Chapter Text
Chapter 1
I woke up from the chill of the early morning, my shoulders aching from falling asleep at my desk after a night of cramming for today’s project deadlines.
“Damn,” I muttered, rubbing my temples as a pounding headache started to settle in. My desk was a battlefield of pens, rulers, and crumpled papers, the kind of chaos only an all-nighter could create. The harsh daylight outside felt like an assault on my dry eyes, so I quickly pulled down the blinds to salvage what little sanity I had left.
With a groan, I stood and stretched, yawning as I tried to shake off the exhaustion. Today was the last day of the semester before winter break, and I planned on heading home to Gwangju as soon as I submitted my projects. After the endless grind, that thought was the only thing keeping me going. I shuffled to my tiny kitchen to make a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was only 8 a.m.—I still had a few hours before the school office closed and the semester officially ended.
“Maybe I’ll walk to school today…” The idea seemed ambitious, especially with snow blanketing the streets, but the mere thought of that biting cold quickly shut it down.
While waiting for the kettle, I scrolled aimlessly through social media, catching up on everyone else’s lives. It made me feel a bit closer to “normal,” I guess. I don’t have many friends here in Seoul, even after four semesters as an architecture major. Most of my classmates are guys, and the few girls seem distant, though I can’t say I’ve tried to reach out much myself. My feed was full of their posts—people I barely knew, but still, I chuckled remembering Koh, Jeong-Tak’s awkward attempt to add me to our class group chat. It was quite an awkward encounter, something that may have gone better if I hadn't been such an introvert. Still, we greet each other if we pass the hallways, or engage in small talk when he has an assignment or a message from the professors to pass on to me.
At last, the kettle whistled, and I poured the hot water into my favorite mug from home, a little piece of Gwangju.
Mom’s probably awake by now…maybe I should call her.
I set my coffee down and dialed her number, smiling as the phone rang. After a few rings, she picked up.
“Omma!” I said, grinning at the sound of her voice, even though she couldn’t see me.
“Aigoo, my aegi,” she said with a chuckle, her voice warm against the background hum of the morning TV. “Why are you calling so early?”
“Oh, just wanted to say hi,” I replied, taking a sip of coffee. “Don’t forget, I’ll be home later—I’m taking the noon bus, so I should be there by three. Tell Oppa to pick me up!”
She huffed playfully. “Aish, listen to you, bossing me around like that.”
“I’m just kidding, Omma,” I laughed. “See you soon!”
We exchanged warm goodbyes, and I lingered a moment over the last sip of my coffee, savoring the quiet before the whirlwind of the trip ahead. Once inside my apartment, I began tidying up carefully—I wouldn’t be back for two months so I made sure nothing was going to expire in the fridge and the trash would be taken out properly. I packed my thickest winter clothes, slipping into a heavy coat, and gathered all the projects I’d poured my energy into. By the time I finished, the clock was pushing 10:30, and I sighed, already feeling the fatigue of rushing around. I knew I’d have to move faster if I wanted to make it on time. With a quick glance around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I hauled my suitcase across the blanket of snow covering the narrow streets until I reached the main road, ready to hail a cab.
Seoul was alive with the season’s spirit; despite the chill, the sidewalks were bustling. Shoppers browsed the brightly lit store displays, their laughter and conversations echoing in the crisp air. Cafés steamed up their windows as groups of friends huddled inside, sharing cups of warmth. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, carpeting everything in a powdery, shimmering white. I took it all in, reminded of the city’s constant hum, then continued on toward the busier street.
A familiar yellow cab approached, its “TAXI” sign aglow, signaling availability. The driver pulled up alongside me, offering a small bow as he helped lift my luggage into the trunk. Settling into the seat, I gave him a quick, polite smile. “Seoul University, please.”
He nodded, acknowledging the destination with a courteous nod before easing into the drive. My phone read 10:40 a.m.—if the roads stayed clear, we’d make it to the university by 10:50. Ten minutes should be enough to drop off my projects, especially since they were both for a single professor. Feeling relieved, I plugged in my earphones, letting my playlist shuffle through soft, comforting tunes.
The ride was swift, and soon, the taxi rolled to a gentle stop in front of the university gates. Snow clung lightly to the iron bars, glistening in the morning light. I unfastened my seatbelt and stepped out, waving off the driver’s offer to help with my bags. “I’ll only be five minutes. Please wait for me,” I said, hoping he didn’t mind. The meter was still running, after all, and I planned to tip him for the time.
As I hurried through the gates, the cold air nipped at my cheeks, and my footsteps crunched softly against the snow-dusted path. The campus was almost eerily quiet—an empty stillness had replaced the usual buzz of students. A few couples strolled hand in hand, and a small group lingered by the benches, chatting softly. They gave me polite nods as I passed, my hurried pace hinting at the urgency of my errand.
When I reached the department building, I pushed open the tall, oak doors. The familiar scent of worn leather and old paper greeted me, evoking memories of late nights spent here. Inside the faculty office, my professor sat hunched over a stack of assignments, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he studied a student’s project.
“Excuse me, Sir,” I said, approaching his desk.
He looked up, adjusting his glasses as recognition softened his expression. “Ah, Ms. Yoo. Here to submit your projects?”
I nodded and handed over the neatly bound folder containing my two works. “Yes, sir. Here you go.”
He smiled, taking the folder with a nod. “Thank you. I’ll go over these soon.”
I offered a polite bow, murmured a goodbye, and turned to leave, glancing back once to see him already absorbed in his work. Quickening my steps, I made my way back outside to the waiting taxi, the snow beneath my boots soft but slick, adding a challenge to my already quick pace.
As I approached the taxi, a small crowd seemed to be gathering a short distance away. My driver was standing just outside the car, his attention riveted on something down the road. His posture was tense, hands tucked into his coat pockets as he squinted in the direction of a quiet, yet imposing sight.
I followed his gaze and saw five sleek, black luxury cars parked nearby, their glossy surfaces reflecting the soft white of the snow. Each car was in idle, engines emitting a steady, almost hypnotic hum. The air felt charged, and it was impossible not to be curious.
“Who is it?” I asked softly, and the driver jolted slightly, my voice pulling him from his thoughts.
“I think… it’s the owner of the university,” he said, a bit sheepish about being caught staring. He quickly turned to me, his expression apologetic. “Shall we go?”
I gave him an understanding smile and a quick thumbs-up. “Yes, please. Central City Bus Station.”
As I climbed back into the taxi, I couldn’t help but glance toward the scene one more time. An elderly gentleman was just stepping out of one of the black cars, moving with a quiet, dignified air. His long black coat billowed slightly in the breeze, hinting at the tailored tuxedo beneath. Two men in suits flanked him immediately—one held a large black umbrella over his head, while the other maintained a vigilant watch on the surroundings. The man's gaze was steady, unfazed by the brisk chill or the attention he attracted. Perhaps he truly was the owner, after all.
With a soft lurch, the taxi rolled forward, its tires crunching through the thin layer of snow as it peeled away from the curb. I shifted my gaze from the commotion, settling back against the seat and letting out a quiet sigh as I nestled into the warmth of the car.
-----
The ride was quick and smooth, and as we pulled up to the bustling bus station, I reached into my wallet, paying the driver as he stepped out to help me retrieve my luggage from the trunk. I offered him a slight bow of thanks, which he returned warmly, his eyes crinkling as he noted the extra tip.
The station was more crowded than I’d anticipated. People streamed in and out, their voices mingling with the rhythmic announcements echoing overhead. Groups of students, most of them probably headed home for the semester break like me, filled the waiting areas and moved between the platforms. The energy was a mix of excitement and the impatience of travel, everyone eager to escape for a while.
I moved quickly toward the ticket counter, where a line had already formed. I tapped my foot anxiously, glancing up at the clock hanging overhead. It was ticking closer to noon, and I wasn’t sure if I’d secure a seat on the 12 p.m. bus. Finally, my turn at the ticket counter came, and relief washed over me as the attendant confirmed I’d managed to get a seat. I quickly paid, clutching the ticket with a surge of excitement as I made my way onto the bus. I located my assigned seat, slid into it, and let out a sigh of contentment. The warm interior was a welcome change from the chilly air outside.
Settling in, I took out my phone and typed a quick message to my mom.
“Omma, I’m on the bus already! See you in three hours. Don’t forget to tell Woo-Oppa to pick me up,” I wrote, imagining her rolling her eyes at my not-so-subtle instructions. Smiling, I hit send, stifling a small laugh as I pictured her reaction. The thought of her mock annoyance made the journey ahead feel even more comforting.
I popped in my earphones, letting my playlist shuffle as a steady rhythm filled my ears. Deciding to scroll through social media, I absentmindedly tapped through updates until a message notification flashed across my screen.
“Eun-woo can’t pick you up,” Mom’s text read. “He accompanied Kim-ssi into the city and won’t be back until dinner. Iseul will pick you up instead—he’ll be at the station at 3 p.m. Be sure to thank him when you get off. I gave him your number so you two can connect if needed.”
My brows knitted as I reread the message, processing the unexpected change. Iseul? My childhood friend? I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since high school, and now he’d somehow been roped into driving me home. I couldn’t help but wonder how Mom had even managed to arrange this. The memory of our once-close friendship felt distant, yet familiar, but the thought of catching up in person made me cringe a little. This was bound to be one seriously awkward ride,I made a mental note to grab something at the station to thank him—a small token to ease the awkwardness and show my appreciation. Maybe a coffee or a snack, something simple. It seemed only right after Mom went to the trouble of arranging the ride with him.
-----
The ride had been smooth, but as the bus finally rolled to a stop, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, stretching out my legs after the long journey. Around me, passengers began gathering their bags from the overhead compartments, standing up and shuffling toward the exit. I stayed seated, preferring to avoid the crowded aisle. Just the thought of squeezing through made me cringe a little, so I waited, letting the stream of people slowly file out.
As the bus emptied, my phone buzzed with a new notification. The message was from an unfamiliar number—must be Iseul, I thought.
“Hello, Eun-ah. It’s Iseul. I’m waiting at Exit XX. I brought Dad’s white car—if you still remember it.” I couldn’t help but smile at that. I did remember it, the same white sedan his dad used to drive us to school in. “I just arrived, so I hope you didn’t wait long.”
A little laugh escaped me. He was as polite as ever, just as I remembered, so easygoing and considerate. It suddenly made perfect sense how Mom had convinced him to do this—he’d probably been too polite to turn her down.
I quickly typed out a reply. “Hi, Iseul! I just arrived too, so no worries. And thank you so much for picking me up. I still remember that car! Apologies if my mom roped you into this—I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. Heading toward your exit now. See you soon!”
Almost immediately, my phone pinged with his response. “No worries, I was heading to the city as well to pick something up, and this was on my way back.” His quick reply made me smile—it felt like he’d been waiting for my response, just as considerate as ever.
“Okay, thank you again, I’m heading there now,” I texted back, and he followed up with a thumbs-up emoji.
With a small, nervous flutter in my stomach, I slipped my phone into my bag, finally standing up and joining the last of the passengers as they trickled out. As I walked through the station, memories of our childhood drifted through my mind, each step bringing me closer to the exit, Just before I reached his exit, something caught my eye—something that instantly took me back to countless memories we’d shared as kids. I paused, smiling to myself as I looked at it, a nostalgic warmth filling my chest. It was perfect, a small gesture that would speak louder than words. Without a second thought, I picked it up and made my way to the cashier, paying quickly. This would be the ideal thank-you gift for Iseul, a simple but meaningful reminder of our past.
As I shuffled through the snow, I spotted the familiar white car idling by the exit, Iseul behind the wheel. He looked almost exactly as I remembered him, but with subtle changes—a more defined jawline, broader shoulders. The last time I’d seen him was in junior high, so it made sense he’d grown into himself. He glanced in my direction, and I couldn’t stop myself from giving a very awkward wave, mentally cringing as I did. --How am I supposed to get through this?-- But he just smiled, that same familiar, toothy grin, and waved back. Some things never change.
Before I knew it, he’d hopped out of the car and was walking over to help with my luggage.
“P-please, you don’t have to,” I stammered, feeling the awkwardness settle over me.
“Nonsense, it looks heavy,” he replied smoothly, not a hint of discomfort in his tone. His hands were bare and already turning red from the cold. I noticed he hadn’t bothered with gloves, and I remembered how careless he used to be about that.
“You’re still so careless about the cold,” I said, fumbling through the pocket of my bag. “Here,” I added, pulling out my spare gloves. “They might not fit you perfectly, but at least they’ll keep your hands warm.”
He chuckled, slipping them on. “Wow, you’re still as considerate as ever.” When I glanced up, he was smiling again, and for a moment, I wondered why we’d ever drifted apart. Reconnecting didn’t feel as strange as I’d thought it would.
With my luggage stowed in the trunk, he opened the passenger door for me.
“Th-thanks,” I mumbled, feeling the flush of embarrassment as I slid into the seat and buckled up. He got in, adjusting the mirrors, moving with a kind of confidence that made it clear we’d both grown up since our school days. It felt surreal to be here, on the edge of familiar memories but seeing him through new eyes.
-------
“—un-ah…” The muffled voice slowly made its way into my consciousness.
“Yah, Yoo Eun-ah!” This time, it was sharper, followed by a light tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, startled, and realized I was still in the car—with Iseul! Mom was standing outside, leaning in through the open door.
“We’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes!” she scolded, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. Oh no, we must’ve arrived! How long had I been out? Was my mouth hanging open? Embarrassment flushed through me.
“You fell asleep the moment we hit the road,” Iseul said, scratching the back of his head as he stood just behind Mom. “You must’ve been tired.”
“S-sorry!” I stammered, quickly unbuckling and getting out of the car. I turned to Iseul, offering a deep bow, then held out the small gift I’d picked up at the station, relieved it hadn’t been squashed while I slept. “This is for picking me up. Thank you.”
His eyes widened with surprise as he peeked into the bag. “No way! I loved these!” He grinned, holding it up with a look of genuine delight.
Mom patted his shoulder warmly. “Thank you for picking her up, Iseul. You’re a lifesaver.” She gave him a nod before adding, “Why don’t you stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do as a thank-you.”
“S-sure, I guess…” he replied, clearly a little taken aback, but just as polite as always. This guy really can’t say no, I thought, hiding a small smile as we headed inside.
As we settled indoors, I offered Iseul a small bow once more, then left him in the living room, absorbed in whatever was playing on TV. I retreated to my room to store my luggage, the familiar scents of home washing over me as I opened the door.
Ah, my room looked just as I had left it, untouched since I first entered college. The posters still hung on the walls, memories of my teenage years frozen in time. I hadn’t had the chance to return last winter break since I opted for a part-time job instead. The experience had been awkward at first, and I quickly decided not to continue once the school year started again. Yet, the owner had been so pleased with my work—or so I hoped—that he kept encouraging me to come back whenever I wanted. The money I had saved helped ease the burden of this year’s tuition, a small victory I could hold on to amidst the chaos of school life.
With a sigh of nostalgia, I placed my luggage down and took a moment to appreciate the familiarity of my surroundings. This room had always been my sanctuary, a space filled with my dreams and aspirations. I had missed it more than I realized. I opened my luggage and quickly changed into some warm, comfortable clothes, the soft fabric enveloping me like a familiar embrace. Plopping down on my bed for just a moment, I let my mind drift. The travel from Seoul had been exhausting, and I felt every bit of it settling into my bones. I stretched my back, trying to shake off the fatigue, and finally succumbed to the comfort of my mattress.
“Ow!” A sudden, sharp pain jolted me as something hard hit my head. I instinctively scratched the spot where I had bumped it and checked for any signs of a growing bump. Peeking beneath my covers, I searched for the offending object that had startled me. My fingers brushed against a small plastic box, intricately engraved with gold flowers and leaves JY was engraved in the middle, painted in gold paint. It felt heavier than it looked, and when I shook it gently, I heard a soft rattling sound from within, though it wasn’t loud enough to alarm me. Turning it over, I noticed that there was a lock. “Huh? What’s this? Is this mine?” I muttered to myself, inspecting it further. That was when I discovered a tiny key glued to the bottom.
“Eun-ah,” Mom’s voice called from the doorway, and she poked her head in, still holding a ladle. The mouthwatering aroma of kimchi stew wafted in from the kitchen, teasing my senses.
“What happened? Why did you shout?” she asked, concern etched on her face.
“I tried to lie down, but this hit my head!” I exclaimed, holding up the box for her to see. It felt heavier in my hands than I expected.
“Oh, that arrived two days ago,” Mom replied casually, waving a dismissive hand as if it were no big deal. “Since you were heading home, I didn’t bother to mention it.”
“But it looks so luxurious!” I protested, turning the box in my hands to examine the craftsmanship. “Who would send me something like this?”
“We’re actually not sure,” Mom replied, scratching her chin in thought, a look of confusion crossing her face. “It was sent to your dad’s office, addressed to you.”
My brows knitted together as I listened. “Your dad wasn’t sure either, but he saw the initials ‘JY’ on the front and thought it might be from your grandpa’s old company—maybe something he left behind before he passed away. But he was also puzzled as to why it was addressed to you and not him.”
“But we didn’t have any contact with Grandpa, right?” I said, shifting my gaze back to the box, its heavy presence stirring a mixture of curiosity and unease within me. “Why would he leave me something?”
“That’s right. Dad wouldn’t even talk to him, but I encouraged him to reach out since he was already on his deathbed. You were still in elementary school then, so you might not remember much of it,” she explained, her voice laced with a hint of nostalgia.
“Come on out; dinner is almost ready, and your dad and Eun-woo will be here soon,” she said before disappearing down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the mysterious box, its secrets still hidden within.I decided to set the box on my study table for later exploration and hurried to the kitchen for dinner. As I entered, Iseul was already seated at the dining table, looking a bit shy but engaged in conversation with Mom, who was animatedly chatting him up.
“Ah, Eun-ah!” My dad’s voice boomed as he stepped through the door, his presence filling the room. I quickly greeted him with a small bow, and Iseul stood up as well to acknowledge him.
“And what’s this? Iseul? It’s been a long time!” Dad exclaimed, hurrying over to Iseul and giving him a friendly pat on the back. He glanced at me, a look of confusion crossing his face as he tried to understand why Iseul was here.
“I asked Iseul to pick up Eun-ah from the station since Eun-woo wasn’t available,” Mom chimed in, placing bowls of rice and steaming kimchi stew on the table, the delicious aroma filling the air.
“Aish,” Dad retorted, shaking his head with a hint of disapproval. “You shouldn’t have done that. Eun-ah could’ve taken a cab!”
I felt a twinge of embarrassment as I settled into my seat, the weight of my parents’ concern hanging in the air, but I was also grateful for Iseul's willingness to help.
“It’s okay, sir,” Iseul said, offering a warm smile. “It was on my way back from the city; I picked up Dad’s medication.”
“Ah, Min, how has he been?” Dad asked, settling into his seat and resting his chin on his hands, a hint of concern in his voice.
“He’s fine, sir,” Iseul replied, his tone reassuring. “He’s been improving a lot. The medication has really helped him.”
A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered why we had drifted apart. Iseul’s dad had fallen ill, forcing him to take a year off from school. When he returned, he seemed different—aloof and weighed down by the burdens of his family’s struggles. His father's illness had hit their finances hard, and Iseul had carried that weight silently. I tried to reach out to him multiple times, but he seemed like he needed space, that’s why I let it go entirely. Bad feelings started seeping through me. I felt bad that I let him go through that alone. I clenched my fist.
“Well, you better hurry then, since you have your father’s medication with you,” Mom said, placing a plate of fried fish in front of Iseul. “But eat your fill first; it’s the least I can do.”
Iseul nodded appreciatively, and as we all sat down to eat, the atmosphere shifted to one of warmth and familiarity, despite the unspoken distance of the past.
“Ah, Eun-ah,” Dad said, his eyes still focused on the fish he was picking apart. “Did you see the package I left in your bed?”
“Yes, Apa,” I replied, trying to suppress a grin. “It hit my head when I lay down.”
“Aigo, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have put it there, I didn’t want Woo to open it that’s why I hid it under your covers” he said with a chuckle. “Well, did you open it? What was inside?” His tone was genuinely curious, and Mom looked up from her own plate, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Iseul glanced at me, confusion evident on his face.
“I haven’t opened it yet; I plan to check it after dinner,” I said, my curiosity mingling with the growing excitement at the table.
“Did you find the key?” Dad asked, his interest piqued. “It’s locked with a padlock, right?”
I nodded as I chewed on some rice, “It was taped under,” I mumbled, my mouth full.
Mom gave me a light slap on the shoulder, and Iseul let out a laugh, making me feel shy. “Act like a proper lady; we have a guest!” Mom rolled her eyes playfully.
“He’s barely a guest, though,” Dad said with a chuckle. “You know every nook and cranny of this house; I consider you a son of mine.”
Iseul’s face turned beet red as he looked down, a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia washing over him. It was true—he knew every inch of this place just as I knew his home. We had really grown up together.
Dinner passed swiftly, filled with small catch-ups and questions about what everyone had been up to. I learned that Iseul’s dog, Max, had died. Well, he was old, so it wasn’t too surprising. Iseul also shared that he had enrolled in a community college as an art major, just like me. Dinner wrapped up, and Iseul thanked my parents before heading out. My mom and dad settled in the living room, laughing at some variety show they loved watching before bed. Eun-woo was still out, probably driving Mr. Kim around the city. It was pretty normal for him to come back late when he was doing all those drop-offs.
I hurried to my room, my attention snapping back to the box sitting on my desk. It was practically calling my name, and the curiosity was killing me. I sat down and reached for the small key next to it, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. The key slid into the lock, and with a soft click, it opened.
For an inheritance, this was a pretty fancy setup, I thought. What could be so important to put in this type of box? Taking a deep breath, I lifted the lid like it might explode or something. Inside, the box was lined with plush velvet, and there was a single black envelope decorated with gold flowers, just like the box. Next to it was a huge gold ring with an emerald stone that had been rattling around.
My hand automatically reached for the ring first. It looked like it was meant for a guy, way too big for my fingers but it fit my thumb, which was kinda cool. I squinted at the inside where “J&Y” was engraved. Those initials had been popping up everywhere lately—still no idea what they meant, though.
Setting the ring down, I picked up the envelope. It felt expensive, way nicer than anything I’d ever bought myself. I opened it and pulled out a photo and a letter. The photo showed two older guys in fancy chairs, laughing in these perfect, tailored suits. They looked like they could’ve been models for some high-end magazine, but the way they were laughing made it look real, like they were having fun. One of them looked just like my dad—probably my grandpa—but the other guy was a mystery to me.
Okay, but why send me this? I thought, totally confused.
Finally, I unfolded the letter, immediately struck by the neat, classic handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, I read it aloud to myself.
“Dearest Ms. Yoo Eun-Ah,
By the time you are reading this, your grandfather will have long since passed away, though I hope his memory lives on warmly in your heart. I trust that, like him, you have grown into a person of honor and integrity.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jung Ho-sung, a close friend of your grandfather and a partner in the company he cherished. Our friendship spanned many years, and he was, in many ways, like a brother to me.”
Wow he was so formal, I let out a small giggle, who talks like this in this day and age?
“I realize that this letter and its accompanying contents may come as a surprise. You see, twenty-one years ago, upon hearing of your birth, your grandfather made an unusual request of me, one that became a pact between us. He wished that you would one day marry my grandson, who was six years old at the time. I, too, found this notion unusual, and yet, your grandfather was unyielding. He believed this union would safeguard both your future and that of your family.
Though the idea may seem old-fashioned, I ultimately agreed, in part due to the deep respect I held for him and in part due to the gravity of his request. Shortly after, we learned of his terminal illness. He passed away some years later, yet his wish remained.”
What the hell? My brows knotted, I continued reading this was confusing me more and more.
“My grandson, who will soon be twenty-seven, has been made aware of this arrangement and has respected it, although we refrained from revealing your identity to allow him the freedom to choose, should he find someone else. However, he has committed to honoring his role as heir. Thus, in accordance with the terms of our agreement, you are to wed after his next birthday this coming February, after which he will assume full responsibility for the company your grandfather and I both built.
I know this is much to take in, and perhaps even difficult to accept. An attorney from JuYo Corporation will be in touch in five days to review the original agreement and answer any questions you may have.
With deepest respect,
JuYo Corporation Chairman
Jung Ho-sung”
I lowered the letter, my mind spinning. An arranged marriage with some mystery guy who’s the heir of a JuYo Corporation? It was like something out of a drama—but it was actually happening to me.
I collapsed into my chair, feeling dizzy and faint. Five days? Dad said the package arrived three days ago, which meant I only had two days left!
Heart pounding, I stormed into the living room where my parents were giggling, totally absorbed in a Korean variety show.
“Apa! What is this?!” I said, thrusting the letter at him. He lifted his glasses, squinting to read, and then… his jaw actually dropped.
“An arranged marriage?” Dad repeated, just as baffled as I was. “Dad arranged for you to marry the heir of JuYo Corporation?”
“This has to be a joke,” I said, crossing my arms and tapping my foot impatiently. “How could Grandpa be some company big-shot and we not know? Right?” I grinned, thinking I’d made the point of the century. There’s no way Grandpa was secretly rich—if he were, we wouldn’t be here scraping by like this.
Dad cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. “Actually… I kind of always knew Dad had something…”
Mom looked away, too, like they were both keeping some big secret.
“Wait, what?” I practically yelled, totally thrown. “Then why are we living like this?”
Dad’s expression turned serious as he gripped the letter. “Maybe it’s time we told you.” He gestured for me to sit next to them.
“You see, long ago, when I met your mom, I was in a pretty prestigious college, studying business,” Dad began, his eyes drifting into the past. “But I got a little too reckless, and your mom got pregnant.”
He looked embarrassed, but continued. “Your Grandpa was furious. He was so mad he kicked me out. At the time, your mom was pregnant with Woo.” He paused, swallowing hard. “With all the pride I had, I left home with nothing. We really struggled after that. I did all sorts of odd jobs just to keep us going. We moved from one tiny apartment to the next, barely managing to pay rent, and sometimes even skipping meals.”
He squeezed Mom’s hand, and I could see tears welling up in her eyes, too. “One night, when your mom was having severe stomach pains, she started bleeding. I had just spent our last money on rent and groceries. I rushed her to the hospital, but they told us she’d have to stay for observation. She might miscarry if she left, and they gave us a list of meds she’d need.” He choked up a bit, and I could see he was fighting to hold back tears.
Mom was crying, and I felt my own eyes stinging. Dad took a breath. “I knew I had no choice but to swallow my pride and go see your Grandpa. I remember it was raining that night. I walked all the way from the hospital to our old estate.” He chuckled, but there was a sad look in his eyes. “When I got there, the guards wouldn’t even let me in. I begged them, but they just passed along a message. Your Grandpa said I’d dug my own hole, and I needed to get out on my own. That was the last straw for me.”
He took a deep breath, his hand squeezing Mom’s even tighter. “On the walk back to the hospital, a couple saw me in the rain and offered to help us out. I’ll never forget their kindness.”
“When Woo was born, your Grandpa wanted to reconnect. He came to the hospital and asked to see us. But remembering that night, the anger just… it took over. I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. I said he had no family in me, and he left. After that, we didn’t hear from him for years. When you were born, he sent flowers and balloons, but he didn’t visit.”
Dad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then, one day, I got news that your Grandpa was on his deathbed. His assistant came to my workplace, and I was… shocked. Of course, I went to see him. When I got there, he was barely conscious, just his assistant at his side.”
Dad’s voice broke, and I saw tears rolling down his cheeks. “I sat by his side and held his hand, called him Dad for the first time in years. I said I was sorry, and that I forgave him. He just smiled and whispered, ‘You don’t have to worry anymore.’ Then… he was gone.”
I remembered that day, when Dad had come home crying and hugged me and Woo like his life depended on it. We never understood why until now.
Dad wiped his eyes. “I didn’t give much thought to his last words, honestly. I even asked his assistant if your Grandpa had a will, but they said he hadn’t left anything behind. I wasn’t really interested in any inheritance, so I didn’t push. And him co-owning a company? That’s news to me too! Back in college, I just assumed he was some senior manager. I didn’t pay much attention—like I said, I was a pretty reckless kid. He always told me to pay attention to life and at school as I will be needing it in the future but I really didn’t care, so I guess that left me clueless.” He laughed a little, as if it was all some strange joke.
I felt like my head was spinning with everything he’d just told me. I sank deep into the couch, wishing the cool leather could just swallow me whole. Dad reached over, patting my head and running his fingers gently through my hair. “Let’s just wait for the attorneys,” he said softly. “For now, try not to worry too much about all this. And remember, at the end, it’s always going to be your decision we wouldn’t force you into anything” he reassured, giving me a gentle stare. I gave them a soft nod and trudged back to my room, the letter still clutched tightly in my hand. Everything felt surreal, like I’d stumbled into some strange dream I couldn’t shake off. Gently, I placed the letter back in the box alongside the ring and closed the lid, leaving it on my desk.
I flopped onto my bed, sinking into the mattress and stretching out, trying to shake the weight of everything I’d just learned. Staring up at the ceiling, I noticed the old glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered above me—faded and barely visible now, but still hanging on, like I was.
What am I supposed to do now?
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter Text
Woo burst into my room like an uninvited guest, and I was still cocooned in my heavy blanket, half-hidden from the world. I’d been scrolling mindlessly through social media, watching everyone else’s life look so... normal. Just normal people, doing normal things.
"Eun-ah," Woo-oppa said, tugging the blanket down just enough to let the cold air in, making me shiver. “I got home so late last night, you were already asleep.” He settled on the edge of my bed with that familiar, easygoing smile of his.
Woo is two years older than me—a whirlwind of energy and extroversion. People always say we look alike, calling us “two peas in a pod,” but I never quite saw it. Sure, we both have the same wavy brown hair and the same brown eyes, but his nose is taller, more defined, and mine is softer, rounder. He’s outdoorsy, with a tan from working at a vegetable farm that supplies produce to our town, while I’m a shade or two lighter from spending most of my time indoors.
Woo had always been so supportive, too. He chose not to pursue his studies so I could, claiming I was the “smart one” in the family. Now he’s at the farm, working hard, getting by just fine, even if the pay is modest. And even though life took him down a different path, he’s still the same big brother who shows up when I need him most—even if it means yanking my covers off at the crack of dawn.
I glared up at him, still half-buried in the covers. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I muttered.
He shrugged, looking way too pleased with himself. “Mr. Kim gave me the day off. I guess he felt bad about dragging me around everywhere yesterday, so he said I should take a break.” He leaned in closer, his eyes bright with excitement. “Let’s go to the mall! It’s been forever since we spent time out together.”
I grimaced, tugging the blanket back up. “Or... we could stay in. I could stay here. In bed. Doesn’t that sound good?”
He laughed, poking my side. “No way, not today. Come on! Let’s get some air. It’ll be fun.”
Reluctantly, I sat up, muttering under my breath about annoying brothers and his idea of “fun.” But I knew it would make him happy, and if there was one person who could drag me out of my cave, it was Woo-oppa.
I pulled a sweater and my heavy jacket and gave Woo a thumbs up. He grinned like a happy puppy. He practically pushed me into the kitchen, where Mom was stirring a pot on the stove.
“Where are you two off to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she spotted me, half-awake and still grumpy.
“Going to the mall!” Woo replied, way too cheerfully. He grabbed a couple of apples from the fruit bowl, tossing one to me. “I’m using my day off to get this one out of the house.”
Mom chuckled, looking at me with amused eyes. “Well, that’s a feat. Have fun, Eun-ah. It’ll do you good to get some fresh air.”
I gave her a little smile, already feeling a bit better. But as I followed Woo out to his truck, I eyed the old, beat-up thing with a grimace. Its red paint was faded, and one of the side
mirrors was held on by what looked like a dozen layers of tape.
“Are you sure this thing’s going to make it to the mall?” I asked, climbing in reluctantly.
He laughed as he fired up the engine, which sputtered to life with a groan. “Oh, she’s fine. Just needs a little love.”
The road was slippery as the road was covered with snow, and every pothole made the whole truck rattle. Woo hummed along to an old pop song on the radio, smiling as he looked out the window. For a moment, I relaxed, feeling like I was a kid again, sitting next to him in this same truck, back when he’d drive me around on weekends to give Mom and Dad a break.
“You remember that time we took the truck all the way out to the beach?” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “We thought we were so cool, sneaking out with just enough money for gas and instant noodles.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Yeah, and then it started raining, and we spent the whole night huddled up in the back seat, eating soggy noodles.”
He laughed, his eyes lighting up. “Best trip ever. Remember we tried to tell Mom it was for a school project?”
“She didn’t buy it for a second.” I smiled, the memories flooding back as I watched the trees blur past outside the window. Those were the days when life was simple, before I had to worry about responsibilities or the future or… arranged marriages.
By the time we reached the mall, the Saturday crowd was already bustling even in the thick of winter, everyone was so eager to get in the warmth of the mall. Woo led the way, his energy like a magnet pulling me along as he darted from store to store, picking things up, chatting with vendors, and laughing as I trailed behind.
At one point, we stopped by a newsstand, and I hung back as Woo chatted with the cashier. That’s when something caught my eye—a newspaper headline in bold letters, announcing: "JuYo Corporation’s Heir’s Engagement Plans Revealed."
The words seemed to echo in my mind, louder and louder. I froze, my heart hammering as I reread the headline, feeling like the floor had vanished beneath my feet.
“Eun-ah, what’s up?” Woo’s voice broke through my haze. I hadn’t realized I was staring, my eyes fixed on the words as if they held some hidden meaning.
I turned to him, feeling my mouth go dry. “Oppa… I think I’m supposed to be a part of that.”
Woo’s face fell as I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. I told him everything—the letter, the ring, the impossible deadline. The disbelief on his face was exactly how I felt the night before.
“Wait, hold on,” he said, holding up a hand to stop me. “Are you serious? Grandpa really planned all this? I mean, it’s one thing to have a company, but arranging marriages? What, are we living in a historical drama?”
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I know, it’s crazy, right? But it’s… real. The letter was real. And it’s all happening so fast.”
Woo’s expression darkened. “How can he just expect you to marry some stranger? You’re not a pawn in some business scheme. This isn’t fair.” I gestured for him to keep quiet, I was seeing people looking at us.
I looked down at my hands, my palms red from the cold, my voice barely a whisper. “But it’s not just about me, Woo. Mom and Dad—they’ve sacrificed so much, and they’ve struggled more than we’ll ever know. Grandpa’s company is part of our family’s legacy, even if he wasn’t a part of our lives. Maybe… maybe this is our chance to finally be okay.”
Woo sighed, leaning against the newsstand and watching people pass by, lost in thought. “I get why you’re torn,” he said finally. “But this is still your life, Eun-ah. They can’t dictate or control you.”
For a while, we just stood there in silence, the buzz of the mall echoing around us as my mind swirled with everything unsaid. The mood was definitely ruined. Our trip to the mall didn’t last long, and the whole car ride back was heavy with silence. Woo-oppa didn’t say a word, just kept sighing. When we finally got home, Mom was still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.
“Oh, you’re home already? It’s only been a couple of hours. I remember when you two would spend the whole day—” she began, but Woo dropped his keys into the bowl and headed straight to his room, ignoring her completely. Mom watched him, her gaze soft but concerned. He’s never been great at dealing with things head-on—he always hides and hopes it will pass.
“What happened?” Mom asked, her confusion clear. “Did you two fight?”
“I told Oppa everything,” I said, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. Mom gave my shoulder a gentle pat, her touch reassuring.
“I’m sure he just feels protective of you. You’re his little sister,” she said, her words warm and comforting.
Mom didn’t say anything more after that, but I could tell she was thinking about something. The way her hands moved gently over the papers, almost as if she was trying to avoid the weight of the silence in the room, made me wonder if she was also replaying the conversation in her mind.
After a few minutes, I heard the creak of Woo’s door from the hallway. He hadn’t been gone long, but I could feel that whatever he was wrestling with, it wasn’t over yet.
I followed him, hesitating in front of his door before knocking softly. “Oppa?” I called out, almost feeling small again. "Can we talk?"
I heard a shuffle and the faint sound of his voice from behind the door. “I’m not really in the mood right now, Eun-ah.”
I felt a pang in my chest, but I wasn’t about to let him shut me out. Not now. I needed him to understand.
“I’m not asking for answers. I’m just… I don’t know, I need to say something,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
The door opened just enough for him to peek through, his expression still guarded. “What is it?”
I stepped into his room, my fingers nervously playing with the hem of my sweater. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”
Woo let out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. “Not mad, no,” he replied, his voice a little softer now. “But this whole thing is a lot. I don’t like seeing you go through something like this.”
“I’m not okay with it either," I muttered, sinking down onto his bed. "But they went through a lot. And... and maybe this is something we can’t turn away from. Maybe this wealth, this inheritance... it’s not about us. It’s about what they’ve been through. Grandpa wasn’t just some old, distant businessman. He was our family. Even if things were rough.”
Woo sat beside me, a frown tugging at his lips. “I get it. It’s just hard to swallow. You deserve to choose your path, not be pushed into this kind of thing. I just don’t want you stuck with some rich guy just because of—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair, “just because of some family money.”
I nodded, chewing on my lip. “I get that, too. But our parents didn’t get the life they wanted. And... maybe this is their chance. Maybe this could be theirs, in a way. I don’t know, Oppa, I just...” I trailed off, unsure of what I was trying to say.
“I know," Woo replied, his voice softer now, as he reached for my hand. "I just wish there was another way. I’ll be here for you, okay? No matter what happens.”
“Thanks, Oppa,” I whispered, my throat tightening with emotion. “You’re the only one who really gets it."
We sat there in silence for a while, just the sound of the cold wind outside and the occasional creak of the house around us. I wasn’t sure what the future held, but I knew whatever came next, at least I wouldn’t be facing it alone.
The dinner that followed felt suffocatingly quiet. Dad, ever the optimist, tried to break the tension by initiating small talk, but his attempts were met with silence. No one seemed to have the energy to respond. After a few awkward exchanges, he gave up, pushing his food around on his plate, his brow furrowed in confusion. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavy in the air, making it impossible for any of us to really engage. I could tell Dad was puzzled, wondering why we were all so distant. But he didn’t press it further, and soon enough, the silence settled over the table like a thick fog.
