Y/N’S POV

A bird in a golden cage is still a prisoner.

The world knew me as Y/N Kim, the First Daughter of the United States.

A picture-perfect young woman, draped in silk and diplomacy. America’s sweetheart. A symbol of grace and perfection, appearing in headlines with carefully curated smiles and scripted responses.

They saw the polished exterior.
They didn’t see the girl suffocating behind it.

For twenty-four years, I had been raised in the blinding glare of the public eye. My every word was measured. My every step was choreographed. My every move was dictated by an unspoken rule:

Be perfect. Or be nothing.

Because in this world, my father wasn’t just my father.

He was the President of the United States.

And I?

I was his most valuable asset.

The American people didn’t see the carefully hidden bruises of control—not on my skin, but on my soul. They didn’t see the invisible leash wrapped around my neck, tightened with every law signed, every handshake exchanged.

But I felt it.

And the only time I ever truly breathed was when I defied it.

That was why, beneath the layers of duty and diplomacy, I had a secret.

I snuck out.

Late at night, when the White House’s security detail shifted, when the city whispered with possibility, I became someone else.

No cameras. No bodyguards. No suffocating expectations.

Just me.

Me and the taste of rebellion, disguised as stolen hours of freedom.

But everything changed the moment my father found out.

And the moment he sent him.

I had done this a hundred times before.

The routine was flawless. Every security shift at the White House ran like clockwork—predictable, calculated, exploitable. It had taken me years to perfect the art of slipping past them.

22 minutes. That was how long I had. The time between the old guards clocking out and the new ones coming in. A 22-minute window to taste freedom.

I moved swiftly, dressed in all black, my hair tucked under a baseball cap. No silk gowns. No diamonds. No expectations. Just me.

I had memorized the blind spots. Knew which cameras lagged by two seconds. Which doors had faulty sensors. Which guards were half-asleep at their posts.

I was a ghost in my own home.

By the time I slipped into the underground garage, my heart was hammering in anticipation. The city was waiting for me. The air of a world where no one whispered my last name.

I was three seconds away from making it when—

BANG.

A gun cocked.

The sound sliced through the silence, freezing me in place.

“Wrong turn, sweetheart.”

Shit.

The voice was deep, laced with amusement—too calm, too confident. Like he was enjoying this.

I turned slowly, pulse hammering.

Jeon Jungkook.

He stepped out from the shadows, black combat boots eating up the concrete like he owned the place. Dark, tousled hair. A tactical jacket left lazily unzipped. The gleam of his shoulder holster catching the dim light.

A soldier stepping into enemy territory—and I was the target.

“Well,” he mused, cocking his head. “Didn’t expect to find the President’s daughter pulling a James Bond stunt in the middle of the night.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a smirk. “Didn’t expect to be caught by a random military guest either.”

His lips curled. Amused. Unbothered. “You wound me, princess. We’re not strangers—I believe you called me an ‘arrogant menace’ the last time we met?”

Damn it. I did.

Jungkook had been my father’s shadow in war zones, a name that existed in hushed, classified conversations. A soldier who had built his career on blood and loyalty.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

But tonight, the President had summoned him to the White House. And somehow, he had ended up here, at the exact moment I was slipping away.

Fucking perfect.

I squared my shoulders. “This is none of your business.”

Jungkook tsked, stepping closer. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” His gaze flickered to the car behind me, his smirk deepening. “Fake plates. Unregistered. Carefully tucked away where no one would think to check. You planned this.”

I said nothing.

“Ah,” he exhaled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “The nation’s golden girl, sneaking out like a rebellious teenager. What would Daddy say?”

I scowled. “He wouldn’t say anything, because you’re going to forget you saw me.”

His brow lifted. “Am I?”

I nodded, stepping forward, lowering my voice to a slow, deliberate whisper. “You’re a guest here, Jeon. A military man, summoned for reasons you don’t know yet. Do you really want your first move in this house to be pissing off the President’s daughter?”

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened.

Then—

I moved.

Fast, shoving past him toward the car.

But I barely made it a step before the air shifted.

One second, I was reaching for the door.

The next—I was airborne.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Jungkook had moved too fast, flipping me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“You know,” he mused, adjusting his grip as I flailed, “for someone who’s trying to sneak out, you’re really bad at it.”

If embarrassment could kill, I would be dead.

