.

And that was the first night

Jeon Jungkook slept in my home.

The first night that changed everything.