When the meal ended, I helped Mom with the dishes, both of us working in sync but without saying much. The quiet felt different with her, almost comforting in a way, as if we both knew we were processing the same thing in our own ways. But eventually, I excused myself, retreating back to my room—the one place where I could shut the world out, if only for a little while.
Tomorrow was the fifth day. The attorneys would come, and they would expect an answer. The thought of it made my head ache. I collapsed onto my bed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me, and I closed my eyes, hoping that whatever decision came out of tomorrow, it would be the right one—for all of us.
Downstairs, I knew Mom would have to explain to Dad later why the house had felt so heavy. He’d never been one to read the room, and I could already hear his quiet confusion. I only hoped Mom would find the right words for him.
-----
The first light that crept through the window felt like a cruel reminder. My eyes had been shut all night, but it felt like I hadn’t slept a wink. My body felt restless, as if my mind had been spinning even when I tried to sleep. I glanced at my phone—7:00 AM. The time seemed to mock me, ticking away in a way that made everything feel more urgent.
The smell of whatever Mom was cooking drifted up from downstairs, filling the air with an aroma I usually found comforting, but now it only heightened the anxiety in my chest. I could hear Dad’s car engine start outside, signaling that another day had begun. I dragged myself out of bed, feeling the weight of my limbs, like they were made of lead. As I shuffled down the hallway, I passed Woo-oppa’s room, knowing he was probably already on the farm, out there working with the animals. His early mornings were routine, unlike mine.
My footsteps felt like a thud on the old stairs as I made my way down, each step heavier than the last, my mind still tangled in thoughts I couldn’t escape.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Mom said, barely glancing up from the sink where she was washing the dishes. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept much either. “I didn’t bother calling you down for breakfast. I figured you’d want to sleep in today… since, you know, today’s the day.” Her words hit me like a cold gust of wind. She was right—I wanted to sleep in, to pretend that the day would pass without me having to make any decisions. I wanted to wake up and find everything had settled, that life had somehow returned to normal.
I pulled out a chair and sank into it, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The morning paper sat on the table, and as my eyes landed on the headline, my stomach dropped. It was the same as yesterday, another story about the JuYo heir’s engagement. My eyes skimmed over the words, but they didn’t bring me any comfort. They were already talking about it like it was a done deal, as if they were sure I would say yes.
And half of me wanted to say yes. Half of me wanted to save my parents, to give them the life they deserved, to lift the burden that had always weighed so heavily on them. But the other half of me just wanted to run. Run far away, anywhere, until all of this blew over. Maybe the heir would find someone else, someone who wasn’t tied down by a family secret.
I buried my face in my hands, a groan slipping from my lips, thick with frustration and confusion.
“Why is this happening to me?” I whispered to no one in particular. “I just want to be a normal college girl, live a normal life.”
I didn’t hear the chair move until it was already next to me, and a warm hand rested on my head. I looked up to find Mom sitting beside me, her face soft but filled with concern.
“Whatever you decide, remember that we’ll be happy for you,” she said, her voice steady, though I could hear the edge of emotion behind it. “Whether you say yes or you say no, it’s your choice. Please don’t feel pressured to do this for us… so we can live comfortably. You don’t have to do it, Eun-ah. Just do what you think is best for you.”
I removed my hands from my face, meeting her eyes. Her gaze was gentle but filled with something deeper—something I couldn’t quite name. She was on the verge of tears, but she held herself together for me. They were good people, pure at heart. Chaotic at times, yes, but their warmth was the thing that had always kept me grounded, kept me going.
I let out a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. Honestly, though, I was still a mess inside. But, weirdly, knowing my family would support me no matter what made this whole thing a little less overwhelming. I think I had already made up my mind, though. I just needed to get through the day.
Mom served me breakfast, and I picked at it quietly. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at the clock on the wall, like it was some countdown to the world ending. The attorneys were coming at 3:00 PM, and I was already stressing. Mom and Dad had talked about Dad leaving early for work so he could be there for the meeting, and even Woo-oppa would be coming home early from the farm to “support” me. I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, like, why was everyone rearranging their lives just for me?
I stared at the rice in my bowl, barely noticing it. Honestly, I had no appetite. My thoughts kept swirling around that meeting—would I be able to handle it without totally embarrassing myself? I mean, I’m socially awkward as it is. The idea of having a serious conversation with a bunch of strangers about my future? Yeah, no pressure, right? I mean, they just want a yes or no, so that’s what I’ll give them.
After I finished eating, I washed the dishes out of habit, just needing to do something to distract myself. I thanked Mom for breakfast and quickly retreated to my room to get ready.
I opened my closet, trying to figure out what I should wear for this meeting. What was the “right” thing to wear for a situation like this? I didn’t want to look like I wasn’t taking it seriously, but at the same time, I wasn’t about to show up in some fancy suit. I guess I could wear something neat, but not too formal? Ugh, why was this so complicated?
I sighed, settling on a simple outfit that seemed “appropriate” enough. Whatever. This day was going to be awkward enough without me overthinking my wardrobe.
I laid out the best clothes I had on the bed—something that said, “I’m normal, but not trying too hard to impress anyone.” It’s not like I’m meeting him right away, right?
I pulled my hair out of the tie and gave it a quick sniff, just to make sure I didn’t smell bad. It smelled… normal. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Really? I’m worried about this? Like, it’s not like I’m suddenly going on a date. I don’t have bad hygiene, per se, but if my hair’s oily, I just throw it in a bun and move on. Simple as that.
Sighing, I sat at my study table and pulled out my tiny mirror. Great. This was what I had to work with. I stared at my reflection. My tired eyes looked back at me, dark circles underneath them from all the late nights of overthinking and not sleeping. A fresh zit had appeared right in the middle of my forehead—of course. Because what’s a special occasion without a pimple showing up at the most inconvenient time? My lips were chapped from the cold air, and I could already tell I was going to need some chapstick just to make it through the day.
As for makeup? Ha, that was a joke. I had no idea where to even begin. My skills barely stretched beyond a little bit of mascara on the rare day I felt like it. I didn’t know why I was stressing over all this. It’s not like anyone was expecting me to look perfect.
But still, this was my life on the line. The pressure of it all was getting to me. I’ve always been an awkward little girl, but I wasn’t a coward. Still, something about tying the knot with someone I barely knew was making my stomach twist into knots. No, I couldn’t let them see that they could control me like this. I took a deep breath, trying to shake the nerves, and pulled out my phone. I opened up YouTube. After all, I’m an artist, right? Makeup’s like art, and my face was just a bumpy canvas waiting to be worked on. I can do this.
A few wet wipes here and there, and a couple of hours spent on my face, trying to make myself look normal—okay, presentable—and I was finally done. I stared at my reflection, feeling a weird sense of accomplishment. The zit? Gone, completely concealed. Thank you, beauty YouTubers. My skin didn’t look perfect, but I looked like someone who had at least tried to make an effort. And in this moment, that’s all I could do. I felt… fine. Maybe I was a little more put together than I thought.
I glanced at the clock on my phone. 2 PM already? It took me hours just to do my face? My stomach dropped. I scrambled out of the chair, quickly slipping into the clothes I’d laid out earlier. A few spritzes of cologne, and I rushed into the living room. Mom was already there, preparing snacks and tea, looking more put together than usual. She was wearing light makeup and dressed nicely. The attorneys would be here in an hour, but neither Woo-oppa nor Dad had shown up yet.
“Well, you look nice,” Mom said, offering a sly thumbs-up. “It’s great that you put a little effort into looking normal,” she chuckled. I could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t quite reach me. It was a small comfort, though. Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t look as hopeless as I felt.
The door swung open with a violent creak, and cold wind rushed in, sending a chill through the room. Dad stumbled inside, catching his breath.
“Oh—” he gasped, clutching his chest. Mom quickly rushed over to him, her face filled with concern.
“I’m fine, dear,” he said, reassuring her as he leaned on the door frame. “Oh thank god, they’re not here yet. I thought I was going to be late.”
He removed his shoes in a hurry and stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet thud.
“Where’s Eun-woo?” Dad asked, his voice carrying a note of impatience as he removed his coat and handed it to Mom.
“He’s not here yet, but he might already be on his way back,” Mom replied, neatly hanging his coat in the small cabinet under the stairs.
“Would you like some tea, dear?” she asked, already placing the kettle on the stove.
“Yes, please,” Dad said, easing into one of the chairs, a grimace crossing his face as he massaged his knees. The cold always made his joints ache. It was a constant reminder of the years that were catching up with him, and the pain that came with it.
He turned to look at me, adjusting his glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s this? You did your makeup today. You look nice,” he said, chuckling.
“I know, dear, I told her earlier,” Mom chimed in, placing the hot tea on the table—one for Dad and one for me.
“We haven’t had a proper talk since that letter,” Dad said, picking up his tea and taking a careful sip. “I know your mom or your oppa have probably already said this to you, but… don’t put too much pressure on yourself, okay? Don’t think you have to do this for us.” He paused, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth of the tea sank into his cold bones.
“Appa, I—”
Before I could finish, the door swung open again, this time with even more force than before. Woo-oppa stood in the doorway, looking just like Dad had moments ago—winded, wide-eyed, and tense. He stared at us, his voice barely a whisper.
“They’re here.”
A cold wave washed over me, my body freezing as if I had just been dunked into an ice-cold bath. My heart raced in my chest, and I could feel the panic creeping up my throat, clawing at my insides. What do I do? They’re here. What do I do? My mind buzzed with a thousand questions, drowning out everything around me. My ears started to ring, and my hearing seemed to muffle as my breath became shallow.
“Eun-ah!” I heard Dad’s voice, cutting through the fog of panic.
I could barely process the sound of his voice—my limbs felt heavy, my mind blank. The air felt thick, suffocating, like it wasn’t even reaching my lungs. My vision started to blur, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“Eun-ah!!” Dad’s voice was louder now, and before I could even grasp what was happening, he shook me violently by the shoulders. My breath hitched as I snapped back to reality.
“Calm down,” he said urgently, his hands firm on my arms. “I’m here. We’re here.”
Oh my, maybe we should do this another day,” Mom said, her voice laced with concern as she approached me. “Are you okay, honey?” she asked softly, but I couldn’t even find the words to respond. My throat felt tight, and my mind was racing, unable to focus on anything but the growing panic in my chest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Woo-oppa glancing anxiously in and out of the house. I turned my head slowly and caught sight of the three black cars idling outside, their tinted windows reflecting the gray sky.
“Nonsense,” Dad’s voice boomed, cutting through the tension. “These people came all the way here to see us. It would be rude to turn them down.”
And he was right. They’d driven four hours in the snow just to get here. I swallowed hard, the tightness in my chest loosening slightly as a small sliver of courage found its way back into me.
“I’m okay… Let’s get this over with,” I said, straightening my back, forcing myself to stand tall. The words came out shakily, but I wasn’t backing down.
“Oppa, maybe invite them inside?” I said, glancing toward Woo-oppa. He nodded, his expression a mix of concern and determination before disappearing out the front door. I could see him walk to one of the cars, tap on the window, and like clockwork, men in suits rushed out. My hands were still trembling, but I had to face this. It was happening, and I had made my decision.
Woo-oppa returned and opened the door for our guests. Two elderly men in black suits entered, their presence commanding. One of them had his hair slicked back, the other let his hair fall into his face, both looking like they were in the same age bracket. We all stood up, offering them the customary greetings and bows. They gestured for us to sit, and I couldn’t help but notice the aura of authority they carried—like they were used to being in charge, accustomed to making people feel small.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the attorney with the suitcase spoke, his voice smooth like velvet, polished, professional. “Let me introduce myself. I am Shin Sung Min, and I represent the Jung family.” He gestured toward the man sitting beside him. “This here is Park Jung-hoon. He represents the late Director Yoo, Eun-ho.” Mr. Park gave a brief nod, acknowledging us without much warmth.
I felt a knot in my stomach as their eyes turned toward me, the weight of the situation settling in. This was real now.
“I’m sure by now we already know why we are here.” Mr. Shin said placing the suitcase he was holiding on our coffee table. He swiftley entered a code and clicked it open, he then pulled two papers, one was brown with age and the other one was a new one. he then placed both papers on the table. The old one read “Contract of agreement” on top, the other had the word will on it.
“These are the original agreement between Jung and Yoo when they made the agreement regarding the fixed marriage” he gently lifted the paper, it was laminated in plastic preserving the original text and signatures. I can’t believe they even made a contract for this.
“I shall read it for everyone” he said and proceeded to read the agreement “…and therefore this marrige shall commence and if didn’t all the shares from Yoo will be fully absorbed by the Jung family” he read. My jaw dropped, i HAD to agree to this or else everything else my grandpa worked for will be given to the Jungs. Why did my grand dad do this?? It sounds absurd.
”We will be answering questions later, Atty Park will now read the will” Mr. Shin declared before we can even open our mouths. Atty Park lifted the paper that was a bit newer, and cleared his throat
”I, Yoo Eun-ho, in my passing, leave my Estate, all it’s contents, all my cars and 10 billion won to my only son Yoo Eun-do and his wife Sung Jang-di”
“I, Yoo Eun-ho, in my passing, leave 5 billion won to my grandson Yoo Eun-woo, giving an understanding that as a man he has to make a living for himsef. 5 billion won will be sufficient for him to start his own buisness and make an name for himself”
”and finally, I, Yoo Eun-ho, in my passing, leave 5 billion won and 5 billion won worth of shares form JuYo Corporation to my only Grand daughter, Yoo Eun-ah, tying her as equal shareholder to the Heir of the JuYo Corporation”
”this will shall be executed at the agreement of the marriage between Jung and Yoo, SIGNED AND SEALED YOO EUN-HO”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had been tied to this from the start, bound by my grandfather’s decisions, with no way to undo the past. The weight of this inheritance, this responsibility, felt like a thousand pounds pressing down on my chest.
The silence in the room felt deafening as everyone processed the finality of what had just been read.
I looked around the room, and for a moment, it felt like the world had tilted. Everyone’s jaws were hanging open, as if the secrets of the universe had just been revealed to us in one devastating blow.
“You may now speak,” Attorney Shin said, breaking the silence that had thickened like fog.
“So, I have to agree to this, for the will to be executed, correct?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly as I broke the silence. “I have to? I absolutely have no say in this, right?” I emphasized the word have like my life depended on it, because, in a way, it did.
“Yes, you have to,” Attorney Shin replied, mirroring my tone with a wry smile. He was either used to this sort of thing, or he simply didn’t care how I felt about it.
“What if I don’t agree to it?” I asked, my voice rising slightly as panic flared inside me. I needed an answer. I needed to know if there was some way out, some loophole that would allow me to escape.
“Then the will is null and void, and all the items listed will be sent away to charity your grandfather handpicked,” Attorney Shin explained, his voice calm and final. He didn’t even flinch as he delivered the news, as if this was simply part of the process.
I couldn’t help but feel a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. Grandpa had been a sly man, even in death, making sure he still had control over everything. Even if I didn’t agree, he had planned for it. He had planned for me to have no choice but to comply.
It was like he had orchestrated all of this—every decision, every move, even from beyond the grave. I swallowed hard, trying to choke down the nausea building in my stomach. How could he do this to me? How could he leave me with no choice?
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter Text
The silence that followed my decision was thick and heavy, stretching on until even the faintest sound would have echoed. Mom and Dad exchanged worried glances, their eyes clouded with concern, while Woo-oppa sat there, eyes narrowed in disdain as he glared at the attorneys. This agreement had pushed us into an impossible corner—either I walked away, leaving my family with nothing, or I signed my life into a future I wanted no part of.
“So, what will it be?” Attorney Shin asked, his voice like a ticking clock counting down the seconds until I decided.
I took a deep breath and looked at my family, seeing them through a new lens of sacrifice. My father, who worked relentless overtime to fund my dreams. My mother, who set aside her own life to nurture ours, even taking on odd jobs to help save for me. My brother, who gave up his own ambitions so I could study far from home, supporting me even when it meant setting aside his dreams.
I felt a knot tighten in my chest, a painful reminder of all they’d done for me. I cleared my throat, and as they turned to me, their eyes filled with hope and fear, I found my voice. “Where do I sign?”
Three gasps echoed around the room. Attorney Shin’s expression lit up as he slid the papers toward me, his satisfaction as obvious as the gleam of the pen in his hand. I glanced down at the papers, noticing two blank lines beneath my own. No signatures yet.
“He hasn’t signed yet?” I murmured, my brow furrowing. For someone so rigidly committed to this deal, I’d assumed he’d already formalized his part.
“Wait, Eun-ah,” Dad said, his hand catching my wrist. “Are you absolutely certain about this? Think it through once more.”
I looked at him, placing my hand over his, and offered him a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”
With a deep breath, I signed my name, my hand steady even as my heart trembled. I passed the papers back to Attorney Shin, who nodded approvingly.
“A wise decision,” he said, a trace of smugness in his voice. “Mr. Jung hasn’t signed yet due to professional obligations. Once he returns, I’ll inform him of the good news and send a scanned copy of the document to you.” His voice lingered on the word “good news,” his tone sarcastic. “With that, we’re done here. I’ll notify the Chairman of your agreement. Expect visitors tomorrow to assist with your relocation to the Yoo Estate.” He rose, followed by Attorney Park, and exited without another word, his entourage trailing behind him.
The finality of his words barely registered before they were out the door. I sat there in a daze, my family’s stares burning into me.
“Ya, Eun-ah,” Woo-oppa said quietly, breaking the silence. “Are you sure about this?” His question was a quiet echo of Dad’s.
“Of course I’m not,” I admitted, my voice low as I looked down at my palms. “But it feels unfair to let everything Grandpa built slip away to the Jungs.” The bitterness in my voice left a metallic taste in my mouth.
I lifted my gaze to them, managing a weak smile. “I’m not sure…but I think I can make this work.” I held up a thumb, hoping to reassure them, even if I couldn’t fully reassure myself. “Excuse me…I think I’ll retreat to my room.”
As I made my way up the stairs, I felt their eyes on my back, the weight of their worry pressing down with every step. Reaching my room, I closed the door behind me, leaning against it as the reality of what I’d just agreed to settled like a stone in my stomach.
I flopped face-first onto my bed, grabbed a pillow, and shoved it over my face. I’d been keeping it together all day, but finally, I just let it all out, screaming into the pillow like my life depended on it. Honestly, that whole meeting didn’t even last that long, but somehow it felt like it drained a year off my life.
I peeked over at the clock—4 p.m.? Ugh. I didn’t get any sleep last night, and the stress isn’t exactly helping. Maybe if I just close my eyes, I can knock out for a bit and pretend none of this ever happened.
-------
Thud.
“What the heck was that?” I muttered, wrinkling my nose as the smell of dust and… was that mold? floated through my room.
Thud.
“What is going on?” I sat up, rubbing my eyes as daylight spilled through my blinds. “Wait… it’s morning?” I fumbled for my phone. 7:00 a.m.! I’d slept all night, and then some!
But why does it sound like there’s a whole construction crew downstairs?
I threw on my slippers, swung my door open, and—yup. There were people everywhere, checking the walls, measuring things, and moving furniture like it was a fire drill. They all paused to give me a respectful bow as I passed, which was just… weird.
“Uh, be careful with that!” I heard Mom say, her voice tight as two huge guys lifted our old china cabinet, the one she inherited from her parents. They nodded, looking slightly terrified of her.
“Mom?” I rubbed my eyes again, trying to make sense of it all. Woo was just sitting on the couch, staring off like he’d seen a ghost. “What is going on?”
“Oh, you’re up, sweetie!” Mom hurried over to me, looking slightly frazzled. “Remember how Attorney Shin mentioned that people would come to help with the estate? Well… he didn’t exactly say they’d start moving us today.”
I blinked. “Wait, like… now? As in, right this second?”
Mom nodded, looking around at the chaos. “Yes, and apparently we’re only allowed to bring what’s valuable to us since the estate is already fully furnished.” She sighed, watching two guys cart off her dresser. “But I love everything here.”
I glanced at Woo, who was still in some kind of trance. I could relate. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to work to hand in his resignation,” Mom said, casting a worried glance at the guys hauling our things to a truck parked outside. Some neighbors were even poking their heads out, probably as shocked as we were.
“Excuse me, that’s older than you!” Mom called to the movers as they took her antique dresser down the stairs.
This was happening way too fast. Everything and everyone around me was moving in a blur. My head started to spin.
“Ah, Ms. Yoo?” a voice broke through the haze. I turned and found myself face-to-face with a man in a sleek suit, tall with pale skin, a sharp nose, and glasses. His hair was slicked back perfectly, and he gave me a small bow. “I’m Kim Ye-Joon. I’m one of the main assistants for the Jung family, and from today, I’ll be assigned to you and Mr. Jung.”
I stared at him, trying to process. “An… assistant? For me? Why would I need one?”
He leaned in slightly, flashing a quick wink. “Trust me, you’ll need me.”
Well, he sure was charming. “Uh, thanks, I guess?” I managed, trying not to sound like a total mess. “But, uh… why?”
“Why don’t you get changed so we can head out?” he said, giving me a polite smile. “Your new house is waiting.”
He then looked over at Woo. “Mr. Yoo, it’s best you get ready as well.”
Woo blinked back to reality and nodded, walking past us toward his room.
“Oh, and… Mr. Kim?” I asked, thinking of our friendly farmer. Ye-Joon looked at me, confused, so I clarified, “No, not you Mr. Kim—the, um, other Mr. Kim. The one with the farm?”
Woo paused, looking back. “Yeah, I told him. He seemed happy for me, but… he’s probably gonna be lonely.”
Everyone was shifting their whole lives around because of this… because of me. I felt a pang of guilt, deeper than I’d expected, wrapping itself around my resolve like a vice. But I kept repeating to myself that this was the best thing for us—that all of this would give my family the life they deserved. Still, that didn’t make the knot in my stomach any smaller.
I glanced down the hallway, catching a glimpse of Ye-Joon, who was busy directing the movers. Quietly, I retreated back into my room, hoping to find a moment of peace. But even here, there were two men, one of them inspecting the old wooden beams, the other glancing up like he was examining a relic.
“E-excuse me,” I stammered. They turned, nodded respectfully, and hurried out, leaving me alone. As soon as they were gone, I leaned back against the door, slowly sliding down to the floor.
What the hell was I doing? My thoughts raced, louder than my heartbeat. Was it too late to back out? Should I even consider that, after everything? Dad had left his job, Woo had changed his whole life plan… Could I really just walk away now?
The walls around me felt suddenly smaller, like they were pressing in, closing me off. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look around, my gaze drifting over every corner and shelf, each little memory filling me with a strange, aching warmth. This was the room where I’d grown up, where I’d dreamed, laughed, and cried over things that felt so big then. It didn’t seem real that I’d have to leave it all behind.
I got up, my legs heavy, and reached for my bag. It felt like I was moving through water, each step taking a little piece of me away. Pulling on a pair of jeans, a clean T-shirt and the coat i came here with, I packed a few essentials, trying to focus on the little things like zipping up my bag, anything to keep my mind from splintering apart.
With one last look, I pressed my hand to the wall, feeling the cool, familiar texture beneath my fingers, as if that touch could somehow etch it into my memory forever. I whispered a silent goodbye, letting go of the life I’d always known, and turned the doorknob.
This was it.
As I walked downstairs, the scene felt like something out of a movie. Ye-Joon was chatting with Dad, who must have just come home from quitting his job—the job he’d held for as long as I could remember. Woo-oppa was slouched on the sofa, sulking silently with his phone, a backpack already slung over his shoulder, while Mom was still flitting around, making sure the movers were treating her treasures with the utmost care.
Dad caught my eye and gave me a small, reassuring smile, one that held a quiet promise. They were all in this with me, all making sacrifices to support this insane plan. And seeing that, knowing they were willing to give up their lives for me, sparked something inside. I had to do this. I had to fight for them, for us.
“I’m ready, let’s go,” I announced, trying to steady my voice. Ye-Joon gave me a nod and led us outside. Two sleek cars were waiting, engines humming in the snowy driveway, and, as if this whole scene wasn’t surreal enough, half the neighborhood had gathered to watch. I felt a little like a celebrity on a red carpet, except this wasn’t exactly a glamorous moment.
Ye-Joon opened one car door for me, while a guard held the door open for my family in the other car. A strange pang hit me as I turned to Ye-Joon. “We’re not riding together?” The thought of separating from my family now, even for a short while, made my stomach twist.
“They’ll be heading to the Yoo Estate. You’re going to your house,” he explained calmly.
“My house?” I asked, puzzled. I thought the Yoo Estate was going to be our home.
Ye-Joon glanced at me with a hint of amusement. “No, the Yoo Estate is for your parents. Your house is in the heart of Seoul. It’s a gift from Chairman Jung, to you and Mr. Jung. Don’t worry, you won’t be living together until after the wedding.”
A house. My own house. A whole place of my own—no, ours—courtesy of Chairman Jung. I couldn’t even believe it. My parents looked equally stunned. Woo was leaning out of the car, jaw dropping in total bewilderment. I stared blankly, my mind swimming in disbelief.
“The Chairman gifted me… a house?” I blurted, barely able to process it. The shock was so real that I reached up and pinched my own cheek, earning a disapproving look from Ye-Joon.
“Please don’t do that again,” he muttered, half-smiling. “Yes, he gifted you a house. Mr. Jung will move in once you’re married.”
I glanced back at Mom, who was wiping her eyes with a tissue, clearly holding back tears. “Eomma,” I called softly, my voice trembling. “I’ll come see you at the estate as soon as I get settled in.” She nodded, her face a mix of pride and sadness.
With one last look at my family, I slid into the car beside Ye-Joon, the reality of it all settling in as the car pulled away, the road snowy and the world looking unfamiliar outside the frosty window.
As we drove, Ye-Joon pulled out a tablet with my calendar, already marked up with little colored dots. “Let’s go over your schedule before and after the wedding,” he said, scrolling through the dates. Each day had some activity or event, some new role for me to step into. I hadn’t even joined the company yet, and my life was already scheduled to the last second.
Today was the 27th, and every day until the New Year was jam-packed. I noticed a date on the calendar marked “Meet the Jungs” on January 1st.
“In three days, Mr. Jung will arrive from the US to meet with you and your family. His family will be there too, of course,” Ye-Joon explained, his voice smooth but businesslike. My head was spinning, and suddenly, it hit me—I didn’t even know the guy’s name! How had I missed asking the most basic question?
“Is he a businessman? Does he travel a lot?” I asked, poking the screen and earning a playful slap on my hand from Ye-Joon.
“He’ll be finishing a tour on the 31st so he can be here on January 1st,” Ye-Joon explained, still keeping that professional tone. A tour? What, like a fancy trip?
“Tour?” I echoed, feeling more lost by the second. “Is he some kind of… tourist? Or is it just a hobby?” I squinted, trying to read his expression.
Ye-Joon looked at me, eyebrows raised as if he was gauging my reaction. “They didn’t tell you who it is?”
I shook my head. No one had told me anything.
He let out a short laugh, clearly amused. Straightening his suit, he gave me a mischievous smile. “Hold on tight. You may want to brace yourself.”
Uh-oh. This was it. Who was it going to be? Some wild party kid? Some tabloid scandal waiting to happen? Panic started creeping in, heating up my cheeks as I mentally prepared myself for the worst.
“Jung…” he paused dramatically, eyeing my reaction, “Ho-seok.”
Nothing registered. I blinked. “Okay… and what’s he like?”
Ye-Joon’s face fell a little in disbelief. “You’re marrying Jung Ho-seok. J-Hope of BTS.”
As the words sank in, my mind scrambled to catch up, heart pounding so loudly I was sure Ye-Joon could hear it. Jung Ho-seok? J-Hope? The Jung Ho-seok—the dancing, rapping, smile-that-could-light-up-a-city Ho-seok from BTS?!
My jaw dropped so far I thought it might hit the floor. I was marrying him? THE J-Hope? The global phenomenon? The guy who could fill stadiums on every continent? The one with fans who’d camp out for days just to get a glimpse of him? I was marrying that Jung Ho-seok?
The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me reeling. My mind flashed with images of him on billboards, on TV screens, on album covers that fans clutched like prized possessions. The same guy who people all over the world would give anything to meet was going to be… my husband?
I stared at Ye-Joon, barely breathing, waiting for him to say it was a joke, some insane prank. But he was watching me with an amused smile, clearly pleased by my reaction.
“You’re serious?” I managed to squeak out, my voice coming out as a strangled whisper. “Jung Ho-seok? As in… BTS Jung Ho-seok?”
Ye-Joon chuckled. “Yes. That’s the one.”
I leaned back, my head spinning, hands clutching the seat so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart was hammering like a jackhammer in my chest, and I could barely process the thought. I, a regular, very non-famous human, was about to be engaged to J-Hope of BTS. My brain couldn’t even fathom it.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady, though I was anything but. I felt a rush of emotions—shock, excitement, panic, disbelief—all hitting me at once, like I was free-falling. “This… this has to be a dream.”
But the car’s hum, the chill of the air, the smirk on Ye-Joon’s face—all of it was real. I was actually awake. This was really happening.
As I sat there, wide-eyed and speechless, Ye-Joon patted my shoulder with a grin. “Welcome to your new life, Miss Yoo. Buckle up.”
I leaned back in the car, my hands gripping the seat as if it could steady the wild whirlwind in my mind. Ye-Joon sat beside me, his eyes focused on the road as the car hummed along, but all I could think about was the name he’d dropped so casually—Jung Ho-seok.
J-Hope. Of BTS. It felt like a distant memory, something I’d read about in magazines or seen on TV. But now, he was part of my reality. I was going to marry him. I was going to live with him.
“I can’t believe this is real,” I whispered to myself, looking out the window at the blur of snowy streets passing by. My reflection stared back at me from the glass, a young woman caught between two worlds.
Ye-Joon glanced over, his eyes full of quiet amusement. “Well, it’s real, Miss Yoo. You’ll meet him soon, along with his family. Remember, they’re just people like us. They might have fame, but they’re still a family.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the nerves gnawing at my insides. I’d never been this close to fame. I’d never been thrust into a world of superstardom, with all the attention, expectations, and drama that came with it. The car ride was nothing but Ye-Joon discussing my schedule to me
Jan 1 - Meet the Jungs
Jan 3 - Wedding gown fitting
Jan 4 - Venue viewing
The list just kept going. I could barely keep track of everything Ye-Joon was saying, but before I knew it, the car started slowing down. I blinked and realized we were getting close to the house—the one Chairman Jung had gifted us. I mean, this was supposed to be our new life, right? But it kinda felt more like a foreign land.
As we pulled up, my stomach dropped. The gates were huge. Like, towering and sleek, and I swear they looked more like a set of prison bars than anything welcoming. But yeah, I had to remind myself, this is home now. I was supposed to feel excited, but all I felt was nervous. I stepped out of the car, my legs shaking like jelly, walking toward the front door. My family was already on their way to the Yoo estate, and here I was, about to face this new world alone. I glanced back, watching their car disappear down the road, and I couldn’t help but feel that sting in my chest.
I swear, the mansion was insane. It wasn’t just a house. It was like a statement. Everything about it screamed power and wealth. As an architecture student, I couldn’t help but geek out at the details, but at the same time, it made me feel so small. The building was sleek, sharp, almost too perfect. The windows were so big, I could practically see my reflection, and the steel gates made me feel like a total outsider.
The house was gorgeous, yeah. I could appreciate the design, but it felt so… clinical? Like it wasn’t meant to be lived in, but shown off. High-end marble, polished wood, glass that stretched forever—it was all too much. The more I stared, the more it felt like someone else’s dream, not mine.
“Come on, I’ll show you around,” Ye-Joon said, his voice kinda distant. It was like he could tell how much this was overwhelming me. We walked through these huge halls, past perfect kitchens and lounges that looked more like furniture showrooms. It was all just… too much. I was supposed to make this my home, but everything here felt like it was made for someone else. And I had no idea how to fit in.
The thought kept nagging at me—Jung Ho-seok. J-Hope from BTS. Like, how had this become my reality? One minute I’m an architecture student trying to survive finals, and the next I’m supposed to marry a celebrity. J-Hope of all people. I mean, what? My head was spinning, and every time I tried to focus on the house, my brain would just throw his name at me again and again.
“Miss Yoo?” Ye-Joon’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I blinked, realizing I’d totally spaced out. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s just… a lot.”
Ye-Joon gave me a small smile. “I know. It’s overwhelming. But you’ll settle in. It’ll feel like home soon.”
Yeah, right. It didn’t feel like home now, not by a long shot. The house was so cold, so… perfect. Nothing about it was mine, but at the same time, it was mine, like literally mine. I didn’t know how I was supposed to make this work. The deeper I thought about it, the more it felt like the reality was crashing down on me. I was going to marry J-Hope. And I was supposed to fit into his world. A world where every move he made was analyzed by millions of people. How could I even begin to understand that?
“Your room’s upstairs,” Ye-Joon said, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. He led me up this giant staircase, and every step felt like it was weighing me down more. This wasn’t the life I planned. It wasn’t even close.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped and gestured to these massive double doors. “This will be your room,” he said. I stared at the doors, feeling like I wanted to turn around and run. But I couldn’t. This was happening. This was my life now. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
I took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob, my hand trembling. And when I opened it… well, it wasn’t what I expected. I mean, it was huge—like, way bigger than I thought it would be. High ceilings, soft beige walls, and giant windows letting in all this light. The room was minimalist—lots of white, grays, and neutrals. It looked perfect. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t for me. Like, I could picture a model or influencer living in here, not someone like me.
And then I saw it. A huge pile of shopping bags on the floor—Louis Vuitton, Dior, Chanel, the works. I froze. What?
“These are for you,” Ye-Joon said, his voice a little more serious now. “We’ve picked out everything you’ll need for your new life here.” He gestured to the bags. “They’ll help you unpack tomorrow, and your maids and more staff will be here too.”
I bent down, still in shock, and pulled one of the bags open. Inside were clothes, fancy clothes—things I would never pick out for myself. Dresses, shoes, bags… everything tailored, everything for someone else. Someone like a future wife. A future Jung. The thought made my stomach twist.
I glanced back up at Ye-Joon, but my mind was still reeling. This wasn’t my life. These weren’t my clothes. And this wasn’t my room. It was a life I didn’t choose, but it was the one I had now.
“Yeah,” I muttered to myself, rubbing the fabric between my fingers. “This is really happening.”
Ye-Joon gave me a soft smile, like he could tell how lost I felt. “It’ll take time, but this is your new reality, Miss Yoo. You’ll get used to it.”
Get used to it? Was that even possible?
I nodded absently, still staring at the pile of bags. The weight of it all felt heavier with every second that passed. But what choice did I have? This was my life now. And I was going to have to figure out how to live in it.
Ye-Joon nodded before heading toward the door. “I’ll leave you to settle in. We have a staff meeting tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything.”
I didn’t even know how to respond. I just stared at the clothes, the bags, the life I wasn’t sure I belonged in. I had to be strong. I didn’t know how yet, but I was going to have to figure it out.
-------
After Ye-joon left, I felt this weird mix of boredom and curiosity, so I decided to wander around the house a bit. Across the hallway from my room, there were these double doors that looked exactly like mine—same dark wood and everything. Maybe Ye-joon forgot to mention what was behind them? I walked over, feeling the cold wood as I ran my fingers along the doorframe. It felt… oddly comforting? I twisted the knob and nudged the door open, not really knowing what I was expecting.
Inside, it looked exactly like my room—same king-sized bed against the wall, same neutral-colored bedspread. But somehow, it felt… different? Like, more masculine? This had to be Hoseok’s room. But, I mean, there was no way we’d be sharing a room right after getting married. We didn’t even know each other! I was pretty sure he felt the same. The thought of it was kind of ridiculous, honestly.
I stepped inside, trying not to be too awkward about it, and sat on the bed, it was plush and soft, unlike the bed I had at home, worn out and old, I looked up to see a door in front of the bed. Curiosity got the best of me, so I walked over and opened it. And, wow, there was a whole studio inside. Two Mac laptops sat on a desk, and there was this super fancy-looking recording mic, along with mixers and stuff. It was like… his space, you know?
I stood there for a second, staring at everything. It felt kind of surreal to be in this room, surrounded by his world of music and tech. It was like this whole other side of him I had no idea about, and here I was, just… existing in it, feeling a little out of place. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but be a little amazed. This was his life, and soon, it would be mine too, I guess? The thought made me feel… weird. Like, I was stepping into something totally new and unfamiliar. How was I supposed to fit in all of this?I settled down on the plush carpet of the studio, letting my eyes wander over everything in here, taking it all in. Was this my world now? Was I really supposed to just… exist here? I, who had zero experience with anything remotely close to this, suddenly thrust into a spotlight I never asked for. With a sigh, I flopped back onto the carpet, feeling its coolness against my skin. Even with the heating on, this house still felt kind of cold—almost like it wasn’t even trying to be cozy.
I pulled out my phone, turning to my go-to comfort: scrolling through social media. My feed was filled with posts from classmates back at university, all of them off enjoying their holiday breaks with family. My Christmas had been… well, a shock, to put it mildly. Discovering you’re engaged can really throw off the holiday spirit. Sure, we’d had a little Christmas dinner and some gift exchanges, but that anxious feeling wouldn’t leave me alone.
Eventually, I left SNS and, after a moment of hesitation, opened Naver. Shamelessly, I typed in “J-hope engaged,” holding my breath as I hit enter. One eye shut, half-dreading and half-curious about what I’d find. The results loaded in a flash, headline after headline appearing on my screen. Wow, this is insane.
• “J-hope set to be married—What’s ARMY’s take?”
• “Our Hope is engaged! Here’s what we know.”
• “Ace of K-pop, J-Hope, tying the knot—Who’s the lucky girl?”
• “J-Hope is getting married. I might cry.”
I clicked on a post from user @hobixxluvr on X, my heart doing a little somersault as I read through the comments. There were thousands of likes and replies.
• “I know, T.T I’m so jealous!”
• “Does anyone know who the girl is? [knife emoji]”
• “Wow, is this true? Daebak… I guess congratulations are in order. Let’s support him.”
• “This girl didn’t even fall in line, just straight to the front, right past all of us!”
• “Wow, who is she? So lucky!”
