Monsters and Moths

# KOHL & SCARS

## CHAPTER 1: Monsters and Moths

The political headquarters of the Singhania family wasn't just a house; it was a sprawling, formidable estate in the heart of Lucknow. While their ancestral home in Lakhimpur held their history, this Lucknow haveli was where their power was truly wielded.

The evening air rolling off the Gomti River was thick and humid, but inside Meera’s dressing room, the chill of anxiety was freezing.

"Hold still, Meera," Kavya whispered, her fingers swiftly pinning the heavy crimson dupatta to Meera’s shoulder. Kavya was the daughter of her father’s chief advisor and the only true friend Meera had in this fortress. Kavya was everything Meera wasn't allowed to be—outspoken, sharp-eyed, and endlessly curious.

"They're already at the front gates," Kavya continued, her voice dropping to a thrilling, terrified pitch. "My father said the Korean boss brought his entire family. They deal in shipping routes and... other things. Dark things, Meera."

Meera didn't reply. She kept her gaze fixed on the reflection of the massive, ornate brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling behind them. The decorative brass lights in the Lucknow estate were massive, intricate pieces, casting beautiful, fractured shadows against the walls. It was a beautiful cage.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened, and the fragile peace in the room shattered.

Meera’s mother, Radha, hurried in. She was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was overshadowed by a permanent, haunting nervousness. She wrung her hands together, the heavy gold bangles on her wrists clashing loudly.

"Are you ready? He is coming. Your father is coming upstairs," Radha stammered, her eyes wide with that familiar, hollow panic. She rushed to Meera, unnecessarily smoothing down the immaculate silk of her suit. "Remember what I told you. Keep your eyes on the marble floor. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not anger him today, Meera. Please."

"I know, Ma," Meera said softly, her heart aching at the sheer terror in her mother’s eyes. Her mother had never been rebellious. She had survived this abusive marriage by becoming a shadow, a ghost who only existed to agree with her husband.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. Radha visibly flinched, stepping back.

Mr. Singhania filled the doorway. He was a tall, imposing man, dressed in a crisp, spotless white kurta that hid the blackened state of his soul. His eyes swept the room, entirely ignoring his trembling wife and Kavya, landing sharply on his daughter.

"Downstairs. Now," he commanded.

As Meera walked past him, his large hand suddenly clamped down on her upper arm. His grip was a vice, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to guarantee a bruise by morning.

Meera gasped softly, freezing in her tracks.

"This alliance is worth more than your life," her father hissed into her ear, his breath smelling of chewing tobacco and malice. "If you do anything to embarrass me in front of the Jeons, you know exactly what will happen. Nod if you understand."

"I understand, Papa," Meera choked out, keeping her eyes glued to his polished leather shoes.

He shoved her forward slightly, releasing his grip. "Then walk."

The grand central courtyard was a sea of armed guards and political sycophants. Meera took her place beside her mother at the base of the grand staircase, with Kavya standing respectfully a few paces behind them.

The heavy, iron-wrought doors of the haveli groaned open.

A fleet of sleek, black SUVs had pulled up into the driveway. The silence that fell over the courtyard was deafening, broken only by the crunch of expensive tires on gravel and the gentle clinking of the brass lights swaying in the evening breeze.

The doors of the lead vehicle opened.

The man who stepped out first commanded the air in the courtyard instantly. Mr. Jeon was older, his hair peppered with silver, dressed in an immaculate, dark three-piece suit. But it was his face that made Meera’s blood run cold. It was a face carved from stone—ruthless, entirely devoid of warmth, with eyes that looked like they had watched empires burn and felt absolutely nothing. This was a man who ruled in the dark.

But then, the door on the opposite side opened, and a woman stepped out.

She was breathtakingly elegant, wrapped in a soft, tailored coat. Mrs. Jeon stood beside her terrifying husband, but her energy was vastly different. When she looked toward the steps and made eye contact with Meera’s mother, she offered a small, remarkably kind smile. It was a soft, maternal warmth that felt completely alien in this courtyard of guns and politics. Meera felt a sudden, bizarre twist of comfort just looking at her.

"Welcome, Mr. Jeon!" Mr. Singhania boomed, marching forward with his arms wide open in a show of fake, political brotherhood.

"Singhania," Mr. Jeon replied. His voice was quiet, yet it carried over the entire courtyard, laced with a dangerous authority.

"And your son?" Meera's father asked, looking toward the vehicles. "I was told your heir would be joining us."

The back door of the second SUV swung open.

A heavy, combat-booted foot stepped out onto the Lucknow gravel.

Meera forgot how to breathe.

He was young—perhaps only a year or two older than her—but the aura he carried was suffocatingly lethal. He wore black cargo pants and a loose, black button-down shirt that clung to broad shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing skin entirely covered in dark, intricate tattoos that snaked up his forearms and vanished under the dark fabric. Silver hoops pierced his ears and his lower lip, glinting under the warm brass lights of the haveli.

Jeon Jungkook didn't just walk into the courtyard; he stalked in like a predator surveying a new hunting ground. His face was a masterpiece of cold indifference, a stark contrast to his father’s calculated cruelty and his mother’s soft kindness. Jungkook simply looked bored, dangerous, and completely untouchable.

"My son, Jungkook," Mr. Jeon introduced, not even turning to look at the boy. "He handles my... enforcement."

Jungkook didn't bow. He didn't offer a greeting. He merely slipped a hand into his pocket and slowly dragged his dark, piercing eyes over the Singhania guards, dismissing them all as threats within three seconds.

Then, his gaze moved to the grand staircase.

Meera remembered her mother’s frantic warning. *Keep your eyes on the floor.* But she was paralyzed. Like a moth drawn to a devastating, consuming flame, she couldn't look away.

Jungkook’s eyes locked onto hers.

The world around them—her father’s booming voice, the armed guards, Kavya’s quiet gasp behind her—faded entirely into white noise.

Jungkook stopped walking. His dark, endless eyes tracked over the heavy crimson dupatta, the kohl rimming her wide, terrified eyes, and finally, the delicate way her hands trembled where they were clutched in front of her.

He didn't smirk. He didn't look away. The boredom instantly vanished from his features, replaced by something far more dangerous. It was an intense, heavy focus. A lethal curiosity.

Meera’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She was looking right at the monster her father had invited into their home. But as Jungkook stared at her, the dark intensity in his eyes making the air in her lungs vanish, Meera realized a terrifying truth.