Slumped over like a sack of stolen goods, I dangled off some soldier’s broad, obnoxiously sturdy shoulder as he carried me—carried me—down the hallway of the White House like I was a rogue kitten caught sneaking out of the neighbor’s yard.

Not just any soldier. Jeon Jungkook.

And not just any hallway. Straight to my father’s office.

"Put. Me. Down."

"Mm. Nah."

I slammed my fists against his back. “I will have you court-martialed for this.”

"Court-martialed?", he sighed, adjusting his grip like I was a gym bag. 

"Sweetheart, I AM THE COURT. Five-star Field Marshal. Highest-ranking officer in the country. The one your daddy calls when things go to hell." He smirked, voice dripping with lazy arrogance. "Bold of you to assume I’d punish myself, sweetheart.”

The audacity.

The elevator loomed ahead. Jungkook stepped in with a leisurely ease, not even pretending to be fazed by my attempts to wriggle free.

I twisted, nearly elbowing his stomach. “You are insufferable.”

“And you,” he drawled, lips grazing my ear, too damn entertained, “are about to have a very, very awkward conversation with Daddy Dearest.”

DING.

The doors slid open.

And standing there, his face carved from stone, was the President of the United States.

Jungkook didn’t miss a beat.

He flashed a charming, cocky grin, gripping me tighter.

“Sir,” he greeted smoothly. “I believe this belongs to you.”

"You're a dead man," I hissed under my breath.

Jungkook grinned, as if I had just complimented his biceps.

"Not yet, sweetheart. But hey, the night's still young."

Jungkook unceremoniously dropped me into a chair.

"She bites," he warned, flexing his fingers. "Almost took off my ear."

I swung for his head. He dodged, laughing.

President Kim exhaled sharply. "Someone explain."

I opened my mouth—

“Gladly.”

I whipped toward Jungkook, betrayed.

He smiled. Like a wolf spotting easy prey.

"Let’s break this down, shall we?" He paced in front of the desk, hands behind his back, sounding like some twisted detective unveiling a case. "Tonight, our beloved First Daughter attempted a grand escape."

I scowled. "I was not escaping—"

Jungkook ignored me.

"Step one: the disguise." He gestured at my hoodie and sneakers. "Classic ‘I’m definitely not up to anything suspicious’ look. Very original."

I slumped.

"Step two: transportation." He crossed his arms. "A conveniently unregistered car hidden two blocks away? That was cute."

I bit my lip.

"Step three," Jungkook drawled, spinning on his heel to face me, "the missing surveillance footage. Now, that was impressive. You had help—who was it? Lisa from IT? She practically worships you."

I said nothing.

Jungkook smirked. "Lisa it is, then."

I would kill him.

My father’s gaze hardened. "Where were you going?"

I hesitated. “Nowhere—”

“Oh, come on, princess," Jungkook sighed dramatically, like this was some cheap soap opera. "Let’s not insult your father’s intelligence. You think he got here by falling for weak cover stories?"

"Shut up."

Jungkook grinned.

President Kim turned to me, voice low, slow, dangerous. “Explain. Now.”

I floundered.

Jungkook? Did not.

“Based on the unregistered car, the international withdrawal I intercepted when I hacked into her accounts—”

"YOU WHAT?"

He didn’t even look at me.

"—I’d say she was heading to Italy." He tilted his head. "Or was it Greece? I did see two different escape routes—someone was feeling indecisive."

President Kim’s fists curled on the desk.

Jungkook whistled. "Sir, with all due respect, this is classic suffocated rich-kid syndrome. She’s got everything—power, prestige, a nation hanging on her every move—but what she really craves?" He leaned closer to me, voice dropping to a whisper.

"A little danger."

My father exhaled sharply. "Do you have a death wish?"

I swallowed.

"Dad." My voice was softer now. Pleading. "It’s not like that."

"Oh?" His brows rose. "Then what is it like?"

Jungkook beamed. "I’d love to hear this, too."

I turned to him, furious. "You are a menace."

He winked. "And you are far more interesting than I expected."

I opened my mouth—to lie, defend, scream, something—but my father’s voice cut through the air.

“You. Are not. A child.”

I nodded, heart pounding. "I know."

"You are the First Daughter of the United States."

Another nod. Tighter.

"And yet, you are behaving like a reckless, selfish little girl, with no regard for your safety, your country, or your position—"

"I know." My voice cracked.

For a beat, silence.