Some were funny, others supportive, but a few… yeah, not so nice. I wondered what Hoseok thought of all this. Did he read these kinds of comments? BTS was always so close to their fans, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
Curiosity still nagging, I typed “BTS tour schedule” into the search bar, and the latest info popped up: they were in Vegas, set to finish their tour on December 31 in Atlanta. I checked the local time—11 PM on December 26th. He must’ve just celebrated Christmas. Maybe he was asleep? Or out with the other members? Really, I had no idea what he might be doing. With a sigh, I tapped my phone against my forehead, feeling the weight of everything sink in. Would his fans hate me? Would they support us? And what if he lost popularity because of me? I’d hate that.
Just as I got lost in my thoughts, the doorbell rang, startling me. Oh no, what do I do? Ye-Joon was gone, and I was alone… but then again, this was technically my house now.
I scrambled up and ran downstairs, calling out “Hang on!” as if they could actually hear me. The doorbell chimed again just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. Next to the door, I spotted a large intercom screen—practically the size of an iPad. A man appeared on the monitor, carrying plastic bags… full of food? He looked down at his phone, like he was double-checking the address.
I hit the “speak” button and tried not to sound too awkward. “Uh, hello? What do you need?”
He looked up at the camera and smiled. “Hello! Delivery for Ms. Yoo, Eun-ah.”
I blinked, confused. “Who is it from? I didn’t order anything.
“It just says ‘from JuYo Corporation,’ ma’am.” After a moment, I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peek out. The aroma from the bags was amazing.
“Uh, do you take Naver Pay? I don’t have cash on me,” I asked, feeling a bit embarrassed.
He waved it off. “No need, ma’am. It’s already paid for.” He handed me the bags, giving a quick bow before hurrying off to his motorcycle. I barely managed to thank him before he was gone.
Carrying the food inside, I set it all down in the kitchen. Maybe this was Ye-Joon’s doing, I thought, remembering that he knew I hadn’t had lunch yet. I spotted the delivery note tucked into the bag: “Welcome to your new home! I stocked the fridge, but since I know you’re probably exhausted, I ordered this meal for you. YJK.” A small smile crept onto my face. Ye-Joon could be so thoughtful. He really was an awesome big brother and assistant.
I pulled out plates and bowls from the cupboards, rummaging around since I had no idea where anything was. This kitchen was enormous—definitely bigger than my whole dorm.
“Thanks for the food,” I muttered to myself, taking a bite. “Wow, this is really good.” I smiled to myself but felt a pang of loneliness. For a moment, I just sat there, feeling a strange sense of emptiness. I didn’t even have Ye-Joon’s number to thank him for the food. With a sigh, I whispered to myself, Yoo Eun-ah, this is your reality now. There was a part of me that knew I didn’t have to worry about myself or my parents anymore. We’d finally be okay. But the loneliness hit hard, especially knowing I was going to marry someone I only knew from TV. Still, the thought that my parents wouldn’t have to struggle anymore made it a bit easier to swallow.
After finishing my meal, I got up to clean, grateful that finding the dish soap and sponges was easy. I washed my dishes and put the leftovers in a Tupperware container I found in one of the cupboards. When I opened one of the two fridges in the pantry, my jaw nearly dropped. Ye-Joon wasn’t kidding—he’d really stocked the place. Sodas, chocolates, snacks, pre-packaged meals, microwaveable dishes—it looked like a mini grocery store in here. I opened the freezer, which was equally packed with frozen foods, and one thing in particular caught my eye: Ben & Jerry’s ice cream tucked away in the corner.
If anyone deserves it, it’s me, I thought, grabbing the tub and a spoon from the cupboard. Besides, I figured I could always work it off in the gym later, since apparently, we had one.
I wandered into one of the three living rooms in this place—yeah, three. Apparently, you need one to receive guests, one as a reading and tea room, and one purely for watching TV and hanging out. This one felt the most casual, with a huge 75” TV mounted on the wall and a mini arcade setup with consoles. Maybe it was all tailored for Hoseok’s idea of fun.
I grabbed the remote, powered on the TV, and sank into one of the recliners, hitting the button to warm it up. As I flicked through channel after channel, nothing really caught my attention. I didn’t watch TV much, but my parents loved it. I hoped they were enjoying themselves back home—I’d have to remember to call Mom later.
After browsing through at least 20 channels, I finally switched to the Smart TV option. Ye-Joon had shown me how to do it earlier so I could access YouTube and Netflix, thank goodness. I opened Netflix and put on a classic I’d always loved, settling back into the cozy recliner with my tub of ice cream. The warmth of the chair and the comforting movie felt strangely nice in the quiet.
After finishing the ice cream and the movie, I found myself staring at the half-empty bowl. What was I supposed to do now? It was only a little past 2 PM, and I had all the time in the world. I briefly considered unpacking some of the clothes I received from the chairman, but the idea of going through more unfamiliar things and trying to getting accustomed to it didn’t seem appealing. For now i’d still like to pretend that nothing is happening and I’m still the normal girl.
Instead, I wandered around the house a little more. The spacious living rooms, each with a different purpose, felt like they belonged in some kind of show about luxury homes. I didn’t feel quite at home yet. In fact, it all felt a little empty. I wondered what it would be like once the staff arrived and things started to settle. I’d have to get used to the idea of being waited on, I suppose. That seemed so… different. My parents, of course, would be over the moon about it, but for me, it just felt like a reminder that everything was changing.
I slipped back to the living room and sprawled out on one of the plush sofas. The house seemed too quiet, almost as if it was waiting for something. I pulled out my phone again, out of habit more than anything else, and absentmindedly browsed through my social media. My feed was filled with classmates from university sharing their holiday vacations. One post caught my eye—someone had gone ice skating in the snow. I hadn’t done anything nearly that exciting. I felt a pang of longing, but pushed it aside.
After scrolling for a bit, I switched to YouTube. I found a random video about home organization tips, something I definitely needed. It was silly, but it gave me a little bit of focus. By the time the video ended, my phone had died, and I had no charger nearby. I sighed, getting up to search through the drawers in the kitchen for one, but found none.
Time ticked on as I tried to figure out what to do next. I didn’t feel sleepy yet, and the afternoon light outside was starting to dim. I briefly considered calling my mom, but I can’t find my charger. Instead, I sat back down in front of the TV and flipped through a few more channels, mindlessly letting the noise fill the silence. Eventually, I turned it off, bored with everything on.
I tried to read for a while, but my mind kept wandering. My thoughts kept drifting back to the arrangement, to the fact that I was about to marry a complete stranger. I was about to step into a new life, a new world, and the thought felt both overwhelming and unreal.
By the time it got dark, I realized I hadn’t really done anything productive. But then again, what was there to do? Tomorrow would bring more uncertainty, more adjusting.
I sank back into the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and let the quiet wash over me. Maybe I’d get some sleep early tonight.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter Text
I awoke with a start, feeling disoriented. It took me a few seconds to register where I was—still on the couch, the blanket tangled around me. My mind was foggy, and I blinked several times, trying to shake off the grogginess.
Then I heard a voice calling my name.
“Eun-ah, why are you sleeping on the couch?”
I jerked up, my heart thudding in my chest. There, standing before me, was Ye-Joon, looking down at me with an expression that was a mix of confusion and concern. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t seem too surprised. Behind him stood three maids, all of them silently watching the scene unfold, their expressions polite but curious.
I felt my face flush with embarrassment. “I… I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “I just… I don’t know. I must’ve dozed off.”
Ye-Joon crossed his arms, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “This is your house, Eun-ah. You don’t need to sleep on the couch,” he said, his tone neutral but with a hint of concern. He glanced at the maids, gesturing slightly for them to go ahead with their work.
The maids, though silent, moved with purpose. One of them approached me, her tone soft. “Miss, would you like us to prepare your room for you?” she asked, gesturing toward the staircase.
I was still a little disoriented but nodded, my face red with embarrassment. “Thank you,” I mumbled, trying to pull myself together. I had no idea how to handle this, being the owner of this house and still feeling like I didn’t belong.
One of the other maids moved around the room, quietly folding the blanket I had been wrapped in, while the third straightened the cushions. They worked efficiently, though their presence made the situation even more awkward.
Ye-Joon studied me for a moment before speaking again. “Next time, you should at least sleep in your room. You’re the one in charge here, after all,” he said with a gentle smile, though there was an underlying seriousness to his words. He seemed to be trying to ease my discomfort.
I nodded quickly, hoping that I wouldn’t make a habit of falling asleep on the couch in my own home. “I… I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ye-Joon turned to the maids, gesturing to each of them with a subtle nod. “Let me introduce them properly. Eun-ah, these are your maids. They’ll be here to help you with anything you need around the house.”
The maid who had been the most vocal, a woman who looked to be in her early 40s, gave me a polite bow. “My name is Jang Ji. I’ve been working in this role for many years,” she said, her voice calm and steady. She had an air of experience, her movements precise and efficient.
The second maid, a woman around Ye-Joon’s age, was slightly more relaxed but still professional. She gave a smile before introducing herself. “I’m Ja Chun Hei, 27. I’ll help you with daily tasks and any errands you may have,” she said, her voice warm but firm, like someone used to getting things done quickly.
Finally, the youngest of the three, who looked to be about my age, shyly stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her. She seemed nervous but still gave a small bow as she introduced herself. “I’m Song Hyun Jae. I’m 21,” she said in a soft, almost hesitant voice. “I’ll… I’ll be here to help with whatever you need too.”
I smiled politely at each of them, still a little overwhelmed. “It’s nice to meet all of you,” I said, trying to steady my nerves. “Thank you for all your help.”
Ye-Joon gave me an encouraging nod. “They’re all good at their jobs. You can rely on them for anything you need around the house, Eun-ah.”
The maids nodded in unison, their professionalism clear even as they quietly went about their work. One of them began preparing the stairs for me to head up to my room, while the others tidied up the living area.
“Your room is ready, Miss,” one of the maids said politely as she opened the door for me.
I nodded, my mind still reeling from the events of the past few days. The house felt so different now that I had someone to take care of it. It was both comforting and slightly unsettling. But, for now, I was glad for the help.
I stepped into the room, blinking against the morning light filtering through the windows. The paper bags that had been piled up in the middle of the floor last night were now gone. My eyes scanned the space, confused for a second.
“I asked the maids to put it away for you,” Ye-Joon’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I’m guessing you hadn’t checked the items last night. More of them arrived earlier, and I asked the maids to put that away too, while we were frantically searching for you.”
I could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
“I thought you ran away,” he added with a teasing grin, his eyes gleaming with a strange mix of amusement and concern.
I felt my face flush, a little embarrassed at how easily I had disappeared into the chaos of everything. “Where did they put them specifically?” I asked, still feeling a bit lost, scanning the room for something familiar.
Ye-Joon raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but somehow always so composed. “Did you not explore this room yet?” he asked, gesturing lazily toward a door I hadn’t noticed yesterday. “There’s a walk-in closet there, leading to your bathroom.”
I blinked, still half-dazed, and followed his gesture. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” he added, his voice soft, almost kind. “In case you wanted to explore it yourself.”
I took a deep breath, my heart racing a little. So much had happened in the past 24 hours, and now, standing here in this luxury home, I was starting to feel like everything was just too surreal. The door was sleek, the glass mirrored but clear enough to see the reflection of the room behind me. I pushed it open with a soft creak, the cold glass sending a shiver through me.
When I stepped inside, I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing. The closet was a dream—a perfect, well-organized space that looked like something out of a designer showroom. Every single item was meticulously hung, sorted by color, by type—dresses, suits, blouses, skirts, all in neat lines. My heart skipped a beat as I took it all in. I hadn’t realized there were so many clothes last night.
I stepped deeper into the room, the faint scent of fresh fabric in the air. My fingers brushed against a velvet dress, its delicate texture making me pause. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, feeling like I was in someone else’s world, someone much more put-together than I was. But that feeling quickly turned to awe as I moved down the aisle, my eyes catching sight of the glass boxes on pedestals. Inside were jewelry pieces—gleaming earrings, delicate necklaces, rings, and watches—each one sparkling like it belonged in a high-end jewelry store.
I felt like I was dreaming, like I had somehow stepped into a life that wasn’t really mine.
“W-where is this from?” My voice barely made a sound as I pointed to the jewelry, feeling a strange lump form in my throat. My mind raced—who could have possibly given me all of this?
“They’re from your grandfather,” Ye-Joon answered simply, his tone neutral but gentle. “He knew he had a granddaughter, so he chose and selected these for you personally and kept them in a bank, only to be opened when the agreement had been finalized. Atty Park helped arrange the release of these.”
I stared at the jewelry, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. My grandfather… chose these for me? My mind swirled with emotions—gratitude, confusion, and a strange sense of guilt. How could I have ever known this side of him? I felt a tear prick at the corner of my eye, but I quickly blinked it away, not wanting to seem weak, not in this moment.
Everything in this room felt like it was out of my league. I wasn’t someone who wore jewelry like this. I wasn’t someone who lived in a house like this. And yet, here I was. The reality of everything—the engagement, the clothes, the jewelry—was beginning to hit me, and it made my head spin.
“Do you like it?” Ye-Joon asked softly, his voice pulling me back to the present. I turned to look at him, feeling a little embarrassed at the way my hands were shaking.
“I… I don’t even know what to say.” My voice was barely a whisper, and I swallowed hard, still trying to process the overwhelming rush of emotions. It felt like I was falling into something I couldn’t catch myself in, and all I could do was stand there, unsure of what this life was supposed to mean for me.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ye-Joon said, “This is all yours now. Just take your time.”
I nodded, a small, shaky smile forming on my lips. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady myself. This was my life now, and whether I was ready for it or not, I had to embrace it.
“Take a shower and wear anything you like. There are casual pants too on this side,” Ye-joon said, gesturing toward a corner of the closet where a more relaxed collection of clothes was neatly organized. Casual shirts and soft pants were folded and hung on hangers, creating a stark contrast to the endless array of formal dresses and tailored suits that dominated the other side.
“The maids will be preparing breakfast for you,” he added, his voice steady. “I’ve already briefed them on what to do. I have meetings today with the chairman. He sends his regards, by the way.”
He paused, like he had just remembered something. “Oh, before I forget.” Ye-joon reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, sleek box. It was wrapped in matte black paper with an embossed logo. He held it out to me with a polite smile.
“This is your new phone. I noticed your old one, and I thought you might need an upgrade,” he explained, his tone calm but practical. His eyes briefly flicked to the side as if he were ensuring everything was in place for the day.
I hesitated for a moment before taking the box. As my fingers brushed against the smooth surface, a wave of uncertainty rushed over me. My heart fluttered a little when I saw the name on the box—it was one of the latest models from one of the biggest brands out there. The box felt heavy in my hands, somehow symbolic of everything that was shifting in my life.
I opened the box carefully, revealing the pristine device inside, its screen already glowing softly. Ye-joon gave me a reassuring nod.
“My number is in there,” he continued, “along with the maids’, the stylist who’ll be visiting you on the 1st, your parents’, and, of course, Hoseok’s.”
At the mention of his name, my breath hitched slightly. Hoseok. I had his number now. The thought was surreal. Should I text him? No, that felt too forward, too sudden. I felt the flutter in my chest at the idea, but I pushed it away, trying to focus on the practicalities.
The phone was a sleek, modern design—light, with curved edges and a stunning display. “Don’t worry,” Ye-joon said, noticing my hesitation, “I didn’t change your number. I just upgraded the phone so they can still contact you.”
I nodded, trying to process everything. It felt overwhelming. Even my phone had been upgraded. Not that my old one had been bad, but it was just another reminder of how quickly everything was changing. I had barely wrapped my head around all of this, and now, there was a new phone with all these new connections. I clutched it tightly for a second, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and unease.
Ye-joon gave a polite bow, his manner always composed, and turned to leave. “I’ll see you later. If you need anything, just let the maids know.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, I was left standing in the middle of this unfamiliar room, the weight of the phone in my hand grounding me. Everything around me was shifting faster than I could keep up with. The phone felt like a tiny symbol of it all—new, unfamiliar, and full of possibilities I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
After Ye-joon left, I stood frozen in the middle of the luxurious walk-in closet, still holding the phone in my hands like it was some foreign object. Everything felt too fast, too overwhelming. I barely had time to catch my breath before I was expected to do what? Accept all of this?
The wedding. Hoseok. All of it.
Shaking my head, I exhaled slowly, trying to ground myself. This wasn’t real, was it? I needed to get ready for the day. I couldn’t stay frozen here forever.
The shower was warm and soothing, the sound of water rushing over me muffling all the intrusive thoughts swirling in my head. I let the hot water run over me for a little longer than usual, just to clear the fog in my mind.
When I stepped out, the steam from the bathroom made everything seem softer. I took my time drying off and wrapping myself in a towel, giving myself a moment of peace, just a few minutes before reality hit me again.
I picked out a pair of joggers and an oversized hoodie from the corner of the closet that Ye-joon had pointed out earlier. The fabric felt familiar and comforting, a tiny act of rebellion against the stacks of designer dresses and high heels that filled the rest of the closet. I didn’t care about looking perfect today. I just wanted to be comfortable for a moment, to feel like myself again.
I padded quietly downstairs, my footsteps echoing in the grand hallway, the marble floors cool beneath my feet. The soft scent of something cooking in the kitchen filtered through the air, but what really stopped me dead in my tracks was the sight in front of me.
The living room… was unrecognizable.
Bouquets. Everywhere. Flowers were scattered across the entire floor like a sea of colors. Red, white, pink, lavender, all mixed together in lush arrangements, their petals gently unfurling as if they were meant to cover every inch of the space. Some were placed neatly in vases, others left in their paper wrapping, but there was no mistaking the scale of it.
The room was flooded with the smell of fresh flowers. Roses, lilies, orchids, chrysanthemums—each one more beautiful than the last. The fragrance was so strong, so intoxicating, it almost made me dizzy.
One of the maids, the youngest, Hyun-Jae hurried past me, carefully balancing a large bouquet in her arms. She didn’t seem surprised by the sight at all, as if this were a normal morning routine.
I blinked, still trying to process what I was seeing.
More movement caught my eye—a couple of guards, their arms laden with even more bouquets, stepped through the wide door, carrying more flowers into the room. They, too, moved with a sense of purpose, almost like this was something routine for them.
“Good morning, Miss Yoo,” Ms. Jang greeted me with a polite bow, a little too practiced, her expression soft but businesslike.
I could barely manage a nod in return. “What… is all of this?” My voice trembled slightly, betraying the mix of shock and confusion that was brewing inside me.
The maid turned, a faint smile on her lips. “This arrived earlier, Miss. It’s from BIGHIT. They wanted to congratulate you.
My stomach lurched at the mention of BIGHIT. Of course, it was them. Of course, they would send something like this. My hands clenched at my sides, and I could feel the familiar weight of panic creeping in again.
“BIGHIT?” I echoed, still not quite able to make sense of what was happening. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“The flowers are a gift, Miss. To celebrate your engagement, of course,” she explained. “And to mark the beginning of the partnership.”
Engagement. Hoseok. My future—what even was it anymore?
“Miss Yoo,” Ms. Jang, continued gently, “I can see you’re overwhelmed. I’ll have the Hyun-jae and Chun arrange them for you. They’ll be cleared from the floor soon, but it will take a while to find the right place for them.”
I didn’t even know how to respond. I stood there, my heart racing, feeling like I had stepped into another world. How was I supposed to handle this? Handle all of this?
I took a shaky step forward, still trying to take it all in. More flowers. Everywhere. And then I noticed something—on the coffee table, in front of the couches, sat a small card nestled among the petals of one of the larger bouquets. I walked over to it slowly, feeling like I was in a dream, still trying to get my bearings.
I picked up the card and read the neat, elegant script:
Congratulations on your engagement. We look forward to your new journey together. – BIGHIT
I lowered the card, the words swimming before my eyes. Was this really happening? Had everything changed so drastically that I couldn’t even catch up?
I wasn’t given much time to linger on my thoughts as the maids and guards continued moving in and out of the room, making space for the remaining flowers. One of the maids was trying to arrange them on a long table in the corner, but it was clear they didn’t have nearly enough space to fit everything. The floor was becoming less visible with each new bouquet they brought in.
I stood there for a moment, unsure whether I should feel grateful or suffocated.
“Don’t worry, Miss Yoo,” Chun said, breaking through my fog of thoughts. “We’ll have it all arranged for you. The house will be ready before you know it.”
I just nodded, my voice lost. All I could think about was how this was my new reality. The grandness of it, the extravagance. The flowers. The house. Everything was being laid out for me, but it was all so foreign. So unreal.
“How am I supposed to get through all of these flowers?” I whispered under my breath, not even sure if I was talking to myself or the maid.
I stood there, still trying to process everything, as the maids continued moving in and out of the room, placing flowers in every corner they could find.
One of the maids Ms. Jang passed by, adjusting a bouquet in a vase, and caught my eye. “The last of the flowers are being arranged, Miss Yoo. I trust you’ll enjoy them,” she said softly, almost like she was comforting me in her own quiet way.
I nodded absently, still unable to shake the surreal feeling. How could any of this be real? This was my life now? Was I really marrying Hoseok, the man I barely knew? And these flowers—hundreds of them—felt like a symbol of everything that was being handed to me. I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or trapped.
My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and saw Ye-joon’s name.
“Miss Yoo,” his voice came through on the other end, crisp and professional as always, but there was a hint of warmth that made me feel a little more at ease. “I trust you’re enjoying the flowers.”
“Ye-joon,” I started, trying to find my voice, “what… what is all this? It’s too much.”
“I’ve already spoken with the delivery team,” he replied, sounding calm as usual. “They’ve left the flowers with the maids to arrange for you. Please, enjoy them at your leisure. I know it’s overwhelming, but it’s a small gesture from BIGHIT to congratulate you. It’s… part of the process.”
I could hear him rustling papers in the background, his voice slightly distracted. “I’m afraid I must get to my meeting now. The chairman will be expecting me. But don’t worry—everything is under control. The maids are more than capable, and I’ve briefed them thoroughly. The rest will fall into place soon.”
I took in a deep breath, still holding the phone loosely in my hand. His tone was steady, reassuring, but my mind was racing. “I understand. Thanks, Ye-joon.”
“Of course, Miss Yoo. I’ll be in touch later. Enjoy the flowers, and I hope you have a peaceful morning.”
With that, the call ended, and I was left standing in the middle of the room, the overwhelming reality of it all settling in once more.
I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. Everything felt like it was happening on its own, without my input. I was no longer in control.
I walked across the room, my feet dragging as I stepped over the rows of flowers. It felt almost like a maze of petals. The sound of the maids moving around, shifting the bouquets into place, only added to the surreal atmosphere. How did I even begin to handle this much?
I paused by the window, staring outside at the sprawling view, but the question still lingered in my mind: What now?
Before I could get lost in my thoughts again, Hyun-jae approached me, holding a small tray with breakfast.
“Breakfast, Miss Yoo. I hope it’s to your liking,” she said, her voice calm and polite as always.
I glanced at her, then back at the flowers, unsure of how to react. Everything felt so out of place. How was I supposed to adapt to this new life?
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
For now, I decided to focus on something simple. A meal. Something I could understand, at least.
-------
By the time I finished my breakfast, two of the living rooms were completely swallowed by flowers. I couldn’t even see the furniture properly anymore. Flowers were spilling over every surface, clustering around chairs, stacked on tables, and spilling onto the floors like they were part of some overwhelming, floral ocean. I stood at the top of the stairs, blinking in disbelief. My hand gripped the railing as I leaned forward, trying to take it all in. I hadn’t even known that many flowers existed.
I hesitated, fumbling with my new phone. The sleek, shiny device felt foreign in my hand, a clear reminder of just how much everything was changing. With a shaky breath, I lifted it up and snapped a picture, capturing the sea of petals that had taken over the house. The photo almost looked fake—like something out of a dream. If you cropped out the pillars and walls, you’d think I had stepped into an actual field of flowers. I laughed nervously to myself, realizing that for the first time today, I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or cry.
Ms. Jang, who had been quietly standing by, watched me with a gentle smile. She seemed so calm, so composed, like she belonged here in this extravagant space. I couldn’t help but feel like a kid who had wandered into a museum, unsure where to step.
“This is indeed quite elaborate, Ms. Yoo,” she said softly, her voice warm yet formal, as if she was making sure I felt comfortable without being too intrusive. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the overwhelming floral chaos, but I, on the other hand, was still trying to find my footing in this bizarre new world.
I nodded and gave her an awkward smile, my hands fidgeting with the phone. “Yeah… it’s a bit much, isn’t it?” I mumbled, my voice trailing off as I avoided making eye contact.
I didn’t know what to do next, so I did the first thing that felt familiar: I dialed my mom’s number. The ringing felt oddly loud against the silence of the room. The flowers seemed to echo the sound. It took a moment for her to pick up, but when she did, I could hear an unfamiliar quiet in the background—no TV blaring, no animals barking or chirping. It was almost unnerving. My mom’s voice came through softer than usual.
“Eomma,” I said, walking slowly down the stairs, making sure not to step on any petals. I felt like I was navigating a flower maze. “What are you doing?”
“Eun-ah,” she said, her voice sounding weary, “I can’t get used to this place. The maids won’t even let me help in the kitchen. They keep telling me to sit down, but it’s so… awkward.”
A small, involuntary laugh bubbled out of me at her words. It was strangely comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who felt out of place. “Do you want to see something crazy, Eomma? Open your video,” I said quickly, feeling a sense of urgency to share this wild moment with her.
Without waiting for her response, I tapped the screen to open the video call, and then, with one shaky motion, I turned the camera to show her the living room—specifically, the flowers that had taken over the entire space. I panned slowly, trying to capture as much of the scene as I could.
My mom gasped, audible even through the phone. “Omo!” she said, leaning in closer to the screen, her face practically pressing against the camera as if she could get a better look. “Where is this from, Eun-ah? Is it from Mr. Jung?”
I held my breath for a moment, trying to find the right words. It felt so strange to talk about him, as if saying his name out loud somehow made everything more real. “Uh, it’s from his agency, BIGHIT,” I said, then quickly flipped the camera to face me. I had no idea how to explain it, how to explain him, or this whole mess.
“Agency? What’s that?” My mom adjusted her glasses, the confusion clear on her face. It dawned on me in that moment—she didn’t know who I was marrying. It wasn’t just me who was clueless about this, it was my whole family.
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like I was the one who needed to explain everything. “An agency… he’s an idol,” I said, hoping that would clear things up.
I barely had time to process her reaction before I heard the unmistakable sound of Woo-oppa’s voice in the background. He came into the frame suddenly, his expression full of confusion and excitement, his eyes scanning the flowers.
“An idol? Who?” Woo-oppa asked, his voice full of excitement. Typical. I could already feel his fangirl energy ramping up. He had always been obsessed with idols—especially with groups like TXT.
I sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Jung Ho-seok,” I said quietly, almost under my breath. It was easier to say than to actually think about it.
The moment I said it, I heard Woo-oppa’s breath catch, and then the next thing I knew, he was shouting at the phone. “No way! No way!!!” He almost yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. Mom winced, clearly not expecting his loud outburst. “So this was the engagement announcement all about?” he said, his voice getting higher with every word.
“Is it a big deal?” My mom asked, still looking completely lost, but now with a confused curiosity.
I turned to look at Woo-oppa, who was now humming “Butter” under his breath. “Mom, he’s one of the singers from that song Dad liked,” Woo-oppa said, as if that would solve all of the confusion.
“Omo! Those Bangtan Sonyeondan kids?” My mom almost shouted, her face lighting up with realization. “Omo! He’s famous?” she asked, now clearly understanding, but only half of it.
I nodded, feeling both relieved and slightly deflated at the same time. “Yeah. I guess so.”
My mom softened at that, her eyes gentle as she looked at me through the screen. “You can do this, dear,” she whispered, her voice unexpectedly soothing. I felt a lump rise in my throat. The reassurance was nice, but it didn’t feel like it would solve all of my worries. “Of course, I believe in you.”
I smiled, but it felt stiff and uncertain. “Thanks, Eomma.”
The sound of her voice snapped me back into the moment. “We have to go,” she said, suddenly distracted. “The doctor is here.”
“Doctor?” I said, immediately furrowing my brows. “What doctor? Are you okay? What about Dad?”
“Oh, don’t worry. This was arranged by Mr. Kim,” she said, her voice light. “He asked when we last had our executive check-up and got mad when we said we hadn’t had one in ages. So, now the doctor is here to take care of it.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing until that moment how much tension had been building in my chest. “Okay, Eomma. Just take care, alright?”
“We will, don’t worry,” she said, her voice now filled with the same warmth as before. “I’m proud of you, Eun-ah.”
“Thanks, Eomma.”
The call ended soon after, and I stared at the phone for a moment, still processing everything she’d said.
I felt oddly hollow, like everything around me was moving too quickly, and I wasn’t sure if I could catch up.
The sea of flowers in front of me suddenly felt like too much.
I wasn’t sure what to feel anymore.
To let my mind rest, I retreated to the entertainment room, the one place in the house untouched by the sea of flowers. The scent of roses and lilies still clung to my clothes and hair, no matter how many times I tried to shake it off. It was suffocating, like the entire house was closing in on me. I let out a heavy sigh, my chest tightening as I sank onto the couch.
The silence of the room felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the chaos outside, but as soon as I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, the familiar sense of unease washed over me again. The screen flickered to life, showing an entertainment column. I slumped back into the cushions, trying to distract myself, but it was no use. The news anchor’s voice immediately pierced through the quiet:
“…BTS’s J-Hope is set to marry after his 27th birthday this February 18th. There’s no news yet on who the lucky girl is, but sources say she is part of the heirs of J-Hope’s company, JuYo Corporation.”
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as a black silhouette of a woman with a question mark appeared on the screen. I knew, without a doubt, that they were talking about me. My heart started to race, and I couldn’t breathe for a second. My eyes locked onto the screen, but the words felt like they were closing in on me, as if the world was pressing down, just a little bit too hard.
I could hear the reporter’s voice fading into the background, but it still cut through the noise in my head. “Cube Entertainment sent out a statement disputing the relation of Kimberly Wang, the rumored long-time girlfriend of J-Hope. They state that reporters should stop harassing Kimberly Wang, as she has no involvement with J-Hope and has no comment about the marriage.”
Kimberly Wang. The nation’s Idol. My fingers gripped the armrest of the couch so tightly, I thought it might break. I didn’t even know she was rumored to be with J-Hope. She was so much more than me. Beautiful, famous, confident—everything I wasn’t. I felt a pang of jealousy, sharp and bitter, but I pushed it down, trying to focus on anything else.
The news anchor’s voice sounded distant now, but the words still echoed in my mind, swirling in a haze of confusion and frustration.
“For more news, don’t forget to tune in to—”
Before I could hear any more, I clicked the TV off, the screen going black with a sharp click. Silence. But the silence didn’t feel peaceful. It felt like a void, pulling me deeper.
There was no peace, not even in the television. Not even for a moment. My fingers trembled as I lowered the remote. What had I gotten myself into? Why couldn’t I just be left alone, even for an hour?
I sank deeper into the couch, closing my eyes, trying to escape the mounting pressure of it all. But no matter how hard I tried to breathe, the weight of everything—of him, of this—pressed on my chest.
The house, the flowers, the TV, the marriage—I couldn’t escape any of it. I felt a migraine forming, I just hoped in the next few days, the news would die down and I’d get a moment’s peace. I had to look at this in a more positive light. Maybe I'd just ride into it, maybe at some point, i’ll get used to it.
I rested my head into the armrest, closing my eyes for a bit, trying to ease the overwhelming feeling inside me. But the doorbell rang again. I sighed, stood up, and walked to see who it was. As I entered the living room, I noticed Chun-Hei was already at the door, receiving another delivery.
She gestured to let the men in. Six delivery men carefully walked in, each holding a different package. They placed six distinct paper bags on the dining table, each one unique in design. After setting them down, the men hurried out, leaving only silence behind.
“Who are these from?” I asked Chun-Hei as she hurriedly closed the heavy door to keep the winter cold out.
“The delivery men said it’s from BTS,” she replied. “I’ll leave you to look through them,” she added before bowing and disappearing to the study, likely helping Hyun-jae, who was still busy arranging some of the flowers in the other room, making way so people can walk in and out.
From BTS. Of course, a member was getting married. They were sending their regards to me and their friend. I grabbed one of the paper bags. It was pink, lined with tissue paper inside. This was the biggest one. I reached in, pulling out a plushie almost half my size. It was an alpaca, wearing a red scarf, its body soft and squishy. The tag read “BT21 RJ,” and beneath the scarf, a teardrop-shaped amethyst necklace shimmered in the light, catching the winter light that filtered through the window.
The plushy’s felt warm against my hands, as if it had been hugged by someone before being sent to me. I smiled at the thought. Reaching deeper into the bag, I found a folded note resting underneath.
“Eun-ah,
Congratulations on your engagement! I can’t wait to meet you soon, my sister-in-law.
I didn’t know what to get you, so I thought this little guy would remind you of me, World-Wide Handsome every day, uwu. Don’t worry, I’ll keep Jwehope out of trouble while we’re
overseas. If he looks at another girl, I’ll make sure to scold him for you, kekeke.
—BTS Jin”
The note felt like a warm hug. I didn’t know Jin personally, but his humor was already shining through, and he was welcoming me into their world. I smiled, feeling a little lighter.
Next, I grabbed a smaller black paper bag, its simplicity contrasting the vibrant pink one. Inside, there was another small box, its edges sharp and refined. I opened it to reveal a pair of silver earrings. The earrings were delicate, with a smooth, polished finish that glistened even in the low light. The design was timeless—simple yet elegant. I noticed a slight curve to the silver, which would rest perfectly against the ear.
Again, I reached for a note tucked inside, its handwriting small and neat.
“Ms. Eun-ah,
Welcome to the family, and congratulations on your engagement.
—Min Yoongi”
Short. Polite. Formal. It felt just like the Suga I’d seen on TV. There was something about the simplicity of the gift that made it feel meaningful. Even though the note was brief, it was sincere.
I sighed, a little amused by the difference in their personalities. I reached for the third paper bag, sitting down at the dining room table as I realized I had to get through all six of these.
This one was yellow, no stuffing, just a small box inside the paper bag wrapped in gift wrap. I tore it off to reveal a snow globe. Inside, a small figure of a person stood with a heart-shaped mouth, wearing a shirt that said “Hope.” I guessed it was Hoseok. The figure was slightly whimsical, with exaggerated features, and a smile that radiated warmth.
The snowflakes inside the globe shimmered as they swirled around, creating a gentle winter scene.
I noticed a switch on the side and turned it on. The globe lit up in soft, white light, and the Hoseok figure inside began to spin slowly, as if dancing. It could work as a bedside lamp, though it was a bit quirky. Sweet and personal, though. I couldn’t help but giggle. The note was stuck on the side of the globe, the handwriting playful.
“To my Sister Eun-ah,
Hello! This is Park Jimin, ah, I’m sure you know me.
Congratulations on your engagement to my Hyung, Hoba. I hope you like my little gift! It’s winter, so remember to bundle up and stay warm. We’re all excited to meet you soon! <3”
It was so typical of the Jimin I know on tv—sweet and mischievous. The playful nature of the gift, with the glowing light and the spinning figure, felt like something he would do. I couldn’t wait to meet him in person.
The next paper bag was beige with a little red ribbon on top. Inside, I found a mug that made me raise an eyebrow. It wasn’t like any mug I’d seen before—it was eccentric, with an abstract face painted on it. The face seemed to change depending on how you looked at it. Its uneven lines and exaggerated features made it look like something you’d find in an avant-garde art gallery.
“Eun-ah, Sister,
I painted this myself. I hope you like it! Congratulations on your engagement with our Hyung.
—V”
Of course. V, the most eccentric of the group. But the fact that he had painted it himself made it so much more special. I wondered how much time he had put into it, and it made me feel touched by his gesture. It was personal, a true reflection of his creativity.
There were two more gifts left. One was a book, and I could tell from the wrapping. The other, I reached for the paper bag. It was soft cloth—when I pulled it out, it turned out to be a white scarf. The material was so warm, I immediately put it on, feeling the soft fabric envelop me. The scarf was thick, almost plush, and the wool was tightly knit, providing comfort against the chill of winter. It was cozy and lightweight, perfect for layering on those cold mornings. But it somehow felt like it wasn’t new, like it had been used. I smell a hint of cologne, something sweet like vanilla.
A note was attached to the end of it.
“Sister,
I’m sure Jimin-hyung told you to stay warm, but didn’t give you anything to actually keep you warm, kekeke and I’m sure the hyungs already gave you wonderful gifts, so mine is more simple.
This scarf is from Hobi hyung’s luggage. Kekeke, I’m sure he’ll be looking for it soon. Keep it safe from me, and congratulations on your engagement!
—JK >_<“
I giggled. Jungkook’s playful side shone through once again. So this is what Hoseok smelled like somehow I felt like a creep sniffing the scarf that I received, I wondered if J-Hope would really miss the scarf or if Jungkook had done this on purpose just to mess with him. Either way, the gift was thoughtful, and it made me feel warm in more ways than one.
Finally, I unwrapped the book. It was a bit of a heavy read, and I chuckled when I saw the title: Adjustment for Dummies. Typical Namjoon. The note was written on the first page:
“If you ever feel lost or overwhelmed, read this…—NJ”
I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Passive-aggressive, yet so characteristic of Namjoon. He had a way of being blunt, but in a way that was still caring. His thoughtful yet cheeky side came through perfectly in that little note. Maybe it was exactly what I needed.
The gifts really made me feel warm inside, like 6 brothers greeting me, everything felt personal, not like some errand they made their assistants run. It somehow eased all the chaos I was feeling inside. It made me feel excited to meet them all, somehow, hoping the bright sunshine that was Jhope on screen was his real life persona as well, like his brothers.
I carried my gifts to my room, though it was a bit of a struggle since the RJ plushie was so large. Chun Hei offered to help, but I told her to rest since she’d already spent the day arranging so many flowers. She looked slightly offended at being dismissed but gave me a small bow before retreating back to the kitchen.
