It was said that Kim Taehyung didn't exist.
There were whispers in the darkest corners of Seoul—of a man who moved without sound, whose eyes could stop a heart mid-beat, whose name was only ever spoken behind locked doors and through trembling lips. They called him the Phantom Prince.
No one knew where he came from. No one knew how he rose to power. But everyone feared him. Not because he shouted or spilled blood without cause—but because he didn't have to. Kim Taehyung was silence wrapped in silk and steel. When he entered a room, people forgot how to breathe.
Tonight, he stood at the highest floor of the Moonspire Tower, a glass of red wine resting between his gloved fingers. His black suit fit him like sin—tailored to perfection, sharp enough to wound. The city lights stretched beneath him like a sea of dying stars, but his gaze didn't flicker. Nothing ever stirred him. Not anymore.
He turned from the glass wall slowly, the moonlight casting a cold silver sheen over his features. Beautiful. Impossibly beautiful. But there was nothing soft about him. Everything about Taehyung was deliberate. Controlled. Frozen.
"Boss," came a voice behind him—low, cautious.
Taehyung didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the marble desk, placed his wine down, and removed one black glove. Only then did he speak. "Report."
Jimin—his right-hand man—stepped forward. "The rival gang's safehouse has been taken care of. No witnesses. No survivors. As you ordered."
Taehyung nodded once. Approval didn't need words.
Jimin hesitated. "But there's been talk… of someone new. A boy. Young. They say he's from the Jeon family."
That name.
Taehyung's fingers tapped against the edge of his desk.
Jeon.
A name soaked in betrayal. In war. In broken promises. Taehyung had buried that name years ago—along with the people who carried it.
"And?" Taehyung's voice was cold silk.
"Apparently, he's poor. Abandoned. But…" Jimin glanced up. "He doesn't know who you are. Or what you did to them."
Taehyung's jaw twitched.
Good.
"Leave him," Taehyung said. "For now."
Jimin bowed and left without another word.
Alone again, Taehyung returned to the window. A flicker of something—something unfamiliar—moved behind his eyes.
It wasn't guilt. It wasn't curiosity.
It was…
Longing?
He scoffed. Ridiculous.
There was no room for softness in his world. No space for innocence. No use for boys with pretty eyes and trembling hands.
And yet—
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. A shift. A storm. A heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Taehyung exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the night.
"Let it come," he whispered.
Outside, far below, the city slept. But the Phantom Prince did not.
He was waiting.
And fate… was already moving toward him.