Kim Taehyung—Tae to everyone who knew her—was the kind of woman who made heads turn wherever she went. With her snow–white skin, pouty pink lips, and big, starry eyes, she was almost unreal in her beauty. Add to that her sinful body—big boobs that strained against her tight tops and a plump ass that bounced beneath the slutty skirts and dresses she loved to wear—and it was no wonder strangers often stared openly, unable to look away.

Her husband, Jeon Jeongguk, however, never seemed to notice the greedy eyes of others. He adored her with a pure, untainted love. At only twenty–six, he was young, rich, and innocent in a way rare for a man of his status. He worked in the family business, but to him, home was where his heart belonged—home was Tae. He spoiled her with affection, bought her expensive gifts, and kissed her every morning like it was the first day of their marriage.

Their life together looked perfect: candlelight dinners in their mansion’s garden, lazy mornings where Jeongguk would bring her breakfast in bed, and long evenings curled on the couch, where Tae would wear something barely decent and giggle when her shy husband blushed.

But perfection, Tae knew, was fragile.

One evening, Jeongguk came into their bedroom while she was sprawled across the bed in nothing but a satin camisole that barely covered her breasts. He looked hesitant, sitting down beside her and taking her hand.

“Tae,” he began softly, “I’ve been thinking. My uncle… well, he’s old now. He lives alone, and the family has been worried about him. I was wondering if we could bring him here. Just for a while. He could use company, and I’d feel better knowing he’s cared for.”

Tae blinked, sitting up. “Uncle?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jeongguk explained. “He’s seventy now. But he’s still strong, stubborn. I think he’d be happier with us.”

Inside, Tae recoiled. The idea of sharing her home, her space, her marriage with some old man made her want to snap. But she was Jeongguk’s perfect wife—the sweet, understanding Tae who never raised her voice, who supported her husband’s every decision. So she forced a smile, tilting her head cutely.

“Of course, Gguk,” she said smoothly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “If it makes you happy, let’s bring him here.”

And so, a week later, Jeon Jungkook arrived.

The moment she saw him, Tae felt her body tense. This was no frail, wrinkled old man she had imagined. Jungkook was tall, broad, his shoulders filling the doorway as if the house itself had shrunk to accommodate him. His hair was streaked silver, his jaw square and shadowed with age, but his body—still muscled, still powerful—radiated dominance. His eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over her the instant they met, lingering just a fraction too long on her breasts spilling from her low–cut dress.

Tae forced her sweetest smile, even as heat coiled low in her stomach. “Welcome, Uncle,” she said politely, though she noticed the way his lips curved into a smirk, as if he already knew she didn’t mean it.

From that very first day, Jungkook made his presence felt. He was arrogant, his voice deep and commanding whenever he spoke, making even Jeongguk shrink slightly in respect. He would sit at the dining table like a king, broad arms folded as he watched Tae glide around in her tight skirts and silk blouses. His eyes followed every sway of her hips, every bounce of her breasts, and though she pretended to be disgusted, turning her nose up and avoiding his gaze, a strange thrill rushed through her veins.

At night, she would slip into bed beside her innocent husband, his arms wrapping around her like a boy clinging to his first love, while she stared at the ceiling, the memory of Jungkook’s burning gaze replaying in her mind.

She told herself she hated it. She told herself it was disgusting.

But deep down, Tae knew the truth. She liked being seen. She liked being wanted—not with shy affection like Jeongguk gave her, but with raw, hungry lust like Jungkook’s eyes promised.

And as the days passed, it became harder to ignore the fact that in her perfect home, with her perfect husband, there now lived a storm—an old man whose gaze stripped her bare, and whose very presence made her heart race for all the wrong reasons.