Pushing open the door to my room, I placed the oversized RJ plushie on the bed. “I shall name you Jinnie, since you’re from Jin-oppa,” I said aloud, tying Jungkook’s scarf around RJ’s neck. Even with the plushie sprawled across the bed, the bed still seemed ridiculously big.
Next, I set Jimin’s snow globe on the bedside table, right next to the minimalist lamp already there. I carefully stored the earrings from Suga in the jewelry organizer in the walk-in closet. That left Namjoon’s book and V’s eccentric mug. I sat on the bed—realizing it was my first time sitting on it—and felt its softness rival the one in the other room.
As I stared at the book and mug in my hands, something in front of me caught my eye: a door handle. How had I not noticed this before? First, I missed the walk-in closet, and now this door? Curiosity got the better of me, and I twisted the knob.
The door opened to reveal a private study. A sleek white desk sat in the center, flanked by walls of built-in bookshelves. In front of the desk was a plush sofa, and on the desk itself were architectural tools and drawings. This space was undoubtedly meant for me—just as Hoseok had his studio.
Beside the sofa stood a miniature model of the house, encased in a glass box. I leaned closer, taking in the intricate details. Even in model form, the architecture was breathtaking. The backyard featured a gazebo and a pool, areas I hadn’t explored yet due to the snow. The house was just as stunning from the back as it was from the front. I made a mental note to ask the old man who the architect was when I met him.
I placed V’s mug on the desk and slid Namjoon’s book onto one of the shelves. Standing in the middle of the study, I couldn’t help but marvel at how much this house continued to surprise me.
I sank into the sofa, my gaze fixed on the eccentric mug V had given me. All six of them had taken the time to personalize their gifts, but I couldn’t help but notice that I had yet to receive anything from my future husband. The thought made me sigh as I hugged my knees and collapsed my weight further into the chair. Wasn’t it a bit rude not to send anything back to them?
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hesitated for a moment before dialing Ye-joon.
“Hello, Ms. Yoo,” he answered promptly, his tone composed. I could hear faint noises in the background, the sound of a phone being placed on a table. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
“Uh… is this a bad time?” I asked, suddenly feeling awkward about calling him for something so trivial.
“Absolutely not. My primary role is to serve you and Hoseok. Any free time I have is spent on other tasks when I’m not needed by either of you,” he reassured me.
His words made me smile; for once, I felt like I wasn’t just an afterthought in all of this. “I received gifts from the Boys today,” I began, unsure how to phrase my thoughts. “Do you think I should send something back? I mean… I don’t really know what’s proper. Aside from my parents and my childhood best friend, I’ve never received gifts like this from anyone. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the rhythmic tapping of Ye-joon’s fingers on a surface—he was thinking. “I don’t believe the boys would expect anything in return,” he said at last, his voice steady. “But what if…”
As he explained his idea, a wide smile spread across my face. I straightened in my seat, excitement bubbling inside me. “Are you sure we can pull that off?” I asked, my voice a mixture of hope and doubt.
“Absolutely. I’ll draft an email and get everything arranged immediately,” he assured me.
“Thank you, Ye-joon! You’re the best,” I said, hanging up before I could second-guess myself.
It was a brilliant plan, and I couldn’t wait to see it through. I just hoped it would bring as much joy to them as their gifts had brought to me.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter Text
Yesterday zipped by so fast I could barely process it. I didn’t even sleep properly because I was way too excited for Ye-Joon’s plan. Tonight was the last day of the boys’ concert in Vegas, and Ye-Joon said he’d come over to help me watch the live stream. Obviously, this wasn’t something everyone got to do, so I invited the maids to join in—figured it’d be a cool perk for them, being part of this household and all. Chun Hei and Hyun-jae seemed thrilled, while Ms. Jang just nodded like it was another chore to check off. Oh well.
Chun Hei made popcorn (bless her) and got the entertainment room all set up. We settled into our seats, but I noticed Hyun-jae couldn’t sit still, practically bouncing like her chair had springs.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, leaning over to check on her.
Chun Hei smirked and couldn’t help teasing, “Don’t worry about her, Ms. Yoo. She’s been an ARMY forever.”
Ms. Jang immediately gave Chun Hei the look—you know, the one that says, zip it before you embarrass us all.
I waved it off, trying to keep the vibe chill. “It’s fine, really. No need to be formal with me. And honestly, Hyun-jae, I’m happy for you! You’re going to be serving J-Hope. Think you’ll survive?” I teased.
Hyun-jae turned beet red. “I-I’ll do my best,” she mumbled, fiddling with her hands.
Before I could poke more fun, Ye-Joon burst through the door, juggling a cake box and some fancy black bag. “I made it! Just in time!” he grinned, setting everything down on the table. “The concert’s about to start.” He plugged the iPad into the TV like a pro, and boom, the show was on.
The screen lit up, showing this massive stage, with smoke starting to curl up at the edges. The lights dimmed, and you could see thousands of ARMY bombs sparkling like stars. The music started, and I swear the crowd’s energy practically came through the screen.
Then it happened. The iconic chant: Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook… BTS!
One by one, they popped up on stage, rocking simple white tees and jeans. They looked so relaxed, smiling and waving like they weren’t the biggest stars in the world. Slowly, they moved into formation, and then—
“Bultaoreune,” Suga whispered, and I swear chills ran down my spine.
The beat dropped, and Fire exploded—literally. Flames shot up from the sides of the stage, and the crowd went wild. The energy was insane. Like, how are they even real?
I glanced at Chun Hei and Hyun-jae. They were totally in their element, grinning ear to ear. Even Ms. Jang looked like she might be enjoying herself—not that she’d ever admit it.
For a moment, I forgot about everything else. No stress, no pressure—just BTS doing what they do best. Honestly, they’re on another planet. Performance after performance after performance, no breaks, man they must be so tired, but you’ll never see it on their face.
“It’s ending,” Ye-Joon said calmly, as the final notes of the encore faded into the stadium.
“What? It is? But where’s our surprise?” I asked, glancing at him in confusion.
“Just wait,” Ye-Joon replied, folding his arms as if he had all the time in the world. He sank back into his chair, pulled out his phone, and started typing something with a smug smile on his face.
On stage, Namjoon began his ending speech. His voice was warm, filled with gratitude as he addressed ARMY. But suddenly, he paused, looking down at his pocket.
“Wait, what’s this? I’m getting a text,” Namjoon said, pulling his phone out, his forehead creased with confusion. “I’m sorry—this usually doesn’t happen,” he added, laughing sheepishly. The crowd burst into cheers and laughter, clearly amused by the unscripted moment.
Jin couldn’t resist chiming in. “Namjoon-ah, we can’t rent this stadium for the whole night, you know. And our ARMY are getting cold!” he teased, earning more laughter from the audience.
Namjoon squinted at the screen, still looking baffled. “It’s from Ye-Joon,” he announced.
My eyes snapped to Ye-Joon, who was now grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Ye-Joon?” Hoseok’s voice cut through the chatter, his tone tinged with surprise. “My assistant?” He tilted his head, as if trying to connect the dots. “Why? What does it say?”
Namjoon chuckled, reading the message aloud. “It says… ‘Look up.’”
As if on cue, all seven of them tilted their heads skyward, confusion etched on their faces. A deep rumbling sound echoed through the stadium as the roof began to part, slowly sliding open to reveal the dark night sky.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, with a thunderous boom, the sky erupted in a cascade of purple fireworks. They lit up the stadium, painting everything in shimmering hues of violet and gold.
The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wave of pure joy rippling through the space. BTS stood frozen for a second, then broke into wide smiles, pulling each other into a group hug.
On the stadium screens, bold letters appeared, flashing in both Hangul and English:
-----“ARMY, thank you for making BTS happy, your happiness is BTS’s happiness, I hope that you all stay happy and healthy.
J-Hope’s Fiancé”-----
My heart raced as I watched their reactions. Hoseok’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the message, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. The rest of the members were grinning and nudging him, teasing and laughing.
Ye-Joon, sitting beside me, leaned back with a satisfied look. “See? Perfect timing.”
I could barely breathe. Perfect timing was an understatement—but seeing “J-Hope’s Fiancé” on the screen made my face flush with embarrassment.
“As we all know, our Hoba is getting married soon,” Namjoon said into the mic, his voice filled with warmth as the fireworks crackled overhead. “Let’s all wish him a happy marriage!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound almost as loud as the fireworks. Hoseok, still visibly stunned, stayed rooted next to Suga, his eyes darting between the screen and the audience as if trying to process what had just happened.
“With this, we close tonight’s show,” Namjoon continued, his voice steady and sincere. “We’ll be flying to our next venue after this, but we’ll see you again soon, right? Thank you so much, ARMY. We love you!” He reached for Jin’s hand, and the seven of them bowed deeply together before the screen went dark.
As the final notes of the outro music faded, I turned to Ye-Joon, my elbow jabbing into his side. “What the hell? ‘J-Hope’s Fiancé?’”
“What should I have written instead? ‘Ye-Joon’?” he teased, leaning back in his chair.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Still, I don’t think he’ll like this gesture… not at all.” My unease lingered as I leaned forward, nervously fidgeting with my sleeves.
How would Hoseok feel about this? Would he be angry? Embarrassed? Or would he just brush it off like everything else?
But there was no way to know. Not yet. We hadn’t even met.
The maids had now cleared the entertainment area, leaving just me and Ye-joon alone in the room. The quiet felt a little heavier with the commotion of the party still fresh in the air.
“Don’t worry too much, Hoseok will be fine,” Ye-joon said, adjusting his tux, his tone a mix of reassurance and professionalism. “Oh, and by the way, this is from him. Better late than never, I guess?” He gave me a small smile as he slid a paper bag across the table.
“Let me guess, he made you run out this errand?” I teased, reaching for the bag.
Ye-joon raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “Careful, this one’s valuable,” he warned as I snatched it up.
“Alright, alright,” I muttered, carefully loosening the ribbon. My fingers brushed the cool paper as I opened the bag and pulled out what felt like a solid, heavy object.
I froze for a second, my curiosity piqued. What was this?
I carefully unwrapped it, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw what it was—a framed, scaled-down blueprint of one of the sections of Changdeokgung Palace. The intricate lines and details of the palace’s architecture were so finely drawn, I could almost hear the echoes of history within them.
“Oh my god, is this real? It’s not legal to own this, right?” I whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. My eyes flicked over the frame, tracing the delicate corners where the blueprint was mounted. “Thank you! Where did you even get this?”
Ye-joon gave a small shrug, looking a little proud but mostly detached. “Well, I did pick it up, that’s why I'm late by the way, but Hoseok pulled all the strings. Quite meaningful, right? Something for the architecture student?”
I couldn’t stop the excitement from bubbling up inside me. A blueprint like this? It had to be worth more than most things I could ever dream of owning. I ran my fingers gently along the frame, feeling the weight of it in my hands. It was breathtaking—not just because of the price, but because of the thought that had clearly gone into it.
“This is… incredible,” I murmured, staring at the blueprint as if it might somehow come to life. “It’s really for me?”
Ye-joon gave a quick nod, his expression softening just a little. “Yeah. It’s something special.”
It was overwhelming, in the best way possible. This wasn’t just a gift—it was a statement. And suddenly, the weight of the gesture sank in even more deeply. I wasn’t just a random person in Hoseok’s world. I was part of it. This was more than just a fancy gift. It was a piece of history, something that resonated with who I was and what I was passionate about.
“He’s going to arrive on the morning of January 1st,” Ye-Joon said, slipping back into assistant mode as he rattled off the schedule like a well-rehearsed script. “He’ll head straight to his apartment to get ready before joining us at the hotel restaurant we’ve booked. You, on the other hand, will need to start earlier. A stylist will come by that morning to help you prepare since, well, makeup isn’t exactly your thing,” he teased, his lips twitching with amusement.
I let out a small groan, but his light-hearted jab managed to draw a faint smile from me. Typical Ye-Joon, always finding ways to keep things from feeling too heavy. “Your family will be arriving here in the morning as well,” he added, his tone softening just a touch. “Everything is set.”
The weight of it all pressed against me. Being rich didn’t mean freedom—it meant schedules, obligations, and an overwhelming sense of expectation. I longed for the simplicity of my old life, where decisions were dictated by my own whims and not the demands of others. The thought of meeting the Jungs on New Year’s Day churned my stomach, each imagined scenario more intimidating than the last.
But the promise of seeing my family again—Mom, Dad, Woo—was the one comforting thought in this whirlwind of newness and uncertainty.
“You’ll be fine. The Jungs are good people,” Ye-Joon said, offering me an encouraging smile. “It’s getting late; you should rest. Call me if you need me tomorrow.”
He stood, bowing slightly before heading for the door. I got up too, mirroring his bow, but he was already gone—always in a hurry, always moving forward.
The quiet settled around me, broken only by the faint hum of the heating system. I turned to the gift Ye-Joon had handed me earlier. It still felt surreal—receiving something so thoughtful, so extraordinary.
Clutching the frame close to my chest, I climbed the stairs to my room. The cool evening air drifted through the hallway as I passed into my study and set the frame carefully on my desk.
For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at it. The blueprint of Changdeokgung Palace was exquisite—its intricate lines and details seemed to come alive beneath the glass. The frame itself was weighty, its presence a reminder of the thought and effort behind it. My fingers brushed the cool metal edge as I traced the lines of the palace, a mixture of awe and disbelief swirling in my chest.
This wasn’t just a gift. It was a gesture. Was it Hoseok’s way of acknowledging me, or simply a reflection of his wealth and connections? My heart twisted in confusion and gratitude, the emotions hard to untangle.
I sank into the chair at my desk, the faint glow of the desk lamp casting soft light on the frame. The palace’s design, with its meticulous precision and historic elegance, was both grounding and overwhelming.
Two days. I had two days before the meeting. Two days to prepare for a new chapter that still felt foreign and uncertain.
For now, I let my eyes wander over the blueprint’s delicate details, letting its beauty distract me from the nerves clawing at my chest. The rest would come soon enough.
-------
I woke up to my phone vibrating endlessly. Its relentless buzzing felt like an intrusion into the stillness of the morning. With a groan, I stretched my hand out, blindly searching for it in the mess of pillows and blankets, but after a moment of fumbling, I gave up.
This bed was way too big, and I was still getting used to it. I pulled Jinnie the plushie closer, its soft fluff a small comfort as I buried my face into it. Whoever was calling could wait. I must’ve stayed up too late last night, lost in a rabbit hole of random YouTube videos. My eyelids felt heavy, begging me to stay cocooned in warmth.
Finally, the vibrations stopped. Relief washed over me, and I let out a long breath.
But just as I started sinking back into blissful half-sleep, the buzzing started again.
I groaned louder this time, sitting up in frustration. “Who the hell is calling me this early?” I mumbled to no one in particular. Poor Jinnie toppled to the side as I abandoned it for the task at hand.
The bright morning light filtering through the curtains made me squint as I blindly patted the expanse of the bed, trying to locate my phone. Where was it? The vibrations seemed to be mocking me, coming from some elusive spot just out of reach.
When my hand finally brushed against its cool surface, I snatched it up and blinked blearily at the screen. ‘Ye-joon calling.’ The screen blinked at me just as the call dropped. Twenty-one missed calls? But it’s only 10 a.m.! Before I could even process it, the phone started buzzing again.
I answered groggily, still half-asleep. “What? This better be important.”
“It is,” Ye-joon said sharply. “The Jungs moved the meeting tonight, dinner. Hoseok arrived earlier than expected.”
“What?” I bolted upright, blankets tumbling to the floor. “What do you mean dinner? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Atlanta today for a final show?” Panic set in as I scrambled to my feet, heading toward the bathroom.
“The show got cancelled last minute because of a bad snowstorm in the area,” Ye-joon explained. His voice was clipped, and I could hear the distant honking of car horns around him. “The boys decided to postpone it until after your meeting with the Jungs. They didn’t want to delay your meeting just for them.”
I froze for a moment, gripping my toothbrush. “But—but my parents? We were supposed to get ready together.” My heart sank. That plan had been the only thing keeping me grounded, the thought of their familiar presence calming my nerves.
“I’ve sent a stylist to your parents. You’ll meet them at the hotel later, not while getting ready.” Ye-joon’s tone softened slightly, but it didn’t do much to ease my growing dread. “I’m almost at your place with your stylist. Be ready in ten minutes.”
Before I could protest, the call ended.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, throwing my phone onto the bed as I darted into the shower. I scrubbed furiously, my mind racing a mile a minute. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to somehow pull myself together.
Please, I prayed silently, rinsing my hair as fast as humanly possible. Please don’t let me miss any spots.
I stepped out of the shower, the steam still hanging in the air as I wrapped myself in a robe, but I had no idea what to wear. What does one even wear to something like this? I paced back and forth in front of the closet, completely overwhelmed by all the options. Nothing seemed to fit the vibe.
Then there was a soft knock on my door, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Ms. Yoo?” came a soft voice from the other side. “The stylist is here to see you.”
“Uh... Come in, I guess?” I called out, realizing I hadn't even gotten dressed yet.
The door opened, and in walked Hyun-Jae, followed by... wow. A tall woman with flawless skin, red lips, and sleek black hair. She looked like she just stepped off a runway, and I swear, my jaw nearly hit the floor.
“Ms. Yoo,” she said with a polite bow. I fumbled and returned the gesture, feeling like I should’ve put more effort into my appearance.
“I’m Choi Bo-ra,” she introduced herself, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ll be your stylist for today. Shall we get started?”
“Uh... here?” I asked, looking around the closet “But we don’t have a place here.”
Bo-ra smiled—no, she glowed—and moved gracefully to one side of the closet, eyeing the wall like she was looking for something.
“These types of walk-in closets always have a hidden vanity in the walls,” she said, inspecting the mirror on the far side. “They’re usually tucked away to save space. Trust me, it’s here.”
“I’m sure I don’t—”
Before I could finish, she smoothly slid the mirror to the side like she’d done it a million times. And there it was—a tiny fold-out vanity, hidden in plain sight.
“Bam,” she said with a grin, pulling out a sleek chair from behind the wall. “They design these things to save space. Most people don’t even realize they’ve got a vanity in their closet until someone shows them.”
I stood there, blinking in surprise, making a mental note to ask Ye-joon of all the things he did not show me yet. Who knew closets could have secret compartments like this? It was like living in a fancy movie set.
She gestured toward the vanity. “Go ahead, have a seat. We’re a bit behind schedule, but I’ll make sure you look perfect. You are meeting Hoseok today, after all.” Her words were casual, but there was a bit of pressure in the way she said it.
Hyun-Jae stood quietly by her side, watching with that usual composed look. I sat down, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the day was speeding by so quickly. Was I really about to meet the Jungs today? It all felt a little surreal.
Bo-ra stood behind me, her gaze focused on every little detail in the mirror—every wrinkle, every zit. Honestly, it made me feel kind of... exposed. Like she could see all my flaws in one glance.
“You’ve already got great features,” she said, her voice calming. “We’ll just highlight them.” She opened up her bag and pulled out a bunch of products, each one more intimidating than the last. “We’re going for a no-makeup makeup look today—keep it natural, especially for a first meeting.”
I nodded, still trying to shake off the anxiety that had built up in my stomach.
“It’s 11:00 am now,” Bo-ra continued, moving around me with ease, “so we should be done by 4. You’ll be out of here by then, and can make it to your meeting by 6.” She smiled reassuringly as she matched my skin tone to a foundation shade.
“Close your eyes, please,” she added.
I did as she asked, feeling her fingers glide over my skin so lightly, it was almost like she wasn’t even there. Her hands were so precise, like she had this whole process down to a science. It was honestly impressive how she made it all seem so effortless, like she was painting on a canvas.
I couldn’t help but think—if only I could feel as confident as she seemed to be about everything.
A few hours had passed, though honestly, I think I might’ve drifted off for a bit. The makeup took so long, and I couldn’t blame her—she was working with my uncooperative face after all.
“All done, you can open your eyes now,” Bo-ra said, her voice gentle but with a quiet excitement behind it.
I slowly peeled my eyes open, still a little blurry from all the rubbing and gentle tugs at my eyelids. As my eyes started to focus, I blinked and froze. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t mine—or at least, it didn’t feel like it was. Who was this person? The girl staring back at me looked like someone out of a dream.
My breath caught in my throat. Holy shit. Was that really me?
“Do you like it?” Bo-ra asked, her voice soft with pride, watching my reaction in the mirror. “I told you, you already have great features. We just accentuated them.”
I swallowed hard, unable to pull my gaze away. “Is this really me?” I whispered, almost afraid to believe it. I studied my face—my eyes were defined with just a hint of glitter eyeshadow, subtle but enough to catch the light in the right way. It wasn’t bold, but it was... perfect. My lips shimmered with a soft gloss, and the blush, just the right amount, made my skin look like it was glowing from within. It felt natural, like me, but a version I hadn’t known existed.
I touched my face as if to confirm what I was seeing. “Wow, it’s so well done,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the reflection, still in awe of how different I looked.
“You’re welcome,” Bo-ra replied, but her voice was already tinged with urgency. She glanced at her watch, then back at me. “We’re behind schedule, so please stand up. Let’s get you dressed.”
I nodded absently, still trying to process the stunning version of myself staring back. As if on cue, Hyun-Jae entered with a black velvet dress draped carefully over her arm. It looked luxurious—so smooth, so rich in color. The long sleeves and the subtle V-cut were beautiful, but as my gaze dropped, I noticed the slit. It was dangerously high, higher than anything I’d ever worn before.
“Wow,” I said, my voice full of disbelief. “That slit is... dangerous.”
I reached out, running my fingers over the fabric, the cool smoothness of it sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t think I can pull that off,” I muttered, suddenly feeling small and unsure.
Bo-ra raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I definitely think you can pull it off,” she said, confident and reassuring. “You’re not flat, and I think you’ve got great hips. Let’s see, shall we?”
She gestured for me to remove my robe, and though my nerves kicked in, I did as she asked. The dress slid on effortlessly, hugging every curve of my body, hugging the parts of me I didn’t even know I had. The fit was perfect—too perfect. The fabric clung to my skin, accentuating my figure in ways that felt foreign. The cleavage was just enough to be noticeable, but not too much. And the slit... it really was dangerously high. But for the first time in a long while, I couldn’t help but feel... pretty.
“See? Perfect,” Bo-ra said, spinning me around to face the mirror once again. She beamed as she looked at me, her eyes gleaming with approval. “Let’s get your hair done now. Ye-joon’s waiting downstairs, and we’ve run out of time.”
I stood frozen in place for a moment, taking it all in. This was me. This version of me—confident, poised, and ready for whatever was coming.
With a small, almost nervous smile, I nodded. It was happening. This was the new me.
After Bo-ra finished styling my hair, we moved on to the jewelry. I picked the earrings Yoongi had gifted me. They were simple yet elegant, just the right touch for the occasion. Bo-ra, ever the professional, chose a delicate necklace to balance out the deep V-neck of the dress, noting that it would help draw attention to the cleavage. She winked as she fastened it around my neck, and I couldn't help but laugh nervously at her playful attitude.
As soon as I was done, I hurried downstairs—already running late. The clock showed 4:30, and we were cutting it close. I could see Ye-joon pacing in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. His words were clipped, urgent.
“Are they there? Yes, we’re almost leaving, how about the Yoo’s, are they settled?” His voice was laced with pressure. “I see... Maybe it’ll take us 40 minutes to get there,” he said, before glancing up and seeing me at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened slightly, his jaw dropping a little before he quickly recovered. “Yes, we’re leaving now.”
I couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of pride at his reaction, but the rush of anxiety crept back in immediately as I heard him speak. “You look nice,” he said, his voice a little softer now, though the stress still lingered. “But we’re late.”
He grabbed my bag from my hand, and his tone shifted as he turned to one of the guards standing nearby, gesturing him to start the car. “Hoseok and his family are already on their way. It’ll take them about 50 minutes to get there, and it’ll take us 40 if there’s no traffic. Your family’s already arrived and is settled at the restaurant.” There was a tightness in his voice, and I could tell he was trying to mask his worry. We couldn’t afford to be any later than we already were.
Ye-joon moved quickly toward the door, his pace hurried and purposeful, as if everything depended on the seconds ticking by. One of the guards offered me a fur coat as I stepped out, and they opened the car door for me. I slid into the backseat, the cold night air brushing against my skin before the warmth of the car surrounded me.
Ye-joon climbed in beside me, his expression serious as ever. He glanced at the driver. “Step on it,” he said, his voice firm, commanding.
The car lurched into motion, and we were off, heading toward the restaurant.
Honestly, I didn’t know who was more nervous at that moment—Ye-joon or me. The silence between us felt heavy as the car sped through the streets, and all I could focus on was the fact that this was really happeningI couldn't stop fidgeting, my fingers playing with the hem of my dress, my thoughts racing. Ye-joon, on the other hand, was tapping his foot violently, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the car. Shit, he was nervous too.
"Listen," he said, glancing at me for a moment before looking back at his watch—again, for what felt like the hundredth time. "You need to calm down."
I shot him a sideways glance, my voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside me. "You need to calm down too."
Ye-joon narrowed his eyes at me, his gaze sharp. "Excuse me, you're the one who made us late."
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, he exhaled a soft sigh of frustration, his shoulders slumping just slightly.
“I’m nervous because Hoseok hates it when people are late," he muttered, his voice almost tight with the weight of the situation. "I don’t want his first impression of you to be that.”
I paused, the words settling in. Despite his cold and sometimes demanding nature, Ye-joon always had my back in his own way. Even when he was frustrated, I could tell that he genuinely cared about how I was perceived in this whole mess.
I met his eyes for a brief moment, offering him a small, grateful smile. Despite the chaos and his often gruff exterior, I knew that beneath it all, he was looking out for me—and I truly appreciated it more than he could ever know.
The car ride was long and quiet, Ye-joon kept on checking his watch every five minutes, he was also glued to his phone calling someone every second as well.
As the car came to a stop in front of the hotel, I couldn’t help but blink in awe. The building was massive, towering above me with its sleek, modern design, gleaming glass walls, and marble columns that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the sky. My breath caught in my throat—architecture has always been something that fascinated me, and seeing a building like this up close was like witnessing a work of art in person. I couldn’t help but smile at the way the light played off its surfaces, every angle seeming to tell a different story.
I could feel Ye-joon’s eyes on me, though, and I quickly snapped out of my daze. He was already checking his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. With practiced precision, he tapped away at the screen, eyes scanning the surroundings.
A few tense moments passed before he nodded and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Coast is clear,” he said, his voice as calm as ever.
I nodded, hands slightly trembling as I reached for the car door. As I stepped out, my heels clicked sharply on the pavement, echoing against the quiet evening. The cool air hit my face, making me shiver for a split second, but the hotel’s beauty quickly distracted me again.
Ye-joon led the way, his strides quick and purposeful. My heart raced as I followed him, taking in the grand lobby of the hotel. The towering ceilings, the glossy floors, the intricate chandeliers—it was like stepping into a movie set. The whole place practically screamed luxury.
We made our way through the lobby and into the restaurant, and that’s when it hit me—the silence. It was almost too quiet. The entire restaurant was empty, save for my family sitting at a table near the far end. My mom, dad, and Eun-woo were all there, dressed to the nines, looking absolutely stunning. For a moment, I just stared at them, overwhelmed by how beautiful they all were.
My heart skipped a beat as I approached the table. My mom’s eyes brightened as she saw me, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth. “Eun-ah, you look absolutely beautiful!” she gushed, her eyes soft with pride.
I smiled, but my mind was racing. As I sank into the seat next to my family, my mom leaned in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard from one of the guards,” she began, looking around as though checking if anyone else was listening, “that the Jungs rented the entire place for tonight. Just for the meeting. So it can be… private.”
Private? My mind spun. I glanced around at the empty restaurant again, feeling the weight of her words. It was all so calculated, so controlled. And for some reason, it made everything feel even more surreal.
As we settled into the soft ambiance of the restaurant, my nerves started to coil tighter and tighter in my chest, though I tried to mask it behind polite conversation. I could feel the weight of the moment building up, like the anticipation before a storm. My hands trembled slightly under the table, and I fought to keep my expression neutral.
Just as I was beginning to feel like I might breathe a little easier, Ye-joon’s phone rang sharply, cutting through the stillness of the room. His face immediately tightened with that look he always wore when he was on business—stoic, focused, like everything had to be handled with precision.
I watched as he stepped away from the table, his voice low as he answered the call, the conversation too distant for me to overhear, but still it made my stomach twist. I tried to concentrate on the calm faces of my family around me, but it was hard. The silence between us felt so heavy now. Every tick of the clock, every passing second, felt like it was getting closer to something inevitable.
Ye-joon’s side of the conversation was brief, and when he hung up, his gaze shifted toward us with a sharpness that made my heart skip a beat.
“The Jungs have arrived,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an edge of urgency. He didn't need to say anything more, his tone said it all—the moment was here.
The moment I had been dreading.
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter Text
My heart slammed into my chest, and for a few seconds, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. My body went completely rigid, like all the tension that had been building up inside me suddenly flooded out, hitting me like a tidal wave. I could hear the faint thrum of my pulse in my ears, and my mind felt like it was moving too fast for my body to keep up. I suddenly felt all too aware of the people around me—the too-smooth fabric of my dress, the weight of my makeup, the tightness in my chest that was threatening to suffocate me.
My hand found the edge of the table, fingers gripping it like a lifeline. I tried to calm myself, to breathe, but my heart was racing, my palms sweating. I could feel the anxiety creeping up in waves, the overwhelming sense of pressure, of all eyes on me.
Ye-joon wasn’t looking at me directly, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on the room. I could almost feel him taking note of how everyone reacted, his sharp mind already analyzing every nuance of this meeting, this first impression.
I caught a glimpse of my parents out of the corner of my eye—mom’s face slightly tense but trying to stay composed, Eun-woo’s quiet, unreadable expression as usual. I was the one visibly struggling, my fingers now fidgeting with the hem of my dress. It was so damn hard to keep it together. My heart felt like it was racing in double time, and I was doing everything I could not to visibly shake.
I knew this meeting was important, but the reality of it—the weight of what was at stake—felt suffocating. I thought I could handle it. Thought I had everything under control. But now that the Jungs were here, the tension in the air thickened to a point where it almost crushed me.
I glanced at Ye-joon again, his face impassive, his eyes calculating, but there was something in his posture that was a little stiffer than usual. His professionalism was a shield, but even he couldn’t mask the underlying tension that seemed to radiate from him. It made me wonder—was I the only one feeling this much pressure?
“Are you alright?” My mom’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, her hand gently placing itself on mine. She must have sensed the panic slowly taking over. I gave her a tight smile, my lips trembling as I tried to muster a calm reply.
“Yeah, just a little nervous,” I whispered back, not trusting my voice to be steady.
She nodded, her gaze softening, but I could tell she was just as anxious. She didn’t say anything more, though—maybe because there was nothing that could be said. The moment had come, and all we could do was face it.
“Ye-joon,” my father spoke up, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch on forever. His voice was steady, but I could see his subtle frown deepening. "How long before they arrive?"
"Not long," Ye-joon answered, already stepping toward the door. "Please, take a deep breath, Ms. Yoo." He gave me one last, pointed look before he motioned for the door to be opened. “They’re about to walk in.”
And just like that, my breath caught in my throat. This was it. The time had come. I could feel the world around me quiet down, and all I could think of was what would happen next. Would I make a good impression? Would everything fall into place? Would Hoseok even like me?
The door swung open, and the world I had been dreading was about to come crashing in.
The sudden, sharp clatter of camera shutters echoed from outside the restaurant, cutting through the quiet tension of the room. The calls from the paparazzi rang out, eager voices shouting, “J-Hope, over here!” and “J-Hope, look this way!” The whole atmosphere shifted as the Jungs arrived.
First, Chairman Jung walked in, exuding an aura of authority. His white hair was immaculately styled, and his tuxedo was sharp, tailored to perfection. His presence was like a wave that rippled through the room, commanding respect with every step. There was no mistaking his power. He was the kind of man whose very being made you take notice.
Behind him came another man who looked almost exactly like him, though a little younger—Hoseok’s father. His air of confidence was just as strong, and he looked every bit the part of a man used to being in control. Everything about him was polished, from his posture to his tailored suit, radiating an undeniable charm.
Then came the women. Hoseok’s mother entered with grace, her beauty undeniable, dressed in a stunning red dress that reflected her sophisticated taste. Right next to her was Hoseok’s sister, Jiwoo Jung. A famous influencer, she was a mirror image of her brother. She stepped in confidently, flashing a bright, practiced smile as the cameras captured every moment of her entrance.
And then, the moment everyone was waiting for.
Hoseok stepped into the room, his features even sharper and more defined in person than on screen. The man had a presence that filled the room instantly. His jawline, his nose, the sharpness of his gaze—all of it was striking in a way that took my breath away. I had seen him on TV countless times, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. The sunglasses he wore only added to the mystery, and I couldn’t tell where he was looking. Was he even looking at me?
The paparazzi outside seemed to sense the shift in energy, their flashes now nonstop as they tried to capture every second. Despite the chaos outside, the atmosphere inside remained still, almost too still, as we all stood and waited.
Ye-joon gestured for me to remain seated, and with a slight nod, I did. My family was seated on one side of the long table, and the Jung family took their places on the other. The table between us felt impossibly wide.
Chairman Jung broke the silence with a smile, his gaze turning to my father. “Ah, Eun-do, you’ve certainly grown up since the last time I saw you. Last time, you were still a young college student, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice warm with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. My father smiled, chuckling softly as he nodded, clearly pleased by the recognition. “Yes Uncle, I’m sorry I was not able to visit you after father’s passing” He said, slightly bowing to show his respect. “Ah yes, that was a very devastating memory for me, nevertheless, I am sure he is at peace now seeing his wish being honored” Chairman Jung continued, lifting the glass and gesturing for the server to fill it with wine. I could barely pay attention to the conversation they were having. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I could feel it in my ears. The whole world seemed to shrink, all my attention pulled toward Hoseok, who sat just across from me. Hoseok was engrossed in his phone, his fingers moving quickly over the screen. From the reflection in his sunglasses, I could see chat bubbles scrolling up in rapid succession—he was definitely talking to a group chat.
“Hoseok-ah,” Chairman Jung’s voice suddenly cut through the air like a knife, pulling me out of my haze. His tone was firm, commanding enough to make me sit up straighter in my chair. I hadn’t even realized I’d been slouching or, worse, staring.
“This is not the time to be on your phone,” the Chairman added, his sharp gaze fixed on Hoseok.
Oh my god. He’s terrifying when he’s serious.
Hoseok immediately slipped his phone into the pocket of his tuxedo and straightened his posture without a word. Then, with a smooth motion, he slid his sunglasses off, revealing his eyes.
And just like that, he became 10,000 times more stunning. His sharp gaze, framed by thick lashes, left me momentarily breathless. It was almost unfair how effortlessly good-looking he was—I felt like I might just faint on the spot.
Alright, now that everyone’s settled, let’s eat,” Chairman Jung announced, his authoritative tone leaving no room for hesitation. He gestured toward Ye-Joon, who immediately slipped into the kitchen. Moments later, the food began arriving in waves—lobsters, steaks, pasta, all plated with exquisite care.
It was a feast.
I glanced at my parents, their eyes widening slightly at the sheer abundance. Servers moved swiftly, helping to fill their plates. When a server offered to pour champagne into my glass, I shook my head politely. Drinking in a situation like this? Absolutely not.
The Jungs began eating with quiet, calculated precision, their movements almost elegant. We Yoo’s scrambled to follow suit, imitating their poised demeanor. I think we were doing a pretty good job—at least, I hoped so.
Pleasantries filled the air. My mom and Hoseok’s mom had somehow hit it off and were giggling over a drama they both loved. Chairman Jung and Hoseok’s dad were exchanging opinions on recent news with my dad, their conversation steady and polite. Eun-woo was keeping mostly to himself, but every now and then, I caught him sneaking glances at Hoseok. He was clearly trying not to fanboy, and honestly, he was doing an impressive job.
Hoseok, on the other hand, seemed entirely disengaged. He focused on his meal with an almost robotic indifference, exuding a sense of irritation or boredom. For someone supposedly loyal to this arrangement, he didn’t look thrilled to be here.
“So,” Jiwoo’s voice broke through my thoughts. I turned to see her smiling at me as she carefully sliced into her steak. “I heard you’re an architecture student. What made you decide to pursue that?” Her tone was warm, genuinely curious, but small talk like this was my Achilles’ heel. I could already feel the nervous sweat creeping in.
“Ah—I’ve always been fascinated by buildings,” I stammered, my voice wavering slightly. “Even as a kid, I’d stare at structures for hours, so I guess that’s what inspired me.”
She nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. “That’s really interesting,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes scanning me for a moment. She didn’t feel intimidating, though—her gaze was more observant than judgmental. Finally, she smiled. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”
Her compliment caught me off guard. “T-thanks,” I managed, my face growing warm. “You look stunning too.”
Jiwoo’s smile widened slightly. “You know,” she said casually, resting her fork down, “you’ve got the looks and the presence. Have you ever considered becoming an influencer? I think you’d be great at it. People would love you.”
I shook my head quickly, my introverted self recoiling at the thought. “No, thank you,” I said, laughing nervously. “I’m way too awkward for that.”
“Yeah, right,” Hoseok muttered from across the table, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I glanced at him in surprise, his tone slicing through the moment like a blade. For the first time, his disinterest seemed less passive and more pointed. Jiwoo shot him a look but didn’t say anything, instead turning back to me with a supportive smile, as if to silently apologize for her brother.
“It’s not for everyone,” she said softly, brushing past the tension like a pro. “But I think you’d surprise yourself if you tried.”
I chuckled nervously, shifting in my chair. My hands gripped the edge of the tablecloth, fingers brushing over the fine embroidery like it could anchor me to reality. “Maybe I’ll try it one day. I mean… who knows, right? What the heck.” My voice trailed off as I tried to sound casual, but it came out uncertain, like I was testing the waters of this entire interaction. “Everything’s already… um… crazy enough as it is.”
Jiwoo giggled, her laugh as melodic as the soft piano music floating through the restaurant. The light from the chandelier above made her look even more dazzling, like she belonged to this polished, luxurious world. “You’ve got that right,” she said, leaning slightly toward me with a teasing grin. “I mean, arranged marriage in this day and age? Who would’ve thought?”
