Jungwon

~COOK Life with a mafia husband was nothing short of unpredictable—days were painted with danger, nights were filled with tension, and yet somewhere in between, you found glimpses of something that felt almost normal. The man feared across the city, whose name sent rivals trembling and allies bowing, was the same man who shared a roof with you. Jungwon was ruthless in meetings, calculated with his men, and merciless to those who dared cross him. You had seen his hands stained with blood, his voice command silence, his eyes turn cold as stone. But tonight was different. Tonight, instead of orchestrating chaos, he stood in your kitchen, shirt discarded carelessly on a chair, the soft glow of the overhead light brushing against his bare skin. The sizzle of garlic in the pan filled the air, a sound so ordinary that it almost felt foreign in your world. His broad shoulders moved with ease as he stirred the pan, his muscles flexing beneath the golden light, each motion precise and controlled like everything else he did. You leaned against the doorway, unsure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it or to stare in awe. This was the man people called a monster, the one everyone feared—and yet here he was, cooking dinner like an ordinary husband. And maybe that was what shook you the most: not the power he held outside, but the intimacy of seeing him stripped of it inside, shirtless and barefoot, humming lowly under his breath as though violence had never touched him.