?MY BILLIONAIRE TWINS ?|| JIKOOK

JUNGKOOK POV

I look at my watch again
then look at the closed door
to Guk's room.

Again.

How is it possible that he's always running late?

We went to the same club last night, had the same drinks, talked to the same pretty Omegas.

But of course he decided to
stay late, even though I
warned him that this very
thing would happen.

And now?

Now that it's Monday morning and we should be in a limo on the way to the airport?

I'm dressed and packed and
he's asleep.

Probably still drunk.

"Guk." I call out, finally giving
up hope that he'll emerge from his room on his own.

"I'm counting to three and
then I'm coming in there."

I wait for a moment by the
door but I can't hear anything except for the slow beat of
music in the background.

"One."

I wait a few more seconds.

Still nothing.

"Two..."

Why does he insist on acting
like he's still a spoiled teenager?

We have actual business to
take care of this week.

"I swear to God, if you don't
get your ass out of bed right now, I'm going to sell the
damn chateau and just be
done with this whole thing."

My threat sounds almost believable but even if he heard me, he's probably not bothered.

He knows I won't actually
follow through with it anyway.

"Fine." I say, shrugging to myself.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

I pause and put my hand on
the doorknob, unsure of what
I'll find when I open the door.

"Three."

I squint as the door swings
wide and peer into the
darkened room.

Between the blackout curtains and the slow, pulsating beat, it almost feels like an extension of the club we were at last night.

Then I see movement and I
sigh as two giggling, half-naked Omegas rush past me.

They were definitely left over from last night.

"Jesus, Guk." I say, moving toward the large window and throwing open the curtains.

I can't help but smile a little as the morning sunlight streams in and hits him right in the face.

"What the fuck." he tosses in
the tangled bed sheets and
pulls a pillow over his head.

I'm seriously tempted to
smother him with it.

Instead, I walk to his closet
and grab a suitcase.

It may be beneath me to act
like his maid but I know from experience that it's the path of least resistance and we really
do have to get to the airport.

"Get up." I demand, tossing
an armful of shirts and pants
into the suitcase.

I don't even look at what I'm packing, It's not like he won't just buy more clothes while
we're in France anyway.

"We're late."

"And you look like shit."

"Fuck off."