Her words made my stomach twist into an anxious knot. I pressed my lips together, nodding a little too enthusiastically as I tried to muster a response. “Yeah… totally crazy.” My voice cracked slightly, and I winced inwardly. Smooth, Eun-ah. Real smooth.
Jiwoo didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she was too polite to say anything. She picked up her champagne glass, swirling it lightly. “Honestly, I don’t think I could do it. It takes… I don’t know, guts? A lot of courage. I really admire you for that.”
I blinked, taken aback by her words. Courage? Me? I felt like the least courageous person in the room. My hands fidgeted in my lap, twisting the napkin into a crumpled mess. “Um… thanks,” I mumbled, avoiding her gaze and staring down at my plate instead. My reflection in the shiny fork looked as awkward as I felt.
Jiwoo leaned back in her chair, her glittering dress catching the soft amber glow of the candles. “And,” she added with a sly smile, “I’ll leave my brother in your hands. He’s… well, he’s really a handful. But I guess you’ve already picked up on that.”
I peeked over at Hoseok, who was cutting his steak with the kind of precision that made it look like a performance. His sharp jawline and perfectly styled hair made him look like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot. The sunglasses from earlier were gone, and now his eyes were focused solely on his plate, as though the rest of us didn’t exist.
“Uh…” I started, fumbling for words. “He seems…” What was the right thing to say here? Mysterious? Cold? Intimidating? Hot? No, definitely not that. “…Serious.”
Jiwoo’s laughter rang out, startling me. A few servers paused in their tracks, smiling at her easy charm. “That’s one way to put it,” she said, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “He’s definitely not the easiest person to deal with.” Her voice turned softer, more thoughtful, as she glanced at Hoseok. “But, to be fair, he’s had a lot on his plate for… well, forever. It’s made him pretty guarded.”
The weight of her words hung in the air, the clinking of cutlery and soft murmurs of conversation in the background filling the silence. I glanced at her, then at Hoseok, who was chewing his food with the same detached focus as before.
Jiwoo straightened, her usual energy returning. “Still,” she said, smiling at me again, “he has his good sides too. Even if he doesn’t let them show much.”
I gave her a small, awkward smile, not entirely sure what to say. Her words really made me wonder, why was Hoseok that she is describing different from the Jhope persona that he has. The crumpled napkin in my lap was now beyond saving, and my hands kept shifting to smooth out imaginary wrinkles on the tablecloth. “I-I’ll do my best,” I stammered, forcing myself to meet her eyes.
Her face lit up with approval, and she raised her glass. “That’s the spirit. Cheers to surviving the Jungs.”
I let out an actual laugh, though it came with a snort I quickly tried to stifle. My hand shot up, brushing my bangs nervously, as I grabbed my water glass to join her. “Cheers,” I said, the word coming out more as a squeak.
Our glasses clinked lightly, the sound blending with the soft music and the faint hum of conversation. Jiwoo’s warmth made the atmosphere feel less stifling, though I still felt like a college girl playing dress-up in a world I didn’t belong to.
For a brief moment, as Jiwoo leaned back in her chair with an easy grace I could only dream of, the tension in my chest loosened. Maybe I could survive this dinner after all. Maybe.
The clinking of glasses faded as the last course was cleared, and an almost eerie calm settled over the room. I let out a slow breath, relieved that dinner was over. But as Chairman Jung leaned back in his chair, his commanding presence filling the space, I realized the real conversation was about to begin.
“Well,” he began, his deep voice cutting through the quiet, “now that we’ve had our meal, let’s discuss the wedding.”
I froze. My hands gripped the edge of the tablecloth under the guise of folding it neatly into my lap. Across from me, Hoseok continued scrolling through his phone, his thumb moving steadily over the screen as if the subject didn’t concern him at all.
Chairman Jung’s sharp eyes flicked toward me. “What kind of wedding would you like, Eun-ah?” he asked, his voice direct and tinged with authority.
I blinked, my mind suddenly blank. What kind of wedding would I like? Did I even have the right to an opinion in this?
“I, uh—” I stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence, but Chairman Jung raised a hand, halting me.
“Personally, I think a traditional ceremony would be most appropriate,” he declared. His tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt about his own preference. “A grand affair—a symbol of unity between our families, steeped in tradition. It would send the right message.”
The thought of standing in front of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people, with cameras flashing and the weight of their gazes pressing down on me, made my stomach churn. I dared to glance at Hoseok, silently hoping he would say something.
And, as if sensing my plea, he did.
Hoseok slipped his phone into the pocket of his tuxedo and straightened his posture. His gaze was calm but sharp as he addressed his grandfather. “With all due respect, Grandfather, I don’t think a traditional wedding is the best option.”
Chairman Jung’s eyebrow arched slightly. The room grew silent.
“Given the nature of my work,” Hoseok continued, his tone measured, “a grand wedding would inevitably attract media attention. The press, the fans—everyone would be there. It wouldn’t be just a celebration of the marriage, but a spectacle.” His jaw tightened, as if thinking about the chaos that would follow made him uncomfortable. “It’s not ideal.”
I blinked again, processing his words. Of course, I knew Hoseok was a public figure—he was a member of BTS, after all. The entire world was always watching him, scrutinizing every move he made. But hearing him say it out loud made the reality sink in.
“I suggest something more intimate,” Hoseok continued, his gaze unwavering, his voice softening just a fraction. “Fifty guests at most. Close family and friends only.”
His father, who had been listening quietly, gave a subtle nod, though he remained silent.
“We can keep Eun-ah out of the media frenzy for now,” Hoseok added. “I’d prefer not to release her face to the public until she finishes college. She doesn’t need that kind of scrutiny while she’s still studying. Let her have her peace.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel. On one hand, I appreciated his consideration, but on the other, it felt as though everything was being decided for me, as if my role in all of this was secondary. I glanced at Chairman Jung, who seemed to be taking it all in.
After a moment, the Chairman turned to me. “And you, Eun-ah?” he asked. “Do you agree with Hoseok’s suggestion?”
I hesitated, suddenly feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. My throat felt dry, but I managed to nod. “Yes,” I said softly. Then, summoning a small smile, I added, “What am I if I don’t support my fiancé’s wishes, right?”
The word “fiancé” still felt foreign on my tongue, but I forced myself to keep smiling.
Chairman Jung let out a thoughtful hum, his sharp eyes flicking between Hoseok and me. “A smaller wedding, then,” he said after a moment, his tone laced with approval. “It’s pragmatic. And if you’re both in agreement, I see no reason to argue.”
“Thank you, Grandfather,” Hoseok said smoothly. He didn’t look at me, his attention fully on his grandfather.
The room eased into lighter conversation again, but the air between Hoseok and me remained heavy.
As the servers cleared the last of the plates, I dared to glance at him again. He was back on his phone, his fingers flying over the screen with precision. It was like I didn’t exist.
The awkwardness gnawed at me, but I couldn’t let it go. “Um,” I started hesitantly. He didn’t look up, but I forged ahead. “Thank you. For… suggesting a smaller wedding. I think it’ll be easier that way.”
Hoseok finally looked at me, but his expression was unreadable. “It’s just practical,” he said flatly. “No need for unnecessary complications.”
“Oh,” I murmured, unsure how to respond. “Right. Practical.”
His attention drifted back to his phone as if our exchange had been a mere formality.
Jiwoo leaned toward me, her smile sympathetic. “Don’t take it personally,” she whispered. “That’s just how he is.”
I nodded weakly, trying to ignore the growing knot in my chest. For the rest of the evening, I stayed quiet, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed that Hoseok seemed content to ignore me entirely.
-------
The dinner had drawn to a close, and the lively atmosphere from earlier simmered into a quieter hum. Chairs shuffled as everyone began preparing to leave. I noticed Ye-Joon walking toward me, his subtle hand gesture signaling it was time to go. I nodded faintly, pushing myself to stand.
Before I could gather my things, Hoseok unexpectedly rose from his seat and made his way toward us with the effortless grace of someone used to commanding attention. His sharp, polished aura seemed to pull all focus in the room as he approached my parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Yoo,” he said, bowing respectfully, his tone smooth but distant, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Eun-ah for a little while longer.”
I froze, startled by his sudden request. My mother blinked, then glanced at me, as if gauging whether I’d be okay.
“You don’t have to wait,” he added, his voice polite but firm. “I’ll take her home directly afterward.”
My mother exchanged a quick look with my father, who nodded slightly, though he didn’t look entirely comfortable. “Of course,” my mother said, managing a warm smile. “We’ll trust her in your care.”
Care? The word felt strange coming from her, especially about him.
“Thank you,” Hoseok said, bowing again briefly before his gaze flickered to me. I couldn’t read his expression—his face was neutral, his emotions carefully guarded as always.
I was taken aback. Why did he want to keep me back? What was there to talk about? My heart picked up its pace as I forced myself to stand straighter and nod. “O-okay,” I murmured, feeling Ye-Joon’s curious eyes dart between the two of us.
My parents bid their polite goodbyes to the Jungs, my mother smiling a little too brightly while Jiwoo waved at me with a small grin. “Good luck!” she mouthed cheekily before turning to leave with her family.
As the room emptied, it became quieter—too quiet. I suddenly felt like all the air had left the space, replaced with a thick, uncomfortable tension. I glanced at Hoseok, who stood motionless, his tall frame imposing and utterly unreadable.
What could he possibly want to talk about?
Hoseok gestured toward the chair across from him, his expression impassive. I hesitated for a moment, looking at Ye-joon for reassurance, but before I could say anything, Hoseok waved him off.
“We’ll call you later when we’re done,” Hoseok said curtly, not even sparing Ye-joon a second glance.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I noticed Ye-joon’s jaw tighten ever so slightly before he gave a small bow and left. That felt… rude. I wanted to say something, but the way Hoseok carried himself—the sheer confidence radiating from him—made me bite my tongue.
“Sit,” Hoseok said. The single word carried a weight that left no room for argument.
I obeyed, sitting down across from him, my hands clasped nervously in my lap.
He didn’t waste any time, leaning back in his chair and leveling a gaze at me so sharp it could cut glass. It was as if he was sizing me up, deciding exactly how to approach this conversation.
“Let’s get a few things straight,” he began, his tone as cold as the winter air outside. “This engagement—and eventually this marriage—is not based on love. So let’s not pretend it is.”
I nodded quickly, unsure if he wanted a response.
“First rule,” he continued, ticking the number off on his long fingers. “We won’t be seen in public together unless absolutely necessary. No dinners, no strolls in the park, nothing that could fuel gossip.”
That seemed reasonable, even a relief. I nodded again.
“Second,” he said, his voice unwavering, “this arrangement will remain strictly professional. You do your part, and I’ll do mine. Don’t expect affection, and don’t try to force a bond where there isn’t one.”
Ouch. Not that I was expecting anything, but hearing it said so plainly stung a little. I still nodded, keeping my lips pressed together.
“Third,” he added, his eyes narrowing slightly, “there will be no sleeping together. Not now, not ever. I’ll sleep wherever I choose, and you’ll have your own space. Is that clear?”
The bluntness of his words left me momentarily stunned, but I managed a small nod.
“Fourth,” he continued without pause, “we stay out of each other’s business. You have your life, and I have mine. I won’t ask about your personal matters, and I expect the same courtesy from you.”
I swallowed hard, feeling my palms grow clammy.
“Fifth,” he added after a brief pause, “don’t speak to the press, and don’t engage with fans or media about this arrangement. If anyone approaches you, defer to me or my team. The last thing we need is a scandal.”
“Understood,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.
“Good,” he said, leaning forward now, his forearms resting on the table. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes made my chest tighten. “I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s the reality we’re in. Stick to these rules, and this will go smoothly.”
I nodded again, not trusting my voice.
Hoseok’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he leaned back in his chair, exhaling quietly. “Do you have anything to add?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. What could I possibly add to that list? Finally, I managed, “No. I… I think you’ve covered everything.”
“Good,” he said again, his tone clipped. “Then we’re done here.”
It felt like he had just closed the door to something before I even had the chance to look inside. But maybe that was for the best. After all, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about marrying a stranger, let alone someone as intimidating as Jung Hoseok.
Still, as cold as he was, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief. At least we were on the same page about keeping things distant. I just hoped I could stick to his rules as easily as I agreed to them.
Hoseok shifted his weight slightly, gesturing toward the far end of the restaurant. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ye-joon step into view. I blinked in surprise—I hadn’t even realized he was still here.
“Take her home,” Hoseok said, his voice low and measured, devoid of any warmth. “I have a flight to catch.”
“A flight?” I echoed before I could stop myself.
“The concert in Atlanta is back on,” he explained curtly, already pushing his chair back. “We don’t want the fans waiting longer than they already have.”
He moved to leave but paused mid-step, turning his head slightly in my direction. “And don’t pull that stunt again.”
For a second, I froze, unsure what he was referring to—until it hit me like a delayed punch to the gut. The fireworks. My heart sank, embarrassment flooding back as I recalled the incident.
With that, Hoseok straightened and strode out of the restaurant, his long, confident steps radiating a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore.
Wow. What a jerk.
I sank back into my seat, the weight of his words and his cold demeanor pressing down on me like I’d been through an invisible boxing match. My chest tightened. Was this really the same person millions of fans adored? J-Hope, the man known for his endless energy and radiant smile, was so completely different from Hoseok, the man who had just spoken to me like I was an employee in need of reprimanding.
Ye-joon cleared his throat softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. He gestured for me to stand. “It’s time to go,” he said gently.
I stood up reluctantly, my legs heavy like lead. As we walked toward the exit, Ye-joon, ever the diplomat, said in a reassuring tone, “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
I stopped short, turning to him with a sharp look. “Yeah, right. Did you see him? Did you hear him? He’s so cold, Ye-joon. It’s like he doesn’t even see me as a person.”
Ye-joon sighed, his expression calm but tinged with a faint trace of exasperation. “He’s under a lot of pressure, Eun-ah. Being part of BTS and managing something like this marriage arrangement on top of everything else isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
I didn’t respond, the fire of indignation still smoldering in my chest. Pressure or not, he didn’t have to be so cruel.
We stepped out into the chilly night air, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. As much as I hated to admit it, Ye-joon had a point. Hoseok’s life was far from normal, and I was being thrust right into the center of it. Whether I liked it or not, this was the new reality I had to navigate.
The drive home was oppressively silent. The hum of the car engine and the occasional sound of tires against the road filled the void, but the atmosphere between Ye-joon and me was heavy, unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of color. The exhaustion in my body felt like a lead weight, dragging me deeper into my seat.
When we finally arrived, the glow of the house greeted us. The warmth of the lights spilling from the windows seemed to mock the chill that lingered in my chest. As I stepped out, a pair of maids stood waiting by the door, their expressions kind yet reserved.
"Welcome home, Miss Eun-ah," one of them said, bowing slightly.
I mustered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. Without another word, I headed straight to my room, the familiar walls feeling both comforting and suffocating at the same time.
Inside, the quiet was almost deafening. My gaze drifted to the tall window in the corner, where my reflection stared back at me. The girl in the glass looked so put together—prim and proper in her tailored dress, every hair still in place. But the hollow expression in her eyes gave her away. Defeated.
I stepped closer, my fingers brushing against the cold glass. It was like staring at a stranger, someone I hardly recognized anymore. My chest rose and fell as I sighed deeply, the sound breaking the stillness of the room.
This is my life now.
The thought settled heavily in my mind, dragging me down further. A loveless marriage, navigating each day with no map or destination, tethered to a man who seemed incapable of warmth.
The image of Hoseok’s cold stare flashed in my mind, and my reflection frowned. A husband in name only—someone who saw me as nothing more than a contractual obligation.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of it all wash over me. How do you build a life in the shadow of someone else's world?
I sighed, pulling my hair into a tight bun, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. The soft scraping sound of the elastic against my scalp felt grounding, even as my thoughts remained scattered. With a quick motion, I unzipped my dress, the velvet fabric whispering as it slid off my body and pooled at my feet. My skin prickled against the cooler air.
“I deserve to rest,” I murmured to myself, stepping over the discarded dress and padding barefoot to the bathroom. The marble tiles were cold underfoot, a sharp contrast to the warmth I craved. I turned the faucet for the tub, the water cascading with a rhythmic hum that filled the silence.
Grabbing the bottle of bath soap, I tilted it, watching as the viscous liquid poured out, spreading into a cloud of frothy bubbles. The soothing lavender scent began to fill the room, easing some of the tension in my chest. Just as I reached for the empty bottle to set it aside, my phone buzzed from the far corner of the bathroom, its screen lighting up.
Frowning, I crossed the room, my curiosity piqued. The text was from an unknown number.
“Hey sis! It’s Jiwoo. I got your number from Ye-joon.”
I blinked at the message. Jiwoo-Unnie. Of course, her warmth radiated even through a simple text.
A small smile tugged at my lips as I quickly typed, “Hello, Unnie! Thank you for tonight. You really made me feel comfortable.”
Almost immediately, her reply came.
“No worries! I’m sure you need company as well; my brother is not the best person for that,” she wrote, followed by a string of smiley and kissy emojis.
Her words made me chuckle softly, the sound echoing faintly in the tiled bathroom. But as I stared at the screen, my fingers hesitated. What could I say? It was true—her brother wasn’t the most welcoming presence. The rules he’d imposed earlier still rang in my ears, rigid and cold. It wasn’t that I disagreed with them, but the way he delivered them made everything feel… suffocating. Like I wasn’t even allowed to breathe without permission.
“I really appreciate it, Unnie 🙂,” I typed out and hovered over the send button, my thumb lingering uncertainly.
Before I could send it, her next message came through.
“It’s okay, you can say he’s rude. I’m not going to be mad 😂.”
I blinked at the screen, feeling both seen and caught off guard. OMG, did she read my mind?
“Actually… 👀,” I replied cautiously, biting my lip as I hit send.
Seconds passed, then minutes. The three dots indicating she was typing appeared briefly before disappearing. My chest tightened. Did I offend her?
Shaking off the thought, I placed the phone back on the counter and turned my attention to the tub. The bubbles had risen higher, the lavender scent now fully enveloping the room. I slipped out of my undergarments, the air cool against my skin, and dipped a tentative foot into the bath. The water was just shy of scalding, but it was exactly what I needed.
As I was about to sink in, the vibrating hum of my phone broke the moment.
“Really?” I muttered, reaching over to see who it was. My stomach flipped when I saw Jiwoo-Unnie’s name flashing on the screen.
Pressing the green button, I held the phone to my ear. “Unnie?”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern. “Did he say something rude to you?”
I let out a long, heavy sigh, leaning against the edge of the tub, my toes trailing circles in the water. “Well…” My voice wavered as the weight of the evening’s events returned. Slowly, I recounted everything—the cold tone Hoseok had used, the unyielding rules he’d laid out, and how they made me feel like a stranger in my own life.
Jiwoo listened patiently, her soft hums of acknowledgment making me feel, for the first time that day, like I wasn’t alone. I ended the call after ranting for about half an hour, Jiwoo being reassuring on the other side.
I leaned back in the tub, letting the warm water soothe my aching muscles. The tension from the day seemed to melt away, but my mind still raced with everything that had happened. The rules, the cold distance from Hoseok—everything was settling into an uncomfortable, suffocating weight.
Just as I closed my eyes, trying to drift into some semblance of peace, my phone pinged again. It was Jiwoo.
“Hey, what do you say I come with you tomorrow for your gown fitting?”
I smiled at her text. Of course she would offer. I could almost hear her voice in my head—bright, warm, full of energy. She really did make everything feel a little less daunting.
“That sounds like a great idea, Unnie. Thank you!” I replied, feeling a small sense of relief.
Moments later, she replied with a string of playful emojis. “It’s settled then! I’ll meet you there, we’ll have fun, promise! ❤️👗”
I chuckled to myself, grateful that at least one part of this whole experience would be a little lighter with her by my side.
-------
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter Text
The next morning, I stood in front of the boutique, my heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The building was stunning, like something out of a high-end fashion magazine—elegant, sleek, and modern. The large glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, and through them, I could see the soft glow of chandeliers reflecting off marble floors. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers and high-end perfume. The place exuded wealth and taste, with displays of luxurious fabrics and delicate dresses neatly arranged on golden racks.
As Jiwoo casually walked ahead, flashing a warm smile at the staff already waiting inside, I felt an odd sense of intimidation. She seemed so at ease, like she belonged here, while I felt like an outsider in my simple outfit. Still, I followed her inside, allowing myself to be swallowed up by the opulence. This was no ordinary gown fitting—it was for my wedding. Everything about this place screamed luxury, from the delicate fabrics to the intricate beading and lace on display. I felt small in comparison to the grandeur of the space.
“Let’s go,” Jiwoo said, leading me deeper into the boutique. As she greeted everyone with familiar warmth, I couldn’t help but feel like I was in a completely different world. They all knew her, and it was clear she had an unspoken connection with the place.
I adjusted the straps of my bag, feeling the weight of my uncertainty settle on my shoulders. “Everyone here seems so… friendly,” I whispered, more to myself than to Jiwoo.
Jiwoo gave me a reassuring smile as she waved at one of the staff members who had just entered from the back. “Of course! I’ve been coming here for years,” she said with an air of confidence. “Don’t worry, they’re pros. You’re in good hands.”
I nodded, trying to steady the racing thoughts in my head. The soft hum of the boutique seemed to wrap around me, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Jiwoo guided me toward a fitting room at the back, her hand gently resting on my shoulder as we walked. It was a small, private area, but the large mirror and soft lighting gave the room an almost ethereal quality.
“Alright, let’s get started,” Jiwoo said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her hands danced over the rack of gowns, each more breathtaking than the last. I tried not to let the overwhelming sense of luxury consume me as she pulled out three dresses.
The first one was simple but beautiful—a satin dress that hugged the body perfectly. The fabric shimmered under the lights, and the elegant straps gave it a delicate, almost understated feel. I could already picture myself in it, walking down the aisle, graceful and poised. It was a wedding dress, yes, but there was something quietly elegant about it. Comfortable, safe, and a perfect fit for someone who didn’t want to stand out too much, yet still wanted to shine.
Next, Jiwoo picked up a dress that immediately took my breath away. The fabric was a rich, white that glimmered in the light, a dramatic contrast to the soft satin of the first. It had a full, layered tulle skirt, with a plunging neckline and a bodice that seemed to shimmer with every movement. The gown was absolutely extravagant, the kind of thing that would turn every head in the room. My stomach fluttered with both excitement and apprehension. It was beautiful, but so bold, so much more daring than I had ever imagined I would wear on my wedding day.
Then, she held up the third dress, and I couldn’t help but step closer to inspect it. It was a vintage-inspired lace gown, with delicate floral embroidery that sprawled across the bodice in intricate patterns. The corset design was structured yet soft, the lace sleeves trailing down the arms with an elegance that seemed almost out of a fairytale. My fingers hovered over the fabric, feeling the fine craftsmanship. The gown was delicate, yet powerful, an intricate balance of beauty and strength. Something about it spoke to me in a way the others didn’t.
I was lost in thought, my fingers still brushing the lace as I looked up at Jiwoo. “They’re all so beautiful,” I murmured, my voice soft. But I wasn’t sure which one was “me.” “I don’t know… I can’t decide.”
Jiwoo’s face lit up with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. We’ll try them on, and then you’ll know which one feels right.” Her voice was calm and comforting, like she had done this a million times before.
She handed me the first dress, the satin one, and I slipped it on. The fabric slid over my skin like water, hugging my figure in a way that felt natural but elegant. When I looked in the mirror, I could see how it suited me—understated, poised—but there was a part of me that felt it was too simple for the occasion. I wanted something that would leave an impression, something that felt like my wedding day.
Next, I slipped into the bold tulle gown, its layers brushing against my legs as I moved. I twirled in front of the mirror, the dress flaring out dramatically, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was like stepping into a dream, but a dream that felt a little too large, too much. I didn’t know if I was brave enough to wear something this extravagant on such an important day.
Lastly, I tried on the lace corset gown. The moment I put it on, I felt different. It was the most intricate of all the dresses, the fine details of the embroidery making me feel like I was part of something much bigger. The corset hugged my waist, making me stand taller, and the long lace sleeves trailed down my arms with a delicate elegance. This dress… it felt like it could be the one. There was a quiet power in its beauty, something that made me feel more like myself.
As I turned to Jiwoo for her opinion, I noticed how she was looking at me, a soft smile playing on her lips. “See?” she said. “You look amazing in every single one of them. But I can tell, you’re leaning toward the lace one, aren’t you?”
I nodded slowly, my fingers grazing the lace once more. It felt right, like I was meant to wear it. “I think this is the one,” I said softly, not fully understanding why, but knowing deep down it was the perfect fit.
Jiwoo gave me a playful grin. “I knew it! You were just waiting for the right moment to decide.”
I chuckled, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. At least this part was settled. Now, I could focus on the next steps, even if the reality of this wedding still felt so surreal.
After the gowns were selected and carefully arranged, Jiwoo and I headed toward the front counter. The boutique felt just as luxurious as before, and I was still absorbing the extravagance of the whole experience. However, as we approached the cashier, something suddenly clicked in my mind, and my stomach sank.
I didn’t have my wallet. Or my card. I hadn’t even thought to bring anything with me because Ye-Joon had never handed me any money. My fingers fumbled at the strap of my bag, a wave of panic rushing over me as I glanced at the total. It was a lot. And I hadn’t prepared for this moment.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could say anything, Jiwoo was already reaching into her bag. With a fluid motion, she handed the cashier her sleek black card, smiling effortlessly. “This is my gift to you, my dear sister-in-law,” she said with a wink, the words coming out so casually, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
My heart skipped a beat, but I felt an odd sense of relief. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. “Unnie, you don’t have to…” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.
“It’s already done,” she said, her voice warm and reassuring. “Consider it a gift for the big day. Don’t worry about it.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words didn’t come. There was no point in arguing. This was her choice, and I appreciated the gesture even though it made me feel a little guilty.
The attendant finished ringing up the items, her hands moving expertly over the total, and then she smiled at us. “The gowns will be ready before the wedding after a few alterations. You don’t need to worry; they’ll be finished on time.”
“Perfect,” Jiwoo replied with a satisfied nod, slipping her coat on effortlessly. She gestured toward the door, signaling that it was time to go. “Let’s head out.”
We walked out into the cool air, the morning sun cutting through the clouds. The car was waiting, and the driver opened the door for us. I slid inside, still processing everything that had happened, and Jiwoo followed shortly after, giving me a soft smile.
As the car started its journey, I settled into the plush seat, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space between us. Jiwoo seemed completely at ease, while I felt a little lost in the whirlwind of all the changes happening so fast.
She turned toward me, her voice breaking the silence. “So,” she asked casually, “what do you think of everything so far? The gown, the whole wedding… are you getting used to the idea yet?”
I gave a faint smile, trying to gather my thoughts. “It’s a lot to take in,” I said quietly, looking out the window for a moment. “But I think I’m starting to understand that this is how things are going to be.”
Jiwoo nodded thoughtfully, her expression softening. “That’s the spirit,” she said. “You’ll settle into it. But let’s not think too much about the wedding for now. It’s brunch time!”
I smiled, feeling a little lighter with her support. The car turned down a quiet street, and I glanced at Jiwoo, wondering if I should ask something that had been on my mind.
“Unnie…” I started hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase the question. “Has Hoseok already chosen his tux for the wedding?”
Jiwoo raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, of course he has,” she replied. “He’s always been the organized one. But trust me, he’ll keep it simple. He has a way of making even the most extravagant things look understated.”
I nodded, not entirely sure how I felt about Hoseok’s predictability. It seemed like he had everything planned out, and I was still trying to catch up. I wasn’t sure how I felt about marrying a man who already seemed to have his whole life figured out—while I was just trying to keep my balance.
As the car glided smoothly down the road, I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed about everything that had just happened at the boutique. Jiwoo had so casually paid for the gown, and I was still trying to catch my breath from the whole ordeal. My mind raced, and before I could stop myself, I pulled out my phone and secretly typed a message to Ye-Joon.
“SOS! You sent me to the gown fitting without any money in me! You jerk!” I sent the message, my heart pounding a little faster as I awaited his reply.
It didn’t take long for him to respond.
“What are you talking about? Did you check your wallet? I told the maids to put your card in there.”
My eyes widened as I read the message. No way. My hands automatically reached for my bag, fingers trembling slightly as I rummaged through it. I pulled out my wallet, my breath catching when I saw it. A few thousand won, along with two black credit cards—Ye-Joon’s words echoing in my mind.
Why didn’t he tell me about this? I felt a little foolish now, having panicked when all along I had what I needed.
I quickly typed back, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
The response came just as fast, “I told you earlier, but you were still half asleep. You should check better next time.”
I groaned under my breath, the guilt and frustration mixing together. Of course, I should’ve checked earlier. I had been so caught up in the moment, I hadn’t even thought to look.
I looked up at Jiwoo, who was casually gazing out the window. She didn’t seem to notice anything was off, but I wasn’t about to let her in on my little panic attack.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft but curious.
“Yeah, no worries,” I replied quickly, shoving my phone back in my bag. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “But brunch is on me today, Unnie. You’ve been so generous buying me a gown and all,” I said, trying to shift the conversation away from my earlier panic.
Jiwoo smiled at that, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Are you sure?” she teased. “It’s not often I get to be treated by my sister-in-law.”
“Definitely,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “You deserve it after all that kindness.” I smiled back, relieved she didn’t press me further.
Jiwoo settled back into her seat with a satisfied nod. “I’ll hold you to that, Eun-ah. I’m already thinking about what to get.”
I chuckled softly, feeling a little more at ease now. The car sped on toward the café, and I allowed myself a moment of peace, knowing that despite the small hiccups, the day had been full of unexpected kindness.
The car pulled up to a luxurious café, its elegant exterior immediately making me feel out of place. The large glass windows revealed a sleek, modern interior with soft lighting and the faint hum of low chatter from well-dressed patrons. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air as we stepped inside.
As we walked through the café, I noticed how everyone seemed to know Jiwoo. Staff greeted her with bright smiles, calling her by name as we passed. It was clear she was a regular here, and I couldn’t help but feel a little awkward as I followed her to a plush sofa at the far end of the café. The velvet cushions looked too comfortable, almost like they belonged in a palace rather than a café.
“Don’t worry, I’ll order for us,” Jiwoo said, settling into the seat with an easy smile. “I know all the good stuff here. You’re going to love it.”
I nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and nervousness. She was so comfortable here, like she owned the place, while I was still trying to shake off the unease of the whole day. Jiwoo waved down a few waiters and began ordering with ease, her voice confident and familiar as she pointed out what we should have.
“Let’s get the mixed greens salad with citrus vinaigrette, and the smoked salmon with avocado toast. Oh, and don’t forget the truffle fries,” she said, with a smile. “And of course, two cappuccinos and the berry cheesecake for dessert.”
As she spoke, I watched the waiters quickly jot down her requests and disappear into the kitchen. Jiwoo settled back in her seat, looking perfectly at ease. I could tell she was in her element here, and her confidence was almost infectious. I shifted in my seat, feeling like I was finally starting to relax.
A few minutes later, the food arrived—each dish more beautiful than the last. The vibrant colors of the salad, the delicate layers of the smoked salmon, and the rich golden truffle fries all made my stomach growl. The cappuccinos were placed in front of us, and the rich, velvety foam shimmered in the light. Finally, the berry cheesecake arrived, looking like a piece of art with the fresh berries gleaming on top.
Jiwoo immediately reached for her phone, snapping a few pictures of the dishes from different angles. She positioned the plates with practiced precision, taking her time to get the perfect shot. I watched her in fascination, realizing how accustomed she was to this ritual. The way she moved so confidently, the way she made everything seem effortless, was impressive.
I glanced at her, a little amused. “You really do take this influencer thing seriously, huh?”
She grinned, still focusing on the food. “Guilty,” she said with a wink. “My followers need to see the best of the best, and this place deserves the recognition. Plus, it’s not every day you get a cheesecake like this.”
I smiled, watching her work. It was clear that Jiwoo knew how to make everything look perfect, even a simple meal. As I fiddled with my fork, taking small bites of my salad, my mind wandered back to the rumors I’d seen circulating online. It had been hard to ignore, and now, sitting across from Jiwoo, the question felt like a weight I couldn’t shake off. I wasn’t jealous—not at all—but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth behind the gossip. The way people spoke about Kimberly Wang and Hoseok, the events they’d supposedly attended together—it all felt a little too real to ignore. I admit, i did search a little bit after hearing the news about Cube Entertainment’s statement about Kimberly Wang’s take on the wedding.
Taking a deep breath, I glanced up at Jiwoo, hesitant but curious. “Unnie… do you know Kimberly Wang? The ‘Nation’s Idol’ from Cube Entertainment?” My voice felt small, as though the words themselves were hesitant to leave my lips. “I’ve heard some rumors about her and Hoseok on the news one night and…”
The moment I spoke her name, I saw Jiwoo’s demeanor shift ever so slightly. Her hand froze mid-motion as she was about to reach for her coffee. Her smile remained, but there was a brief hesitation, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place. Then, she placed her cup down carefully, her fingers tapping the rim of the saucer, her gaze softening as she met my eyes.
“Kimberly?” she echoed slowly, her tone neutral, but guarded. “Yeah, I know her. She’s an Idol signed with Cube. But as for the rumors…” She paused, her eyes flicking briefly to the side as if considering her next words. “I’m really not the one to answer that. Hoseok is the only one who can clear things up, I’m afraid.”
Her smile seemed polite, but there was a tension in her shoulders, a subtle shift in her posture. I could tell she was holding back, but I couldn’t decide if it was because she didn’t want to gossip or because there was more to the story than she was willing to share. My heart gave an involuntary tug as the idea of Hoseok and Inah kept swirling in my mind. I had never really questioned Hoseok’s aloofness before, but now, in the quiet of this conversation, I couldn’t help but wonder—was that why he was so distant? Was it because of Inah, or maybe something deeper?
I quickly lowered my gaze, embarrassed by my own questions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I murmured, my voice faltering. “I just… I’ve seen a lot of things online, and I guess I’m just a little confused.”
Jiwoo leaned forward, her smile softening, trying to reassure me. “No, no, it’s okay. Rumors are just that—rumors. You don’t have to worry about them.” She reached for her cappuccino, taking a sip as if to signal the end of the topic, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more she wasn’t saying.
As I watched her, I couldn’t help but wonder why Hoseok seemed so cold, so distant. Was it because of her? Was it because of Inah? Was there something more between them? My mind spiraled, turning over the words Jiwoo had said, the way her smile faltered for just a moment. She might have said it wasn’t important, but I couldn’t help but feel that something was being left unsaid.
“Anyway,” I finally said, trying to shift the mood, “I appreciate you being so open with me, Unnie. You’ve really been a big help today.”
“Oh no worries about that, I enjoyed it too!” Jiwoo smiled, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “But we’re not done yet. Are you planning on heading home already? Let’s go shopping since we’re already out!” She beamed at me as she cut into her avocado toast.
I paused for a moment, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. Part of me was tempted to go back home, but another part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to her energy. There was something about Jiwoo that made everything feel light and effortless, like we were already family, despite the fact that we hadn’t known each other for long. Her warmth was contagious, and I found myself smiling despite my initial reservations.
“Shopping?” I asked, half-laughing, my voice still a little uncertain. “I’m not sure if I can keep up with you, Unnie.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll enjoy it,” Jiwoo said with a wink, finishing off her toast and sliding her phone out of her bag. “There’s a boutique I know just around the corner. I’ve been eyeing a few things, and I bet you’d look amazing in some of their pieces.”
As I sat there, feeling her warmth and sincerity, I realized that I hadn’t had many people in my life who made me feel so comfortable. It wasn’t just her kindness—it was the way she made me feel like I belonged. For once, I didn’t feel like I was out of place. It was as if we had always been part of the same circle, and somehow, being with Jiwoo felt like a natural fit. Like we were already family, despite everything that had brought us here.
-------
The car came to a stop in front of the house, and Jiwoo’s driver parked with a smooth precision. She turned to me, smiling warmly. “Alright, I’ll drop you off here. It was so much fun today, Eun-ah. I’m glad we could spend some time together.”
“Me too, Unnie. Thanks for everything,” I replied, my voice soft but sincere. I had never felt so pampered in my life—today had been more than just a shopping spree. It had felt like an introduction to a whole new world, one where I could just enjoy the moment and not worry about anything else.
One of the guards grabbed the pile of shopping bags from the backseat, looking heavy with the weight of all the things Jiwoo had chosen for me. There were clothes, makeup, skincare—everything I could ever need. My heart felt a little overwhelmed by the kindness. “Take care, Eun-ah. I’ll see you soon!” Jiwoo called, waving as I stepped out.
When I entered the house, the first thing I noticed was Ye-joon, waiting by the kitchen with a teasing grin on his face.
“Well, well, well, you sure racked up a spending spree,” he said with a chuckle. “Ten million won in one day? Wow. For someone who just got a credit card, you sure know how to spend it.”
I rolled my eyes, already exhausted. “That’s less the cost of the wedding gown Unnie bought for me. This is the least I can do for her.”
Ye-joon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So Jiwoo bought you the wedding dress? That’s nice of her.”
I nodded, sighing a little as I set down the bags. “Yeah, it was very generous of her. She’s been more than kind, honestly.”
As I began to organize the bags, I noticed one of the maids in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for instructions. I lifted my hand, gesturing to the three paper bags in the corner. “This is for you, Ms. Jang,” I said, nodding at the maid. Then I turned to her, smiling warmly. “And for Chun-hei too. The rest, you can take upstairs. Thank you.”
The maid’s face lit up with excitement, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the bags. I felt a small surge of satisfaction, happy to give something back. Ye-joon, on the other hand, raised his hands in mock disappointment.
“What about me?” he pouted, a playful grin forming on his face.
I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Pouting doesn’t look good on you, Ye-joon,” I teased, reaching into my pouch. Of course, I had to get the best assistant a gift—he deserved it. I handed him a small box, and his eyes widened when he saw it. Inside was a designer perfume, the kind he had mentioned once in passing.
His face broke into a surprised smile. “This… this is the one I was eyeing, isn’t it? It’s expensive.” His voice was tinged with disbelief.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Unnie picked it. She said it would suit you.”