Then—a heavy sigh.

I knew something was wrong the moment my father exhaled.

I sat across from him, heart still hammering in my chest from the absolute humiliation of being carried in like a damn sack of rice by General Jeon Jungkook.

And speaking of that bastard—

He lounged in his seat like he owned the place, like he hadn’t just manhandled the President’s daughter, like this wasn’t a serious political conversation but rather some late-night poker game where he had all the cards. His black uniform was still pristine, but his tousled hair and the barely-there smirk on his lips? Infuriating.

He wasn’t tense, wasn’t worried. If anything, he looked annoyingly entertained.

He tilted his head toward my father. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Mr. President. You dragged me in here at this ungodly hour, so either the country’s on fire, or you just really wanted to see my face.”

I nearly choked. Who talks to the President like that?

My father didn’t flinch. He simply steepled his fingers together. “There’s a storm brewing, Jungkook, and it’s not one we can outrun.”

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. His fingers, which had been lazily tapping against the desk, stilled. “Oh?” he drawled. “Are we talking foreign invasion, economic collapse, or the good old-fashioned backstabbing from within?”

Father didn’t blink. “Corporate conspiracy.”

The smirk vanished.

The air changed.

Jungkook didn’t lean back now—he leaned in. Every ounce of casual arrogance morphed into razor-sharp focus.

And for the first time tonight, I saw it.

The General. The man who wins wars before the battle even begins.

He never jokes when it comes to power.

“Explain,” he ordered.

I stiffened. He had no right to order my father like that—but the worst part?

My father didn’t even hesitate.

“The economy is stable. The law is absolute. There’s no loophole left unchecked under my administration. No corporation dares challenge me outright. No political opponent can outmaneuver me.” He exhaled, gaze steady. “There is no weapon they can forge to blackmail me—”

And then his eyes landed on me.

A strange chill crawled down my spine.

Jungkook followed his gaze, and then—
His lips parted slightly.
And then… he laughed.

Not a casual laugh, not a harsh one—no, this was amused.

Like a puzzle had just fallen into place.

“Ah,” he breathed. His sharp, dark eyes flicked over me, not like a man looking at a woman—
But like a predator assessing the weak spot in enemy armor.

I stiffened. What?

Father’s voice was flat. “She is my Achilles’ heel. The only point where I can be controlled.”

No.

No. No. No.

Jungkook’s gaze dragged over me again, different this time.

I felt exposed.

“You called him here…” I turned to my father, voice tight. “For me?”

A single nod. “Effective immediately, General Jeon Jungkook is your new Head of Security.”

It hit like a gunshot.

I jerked my head toward Jungkook. “Him?!”

Jungkook simply raised a brow, looking entirely unbothered.

This couldn’t be happening.

I swallowed, clinging to the only hope I had.

“But—” I forced myself to breathe. “You’re a Field Marshal. Why would you—” I turned back to my father, desperate. “He’s too high-ranking. He wouldn’t accept a demotion—”

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook sighed dramatically, voice dripping with mock indulgence. He tapped two fingers to his temple. “What’s the first rule of power? Control the battlefield before the war even begins.”

I gritted my teeth. “And what’s the best way to do that?”

His smirk widened. Deadly. Calculated.

“By controlling the one thing that could burn the kingdom to the ground.”

Me.

I turned to my father, shaking my head. “No. You can’t seriously expect me to—”

“It’s not up for debate.”

I turned back to Jungkook again, desperate. “You don’t even want this. You’re too power-hungry to settle for—”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart.” His voice was lower now, softer—but mocking.

He leaned in slightly, and for the first time tonight, I felt genuinely afraid.

“You’re underestimating me,” he murmured.

A slow smirk curled at his lips.

“A king doesn’t mind stepping off the throne—” his eyes gleamed, dark and dangerous, “if it means taking the whole damn kingdom.”

My stomach dropped.

I turned to my father, a final silent plea.

But he wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were locked on Jungkook’s, as if assessing his worth one final time.

A slow nod.

“You understand the weight of this responsibility?”

Jungkook’s smirk faded completely.

“Sir,” he said, voice steady. “I understand better than anyone.”

A beat.

Then, my father spoke the words that sealed my fate.

“Then she is yours to command.”

I forgot how to breathe.

Jungkook looked back at me.

And in his dark, unreadable eyes, I saw it—

I wasn’t getting away from him.