Ye-joon was clearly taken aback, looking at the perfume and then back at me. “I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Eun-ah. This is really thoughtful.”
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. “You’re welcome. You’ve been doing so much for me, it’s the least I could do.”
"So it's their last show today. Did you want to watch? I can get us a live broadcast from one of the staff," Ye-Joon offered, gently placing the gift I'd given him on the table.
I shook my head, giving a soft smile. "No, thank you," I replied. "But there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Ye-Joon leaned forward, his gaze fixed on me. "I'm listening," he said, a knowing look in his eyes.
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't sure how to ask, but the question had been lingering in my mind for days. "It's about Kimberly Wang... the Idol from Cube. The one linked to Hoseok. Do you know her?" I asked, my voice quieter than usual.
Ye-Joon's expression shifted immediately. He stood up, glancing around the room to ensure we were alone. Without a word, he gestured for me to follow him. We headed to my study, and once the door was closed behind us, he turned to face me, his usual playful demeanor gone.
"We need to be somewhere private for this," he said in a low voice. "And I might get fired for telling you this, so don't say anything, okay?"
My curiosity piqued, I nodded, eager to hear what he had to say. "I promise."
Ye-Joon sighed, sitting down on the couch, his hands resting on his lap. "Well, Kimberly Wang liked Hoseok. A long time ago," he started, looking almost guilty as he spoke. "She told him how she felt, but Hoseok... he didn't feel the same way. He was really upfront with her about it."
My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't stop myself from asking, "How do you know all this?"
Ye-Joon shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well... I was there. On one of their dates. They were having dinner, just the two of them, and Kimberly Wang told Hoseok she liked him. She confessed, right there. And Hoseok? He shot her down. Told her he was already arranged to marry someone—" Ye-Joon paused, his eyes flicking to mine. "—he told her not to do this, that he didn't want to ruin their friendship. It was all a little... awkward after that."
I sat back, my mind reeling. "So, what happened then?"
Ye-Joon's expression softened. "Inah left. She didn't stay for dessert, just... left. It wasn't a huge thing, but it was clear that Hoseok was committed to the marriage, even back then. That's how it stayed—just friends after that."
I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief and confusion. Relief, because it wasn't a romantic connection between Hoseok and Kimberly Wang, but confusion because it seemed like Hoseok had been carrying the weight of this arranged marriage for a long time.
"Wait, you were there?" I asked, still processing the conversation. "How did you end up being at their dinner?"
Ye-Joon chuckled nervously. "I was supposed to be working, handling some stuff for the company. But I couldn't leave, and... well, I guess I got a little too close to the action." He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "It wasn't intentional, though, I promise."
I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. "I see. Thanks for telling me, Ye-Joon."
He nodded, his usual grin returning. "Just don't go telling anyone, okay? Especially Hoseok. He'll kill me."
"So, I'll leave you to process that," Ye-Joon said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He stood up, straightening his tuxedo. "Thanks again for the gift. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, bye," I replied, still a bit dazed.
"Alright, well, I'll leave you to...think. Just don't stay up too late," Ye-Joon said, heading towards the door.
"I'll be fine," I assured him. "I think I'll stay here for a bit."
But I wasn’t fine, I was curious. As soon as the door clicked shut, I fired up the laptop on my desk. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I searched for Kimberly Wang on Naver. A flurry of images and articles appeared, showcasing her stunning beauty and successful career. She was a top Idol at cube, a model, a brand ambassador for countless luxury brands, and even had a budding acting career.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. She was everything I wasn't: confident, beautiful, and effortlessly captivating. I wondered how someone like her could have been rejected by Hoseok.
As I scrolled through her profile, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. There was something about her, something that hinted at a deeper, more complex personality.
Hesitantly, I typed "Kimberly Wang + J-Hope" into the search bar. A wave of articles and fan theories appeared, ranging from harmless speculations to more serious accusations. Some claimed that the two had been secretly dating, while others suggested that they were merely friends.
Headlines like "Kimberly Wang and J-Hope: A Secret Romance?" and "Is There More Than Friendship Between Kimberly Wang and J-Hope?" piqued my curiosity. I couldn't help but wonder if there was any truth to these rumors. As I delved deeper into the online world, I found myself drawn into a whirlwind of speculation and intrigue.
As I delved deeper into the online world, I found myself drawn into a whirlwind of speculation and intrigue. Each article, each fan theory, offered a new piece to the puzzle. I spent hours pouring over the information, trying to piece together the truth.
The more I learned, the more I realized that there was a lot more to Kimberly Wang than met the eye. She was more than just a beautiful face; she was a strong, independent woman with a fascinating past.
As the night wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the brink of discovering something significant. A secret, perhaps, or a hidden truth. And I was determined to uncover it, no matter the cost.
However, as the hours passed, my initial excitement began to wane. The more I searched, the more I realized that there was no concrete evidence to support the rumors of a romantic relationship between Kimberly Wang and Hoseok. Perhaps Ye-Joon was right. Maybe it was all just speculation.
Disappointed, I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair. I gazed at the bookshelves lining the wall, their spines glowing softly in the dim light. It was quiet, too quiet. The silence seemed to echo in the room, amplifying my frustration.
I stood up, stretching my tired limbs. It was late, much later than I had anticipated. I glanced at my phone, the screen illuminating my face. It was already 2 AM. I had spent hours pouring over articles and fan theories, all for nothing.
A wave of disappointment washed over me. Had I wasted my time? Was it all just a figment of my imagination? Maybe Ye-Joon was right. Maybe there was nothing more to it. But a part of me still clung to the hope that there was a deeper story, a hidden truth.
With a heavy sigh, I made my way to my walk-in closet. The soft glow of the bedside lamp gifted by Jimin guided my steps. With weary movements, I changed into my pajamas, each action a chore. As I slipped into bed, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. My mind raced, replaying the events of the night.
Had I overreacted? Was it wrong of me to pry into someone else's past? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I couldn't ignore my curiosity. There was something about Kimberly Wang, something that drew me in.
Finally, I climbed into bed, the soft mattress enveloping me. I pulled the covers up to my chin, pulling Jinnie closer to me, curling into a fetal position. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind raced. I thought about Hoseok, and what he might be doing right now. Was he performing on stage, captivating thousands of fans?
curiosity piqued, I reached for my phone. I unlocked it and opened Twitter. I scrolled through my feed, hoping to find updates about the concert. I saw a tweet about the amazing performance, with a clip of Hoseok dancing. A pang of envy shot through me. I imagined the energy of the crowd, the deafening cheers, and the electrifying atmosphere.
I continued scrolling, seeing tweets like:
"Jimin's visuals were insane tonight!" and "Jin's voice was so angelic."
Then, more funny posts caught my attention:
"Hoseok’s dance moves are a whole workout. I swear my legs hurt just watching him 💃 #JHopeIsUnstoppable #BTS #TooMuchTalent"
"Jin literally took my soul with his visuals tonight, I’m not even mad about it 😂 #WorldWideHandsome #JinEffect"
"Suga looked like he was about to drop a rap and then casually saved the world in 3 seconds 🤯 #KingSuga #BTS"
A laugh escaped my lips at the playful tweets.
"Can someone please teach me how to look as cool as Jungkook when he doesn’t even try? #IsItEvenFair #KookieVibes"
"I need someone to explain how V can literally be a walking mood in every single moment he’s on stage. Like, I need lessons. #VIsABlessing"
"Namjoon just dropped an entire thesis with that rap. I swear, he’s the professor and we’re all his students 😂 #NamjoonIsTheGOAT #BTS"
And finally:
"Jimin’s smile just cured all of my problems... at least for the next 5 seconds. #JiminMagic"
I frowned, but not like I was mad or anything, I was just feeling an odd mixture of relief and unease. I couldn’t imagine being part of that world, that limelight. It wasn’t my scene. The lights, the constant attention—none of it seemed like something I wanted to share with Hoseok. But I knew it was coming. That spotlight, the eyes of the world, would soon be on us. It was the life I’d have to adjust to once we were married, and that thought made me anxious.
For now, I was grateful that Hoseok had decided to keep me out of the media for a while. It gave me some space to breathe, to think. But eventually, that would change. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to step into that world. The thought of it made me want to retreat into my quiet, solitary life even more.
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter Text
Days flew by in a blur, we are already in the second week of January, BTS decided to extend their stay in America to do more interviews while promoting their album so I mostly was doing all the stuff for the wedding, not that I mind tho and I found myself spending more time with Mom as we check off all the things list needed for the wedding. We scouted the venue that Ye-Joon had found for us the other day. Nestled in the hills, the venue was like a mini castle, its majestic stone walls partially hidden beneath a blanket of fresh snow. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale, its beauty amplified by the soft glow of the winter light. The centerpiece was a cathedral-style room, its glass roof providing an unobstructed view of the sky. It was morning when we visited, but I could already imagine the stars twinkling above us come evening. The space was grand yet intimate, perfect for the kind of wedding I had envisioned.
The three villas, each almost half as big as our house and each designated as dressing rooms for me, Hoseok, and the family, were situated a few meters away from the castle, nestled among the trees. They were far enough to offer privacy, yet close enough to feel connected to the main venue. We’d also be staying in these villas the night of the wedding, making the entire experience feel more secluded and special. The moment I stepped onto the stone pathway leading to the castle, I knew this was the place. It felt right.
The food tasting was next on the list. We didn’t exactly need five appetizers in one night, but we had them. Alongside that, we tasted three main courses, and more side dishes than I thought we could ever finish. It was excessive, but the presentation and flavors made it all worth it. Mom, Dad, and Eun-woo also managed to check off their dress shopping. With all of that done, all that was left to do for today was send out the invitations.
I found myself sitting in the middle of the entertainment room, carefully stamping the invitations with my signature. Hoseok had already stamped his part while in America. The invitations had arrived today, but the names weren’t written yet. Ye-Joon had arranged for a professional calligrapher to handle that. We already had the guest list finalized, though—seventy people in total. For what was supposed to be an intimate wedding, seventy felt like too many. And most of those guests? Hoseok’s. My side of the family made up only 5% of the list. One name made my eyes burn tho, ‘Kimberly Wang’ was invited as well, well why wouldn’t she be, she’s a close friend. I shook the thoughts off my head, Ye-joon eyeing me with a weird look.
“Thank you,” Ye-joon said, as I handed him the last invitation that I had stamped. He placed it neatly inside the black box they came in and gestured for one of the guards to take it.
“They’ll be taking this to the calligrapher, and after that, it’ll be sent to each guest,” he explained, sitting down on the sofa across from me. Checking his watch, he added, “It’s already noon, and just in time for one of BTS’s guestings.”
“Where are they now?” I asked, stretching my legs out on the carpeted floor, feeling the strain in my hand from all the stamping. I waved at Ye-joon, silently asking for one of the pillows next to him.
“They’re in New York, and can you please not lie on the floor?” Ye-joon replied, his tone almost annoyed. Over the past few days, he’d been trying to make me more prim and proper, but I knew that would take years. I ignored him and turned completely to face the TV, waiting for him to find the channel.
"Hello, we are…" RM started, and like clockwork, the other members chimed in, “BTS.”
“Good, it’s just starting,” Ye-joon said, glancing over at me as I propped myself up with the pillow.
The excitement on the screen made my chest tighten. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, my eyes glued to the TV as Hoseok appeared, a grin on his face, alongside the rest of BTS. The laughter and stories they shared about the Altanta concert made me smile, but it was when the topic shifted to Hoseok’s upcoming wedding that my stomach twisted.
“Wait, what?” Jimmy Fallon’s voice rang out, full of teasing warmth. The crowd’s energy shifted, their playful boos filling the air when it was mentioned. Jimmy quickly waved them off with a chuckle, calming them down. I couldn’t help but feel the slight tinge of discomfort ripple through me, despite the laughter.
“So, J-hope,” Jimmy began, clearly ready to dig into the juicy details, “you’re getting married? That’s huge! Tell me about it, Who is she? what kind of girl is she? This is blowing my mind dude”
My heart skipped a beat. This was it. Hoseok’s answer would shape so much of what I was feeling.
“Well for starters, She’s very understanding,” he said, his voice soft, a small smile curling his lips. “Even when I’m away a lot, she’s patient and simple, but strong.” Hoseok looked at the camera and the crowd “And as for who she is, it’s a secret for now, i’d like to keep her all on my own first” he continued, lifting a finger on this lips. The crowed boo’d playfully and Jimmy waved them off.
His words were… sweet. Almost too sweet. Something in me fluttered, though I wasn’t sure if it was real or just part of the public display.
I eyed Ye-Joon secretly, he was, too, immersed in the screen, just as intrigued as I am…
Jimmy leaned forward, intrigued. “How long have you two known each other?”
Hoseok’s smile never faltered, but his answer was vague. “Our grandparents are best friends,” he said, the words light, but the subtle evasiveness didn’t escape me, the crowd cheered loud.
Then, Jimmy smiled, “I bet she’s watching right now” and the next question seemed to catch everyone’s attention. “Do you want to give a shout-out to your future wife?”
I held my breath, waiting.
“I don’t know if she’s watching but I bet one of my staff will make a way to tell her his.” Hoseok said, clearing his throat, “To my future Mrs… Please wait for me,” Hoseok said, his tone surprisingly tender. “Thank you for arranging everything for our wedding, and I’m sorry for being a lousy future husband, always busy that I couldn’t help you arrange anything, I will make it up to you in life.”
My chest tightened at the unexpected message. His voice was warm, almost vulnerable, and the crowd responded with loud cheers. I felt my face flush, unsure if it was a reaction to his words or the way the spotlight was now fully on us, even from across the world.
As if to seal the moment, Hoseok pulled something from his jacket. He handed a sleek black envelope to Jimmy with a smile. “And, of course, I want to invite you to our wedding. Please join us, Jimmy.”
It wasn’t much, but something about the gesture felt incredibly personal, as though he was handing out an invitation to a private moment. The crowd roared with applause, but all I could think about was the warm, yet fleeting, sincerity in his voice. Jimmy rose up from his seat and gave Hoseok the biggest hug he could. All of the other members were smiling and cheering them on.
I felt conflicted, though. Was it all just for show? Or was there something real behind it?
"Well," Ye-joon said, leaning back slightly as if satisfied with how things were going. "That’s media training for you.” He said, immediately bursting my bubble. “Hoseok nailed it, didn’t he?" He glanced at me, eyebrows slightly raised.
I shrugged, trying not to show how much it bugged me. Of course, Hoseok knew exactly what to say. That wasn’t some random, off-the-cuff moment—it was all planned. Scripted, down to the last charming detail. None of it was real.
I pushed myself up from the floor, raising my arms to stretch as I tried to shake off the tension. "Do you need me for anything else, or am I good to go?" I asked, attempting to sound nonchalant. "Because I really need a nap."
Ye-joon checked his tablet before giving me a small nod. "Nope, we’re all good. Now it’s just waiting until the big day." His smile was relaxed, like this was just another business deal coming together smoothly.
I grabbed my phone from the table and started scrolling through my calendar. Spa appointments Jiwoo had booked for me cluttered the upcoming week, but what really stood out was the one bold date: February 19th—Wedding Day. My wedding day. But instead of excitement, all I felt was this heavy, unfamiliar dread. It didn’t even feel like my day.
“So, Hoseok isn’t back until next week, right?” I asked, scrolling aimlessly to avoid making eye contact.
Ye-joon’s fingers swiped across his tablet as he checked Hoseok’s schedule. "That’s right. He’s still got Run BTS shoots, some interviews, and then he’s flying to Japan for guest appearances. He’ll get back on the evening of February 18th, head straight to the villa near the venue, and then you’ll meet up before the ceremony."
“And he’s not spending his birthday here?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure why it mattered. It wasn’t like I wanted to celebrate it with him. That would just be awkward. We’d only met once, and even then, I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me. Maybe he wasn’t even pretending. I walked back to my room and I flopped onto my bed, RJ plushie in hand, burying my face into its soft body. My thoughts felt heavy, but my body felt heavier, sinking into the mattress as I clutched the stuffed toy tighter.
Pulling out my phone, I opened Twitter. My thumb instinctively refreshed the trending page, and there it was: #CongratulationsJhopeOurSunshine. I clicked on it, scrolling through fans gushing about the interview and his sweet words about his "future Mrs."
A small pang of guilt twisted in my chest. I was supposed to feel honored, wasn’t I? But instead, I was dreading the moment this spotlight became mine.
That’s when I saw it.
"So I have a friend of a friend who saw Jiwoo Unnie at the mall, with someone. She thinks this is J-Hope's fiancée."
Attached was a poorly taken photo. But not poorly enough.
It was me.
My stomach dropped. The comments were pouring in, some of judgement, some support and some asking to delete for privacy:
"This must be her! Look at her outfit—very Jiwoo-esque vibes."
"Are you a sasaeng? Why are you stalking Jiwoo? Delete this please"
"Oh... so this is the fiancée. Hmmm, I think I imagined someone different."
“Girl what happened to the privacy we are giving the tannies family and friends, please delete this”
“Wow, somehow she looks so plain… are we sure she isn’t just a friend of Jiwoo-unnie?”
“Please don’t spread mis-information, unless J-hope chooses to share it, we should respect that”
The tweet was gathering so much attention, 10k comments, 20k likes, and 8k quotes, I couldn’t even go through all of them.
My hands shook as I put the phone down, my heartbeat loud in my ears. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not yet.
Hoseok had promised the media wouldn’t see me until after my graduation. To keep my life as normal as possible, he’d said. But now, this picture was out there, and it was spiraling.
I buried my face in RJ again, hoping the plushie could somehow drown out the rising panic. But then I remembered, the one person I can go to for all things like this. Shaking, I bolted downstairs, clutching my phone so tightly it felt like it might crack under the pressure. My mind raced, thoughts colliding and tangling in the chaos. Ye-Joon was by the door, shrugging into his coat, keys jangling in his hand. He looked up, startled, as I called his name.
“Ye-Joon!” My voice trembled, but I couldn’t stop myself. I held out the phone, my hand shaking so much that the screen blurred before his eyes. “Look.”
His brows furrowed as he took the phone from me, the tension in his face deepening with every second he scrolled. When he finally looked up, his expression was grave.
“This is bad,” he muttered, handing the phone back to me as he pulled out his own.
“What—what do we do?” I stammered, hugging Jinnie tighter to my chest.
He didn’t answer immediately, already scrolling through his contacts and tapping on a name. He paced a few steps away as the call connected, his voice dropping into a calm, measured tone that somehow made me feel even more on edge.
“Yes... I saw it... No, nothing yet,” he said. “We need to contain it... Right. Option two seems safest for now.” He paused, listening intently, then nodded as if the person on the other end could see him. “Understood. I’ll keep you updated.”
When he hung up, he turned back to me, his professional mask still firmly in place. “You need to stay inside for now,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “No shopping, no going out—nothing that could risk you being seen, again.”
I stared at him, dread pooling in my stomach. “But... what if they find out more? What if they dig deeper?” My voice was small, barely above a whisper.
Ye-Joon’s expression softened slightly. “We’ll handle it before it gets to that point,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be in the public eye yet, and we’ll make sure it stays that way. Trust me.”
I nodded, though the knot in my stomach refused to loosen. “Okay,” I whispered.
He gave me a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. Now go back upstairs. Try to relax—I’ll keep you updated as soon as we have a clear plan.”
I watched him leave, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the quiet house. Slowly, I sank onto the bottom step of the staircase, gripping Jinnie so tightly that I could feel the seams digging into my arms.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The world was creeping closer, dragging me out of the shadows I had so carefully tried to stay hidden in. And with every passing second, the idea of being thrust into Hoseok’s limelight became more terrifying.
After Ye-Joon’s warning, I went back to my room, locking the door behind me as if it would keep the entire world out. I flopped onto the bed, clutching Jinnie the plushie like it was a life raft.
The room felt stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Article after article popped up on my phone, each one quoting that tweet, like a constant barrage of unwanted attention. I knew it wasn’t healthy, reading through all of this, but I couldn’t stop myself. I just wished it would all go away. I shut my eyes tightly, desperately trying to block out the noise. I thought about the years of solitude, the privacy I’d once enjoyed in my introverted little world. I knew my classmates had always seen me as "that person," the one who never quite fit in, who wore just enough makeup to seem presentable but still stood out like a sore thumb. I could almost picture my neighbors in Gwangju, probably having a feast over the news right now, gossiping about me.
I squeezed my eyes shut harder, but the thoughts kept coming. I wonder if my parents already know… God, I hoped they didn’t. The last thing I wanted was to add to their stress. I didn’t want them to know. The weight of it all was suffocating, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—everyone—was watching me. My heart pounded in my chest as fear twisted inside me. The judgment was unbearable. What if they dug deeper, discovered who my family really was, and turned our lives into a circus? The thought alone made my stomach churn. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let them find out.
I was drowning in chaos, my head spinning as my phone rang suddenly. The vibration jolted me out of my spiral, and I froze for a moment, heart racing. It was Ye-joon. Was this good news? Or had the situation gotten worse? What if the news had spread even further? What if they somehow found out my name?
My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I picked up the phone, and I felt the familiar weight of panic settle deeper into my bones. I could barely get the words out as I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“H-hello?”
My breath hitched, and all I could think was how much I needed someone to tell me everything was going to be okay.
“Eun-ah, it’s under control for now,” Ye-joon’s voice came through, calm but with an edge of tension. “Seems like the lack of proof made the whole idea die down quickly. Also, ARMY’s support for J-Hope’s privacy got the poster’s Twitter suspended. Looks like they’re going after anyone who posts about it. The power of BTS’s ARMY is really something else.” He paused, his voice lowering as he spoke again, the sound of traffic faint in the background. “BigHit won’t be releasing any statements, though. It would only add fuel to the fire and make things more suspicious.”
I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his words. "What about the articles?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if someone digs deeper? What if they find out about my family? Do they know?”
Ye-joon was quick to answer, trying to soothe my nerves. “Eun-woo already knows. I called him right away. He said he saw it on Twitter but didn’t know how to approach you about it.” He paused briefly. “I told him not to tell your parents yet. It’s best not to involve them right now—it won’t help anything.”
I let out a small breath of relief, knowing my parents were still unaware, but the thought of the articles still gnawed at me. “And the articles?” I asked, anxiety creeping into my voice. “How bad is it?”
“There are already hundreds out there,” Ye-joon said, frustration slipping through his words. “K-media is relentless, especially when J-Hope is involved. He’s such a big name; everything he does is blasted across headlines.” He sighed, sounding tired. “Right now, there’s nothing we can do about it. If we take action, it’ll only make things more suspicious. But don’t worry, our legal team is already on it. They’ll make sure these posts and articles get shadow-banned so they won’t spread any further.”
I let out a deep sigh of relief that my parents didn’t know yet, but hearing that hundreds of articles were already circulating made the weight in my chest feel even heavier. The helplessness of being unable to stop it, of relying on shadow bans to contain the damage, made me feel even more exposed. But, despite all the chaos, a small flicker of gratitude washed over me—the way ARMY rallied together, supporting J-Hope’s privacy, was a reminder of the genuine love and loyalty that the fandom had for BTS, especially in moments like this.
“There is bad news, though,” Ye-joon’s voice dropped, the mood shifting instantly. “The chairman found out and wants to see both you and Jiwoo.”
Just as the tension in my body had started to ease, it immediately snapped back. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. "The chairman?" I repeated, barely able to form the words.
I shot out of the bed, my feet hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thud, my mind racing. The thought of facing the chairman—the powerful, often intimidating figure—sent a rush of panic through me.
"I'll be there in 10 minutes, get ready," Ye-joon said, his voice still steady, but there was an urgency to it that made my chest tighten, my protest was left hanging.
Ten minutes? Why does he always like to rush things? I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated at the sudden rush. I quickly stumbled toward the walk-in closet, pulling clothes from hangers with hasty movements. I needed to look presentable, but I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind to care about every detail. A bit of makeup, nothing fancy—just enough to cover the bags under my eyes. I grabbed a pair of simple jeans and a shirt, throwing them on in quick succession before grabbing the small bag Jiwoo had bought me recently.
I glanced at myself in the mirror, taking a moment to assess. I looked fine—just fine. Bo-ra had been teaching me how to do simple makeup lately, and I had gotten the hang of it, but nothing compared to the polished look she could achieve. I still looked... well, decent, but I could feel the difference between my hurried, almost-forgotten routine and Bo-ra’s flawless touch.
I rushed down to the living room, my heart pounding as I tried to steady my breath. My three maids were standing by the door, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.
"Are you going somewhere, Ms. Yoo?" Ms. Jang asked, her voice soft but laced with worry. She stood by the door, blocking my path with her worried gaze. I paused, caught off guard by her concern, but quickly regained my composure. "Ye-joon is picking me up. I have a meeting with the chairman," I explained, trying to sound calm despite the tight knot forming in my stomach. And like clock work, one of the drivers appeared in the intercom, saying they have arrived and we need to hurry.
Ms. Jang opened the door, and a blast of icy air rushed in, making me shiver. I reached for the heavy coat in one of the maid’s hands, slipping it on with deliberate movements as the chill seeped through the fabric. The garden stretched before me, its trees and bushes weighed down by a thick blanket of snow. Earlier, the snow had fallen heavily, transforming the landscape into a serene winter wonderland, now glinting faintly under the soft glow of outdoor lights.
The crunch of my boots on the snow-dusted driveway echoed faintly as I made my way to the waiting car. The driver stood by, holding the door open. I climbed in, settling into the plush seat beside Ye-joon. He was absorbed in his phone, his fingers moving swiftly across the screen, the faint glow of the display illuminating his focused expression.
“So... how bad is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers rubbed together in an attempt to shake off the lingering cold, though my palms felt clammy from nervousness. The warmth of the car enveloped me, but it did little to ease the chill gripping my chest.
Ye-joon glanced up briefly, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my unease. “He’s mad,” he admitted, slipping his phone into the inside pocket of his tuxedo. He adjusted the lapel casually, as though we weren’t about to face the fallout of a public storm. “But mostly concerned. Don’t worry about it,” he added, his tone steady, almost soothing. He gestured for the driver to start the car, and the engine roared softly to life.
As the vehicle pulled out of the driveway, a heavy silence settled between us. My gaze drifted to the window, where the city unfolded in a blur of twinkling lights and bustling streets. People hurried along the sidewalks, their faces red from the cold, wrapped in scarves and heavy coats. Some lingered outside brightly lit shops, laughing and chatting, oblivious to the tension building inside me.
For a fleeting moment, I envied them—the simplicity of their lives, their anonymity. Not so long ago, I had been one of them, walking those same streets without a care. Now, the weight of scrutiny felt suffocating, a constant reminder of how exposed my life had become. My fingers tightened around the edges of my coat, seeking comfort in the familiar fabric.
The car turned into the basement parking lot of the Ju-Yo Building, its imposing silhouette coming into view. My breath caught for a moment. Seeing it up close for the first time was surreal. Its sleek, modern design towered above us, the structure illuminated by sharp, clean lines of light that emphasized its grandeur. I had only ever seen pictures of it in the news, never imagining it would become a part of my life—a family heirloom, they called it, passed down from my grandfather. Yet, it felt distant, like an artifact of someone else’s history, not mine.
The car came to a smooth stop in front of an elevator. The sudden silence after the engine’s hum heightened the tension. Ye-joon leaned forward, gripping the door handle to step out, but I grabbed his sleeve before he could open it.
“Wait,” I blurted, my voice tinged with panic. “What if someone sees me?”
His hand froze mid-motion, and he turned to face me, his expression softening slightly. “No one will see you,” he assured, his voice firm yet kind. “This elevator is for the chairman and family’s use only. It’s private.”
I hesitated, my hand still clutching his sleeve. My heart thudded in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Ye-joon gave me a small nod, his confidence unwavering. “Let’s go,” he said gently. “He’s waiting for us.”
With a deep breath, I released my grip and stepped out of the car, the cold air nipping at my cheeks once again. I followed Ye-joon to the elevator, each step feeling heavier than the last. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if I was truly ready for whatever awaited us inside
Ye-joon leaned forward and scanned his ID on the panel outside the elevator. The scanner beeped softly, and with a smooth mechanical hum, the elevator doors slid open. I hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the snow-covered world outside, before stepping inside. The warmth of the elevator contrasted with the cold air that clung to me like a second skin.
Inside, Ye-joon pressed the button for the 50th floor without hesitation. His hand lingered for a moment on the polished metal panel before retreating to his side. As the elevator roared to life, I felt a jolt in the pit of my stomach. The numbers above the door began to change, but the walls seemed to press in closer with every passing second.
Uncomfortable, I shifted my weight from one foot to another, my palms instinctively rubbing against my coat. The confined space made me hyperaware of my shallow breathing, and I fought to suppress the rising sense of panic.
“Calm down,” Ye-joon said without turning around, his voice firm but not unkind. His posture was stiff, his back a silent wall of support in front of me. “It’ll just be a small talk.”
“I’m sorry,” I admitted, my voice barely audible over the soft hum of the elevator. “I hate elevators. They make me feel like I’m running out of air.”
He turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing in faint surprise. “I never thought you’d be claustrophobic,” he remarked, his tone more curious than judgmental.
Before I could respond, the elevator chimed softly, announcing our arrival. The doors opened with a quiet swish, and I was greeted by a long, crimson carpet leading to an imposing set of double doors at the far end of the hall. The walls were adorned with a series of framed photographs, their glossy surfaces catching the light.
My steps slowed as my gaze swept over the images. Each picture seemed to tell a story—a ribbon-cutting ceremony, a factory bustling with workers, my grandfather shaking hands with foreign dignitaries. It was a visual history of Ju-Yo Corp, laid out like a silent museum exhibit.
One picture, however, made me pause. It depicted a boy, his grin wide and radiant, holding a baseball bat as he stood between my grandfather and the chairman. They were all laughing, their joy frozen in time. My breath hitched as I recognized the boy’s distinct heart-shaped smile.
“Ah, the first company sports fest,” Ye-joon said, his voice suddenly close to my ear. I jumped slightly, not realizing he had approached. “Hoseok was only Six at the time. I think this was around when the agreement was made,” he added casually, as if discussing the weather.
The word “agreement” sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but Ye-joon didn’t seem to notice. He gestured for me to continue walking, and I forced myself to follow, though my legs felt like lead.
We reached the double doors, and Ye-joon knocked softly. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet hallway. Almost immediately, one door swung open, revealing a bright, expansive office. The room was bathed in natural light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a breathtaking view of the city below. A plush sofa set occupied the center of the room, and seated in one of the single chairs was the chairman himself. Across from him sat Jiwoo, her expression grim, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“Ah, you’re here,” the chairman said, straightening slightly in his seat. His sharp gaze landed on me, and I instinctively bowed in greeting, the motion stiff with nerves.
“Please, sit beside Jiwoo,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat next to her.
I moved carefully, feeling every step as though it were magnified. Sitting down, I greeted Jiwoo softly. She offered me a small, tight smile in return, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach.
“As I was saying—how careless,” the chairman muttered, rubbing his temples in exasperation. I hadn’t even been in the room for a full minute, and I was already being scolded. Jiwoo shrank in her seat, her shoulders hunching as she stared at her palms.
“I-I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “We just wanted a day out as sisters.”
“I’m sorry as well,” I added quickly, bowing my head low. “I should have been more careful. I didn’t realize how quickly gossip could spread.”
The chairman turned his attention to Ye-joon, his tone sharp. “And you? What steps are you taking to address this? Her private life is now under scrutiny, and that was not part of the plan.”
Before Ye-joon could respond, a clear, confident voice cut through the tension. “Grandpa, if I may.”
I froze. The voice came from a tablet sitting on the table. It was Hoseok, his face filled the screen, his expression calm but resolute.
“Maybe we don’t debunk the rumors,” he said. “Maybe we confirm them.”
My head whipped toward the screen. “C-Confirm them? Why? How?”
The chairman leaned back in his seat, his brows knitting together in thought. “Why?” he repeated, his gaze shifting to Hoseok. “What about her school? Her private life? She isn’t ready for this.”
Hoseok’s gaze didn’t waver. “But she’s going to be my wife. She has to be ready one way or another. Why not start now?”
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to process what he had just said. Ready? For what, exactly?
“But this is not what we agreed on at the restaurant” I retorted, feeling a little flushed
The Chairman’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his eyes narrowing toward the speakerphone. The silence following Hoseok’s words was deafening. I could feel my pulse in my ears, each beat a reminder of my growing discomfort.
“Hoseok,” the Chairman said at last, his tone heavy with skepticism, “do you even understand the implications of confirming this? Her private life will be dissected, her studies disrupted. We’d be throwing her to the wolves.”
“It’s not like we’re keeping her safe now,” Hoseok countered, his voice unwavering. “The media is already circling, and they’re going to dig deeper the longer we stay quiet. At least by confirming it, we control how the story unfolds.”
My fingers twisted the fabric of my coat in my lap, the tension coiling tight in my chest. “Control?” I echoed softly, my voice nearly drowned by the heavy atmosphere. “What about my say in this? Do I have any control?”
No one answered immediately, and the weight of their silence was suffocating. I shifted uncomfortably, forcing myself to look at Jiwoo, who seemed equally uneasy.
Jiwoo finally spoke, her voice hesitant. “Hoseok, I understand your point, but... shouldn’t we be thinking about how this affects Eun-ah personally? She’s not used to this kind of attention.”
“And she never will be if we keep shielding her,” Hoseok replied sharply. “She’s going to be in this world eventually. Preparing her now is the practical choice.”
“Preparing me?” I blurted, unable to hold back. My hands clenched into fists as I tried to steady my voice. “This isn’t about preparing me. It’s about throwing me into the deep end without asking if I’m ready to swim.”
Ye-joon, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, clearing his throat. “If I may,” he said, his voice measured but firm, “Eun-ah has every right to weigh in on this. We need to prioritize her comfort and privacy, not just damage control.”
The Chairman sighed, rubbing his temples again. “This is a mess,” he muttered. “We’ll need to take time to evaluate the risks. Hoseok, we’ll speak further when you’re back.”
“That’s fine,” Hoseok replied, his tone cool. “But don’t waste too much time. The longer we hesitate, the less control we’ll have.”
The line went dead, and the room plunged into silence once more. My gaze dropped to my lap, my mind racing. I felt like a chess piece being moved across a board, with no say in the strategy.
“Eun-ah,” the Chairman said finally, his voice softer but no less commanding, “go home. We’ll handle this.”
Handle it. That’s all I ever seemed to hear—other people handling my life, my choices. Rising stiffly from my seat, I bowed quickly and turned toward the door. Ye-joon followed silently, his presence the only thing grounding me as I left the suffocating room behind.
Chapter Text
The ride home was cloaked in silence, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the faint crunch of tires over the snowy road. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all circling back to Hoseok’s words: You’re going to be in the spotlight eventually—why not start now? The weight of his suggestion pressed on my chest like a boulder. I sighed, the sound heavy and drawn out, but it did little to release the tension.
“Hoseok has his ways. Don’t overthink it,” Ye-joon said, his voice steady and composed. He was focused on his phone, fingers flying across the screen as he replied to emails. I caught a glimpse of the subject lines—work-related, as usual. I wondered if he ever stopped working or if he was permanently tethered to the demands of this complicated life I’d been thrust into.
“I get it,” I muttered, resting my chin in my palm as my gaze shifted to the frost-kissed window. The car glided smoothly through the icy streets, and the occasional glow of streetlights painted fleeting golden streaks on the snow. “But we had an agreement. He promised I wouldn’t be shown to the public until after I graduated. That’s just two years away.”
Ye-joon slipped his phone into his pocket and finally turned his attention forward. His expression was calm but unreadable. “So, what’s your decision?” he asked, his tone deliberate. “What do you want?”
“Of course, I don’t want it,” I said, the words spilling out before I even had time to think. “I value my privacy as much as anyone would. Hoseok’s life is already as public as it gets. I don’t want to be dragged into that.”
“Then tell him,” Ye-joon said matter-of-factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “Text him. Let him know you don’t agree.”
“But how can I?” I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. “He doesn’t even give me the time of day. How am I supposed to get him to listen?”
“You don’t need him to listen. Just say it,” Ye-joon said, his tone pragmatic. “You don’t have to wait for a response to get your message across.”
He had a point. This was my life, and I had a right to be heard. “I can do that,” I said, nodding to myself. “But what happens to the rumors after that? Won’t they just keep going?”
“They will,” Ye-joon admitted with a shrug. “That’s the Korean media for you. They won’t stop until they’ve squeezed every drop of speculation out of this story. Especially since the company is keeping everything under wraps. The secrecy only feeds their obsession.”
My stomach turned uneasily. “What do you mean? Are you saying they’ll dig into my family? Into me?”
“It’s possible,” Ye-joon said plainly. “When there’s no information, they’ll do anything to fill in the gaps. Privacy doesn’t exist in this world—not completely.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “But can’t we stop them?” I asked, my voice trembling. Panic was beginning to seep into my chest, cold and unrelenting. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t the life I wanted.
Ye-joon sighed, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “Hoseok isn’t wrong. If we release the information ourselves, we control the narrative. But ultimately, this is your life, Eun-ah. No one can take away your choice in how you want to handle it.”
Hoseok’s suggestion kept replaying in my head. Was there a point to it? Could he actually be… right? The idea started to make sense the more I thought about it. If we release the information, the media wouldn’t have to dig—it’d already be out there. But agreeing to something like that felt so wrong. Should I do it? The back-and-forth of what’s right versus what I actually wanted was starting to make my brain hurt.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the house just as it started snowing again. One of the guards opened the door for me, and I pulled my coat tighter around myself before stepping out. It got colder into the night. I can feel the cold seeping in my bones, I gave a small shudder. Ye-joon followed behind, looking at me after the shudder that I let out, eyeing me if I was okay, “I’m fine, it’s just too cold” I gave him a thumbs up. “Are you staying for dinner?” I asked, walking toward the front door, my boots crunching softly in the fresh snow.
“No,” Ye-joon said, adjusting his glasses. “I’m just seeing you off. I have another meeting later tonight.” He hesitated, then added, “But don’t forget to tell him what you decide. Hoseok can be… difficult, but he thinks about these things more than you realize.”
I stopped just short of the door, turning back to face him. “What about you? What do you think I should do?” My arms crossed against the cold, but it wasn’t just the chill bothering me. “I feel stuck. I want my privacy, but if I hold onto it, isn’t that just inviting the Korean media to dig even deeper into my life?” The honesty felt a little too raw, but I couldn’t help it—it was all starting to get to me.
Ye-joon exhaled slowly, his breath forming a small cloud in the air. “If you want my opinion, I’d go with what Hoseok said. Give them just enough—basic stuff like your school, your age, your hometown. Maybe even that you’re an heir to part of JY Corp. The media will grab onto the fixed marriage angle instead. That kind of story is way more interesting to them than whatever dirt they might find about you personally.”
His tone was blunt, but I knew he wasn’t trying to be mean. He was right—kind of. A fixed marriage between heirs was a lot more dramatic than… me.
“Okay,” I said, my voice a little shaky. “I’ll tell him… somehow.”
We exchanged polite bows, the kind that carried unspoken gratitude and the weight of our respective responsibilities. As Ye-joon’s car disappeared into the snowy evening, I waved him off and turned back toward the house, the cold biting at my cheeks despite my scarf.
“Ms. Yoo, you’re home!” Ms. Jang greeted me at the door, her voice warm as ever. “You must be cold. Would you like some dinner? We’ve prepared seaweed soup to fight off the chill.” She reached for my coat, her thin hands as steady as always despite the frigid weather.
“That sounds perfect, Ms. Jang. I could definitely use something warm right now.” I slipped off my coat and handed it to her, letting the coziness of the house sink into my bones.
Ms. Jang bustled off to the kitchen while I made my way to the dining table. The silence was almost too loud, leaving my thoughts to ricochet off every corner of my mind. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my memory, sharp and matter-of-fact: “Why not start now?”
I fished my phone out of my purse and stared at the screen, debating. Should I text him? Call him? Maybe just send a message and pretend I wasn’t waiting for a reply? The thought of his unread, unanswered messages piling up made my stomach twist.
“Here’s your dinner, Ms. Yoo,” Ms. Jang said, interrupting my spiral. She set the tray down gently, her movements precise and practiced.
“Thank you, Ms. Jang.” I picked up my chopsticks, the aroma of the soup enveloping me like a warm blanket. “Where are the others?”
“They’ve gone to run an errand,” she said, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. “We were out of some supplies, so I sent them out to buy what we needed.”
“In this weather?” I frowned, taking a tentative sip of the soup. The rich, savory broth was instantly soothing. “We should’ve just had it delivered.”
Ms. Jang chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s good for them to get some fresh air now and then, even in the cold.”
The soup worked its magic, warming me from the inside out, but my thoughts remained restless. “Your seaweed soup is amazing,” I said, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling up in my chest.
“You always say that, Ms. Yoo,” she replied with a fond smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Left alone again, I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. My mind raced: Should I take Hoseok’s advice? What if it’s the only way to avoid the media digging into everything about me? But what if it’s a mistake? All this thinking made me dizzy.
The soup barely settled in my stomach before the weight of exhaustion pulled me toward my bed. I told myself I’d deal with everything tomorrow—Hoseok’s suggestion, the media, my next move. Tonight, I needed rest. The cold seemed to seep deeper into my bones despite the heavy blankets I piled on, and I drifted into a restless sleep.
“.......Eun-ah..”
“.....Eun-ah!”
What’s this? Why am I being jostled awake by muffled voices and hurried footsteps? My eyes cracked open, but the world around me swam in a blur. I caught glimpses of Ye-joon’s worried face as he wheeled me somewhere, but his words were indistinct. My head pounded mercilessly, and the effort to stay awake was too much. I surrendered to the darkness again.
When I woke again, the harsh white light of an unfamiliar room greeted me. My body felt heavy, my throat dry and painful, and my head still throbbed, though it was dulled compared to before. The sterile smell of antiseptic told me where I was before my eyes confirmed it: a hospital room.
IV bags hung on a metal stand beside me, their contents slowly dripping into the line taped to my arm. My gaze shifted downward, and I saw a familiar hand holding mine.
“Mom?” I croaked, my voice hoarse. She looked up sharply, her eyes red-rimmed and tired, but relief softened her features instantly.
“Oh, Eun-ah,” she said, squeezing my hand tightly. “You scared us so much.” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
My head turned slowly, catching sight of Ye-joon slumped on the sofa in the corner, his head nodding forward as he slept. He still had his suit on, though the tie was loosened, and he looked like he hadn’t rested in days.
“What happened?” I asked, the words coming out slower than I intended, my voice hoarse, my throat hurting like a thousand blades was running through it.
“You had a dangerously high fever,” my mom explained, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “When the maids couldn’t wake you, they called Ye-joon. He rushed over and brought you here. The doctor said it was from the cold and exhaustion. You need to take better care of yourself!”
I blinked up at her, trying to piece everything together. The memories of the previous night came back in fragments—the dinner table, the soup, the cold creeping in, and then nothing. Guilt gnawed at me. I’d worried everyone.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt strangely weak, as if this was more than just a common cold.
"Don't apologize, just rest," Mom said gently but firmly. "The Chairman and Jiwoo came by earlier. They brought you fruits and flowers. Jiwoo, bless her heart, even offered to stay and take care of you." She reached for a peach from the enormous fruit basket on the table, its pink ribbon neatly tied on top. The basket was overflowing with fresh Asian fruits—apples, pears, persimmons—like a gift meant to last for weeks.
"I told her not to trouble herself too much," Mom continued, slicing the peach with practiced ease. "I can take care of you just fine."
I glanced toward the far corner of the room, where Ye-joon sat, nodding off in the chair. A pang of guilt settled in my chest. I hated making people worry, hated that they had to rearrange their lives because of me.
"Oh, him?" Mom giggled. "He's been here since last night. I told him to go home and rest, but he refused. He insisted on staying." She smiled, shaking her head. "You’re surrounded by people who love you, Eun-ah. Seeing that makes me feel at ease."
I still felt cold, my body aching, but her words settled over me like a warm blanket.
"What did the doctor say?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"They ran a few tests and took some X-rays, but we haven’t gotten the results yet. I'll check with the nurse outside." She placed a small plate of neatly sliced fruit on my lap, her expression soft yet insistent.
"Eat. You need your strength," she said before heading toward the door.
I stared down at the fruit, my fingers trembling slightly as I reached for a slice. My chest felt tight—not just from the illness, but from the quiet weight of everything.
As I chewed on my fruit, I can’t help but to look at how Ye-joon looks so vulnerably, the dark circles under his eyes, his eyeglasses a bit askew. He’d been my rock through it all. And I owe him so much. The door swung open again, drawing both my attention and Ye-joon’s. He stirred at the sound, his head jerking up slightly as if startled from a light sleep. His eyes darted toward the entrance, blinking away the drowsiness, but he relaxed when he saw my mother walk in, followed closely by a middle-aged doctor in a white coat. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and he carried a clipboard with what I assumed were my test results. Ye-joon stood up and straightened his coat and tie, he then caught a glimpse of me and gave a soft smile, somehow relief.
“Ms. Yoo, good to see you awake,” the doctor greeted with a professional yet kind smile.
Mom immediately took a seat beside me, her warm hand covering mine in a reassuring gesture. I could tell she was worried, even if she tried not to show it too much. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever was coming.
“You have mild pneumonia,” the doctor said, flipping through his notes. “It was triggered by prolonged exposure to the cold. Your fever was quite high last night, which is why you were unresponsive, but thankfully, we caught it early. With proper rest and antibiotics, you should recover within a week or two.”
I let out a slow breath. Pneumonia. The word alone sounded heavy, but at least it wasn’t anything worse.
“You’ll need to stay here for a few more days for monitoring,” the doctor continued, his tone calm but firm. “We want to make sure your fever stabilizes and that your body responds well to the treatment before discharging you.”
I nodded slightly, though my head still felt foggy. My body ached, my chest felt tight, and every breath I took came with a dull discomfort. Even though I hated hospitals, I knew I had no choice but to listen.
Mom squeezed my hand. “With three weeks left before your wedding, you should make a full recovery just in time,” the doctor assured, his voice carrying a sense of finality.
Three weeks. The number echoed in my mind, adding to the weight already pressing on my chest. I had barely adjusted to the idea of the wedding itself, and now I had to get better before then. It was one more thing on an already overwhelming list.
“You’ll be on a course of antibiotics, and the nurses will check on you regularly. In the meantime, I strongly advise complete rest—no stress, no overexertion.” The doctor looked at me pointedly, as if he already knew I was the type to overthink everything.
Mom nodded. “Of course, she’ll rest.”
The doctor gave me one last look before offering a reassuring nod. “Get plenty of fluids, eat well, and don’t push yourself. I’ll check back in later.”
With that, he left the room, leaving a quiet tension in the air.
I sank deeper into the pillows, my body suddenly feeling heavier now that the adrenaline from hearing my diagnosis had worn off. I turned my head slightly toward Ye-joon, who was rubbing his temples, still looking a bit groggy.
“You really didn’t have to stay all night,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.
Ye-joon let out a tired chuckle, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, well… someone had to make sure you weren’t dead,” he teased, though there was an underlying warmth in his tone. “Not just me, by the way. Hoseok was worried too.”
At that, my gaze flickered to him in surprise. “He was?”
Ye-joon hummed, adjusting his glasses. “He called a couple of times to check in. Didn’t ask for details, but… you know how he is.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Hoseok, worried? It didn’t quite fit the cold, distant persona he had shown me so far. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
But for now, I was too tired to dwell on it. My eyelids felt heavier, the warmth of the hospital blankets lulling me back toward sleep. Maybe, just for a little while, I could let myself rest.
****
It had been three long days since I’d been admitted. My fever had finally broken, the heat that had consumed me for days now replaced with a dull ache in my bones. Strength was returning, slowly, like the tide creeping back to shore after a storm. Yet, the occasional cough that racked my body and the tightness in my chest reminded me of the toll I had taken. But today, today I was being discharged.
The room felt stifling, like the walls were closing in on me. I had been alone for what felt like hours, and I just wanted to leave, to escape the sterile smell of antiseptic that clung to everything. I shifted, the hospital bed creaking beneath me, and then my gaze landed on the clothes laid out on the bed—neatly, carefully arranged as if to remind me of the world outside these walls.
The maid laid out the clothes for me on the bed. A sleek black dress, impossibly polished, the kind of outfit you wore when you wanted to say, I have arrived, take note of me. There were sheer stockings, a pair of my least favorite Chanel boots—the ones that felt like they were made for someone with a lot of attention to spare—and a heavy leather coat, the kind that made you feel more shielded than comfortable. It was all too much, too deliberate. The kind of outfit that screamed occasion, and I was far from ready for whatever occasion this was supposed to be.
Something felt off. My stomach twisted, unease rising in me like a heavy wave.
I glanced at Ye-joon, who was sitting across from me on the sofa, his tablet resting on his knee. His eyes were focused, but there was something about his stillness that felt out of place. Too quiet. Too tense. Like he was waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me to ask the question.
“What’s with this outfit?” I asked, my voice a little sharper than I intended, pointing toward the clothes.
The maid, who had been fussing around the room, flinched visibly. She quickly bowed, avoiding my gaze, and practically ran out of the room. That was… odd. I didn’t have the energy to process it, but it left a strange, uncomfortable feeling in my chest.
I turned back to Ye-joon, trying to force some normalcy back into my voice. “I’ll just wear sweats home. That’s fine, right?”
Ye-joon’s eyes flickered up at me, but his grip on the tablet tightened. His knuckles turned white, a faint sign of tension, and I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.
“You need to get changed,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
I frowned, confusion and frustration mixing together. “Why? I’m literally just going home. What’s with the fancy getup?”
Ye-joon exhaled slowly, his gaze sliding away for a moment as if he were carefully considering his words. “Actually…” He trailed off, eyes flicking back to me, hesitant. “Hoseok is coming to pick you up.”
My heart dropped, and I felt an odd tightness in my throat. “What?”
He paused before continuing, eyes now fixed on me with a sharpness that cut through the confusion. “And today... is the day you’ll be introduced to the media.”
The words hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for, like a punch to the gut. I felt the room tilt, my vision narrowing as if the walls were closing in.
“What?” My voice barely escaped, a broken whisper.
Ye-joon nodded toward his tablet, sliding it across the table to me with a smooth, practiced motion. “The media’s been relentless. Speculating. Making things up. Hoseok decided to handle it.”
I snatched the tablet, my fingers trembling, my heart pounding louder in my ears. As my eyes scanned the screen, the words blurred together before snapping into focus. The articles were everywhere, littering the digital space like an unwanted storm.
Hoseok’s fiancée comes from a debt-ridden family?
J-Hope’s mysterious lady—was she picked up from a brothel?
The next Jung heir? JY Corporation losing stocks—marriage arranged to save the company?
Each headline felt like a slap to my face. The words dug into me like daggers. My pulse raced, an overwhelming wave of nausea hitting me as I scrolled. They’d gone beyond speculation—they had turned my life into a grotesque spectacle. There were full-length articles detailing my every move, twisting my reality into something unrecognizable, fabricating backstories and throwing me into a world of rumors and accusations.
I could barely breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” My voice cracked, the fear spilling out before I could stop it. The emotions were too much, crashing over me.
Ye-joon sighed deeply, a mix of frustration and something else in his expression. “The doctor said no stress. And honestly, what would you have done? Sit here and read them while recovering?”
My grip on the tablet tightened, knuckles white, as if holding onto it could stop the world from falling apart. “And now what? I just walk out there like some kind of well-trained showpiece?”
“You won’t have to say anything,” he reassured me, his tone softening, but there was no warmth in his words. “Hoseok will handle the media.”
I swallowed hard, but it did nothing to ease the pressure in my chest. The tightness was spreading—across my ribs, down to my stomach. I wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, just to feel like I had control again. But I couldn’t. I felt like I was drowning.
I had been so foolish. I had thought, even if just for a moment, that I could take my time adjusting to this new life. That I could have a choice in how I faced this world. But now, reality had caught up with me, fast and brutal. It was never my choice, never my say.
My eyes drifted back to the outfit on the bed, the cold black fabric staring back at me. It wasn’t just a dress. It was armor, carefully crafted for a battle I hadn’t signed up for.
The minutes felt like hours, each one dragging as I paced back and forth in the hospital room. I couldn’t stand still; my feet moved mechanically, each step an attempt to quell the storm brewing inside me. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, suffocating, stifling—like it was trying to close in around me. I couldn’t escape it. My thoughts were a tangled mess, twisting into knots I couldn’t undo.
Everything had shifted so suddenly. Just yesterday, I’d been lying in this bed, feverish and exhausted, too sick to think clearly. Now, I was about to step into a role I didn’t ask for, couldn’t understand, and the world would be watching every step I took. How had it all come to this? How had I become part of this carefully constructed facade?
My eyes flicked to the door as if I could will it to open and end this strange waiting game. But the room remained quiet, save for the hum of the machines and my restless footsteps. The anticipation gnawed at me, pulling tight around my chest. I didn’t know what to feel—only a sickening churn of anxiety deep in my gut, like a thousand butterflies had been set loose inside me, flapping their wings furiously in every direction.
I checked my watch again. Time seemed to crawl, mocking me as I waited for the inevitable moment when everything would change. I didn’t know what I was waiting for exactly, but I could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, pressing against me from all sides.
Ye-joon’s voice broke the silence. “You need to look a little less... put together .”
I stopped mid-step, the words cutting through my thoughts like a knife. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to mask the irritation that crept into my tone.
Before he could answer, the door opened slightly, and Bo-ra, my makeup artist, stepped inside. She hesitated just inside the doorway, as though unsure whether she should even enter. Her expression was apologetic, but there was no mistaking the professionalism in the way she moved.
Bo-ra didn’t come closer; she simply stayed by the door, carefully assessing me from a distance. The way she was handling everything felt almost like she was trying to walk a fine line—too much attention would make it look too deliberate, too much effort. Yet, there was no denying the purposeful way she approached me. She applied makeup with light, almost imperceptible touches, enough to make me look fresh but not perfect. There was a subtle, calculated imperfection to it, something that would make me look human—flawed, real. I wasn’t supposed to look like a glowing starlet coming out of the hospital; I was supposed to look... just enough.
She applied a hint of blush to my cheeks, a delicate swipe across my eyelids, and then she placed the face mask carefully over my mouth. It was a deliberate move, one that would hide the lingering signs of illness and keep up the illusion. It was part of the show—an effort to control how the media would perceive me. And I, the unwilling player, was left trying to figure out how to fit into this new role.
I glanced at Ye-joon, who stood by the window, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t watching the process, not paying attention to how Bo-ra was handling me, but I could feel his eyes on me in a way that made me squirm. He was focused on something beyond the room, something bigger than me. It was as if everything I did, every move I made, was part of a plan that had already been set into motion long before I ever had a chance to understand it.
“You need to look less like a showpiece,” Ye-joon’s voice cut through again, his calm tone somehow colder this time. “It needs to look natural, not like a rescue operation.”
I swallowed, trying to steady my breath, but it was hard. My heart was pounding in my chest, each beat heavier than the last. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” I asked, the question coming out sharper than I intended. It felt like I was drowning in the tension. The weight of the situation was suffocating.
Ye-joon gave a small sigh, like I was missing the point entirely. “The media’s already been baited,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “We’ve given them small hints that Hoseok would be here, outside the hospital. We need them to believe this is all coincidental. We don’t want them to think it’s damage control. Hoseok will release a statement later tonight—he’ll explain everything, ask for privacy while you recover. He’ll apologize to ARMY and promise to show your face during the wedding.”
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. Hoseok’s world was spinning out of control, and I was the center of it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. How had I become part of this carefully constructed narrative? How had my life been reduced to just another piece of the puzzle in someone else’s story?
“They’ve been writing about you,” Ye-joon added, his voice detached but tinged with something I couldn’t place. “Twisting everything they know. This will put a stop to that. We need to control the narrative, make sure they don’t go too far with their imagination.”
I could barely breathe. My chest tightened with each passing second. It felt like the air had grown too thick to move through, like I was suffocating in this tangled web of lies and manipulation.
Ye-joon’s cold, calculated explanation only made it worse. It was brilliant—yes, it was all brilliantly orchestrated—but the more he spoke, the more it felt like I was being pulled into something that I had no control over. The weight of the plan, the expectation, was too much for me to carry alone. And yet, here I was, standing on the precipice, waiting for Hoseok to appear, waiting for the next piece to fall into place.
Hoseok himself would soon come to fetch me.
I could already feel my stomach twist at the thought of it. The man I barely knew—who was now somehow entwined in my life in a way I couldn’t escape. The weight of his presence, the way he would pull me into his world, felt too much to bear.
The tension in the room was unbearable. It wasn’t just about me recovering from illness anymore; it was about me stepping into a role I hadn’t asked for, couldn’t prepare for, but was expected to play perfectly.
—--
It was already the time of my discharge, plus fifteen minutes, I have been nervously fidgeting in my hospital bed. Ye-joon looked restless, calling people here and there, making sure everything is Perfect, I gave out a long sigh. as I tried to rest my back on the bed, I started to hear footsteps approaching, the sound slow and deliberate as they echoed down the hallway outside. The weight of each step seemed to press down on me, amplifying the suffocating silence that had descended upon the room. I can already hear gasps and murmurs from people seeing the J-hope in the hospital walking around. My heart picked up its pace, thudding louder in my chest, matching the rhythm of the footsteps. It was a strange sensation, like time had stilled, and everything was suspended in that one moment. Every second felt like a lifetime.
I turned my head, instinctively knowing who it was before the door even creaked open. The familiar tension in the air was replaced by something else entirely—something colder, sharper. The door opened, and Hoseok stepped into the room, his tall figure filling the doorway. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, his usual warmth and ease nowhere to be found. His expression was unreadable, distant—like the man I had seen on television was nothing more than a distant memory, replaced by this stranger standing in front of me.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer a greeting.
“Are you ready?” His voice was low, controlled—like everything else he said, measured with precision.
I couldn’t find the words at first. My throat was tight, as if everything inside me was stuck. I nodded, though, not trusting myself to speak. There was no point. I was already caught in this web, and there was no going back.
Hoseok stepped further into the room, his eyes briefly flicking to Ye-joon, who had remained silent by the window. Ye-joon’s gaze met his briefly, and in that moment, it was like they communicated without speaking at all. I didn’t know what was being said between them, but I could feel the weight of it, like some silent understanding had passed between them.
“You look…” Hoseok trailed off, his gaze sliding over me, his eyes cold, calculating. I couldn’t quite place the expression on his face. Was he judging me? Was he looking for something—validation? He seemed distant, detached, like he wasn’t seeing the person in front of him. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel relieved or worse.
But then, he didn’t give me time to think, didn’t allow space for questions. His next words came quickly, decisively. “We’ll leave through the back exit. The media’s already waiting in front. We can’t let them think this is a last-minute change.”
Back exit. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard about it, but it felt strange hearing it from him. The idea of being escorted out like a showpiece, carefully controlled and handled, sent a wave of disgust through me. Yet, I couldn’t find the strength to argue. What was there to say? This wasn’t my fight. It never had been.
I took a breath, feeling the pressure in my chest, but nothing about it felt like relief. There was no comfort in this situation—only the growing awareness that I was about to walk straight into a storm I had no control over.
The door behind me clicked shut with a soft thud as Ye-joon made his exit. It was like he knew this moment was something only Hoseok and I could handle, whatever that meant.
Hoseok was still standing near the door, as if waiting for me to get ready, his figure blocking the hallway beyond. It was strange, how we stood there in that quiet room, surrounded by uncertainty, the world outside waiting for us to play our parts.
I finally pulled my gaze from the floor, forcing myself to meet his eyes. For a brief moment, the mask of indifference he wore seemed to slip—just a fraction. There was something in his eyes, something dark, something hard to read, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The air in the room had shifted, and I could feel the tension hanging between us like an invisible thread, stretching tighter with every passing second.
“You can’t back out now,” he said, his words quiet but heavy, like a warning. “Not after everything they’ve already written.”
I blinked, trying to keep my emotions in check, but the knot in my stomach tightened even further. “I never planned to,” I muttered, my voice betraying the lie in my words.
Because I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Good,” he said, the word sharp, clipped, like he didn’t have time for doubts, but somehow, it felt like he was on my side. “Let’s go.”
As we made our way down the hospital corridor, I could already feel the shift in the air. The sound of muted voices, low and murmuring, seemed to rise and swell as we walked. It wasn’t just the press waiting outside; inside, it seemed like everyone had heard the news. Nurses stopped in their tracks, eyes wide with surprise, while patients in the hallways whispered excitedly, the sound of their voices carrying a buzz of recognition.
“Oh my god, is that him?” one nurse gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest as she tried to steady herself, clearly not expecting the unexpected visitor.
“Is it really him? It’s J-Hope!” another nurse whispered loudly, her eyes glued to Hoseok, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
I could feel it before I even looked up—the energy in the air, charged with disbelief and awe. Hoseok’s presence was nothing short of electric. The attention he garnered wasn’t just from the nurses. Other patients, too, peeked their heads out from their rooms, some with their phones already raised in hopes of a picture, others simply staring in wide-eyed awe.
And yet, Hoseok’s demeanor remained cool, poised, as if this was just another day in the life of J-Hope, the superstar. He smiled brightly, the same grin that could light up an entire stadium, flashing it at the nurses as we walked past. His arm tightened around mine just a fraction, making sure I stayed close, his face a picture of charm and ease.
“Thank you for all you do,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, his words reaching out to the nurses who couldn’t seem to get enough of him. “I hope you’re all having a good day.”
The nurses squealed softly, their faces glowing with excitement. Some blushed, unable to form coherent sentences, while others fumbled with their phones, eager to snap a photo of their idol. They looked at me, glancing quickly at my face before snapping their attention back to Hoseok, their eyes full of admiration.
I felt a strange pang in my chest. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but something uncomfortable—the way Hoseok so easily commanded their attention, as if they were all drawn to him like moths to a flame. And then there was me, standing silently by his side, as though I were nothing more than an accessory in his bright, sparkling world.
But Hoseok didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but it didn’t matter. He was used to this. This was his world—this was how he existed, in the spotlight, surrounded by people who adored him. As we moved past the nurses, he kept smiling, waving to a few who had gathered in the hallway, and giving a playful wink to another.
“Let’s make sure to keep things quiet, okay?” he called out to them, his voice friendly but carrying an undertone of authority. They nodded eagerly, their eyes still wide in disbelief.
I felt his grip on my arm tighten slightly, a silent reminder that I was here, too, that this moment wasn’t just about him. Not that it really mattered. The way he held me, with an air of protectiveness, of ownership, only added to the illusion.
We reached the back exit, the door opening with a soft hiss, but I could feel the weight of the attention still lingering behind us, like a shadow. It wasn’t just the press outside. The entire hospital had been affected by his presence. Even as we stepped out of the building, the murmurs and whispers seemed to follow us, trailing in the wake of his every move.
“Mr. Sunshine,” one of the nurses called out softly as we passed by, the affectionate nickname for his on-stage persona falling from her lips like an adoring sigh. “We hope to see you again soon!”
Hoseok’s smile softened for a moment, almost like he was humbled by the attention, before he turned his focus back to me. It was all so carefully curated—his smile, his laughter, his charm. Nothing about it was real. Not for me, anyway.
We reached the back exit, and as the door swung open, I was hit with a wave of light—bright camera flashes, the sound of microphones and cameras clicking, and the air buzzing with the chaotic energy of the media. They had been waiting. Both exits had been covered, every angle accounted for.
I froze, a sense of overwhelming panic surging through me. My breath caught in my throat, and I instinctively tried to shrink back, wanting to hide, to disappear from the flashing lenses and eager eyes that were suddenly trained on me.
But Hoseok’s hand tightened around mine in an instant. His grip, firm but gentle, pulled me closer to him. His arm slid around me, not as if we were simply walking to the car, but as if he were shielding me from the storm around us. His presence was both comforting and commanding, the familiar warmth of his touch grounding me even as the world around us seemed to spin out of control.
“Don’t worry,” his voice was low, steady. His words barely reached my ears, drowned by the cacophony of shouts and flashes, but the tone was enough to ease some of the tension from my body. He guided me forward, slowly but surely, his steps deliberate, his body moving like a shield between me and the madness unfolding before us.
The media were relentless. They shouted questions, cameras pointing directly at us, eager to capture every moment. “Is it true you’re engaged to the heif of the Late Director Yoo” one reporter yelled, barely giving us space to move.
Another voice cut through the crowd, calling, “How did you meet? What’s your story?”
I couldn’t even hear the words. The sheer number of flashing lights, the way they swarmed, felt like I was drowning in a sea of questions and judgment. My heart pounded, and I could feel my chest tightening with each step. This wasn’t how I imagined my first public appearance—not as the fiancée of someone so famous, so admired, with every part of my life suddenly put under the spotlight.
But Hoseok kept walking, his hold on me unyielding, guiding me toward the car parked just ahead. The black sedan was sleek and shiny, looking like an escape.
As we neared the car, I could hear a few more questions shouted from behind us, but Hoseok’s body blocked my view, shielding me from the barrage. The second the door opened, he ushered me inside, helping me settle into the plush seat. The door slammed shut behind us with a finality that left me gasping for breath.
As the car sped off, the roar of the crowd faded into the distance, replaced by the dull hum of the engine beneath us. The tension in my body slowly started to ease, but my mind raced, still processing what had just happened. The flashes, the questions, the stares—they all felt like an assault, a moment I wasn’t ready for. But in that brief silence of the car, I could still feel Hoseok’s presence beside me, his hand still near mine, his warmth a silent reassurance.
But just as quickly as it had appeared, that warmth was gone. Hoseok’s posture shifted, his body language cooling, pulling back into the stoic figure I knew all too well. His gaze was now fixed out the window, his face expressionless, like the world we had just left behind was nothing more than a fleeting moment to him. The man I had walked through the chaos with, the one who had shielded me, had disappeared in an instant.
The cold, distant version of Hoseok returned, and my chest tightened again. That brief glimpse of something more human, more present, had vanished, leaving the indifference I had come to expect.
“I told you this would happen,” Hoseok said, his tone flat, almost bored as he turned to face me briefly. His eyes were unreadable, his lips a tight line, the warmth completely gone. "The media doesn’t care about the truth. They’ll twist anything we do."
"I-I..." I stuttered but before I could even get a word out, he pulled out his phone, back to that GC again, where chat bubbles popped up like there's no end. He was right, the media will twist narratives, I was left at awe and was unsure of what to say. The air in the car felt heavier now, the silence stretching between us. My stomach was in knots, the overwhelming rush of emotions settling into a dull ache in my chest. I didn’t know how to process any of it.
For the first time, I realized just how much of my life had been set on a path I had no say in—and I had no idea how to walk it.
Notes:
I have now learned the use of SKSKSKS
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter Text
Most of the drive back was filled with silence—well, except for Hoseok’s occasional sighs and the rhythmic flicking of his thumb against his phone screen. Every now and then, he’d glance out the window, looking every bit like a man trapped in the most boring car ride of his life.
Meanwhile, Ye-Joon, seated in the front, looked increasingly uncomfortable. I caught glimpses of him in the rearview mirror, his lips pressed into a thin line, probably absorbing the thick, awkward tension between Hoseok and me.
The car eventually slowed as we entered the estate, gliding smoothly toward the grand entrance. The moment we came to a stop, Hoseok wasted no time pushing the door open and stepping out. I hurried to follow, pulling the heavy coat tighter around myself. No way was I ending up back in the hospital because of the cold.
As I reached the front door, I turned to face him, hesitating for a second before speaking. "Um... thank you for taking me home," I mumbled, unsure if this was even something I needed to thank him for.
Hoseok, who had already been halfway to dismissing me, blinked in confusion. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over my face as if trying to decipher whether I was joking. "Thank me?" he echoed, lips curving into the faintest smirk.
I swallowed. Why did it feel like I was about to regret this?
Then, without warning, he leaned forward. Just a little. Just enough that the space between us shrank alarmingly fast.
My breath caught. My instincts kicked in. I took a panicked step back—only to miscalculate and stumble against the door.
Oh, no.
I barely had time to register the mortification before I felt myself tipping backward. My arms flailed as I lost balance, a yelp escaping my lips just as the door behind me gave way—and suddenly, I was falling.
Or, well, sitting.
On the floor.
Flat on my butt.
Ye-Joon was instantly at my side, his eyes wide as he reached out to help me up. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
Hoseok, meanwhile, stood unfazed, watching me with a perfectly neutral expression.
"What are you talking about?" he finally said, tone edged with amusement. "This is my home too. And move, you're blocking the way."
I gaped at him, momentarily too stunned to respond. Did this man really just—
"Like I would do that thing with you," he added with a scoff, stepping over my outstretched leg as if I were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle.
Ye-Joon shot him a glare before turning back to me. "That was not okay, Hoseok," he said firmly as he pulled me back onto my feet.
I barely heard him. My head was still reeling from the sheer audacity of this man. What was his deal? What kind of person does that?
"What is your problem?!" I half-shouted, my voice cracking with sheer disbelief.
Hoseok had already made it a few steps inside, but at my outburst, he stopped. Then, slowly, he turned to face me, his expression blank. "If you don't want it to happen again, don’t stand in the way next time."
I clenched my fists. "You're not even supposed to be here! We’re not even married yet!" I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them.
The raised voices must have caught the attention of the maids because suddenly, Hyun Jae and Chun Hei peeked out from the kitchen. Their eyes widened in surprise when they spotted Hoseok, but they quickly schooled their expressions and bowed deeply.
Hoseok, however, remained utterly unbothered. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he resumed climbing the stairs. "Between you and me," he called over his shoulder, "you're the trespasser here."
I inhaled sharply. "Excuse me?"
"This house?" He gestured vaguely to the walls around us. "My grandfather bought it. Which means, technically, it’s mine. I’m being nice letting you stay here."
With that final, infuriating remark, he disappeared into his room, leaving me standing there, seething.
My fingers twitched with the overwhelming urge to throw something at his retreating figure.
What was he? Ten?
Ye-Joon sighed beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Calm down."
"Calm down?" I repeated, my voice climbing an octave. "What kind of person acts like that? Who does he think he is? A spoiled prince? A dictator? A—"
"A brat," Ye-Joon supplied helpfully.
"Exactly! A brat!"
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. This was going to be a long, long engagement.
*****
The morning light streamed through the grand dining hall, casting a soft glow over the familiar space I had missed more than I cared to admit. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to enjoy it. Home. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime since I had sat here, undisturbed, savoring a peaceful morning.
Ms. Jang, ever the attentive housekeeper, approached with a gentle smile. "Miss Eun-ah, you seem well-rested today."
I returned her smile. "I really am, thanks to you. Breakfast is wonderful, as always."
She nodded in quiet satisfaction. "It’s good to have you home."
Just as I was about to take another bite of my toast, the measured sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Hoseok entered, his presence instantly shifting the atmosphere, a quiet authority rolling off him in waves. He didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge me—just strode past, pulled out a chair across from me, and sat down as if I didn’t exist.
"Ms. Jang, prepare my breakfast," he said, voice devoid of warmth, the command clipped and impersonal.
I set my cup down, exhaling through my nose. "You’re still here."
He didn’t look up. "Observant."
I pressed my lips together, feeling my earlier contentment drain away. "Don’t you have interviews? A schedule? Something that requires you to be literally anywhere but here?"
He finally lifted his gaze, but his expression was unreadable, indifferent. "I took a break."
I blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. "You? Took a break?"
He returned to scrolling through his phone, utterly unconcerned. "I don’t need to explain myself to you."
I frowned. "Right. Of course."
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. Ms. Jang set down a glass of water in front of him, and he took a slow sip, as if the entire conversation was beneath him.
"I just assumed you'd rather be anywhere else," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
He exhaled sharply, setting his glass down with a quiet click. "I live here."
I stared at him. "Since when?"
"Since now."
I clenched my jaw. "You have a penthouse."
"And yet, I’m here."
His words were final, dismissive, an end to the discussion before I even had a chance to argue. I watched as he reached forward, plucked a piece of toast from my plate without so much as a glance, and took a bite, completely unfazed.
"Unbelievable," I muttered, shoving my own fork into my eggs with unnecessary force.
Ms. Jang cleared her throat, wisely retreating into the kitchen as the tension lingered between us. I forced myself to focus on my breakfast, determined not to let him ruin my morning. But deep down, I already knew.
This was going to be unbearable.
I pushed my chair back with a huff, deciding I had enough of his insufferable presence for the morning. Without another word, I grabbed my cup of coffee and made my way toward the stairs, desperate for the solitude of my room.
Just as I reached the hallway, his voice, cold and indifferent, followed me.
"Try not to disturb us later. I have visitors."
I halted mid-step, my brows furrowing. Visitors? Who? But I didn’t turn around. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was even remotely curious.
Fine. Let him have his visitors. As long as he stayed out of my way, I’d stay out of his.
But for some reason, the thought of who might be visiting lingered in my mind longer than I wanted it to.
The hell I care for, he can have his real girlfriend visit if he wanted. I hurried up the stairs and the moment I shut my bedroom door, it was like I could finally breathe again. No tension, no unreadable glances, just me, my loungewear, and the comfort of solitude.
I switched into my softest hoodie and sweatpants, pulling my hair into a messy bun. Ultimate introvert retreat, activated.
A face mask? Absolutely .
K-drama marathon? A necessity .
Snacks? I had that covered, thanks to Ms. Jang, who I’d asked to bring something up.
If I stayed in my room long enough, maybe everyone would forget I existed. That was the plan, anyway.
I curled up under my blankets, the warm glow of my laptop screen casting a cozy ambiance over my room. The first episode of my drama began playing, and I let out a contented sigh. Finally. Peace.
But just as I was settling in, the muffled sounds of voices drifted from downstairs. Laughter, movement—the visitors had arrived.
I sighed, pulling the blanket over my legs. Not my problem.
I was already episodes deep, the plot was already starting to thicken, and all emotions are onboard.
A soft knock on my door broke my illusion of isolation, and before I could respond, the door opened. One of the maids entered, carrying a neatly folded pile of laundry.
"Miss Eun-ah, I have your fresh linens."
I sat up slightly. "Thanks.” Noticing the noise downstairs seemingly grew, I got curious “Hey, uh, who’s here?"
She smiled, looking excited. "It’s BTS, Miss."
I stared at her. Right. Of course. Hoseok’s visitors. I should have known.
I nodded, feigning indifference. "Got it. Just leave that there, please."
She placed the stack on a chair and left without another word, while I sank back against my pillows. Well, that just solidified my decision—I was not going downstairs. Socializing? No thanks .
I reached for my laptop, intent on escaping into the world of dramas, when the last thing I expected happened.
My door opened. Again .
I gasped, sitting up straight, horrified at the sudden intrusion—only to find someone just as startled as me.
Kim Seokjin stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene: me in my most ridiculous pajamas, a sheet mask covering my face, my hair a disheveled mess. For a second, we both just… stared.
Then, he straightened, his face breaking into a polite panic. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no—I am so sorry! Wrong room! Wrong room!"
I scrambled to rip the mask off my face. "Why are you here?!"
"I was looking for Hoseok’s room!, I was - Bathroom - I - I’m sorry!" Jin bowed deeply, and in my frazzled state, I did the same, sending us into a ridiculous cycle of apologetic bowing.
"It’s fine! Really!" I waved my hands, cheeks burning. "Please just—stop bowing!"
He hesitated, then slowly straightened, his gaze flickering to something behind me. His lips twitched into an amused grin.
"Is that…?" He pointed. "Oh. You kept it."
I followed his gaze and immediately regretted it. Right there, sitting on my bed like a silent witness to my humiliation, was the RJ plushie Jin had given me.
I cleared my throat, smoothing my blanket unnecessarily. "Of course. I loved it."
His grin widened. "Good choice. He’s the best."
A voice cut through the moment, low and unreadable. "Why are you here, hyung?"
Jin and I jumped.
Hoseok stood in the doorway, gaze flicking between us before settling on me. I suddenly became hyper-aware of my state—my bare face, the pajama set with cartoon dogs all over it.
I yanked my blanket up to my chin.
Jin chuckled nervously. "Just bonding over plushies. No big deal."
Hoseok’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his gaze turned colder, unreadable. But for a split second—just before he looked away—I swore his eyes flickered toward the plushie. A brief, almost imperceptible pause.
Jin, seemingly oblivious, clapped his hands together. "You know, Hobi, I was just thinking—why not introduce Eun-ah to the guys? She’s part of the family now, after all."
Hoseok’s jaw tightened. "There’s no need."
"Oh, come on." Jin grinned, undeterred. "They’re curious about her. It’ll be fun."
"Hyung," Hoseok said, his voice polite but firm, "it’s not necessary."
Jin pouted. "But it would be weird if she just hides in here all day. She should at least say hi."
A tense beat of silence. Hoseok’s gaze flicked toward me again—cool, impassive, unreadable. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose and turned back to Jin.
"Do what you want," he said curtly, before looking at me. "Just be ready in five minutes."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving nothing but an empty doorway and the lingering weight of his presence.
Jin turned back to me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well. I guess i’ll see you down there?."
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and flopped back against my pillows.
Get ready in five minutes? Go down there? Absolutely not.
I slumped back against my pillows, pulling my blanket tighter around me as my drama played on. The dim glow of my laptop screen flickered, reflecting off the untouched cup of tea on my nightstand. Hoseok’s guests weren’t my problem.
At least, that’s what I told myself—until my phone buzzed.
I sighed, expecting some useless notification, but the moment I saw the sender, my stomach twisted.
Hoseok: I said five minutes. It’s been thirty. Are you gonna keep my guests waiting?
No greeting. No Are you feeling better? Just cold, clipped efficiency, like I was some employee he was about to put on probation.
I stared at the message, debating. Ignoring him would be so satisfying. But an even better idea formed.
Fine. I’d go down there.
But I’d make sure it was worth his while.
Sliding off the bed, I discarded my cozy sweater for something far more deliberate—a soft, pastel-pink dress with lace trim. It was delicate, feminine, practically dripping with innocence. The kind of thing that made people assume I was gentle and harmless.
Perfect.
I brushed out my hair, letting it fall in effortless waves, and dabbed on just enough makeup to look fresh but not overdone. A swipe of gloss made my lips look soft and inviting, and a hint of blush gave the illusion of warmth.
Satisfied, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to Ye-Joon.
Me: How do I look?
His reply was instant.
Ye-Joon: …Why do you look like that? Where are you going? Aren’t you still recovering?
Me: Like what? 😇
Ye-Joon: Like you’re about to cause problems. You didn’t answer my question!
I smirked, completely ignoring Ye-joon’s question. Ding ding ding.
Slipping on dainty heels, I made my way downstairs.
The house was mostly quiet, but as I neared the game room, the atmosphere shifted. The deep timbre of conversation, the low hum of laughter, the unmistakable clink of ice swirling in glasses. Warm lighting cast a golden glow over sleek furniture, and the air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and whiskey.
The moment I stepped inside, I felt it.
A subtle pause. A shift in attention.
I wasn’t imagining it—eyes flickered toward me, some just for a second, others lingering.
"Ah, there she is," Seokjin announced grandly, setting his drink down. "We waited so long, I started convincing myself I hallucinated our conversation earlier."
I let out a soft, breathy laugh, tilting my head just enough to feign bashfulness. "Sorry to keep you waiting," I said smoothly. "I wasn’t feeling my best earlier, but I couldn’t leave my fiancé hanging, could I?"
I turned to Hoseok.
And—oh.
Oh.
He was mad .
Not in a way anyone else would notice. No, his mask was too perfect for that. But I caught it—the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of irritation in his otherwise unreadable expression.
Because he knew .
He knew this was all for show.
I was playing the same game he was.
And that, more than anything, probably pissed him off.
Before he could respond, another voice cut in.
"Nice to finally meet you," Namjoon said, his tone warm but observant. His gaze was steady, assessing, like he was already piecing together a hundred things about me just from these first few seconds.
I turned to him with a carefully measured smile. "Nice to meet you too, Oppa."
"Yoongi," a quiet voice drawled from the couch, "you owe me fifty bucks. She actually showed up."
I glanced over and met a pair of sharp, half-lidded eyes. Yoongi was slouched lazily, looking entirely unbothered—except for the knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I blinked. "You guys were betting on whether I’d come down?"
Yoongi took a slow sip of his drink. "Seemed like a fifty-fifty chance."
Seokjin sighed dramatically. "To be fair, we really were starting to think you were just a myth."
I shook my head, exhaling a quiet laugh.
Meanwhile, Hoseok was still watching me.
Silent. Unmoving.
The weight of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.
And suddenly, I knew—this was going to be fun
—--
Jimin practically vibrated with excitement as he handed me a cue stick, his smile wide and mischievous. "Come on, Eun-ah, let’s see what you’ve got!"
I eyed the pool table warily. The colorful balls were arranged in a neat triangle, waiting to be broken apart with a perfect shot—something I had no idea how to do. I shifted my grip on the cue stick, already feeling like this was a mistake. "You do realize I have no idea how to play, right?"
"That’s the fun part!" Jimin grinned, resting his chin on his hand. "We get to watch you learn."
I narrowed my eyes at him, but before I could formulate a witty response, Namjoon leaned in from the side, adjusting the chalk on his cue. "Alright, let’s make this fair. You break, and I’ll coach."
"Are you even good at this?" I teased.
Namjoon gave me a wounded look. "Excuse you, I am excellent at pool."
Yoongi, lounging on the couch with a glass in hand, barely looked up. "He’s terrible."
Namjoon’s jaw dropped. "I am not!"
"Last time we played, you scratched on the eight ball," Yoongi drawled, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"That was one time—"
"—And you lost twenty bucks."
Namjoon groaned, rubbing his temples. "You know what? Let’s focus on Eun-ah’s game instead of digging up ancient history."
I snickered as Namjoon moved to stand beside me, his large hands reaching to adjust my grip on the cue stick. "Alright, hold it like this," he said, guiding my fingers. "Your dominant hand goes here—yeah, just like that—and your other hand makes a bridge on the table."
I attempted to mimic his motions but ended up contorting my fingers into something that definitely did not look right.
Jimin, standing to the side, barely suppressed a laugh. "Are you trying to summon a spirit or something? What is that hand position?"
I scowled at him. "I’m trying, okay?"
Namjoon chuckled, crouching slightly to adjust my fingers. "Here, let me help—"
But just as I leaned forward, the sound of an unimpressed scoff cut through the playful energy.
"You should have worn something more appropriate."
The atmosphere shifted.
I turned my head slightly, catching the source of the comment.
Hoseok.
His expression was unreadable, but I saw it—the brief flicker of disapproval in his sharp gaze as he looked me over. He wasn’t even being obvious about it, just a single glance before he took a sip of his drink. If I weren’t paying attention, I might have missed the way his eyes lingered on the way my short dress rode up slightly as I leaned over the pool table.
Seokjin, who had been nursing a drink from the other side of the room, let out a dramatic sigh. "Grumpy, aren’t we?"
Jimin stifled a laugh, looking between me and Hoseok with wide eyes like he was watching a drama unfold in real time.
I took my time standing up straight, brushing my dress down with slow, deliberate hands before raising an eyebrow at Hoseok. "I didn’t realize there was a dress code for playing pool in my own house."
Hoseok didn’t rise to the bait, just arched a single brow in response before looking away, dismissing the conversation entirely.
Infuriating.
"Ignore him," Jimin stage-whispered. "You look amazing."
"Jimin," Hoseok’s voice was calm, but the warning was clear.
Jimin ignored it.
Namjoon cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to get us back on track. "Okay, okay, let’s focus. Eun-ah, take the shot before we all die from secondhand tension."
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to refocus.
Jimin grinned, clearly enjoying the playful chaos, and tapped the table. "Alright, Eun-ah, time to make history. Just aim straight and hit the cue ball hard."
I lined up my shot, determined to at least make contact. The room was still buzzing from Hoseok’s comment, but I wasn’t going to let him ruin my fun. I took a breath, aimed carefully, and—
Thud.
Instead of a smooth, powerful break, my cue stick hit the ball awkwardly, making it roll a pathetic few inches. Silence. Then—
"Pfft—"
Jimin collapsed against the table, laughing so hard he nearly choked. Namjoon let out a dramatic sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Wow," Yoongi said flatly. "That was inspiring."
I scowled. "Okay, okay, it was my first try!"
"Let me help," Jimin said between giggles, stepping behind me. "Here, I’ll guide you."
Before I could protest, he positioned himself close, his hands lightly covering mine as he adjusted my hold. "You need to be more stable. Your arm was too stiff—relax."
I could hear the smirk in his voice, but I tried to focus. Unfortunately, I was also very aware of how close he was.
"Jimin, stop hovering," Seokjin called out, clearly entertained.
"I’m helping!"
I cleared my throat, flustered. "Can you just—"
Another presence suddenly loomed behind me.
"Move," Hoseok said coolly.
Jimin barely got a second to react before Hoseok smoothly took his place behind me. His hands were precise as they adjusted my grip—not playful like Jimin’s, but methodical. His chest was close to my back, and I swore I could feel his warmth through the thin fabric of my dress.
"You’re aiming wrong," he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
I froze.
Every nerve in my body screamed at me to move, but I couldn’t. Hoseok’s hand lightly covered mine as he tilted the cue stick ever so slightly. His scent—clean, crisp, something faintly expensive—filled my senses.
Jimin whistled. "Ooooh, this is interesting."
Namjoon coughed. "Alright, let’s focus on the game, maybe?"
Hoseok ignored them. "Try again."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to listen to his instructions instead of the pounding in my ears. I adjusted my stance and took the shot.
CRACK.
The cue ball shot forward, colliding into the triangle with surprising force. Balls scattered across the table, and—
One striped ball rolled straight into a pocket.
"She got one in!" Namjoon exclaimed.
Seokjin gasped. "What kind of beginner luck—"
Yoongi blinked. "I think that’s her ball now. She’s stripes."
I stared at the table, shocked. "Wait. That means—"
Jimin groaned dramatically. "No way. This means she actually has a chance to win!"
A grin crept onto my lips. I turned to Hoseok, arching a brow. "Well? Not bad for someone who should be more appropriately dressed?"
His expression didn’t change, but I saw it—the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Approval? Amusement? Annoyance? I couldn’t tell.
But he simply stepped back, adjusting his sleeve. "Don’t get cocky. The game’s not over yet."
"Ohhh," Taehyung drawled from the couch, where he’d been lounging with a drink in hand. "Did I just witness the legendary Jung Hoseok giving someone actual advice? Mark the date, gentlemen."
Jungkook, who had been raiding the snack table, turned around with his mouth full of chips. "Mmph?" He chewed quickly and pointed at me. "Wait. Did no one tell her about the bet?"
I blinked. "What bet?"
Jimin smirked. "Oh, right. We forgot to mention—the loser has to do a dramatic performance of ‘Arirang’ in the middle of the living room. Full theatrics. Bonus points if you cry."
My stomach dropped. "You’re kidding."
Yoongi shrugged. "We take our games very seriously."
Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows. "You better win, Eun-ah, or we’re expecting an Oscar-worthy performance."
Taehyung leaned forward, grinning. "I’ll be in charge of stage lighting."
I groaned. "You guys are the worst."
Seokjin clapped his hands. "Alright, alright. Less talking, more playing. Let’s see if Eun-ah’s beginner luck holds up."
Jungkook and Taehyung made themselves comfortable, clearly enjoying the chaos as they placed their own side bets.
Hoseok gave me a look. "Your turn."
I gripped my cue stick with both hands, feeling its cold surface, the tension in my fingers betraying the calm I was trying to project. The table in front of me was well-lit under the bright overhead lights, and the sharp clink of the balls rolling across the green felt was oddly comforting. But the weight of everyone’s stares? That was a different story.
This wasn’t just a pool game. This was me versus Jimin.
And judging by the way he kept twirling his cue stick between his fingers, flashing that mischievous smile, he was taking this way too seriously.
"This is the match of the century," Seokjin announced in a voice dripping with mock grandeur. He took a dramatic sip of his drink, then lifted an eyebrow at the room. "On one side, we have Park Jimin, self-proclaimed pool master—"
"Because I am a pool master," Jimin interrupted, flipping his bangs with a little too much flair, the dramatic effect not lost on any of us. He looked like he should’ve been in an action movie.
Seokjin rolled his eyes, not missing a beat. "—And on the other side, we have Eun-ah, the underdog, the dark horse, the beginner who defied the odds!"
The room burst into applause and cheers. I almost groaned. It was starting to feel like an actual event.
"Don’t let us down, Eun-ah!" Jungkook called out, tossing a chip into his mouth, completely engrossed in the spectacle.
I couldn’t help but shake my head. "You guys are acting like this is the World Cup."
"It is," Yoongi added dryly from the couch, where he had his feet propped up, staring at the game like it was his favorite drama.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You’re really invested in this, huh?"
Yoongi met my gaze without blinking. "I’m invested in seeing Jimin lose."
Jimin’s eyes went wide. "Hyung! Betrayal!"
Yoongi smirked and took a long sip from his cup. "You bet against Eun-ah earlier."
Jimin’s face went slack with mock horror. "I’m starting to question the loyalties around here."
I grinned and squared my shoulders. "So, you think my luck’s about to run out, huh?"
Jimin gave a cocky smile, not missing a beat. "Oh, definitely. The cue ball’s not going to favor you for long."
I raised an eyebrow, teasing. "We’ll see about that."
With a dramatic flourish, I lined up my shot, taking a deep breath and focusing all my attention on the table in front of me. The crowd went quiet as I made my move— CRACK!
The balls scattered across the felt, but to my surprise, one of the striped balls rolled neatly into the pocket.
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Jimin’s jaw dropped.
“No way,” he muttered, staring at the table. His cue stick hung loosely in his hand like it weighed a ton.
Everyone else held their breath, then—
The silence shattered.
"YES!" Seokjin shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "Did you see that?!"
Jimin, still frozen, turned to me, his eyes wide. "You—you didn’t just make that shot…"
I leaned casually on my cue stick, giving him a smug smile. "I did."
Jimin’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t give up. He squared his shoulders, trying to shake off the shock. "It’s just one shot, Eun-ah. Don’t get cocky."
I gave a slow, teasing smile. "Too late."
The game continued with its unexpected twists. Every time I made a shot, Jimin’s expression grew darker, more exaggerated. He threw his cue stick down after a miss, flailing his arms like a child. "WHY?!" he shouted to the heavens. "What is this sorcery?!"
The rest of the room couldn’t contain their laughter, some of them clutching their sides. I, too, was struggling to keep a straight face.
Jimin shot me a look from the corner of his eye. "Alright, alright, enough of the teasing. It’s my turn to shine."
He lined up for his next shot, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration. I leaned against the edge of the table, watching his every move. His usual playful charm was gone, replaced by this intense focus I didn’t expect. But as he struck the cue ball, something went wrong. The ball ricocheted off the wrong side, and he scratched.
The cue ball slid smoothly into one of the corner pockets with a soft plop .
A collective gasp filled the room.
Seokjin's expression morphed into mock horror. "Jimin!"
I bit my lip to stop from laughing, my hand covering my mouth. Jimin turned to look at me, eyes wide in disbelief. His hands flew to his head like he had just discovered the world was flat. "This cannot be happening."
"Did you really just scratch?" Namjoon asked, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.
Jimin, for the first time tonight, looked absolutely defeated. He took a few steps back, hands on his hips, head hanging low. "This isn’t real."
I tried not to gloat. Really, I did. "So... if I win, does that mean I’m actually better than you?"
Jimin let out a deep sigh. "Don’t rub it in."
But before he could sulk too long, Jungkook piped up. "You know what this means, Jimin. It’s time to sing!"
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "Arirang," I said, almost too gleeful.
Jimin turned to me with wide eyes. "Are you serious ?"
"Absolutely," I replied with a sweet smile.
"No," he groaned, dramatically falling to his knees. "I refuse."
"Sing!" Taehyung yelled. "Do it, Jimin! You’re a man of your word!"
"Please, I beg you," Seokjin added, pressing his hands together as if he were at a shrine. "Arirang, the people demand it!"
Jimin shot him an exaggerated glare. "You guys are the worst."
But even though his face twisted in mock horror, I could see the reluctant humor in his eyes as he got up from the floor. With a long sigh, he straightened his posture, giving us one last pleading glance. "Fine. I’ll do it. But you better all appreciate this."
With exaggerated steps, he moved into the center of the room. The rest of the gang gathered around, their eyes alight with anticipation.
Jimin took a deep breath, then began to sing.
His voice was soft at first, almost like he was trying to pull the heartstrings from the air. But as he built up to the main chorus, he poured every ounce of emotion into it. His hand reached out, dramatically sweeping through the air as if he were conducting an orchestra. His movements were grand and sweeping, as though he were a tragic hero, forsaken by the world, singing his heart out to the mountains.
I almost couldn’t believe how seriously he was taking it—how perfectly he was performing. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, his voice was beautiful, pulling me into the story he was telling.
At one point, Jimin knelt in front of the room, hands clutching his chest as though he were fighting the weight of the world. His expression was dramatic, as if he were pleading with the heavens for mercy.
By the time he hit the final note, everyone was clapping—some standing, some laughing, but all cheering. Even Yoongi, who usually looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, was grinning.
"Bravo, Jimin!" Seokjin cheered, wiping away a mock tear. "What a performance!"
"You should lose games more often," Namjoon teased.
Jimin shot him a playful glare but couldn’t quite hide his small grin. "You’re all terrible."
I walked over to him, unable to contain my laughter. "Come on, that was amazing."
Jimin rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face told a different story. "Yeah, yeah. Next time , I’m winning."
I raised an eyebrow. "We’ll see."
As the laughter continued and the gang began talking excitedly about Jimin’s Oscar-worthy performance, I stole a quick glance at Hoseok.
He was still standing in his usual corner, watching me. This time, his gaze was different. It wasn’t the teasing, distant look he often wore. There was something more calculating behind those eyes.
Something I couldn’t be bothered with decoding, I was having so much fun with the boys that I feel different. So this is what’s like having many fun friends, and genuine people at that. No wonder people love them.
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter Text
I woke up to a dull, pounding headache and an overwhelming sense of wrongness .
My limbs felt heavy, my throat parched, and my pillow—no, my bed —felt different. The air smelled faintly of unfamiliar cologne, mingling with the remnants of something vaguely alcoholic.
I groaned, rolling over—and immediately froze.
Someone was beside me.
A very familiar someone.
Hoseok.
My breath caught in my throat. He was lying on his side, facing away, his steady breathing the only sound in the room. The blanket was draped over his shoulder, rising and falling with each slow inhale. My body went rigid, my mind scrambling for an explanation.
Why is he here? No—why am I here?!
I swallowed, heart hammering against my ribs. My fingers clutched at the blanket as if it could somehow anchor me to sanity. I turned my head slightly, scanning the room. And that’s when I saw it.
A limp hand hanging off the edge of the bed.
I nearly screamed, jerking up in a panic. My sudden movement sent a sharp pain through my skull, and I groaned, pressing my palm against my forehead.
And then I saw them.
Jin, sprawled on the floor, clutching my RJ plushie like it was his last lifeline, his cheek smushed against its soft fur. Namjoon was half on top of him, his arm slung over Jin’s stomach in a way that suggested they had fought over the same blanket and both lost.
At the foot of the bed, Jungkook lay curled up in a tight ball, shivering slightly. I hesitated, then grabbed a nearby comforter and gently draped it over him. He shifted slightly, murmuring something in his sleep but didn’t wake.
I sat there, staring. What the hell happened last night?
Carefully, I slipped out of bed, my muscles protesting as I stepped around the bodies littering the floor. I still didn’t dare look at Hoseok. My body was already warm enough from the sheer mortification creeping over me.
I needed answers.
Steeling myself, I tiptoed to the door and slipped into the hallway. My own room was right across—but when I reached for the doorknob, it didn’t budge.
Locked.
I frowned. Did I lock it?
“Good morning, Miss Eun-ah.”
I yelped, nearly leaping out of my skin.
Ms. Jang stood a few feet away, watching me with an all-too-knowing smile.
“My door is locked,” I mumbled, rubbing my temple. “I don’t remember if I had a spare key. Could you—?”
Before I could finish, she had already pulled out her set of keys and deftly unlocked the door. The door swung open, revealing a sight that made my headache ten times worse.
Yoongi.
Fast asleep, burrowed into my blankets like some kind of hibernating bear.
I turned to Ms. Jang, utterly horrified. “Why is he in my bed?”
Ms. Jang’s eyes twinkled. “Because after the chaos last night, he refused to be disturbed and locked himself in.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, back up. What chaos? ”
Ms. Jang chuckled. “After the billiards game, you all had a bit too much to drink.”
That… sounded familiar. But before I could say anything, she continued.
“There was loud, off-key karaoke. Mr. Seokjin and Mr. Namjoon got into a very heated debate over the best instant noodle flavor, which lasted at least an hour.”
I blinked. “That explains nothing .”
Ms. Jang’s grin widened. “At some point, you started crying because you didn’t want to be alone, so you followed Mr. Hoseok to his room.”
I what ?
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “I am never drinking again.”
Ms. Jang’s expression remained amused. “And then, Mr. Jungkook attempted a… very enthusiastic dance battle. Against himself. In the mirror.”
I cringed. “Please tell me I did not join in.”
“No, but Mr. Jimin did.” Ms. Jang chuckled. “He decided to dramatically serenade everyone in the living room, belting out a power ballad while standing on the coffee table. Mr. Taehyung, however, insisted on ‘enhancing the experience’ by playing background music on a toy saxophone he found in a storage box.”
I winced. “That… sounds painful.”
Ms. Jang nodded solemnly. “It was. He could only play about three notes, and none of them were in tune. But he was very enthusiastic.”
I groaned. “Please tell me that’s all.”
Ms. Jang looked like she was struggling to contain her laughter. “Then Mr. Taehyung had the brilliant idea that a pillow fort was necessary for ‘bonding,’ so they started stacking pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room. It got so elaborate that Jimin and Jungkook decided to climb inside, but when Taehyung tried to add one more pillow to the top, the entire thing collapsed—right onto Mr. Hoseok.”
I gaped at her. “ That’s why he looked so done with life when I woke up?”
“Well, he did try to lecture them afterward, but Jimin kept giggling and Taehyung insisted it was an ‘architectural experiment,’ so eventually, they all just… gave up.”
Still in disbelief, I followed Ms. Jang to the security room. She tapped on the keyboard, pulling up the CCTV footage. “See for yourself.”
And there it was, in grainy black-and-white.
Jimin, on top of the coffee table, clutching a makeshift microphone while singing at the top of his lungs. Taehyung swaying dramatically behind him with the toy saxophone. Jungkook breakdancing—against himself.
Then, the pillow fort. The slow-motion collapse. Hoseok emerging from the wreckage, face devoid of any emotion. Pure, utter exhaustion.
And then—me. Teary-eyed, following Hoseok like a lost puppy, refusing to be left alone.
I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t think I can ever look them in the eyes again.”
Ms. Jang patted my back. “Would you like some tea with that time machine request?”
I groaned. “Please.”
Ms. Jang made me some chamomile tea, I let my face bathe with the steam, making a little bit of my head ache disappear. How will I face them? This is so embarrassing.
As I wallowed in my embarrassment the front door slammed open with such force that the sound echoed through the house, making me jump. My hand reflexively tightened around my tea cup, almost spilling it as Ye-Joon stormed into the dining room, his face contorted in frustration. His footsteps were fast and heavy, like a man on a mission.
“Where are they?” Ye-Joon demanded, his voice tight with anger, his posture stiff as he stared at me, not waiting for a response.
I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind. “What? What’s going on?” I asked, still feeling the remnants of the headache I was nursing. My voice was slow and groggy, still thick from sleep.
Ye-Joon didn’t even glance at me as he marched past, heading straight for Hoseok’s room. “No time to explain.”
I scrambled after him, heart racing, suddenly nervous. “Ye-Joon! What’s happening?!” My voice came out more frantic than I meant it to.
Ye-Joon didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed open Hoseok’s door with an impatient shove, the door creaking on its hinges. I followed him into the room, my steps quick and frantic, my stomach twisting with uncertainty. I already knew what the room looked like. The chaos from last night was still fresh in my mind—blankets everywhere, pillows in piles, and bodies scattered in every possible direction. The scene felt like an explosion of sleep-deprived creativity, and I’d been the unfortunate bystander.
Ye-Joon looked unfazed, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of disbelief and growing irritation. Without missing a beat, he walked straight over to Hoseok, who was buried under a mountain of blankets, looking like he could sleep through an earthquake. His arms were splayed out, one leg crooked under the covers, his face buried in the pillow as if he had no care in the world.
“HOSEOK!” Ye-Joon shouted, shaking him awake with a force that made the bed creak. “Wake up, damn it!”
Hoseok groggily blinked, his hair a mess, his face scrunching as if he didn’t even recognize the voice. He turned his head slowly to Ye-Joon, then back to the pillow, rubbing his eyes before finally blinking once more. “Five more minutes…”
Ye-Joon’s patience ran out. His fingers gripped Hoseok’s shoulder and shook him harder. “No! I told you TWO hours ago! You said you would move your ass, and now look! The whole production team is waiting! The shoot was supposed to happen an hour ago!”
Hoseok barely flinched, simply shrugging with a yawn as he kicked the blanket back over his face. “It’s not my fault the world doesn’t know how to wait.”
I wanted to laugh at his casualness, but the look in Ye-Joon’s eyes froze me in place. His hands were clenched in frustration, his jaw tight as he stared down at Hoseok. He moved on quickly, shaking Jin awake.
“Jin! Wake up! Get moving!” Ye-Joon’s voice had a sharp edge to it, and his hands were now flying through the air in exasperation as he gestured at the room, at the mess, at everything. He quickly moved on to the others, not giving anyone time to adjust.
Jin, still half-conscious, mumbled something like, “The noodles… I was dreaming about noodles…” and rolled over, clutching my RJ plushie tighter, looking more like a child than a grown man. He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Namjoon!” Ye-Joon snapped, turning to the next man in line.
Namjoon stirred at the commotion, sitting up with his hair a complete disaster. He stretched and blinked rapidly, looking disoriented for a moment. His body jerked upright as if something in his brain finally caught up with his body. “What’s going on? Why is it so loud?” His voice was thick with sleep, but it quickly shifted to leader mode as soon as he processed the situation. “Wait, what time is it?”
Ye-Joon threw up his hands in exasperation, pacing across the room. “You guys are late, that’s what! The production team is ready, the shoot should have started an hour ago! What the hell were you all doing?”
Namjoon immediately jumped into action, shaking off the sleepiness in one smooth move. He stood up, stretching tall with a groan, his fingers curling as he cracked his knuckles. “Alright, alright, we’re moving,” he muttered, already scanning the room, mentally preparing for damage control.
He turned to Jungkook, still on the floor, sleeping like a starfish, limbs flung everywhere. “Get up, Kook. Socks, NOW.”
“Wha—” Jungkook groaned, blinking up at Namjoon in confusion. “What happened to the dream world?”
“You’re living in the real world now,” Namjoon replied, voice steady. He had his hands on his hips, exuding that effortless leader energy that somehow made everything seem okay. “Get up, it’s time to go.”
Taehyung, still sprawled on the couch, lifted his head from the cushion with a lazy movement, his hair standing on end. He squinted around the room, his movements slow and languid. “What’s the emergency? Ye-Joon acting like a drama king again?” He yawned loudly, stretching dramatically, his arms extending out and fingers splayed, as if he were preparing for some grand performance. “What time is it? I was having a really important dream about… I don’t know, but it was important.”
Jimin, who had been buried under a pile of blankets next to him, slowly stirred. He sat up, his eyes half-closed, blinking as if trying to remember where he was. He looked around at everyone before his voice cut through the room in a hoarse murmur, “What did I miss? Is it showtime already?”
“You guys really do know how to make an entrance,” Ye-Joon muttered, massaging his temples and walking over to the doorway, his hands on his hips. “Get up, get ready, and get out. The schedule’s already a disaster.”
I stayed by the door, trying my hardest to stay out of the way as the chaos unfolded before me. At least they were moving now, albeit with all the grace of a herd of sleepy elephants. Hoseok finally dragged himself up from the bed, rubbing his eyes, blinking at the light like it was personally attacking him.
“Did I miss something?” he grumbled, clearly not entirely awake.
I quickly turned to leave, not wanting to get caught in their chaos any longer. “It’s all you guys,” I muttered, my face slightly flushed as I walked away, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye for the rest of the day.
As I stepped out of the room, the real scramble began.
Namjoon had already headed to the closet, grabbing random clothes and tossing them to whoever was close. He yelled over his shoulder, “Yoongi! Tae! Hurry up and get your stuff together!”
Yoongi, who had been lounging in my room this entire time, emerged from the hallway, yawning with an exaggerated stretch. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he moved with his usual nonchalance. He threw a lazy glance over at Namjoon. “Chill, I’m moving,” Yoongi drawled, walking in with a calm air that didn’t quite match the urgency of the moment. He was the picture of calm, in stark contrast to the other frantic movements happening around him.
Taehyung, still half asleep, tried to grab his shirt but missed it entirely, his hand knocking over a pile of discarded jackets. He laughed at himself. “Oops.”
Jimin was already pulling on his shoes, but it wasn’t going well. He had two different socks on and didn’t seem to notice. “This is fine, right?”
“Not fine,” Namjoon shot back, “Fix it. Hoseok, you better be out the door in the next two minutes or I’m calling your mom.”
“Don’t you dare,” Hoseok muttered, barely glancing at him as he fumbled with his jacket.
“Alright, alright!” Ye-Joon barked. “Just… get moving!” He grabbed the door handle, already stepping out of the room, but then turned back to check once more. “I’m not dragging anyone today. MOVE!”
And just like that, they were gone. It was a blur of hasty movements, mismatched socks, and last-minute scrambling. As they left in a whirlwind, I exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and disbelief that everything had managed to fall into place—even if it was a hot mess.
After the whirlwind departure of the boys, the house felt eerily quiet. I stood in the kitchen, my tea long gone cold, staring at my phone. The morning had been a mess—Ye-Joon practically kicking down the door, Hoseok and the others scrambling like half-conscious zombies, and me awkwardly stuck in the middle of it all.
Now that the chaos had passed, a single thought kept nagging at me. Did they even make it?
I hesitated before unlocking my phone. It felt ridiculous to care, but also, I had been dragged into their mess, so I had every right to be curious.
Me: Did they make it?
I sent the text and immediately locked my phone like it would somehow stop me from waiting for an answer. Maybe he wouldn’t reply. Maybe he was too busy. Or maybe he’d just text back with something dramatic like “I’ve aged ten years” or “I quit.”
The screen lit up almost instantly.
Ye-Joon: Barely.
A second later, another message came through.
Ye-Joon: I swear, if I ever have to wake them up again, I’m charging extra. Your fiancé is the worst of them all, by the way.
I stared at the words, my lips twitching.
Me: Not surprising.
Another reply came just as fast.
Ye-Joon: Oh? So you DO admit he’s your fiancé now?
I nearly dropped my phone.
Me: Delete this conversation.
Ye-Joon’s response was a laughing emoji, followed by a dramatic I’ll remember this moment forever.
I sighed, setting my phone down. At least they made it. And at least Ye-Joon was still alive. Though I wasn’t sure about Hoseok—he was probably still sleepwalking through the shoot.
I leaned against the counter, exhaling. It was strange. Just hours ago, my house was full of noise, movement, and people. Now it was back to just me.
And, for some reason, that silence felt heavier than before, my head was still pounding and I managed to drag myself to the living room couch where Taehyung feel asleep earlier. The exhaustion and hang over had set in, I couldn’t hold my eyes open anymore, so I let the exhaustion settle over me like a weighted blanket. My head ached in that familiar, thumping rhythm from the chaos of the morning. Without much thought, I curled up on the couch, willing my body to sleep it off.
The quiet was both a relief and unsettling at the same time.
I must’ve drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I was being gently shaken awake. The soft sound of maids bustling in the kitchen filtered into the haze of my grogginess.
“Miss, it’s time for dinner,” one of them said, her voice kind and patient, not like I’d been awoken by an alarm.
I rubbed my eyes and blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented dinner already? I slept through the whole day? The room still smelled faintly like the party from last night, like remnants of a fun house that had already closed for the night. I groaned, sitting up and holding my head in my hands for a moment before I pushed myself to my feet.
As I shuffled to the dining room, I barely had time to adjust before the doorbell rang.
Ye-Joon.
He stood there in the doorway, looking absolutely drained, like someone who had barely gotten any rest since the early morning chaos. He gave a half-hearted smile as he stepped inside, a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Yo” he muttered, tossing a set of papers onto the table. “I—well, I guess you saw the mess earlier. Anyway, I forgot to give you this before I left.”
I raised an eyebrow as I picked up the papers, but before I could say anything, Ye-Joon sighed dramatically and flopped into the chair across from me.
“Ugh, I swear, a decade into the industry and they still manage to pull stunts like this,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s a madhouse.”
I sat down, shaking my head slightly as I eyed him. “It looked like you all survived the shoot.”
He snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Barely. Hoseok and the others are going to be talking about their sleep deprivation for weeks, but I think the worst part was having to deal with your fiancé being late.” He paused for a moment, giving me an almost teasing look. “He’s a real piece of work, huh?”
“Tell me about it.” I grinned dryly, rolling my eyes.
Ye-Joon gave a weary smile, but it quickly faded as his expression turned serious again. "Oh, before I forget—Hoseok’s releasing his statement today about you two. The media’s been going nuts ever since you both appeared outside the hospital, and it's better to get ahead of it before they start spinning their own stories."
The mention of Hoseok's name stirred something in my chest, a knot tightening there. I nodded, trying to push the unease down. At least we were one step ahead. Hoseok’s plan to release a statement made sense; it was the only way to stop the media from turning it into an even bigger circus. I hadn’t checked the news since we left the hospital. Honestly, it was the last thing I wanted to do. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
I dragged my finger along the rim of my water glass, feeling a sense of heaviness settle over me. "What time is it?" I asked, barely glancing at my plate, unable to muster the energy to eat. My stomach churned, and everything seemed too much, too overwhelming.
Ye-Joon checked his watch. "There’s a live stream on YouTube later, at 9:00 PM."
I sighed, the weight of everything pressing down on me. "Should I watch it?" I murmured, almost to myself, letting out a dry laugh. "It triggers something in me... like bad memories."
Ye-Joon met my gaze, his eyes softening. "It’s up to you. It’s just a short statement about how you two met, why you're getting married, a bit about who you are, and then Hoseok will ask for privacy during this time, especially since you’re still recovering from your illness. He’ll say you’ll be seen after the wedding and thank the press."
It sounded... exhausting. My throat felt tight as I pushed my plate away, my stomach rebelling against even the thought of food. "Maybe I’ll give it time," I said quietly, my voice almost too small to hear.
I wanted to be grateful. I knew Hoseok was doing this to protect me, to stop the media from digging deeper into who I was. But part of me still felt like I’d never be ready for any of this. It was all so sudden, so foreign.
I took a breath, trying to push through the discomfort. I didn’t know how to feel anymore.
Ye-Joon and I exchanged our goodbyes, him joking about how this whole ordeal had aged him at least 50 years. I couldn't help but let out a tired chuckle before he left, muttering something about needing an early night for a well-deserved sleep.
I dragged myself up the stairs, the weight of exhaustion pulling at my limbs. A warm bath seemed like the only thing that could soothe the hangover still pounding at my skull. As I opened the door to my room, a familiar scent hit me—Yoongi-oppa’s cologne. That deep, woody citrus smell that reminded me of a forest after rain. So, this was how he smelled. I paused for a moment, the scent lingering in the air like a faint memory.
On the bed sat a small, black cloth, and as I approached, I realized it was Yoongi’s headband. He must have left it behind in the chaos this morning. I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the fabric, and decided I’d hand it to Ye-Joon to return to him. It felt too odd to keep, too personal.
With a soft sigh, I stripped off my clothes and headed for the bath, hoping the warm water would erase the tension in my muscles. Soaking for at least half an hour was all I needed to finally feel some sense of calm.
I turned the faucet, letting the water rush into the tub, and tossed in a bath bomb. The soft lilac and lavender scent filled the room, mixed with a subtle hint of chamomile. It was a perfect combination—relaxing and soothing, just what I needed. As I watched the water swirl and fill the tub, a nagging thought crept into my mind.
The press release.
It was already 8:45 PM, and Hoseok’s statement was about to go live. Fifteen minutes more. My fingers itched to check Twitter, to see if anything had popped up, but the idea of it made my stomach tighten. It was like a part of me wanted to keep pretending it wasn’t happening, wanted to avoid what the media had been saying about me since this whole mess started. Every article, every headline made me feel more and more exposed. What had they found? What were they saying now?
I pushed the thought aside, dipping my toes into the water, feeling the warmth begin to envelop me. I sank into the tub, the heat relaxing my legs as I let myself go under the surface for a moment. The constant weight of the situation, of everything spiraling out of control, was still there, but for now, I was alone with my thoughts—alone with the stillness of the water.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the lilac-scented water surround me, warm and weightless. It filled my lungs, my senses, calming every fiber of my being. The past few days—no, weeks—had been a whirlwind. From discovering that letter, to meeting Hoseok in the flesh, to the media leak and meeting the boys… everything still felt surreal.
But right now, floating in the quiet, I realized something—I had forgotten what it felt like to be still. To not be bracing myself for the next storm. The calmness of the water felt foreign, almost uncomfortable, like my body didn’t know how to exist without tension coiled inside it.
I sank deeper, letting the bubbles engulf me, trying to let myself feel the moment.
Ping. Ping.
A notification. I sat up, water sloshing against the edges of the tub, and reached for my phone, drying my soapy hand against the towel before tapping the screen.
BigHit Official—Live Now.
I hovered over the notification, my stomach twisting.
Wait. A live broadcast?
I clicked it.
The screen opened to a long white table. A row of microphones lined neatly across it. At the center—an empty chair.
My pulse spiked. I thought he was just going to release a statement. What the hell is this?
I dialed Ye-joon immediately.
Ring, ring.
No answer.
I tried again.
Ring, ring.
Still nothing.
My throat tightened as I switched back to the livestream, gripping my phone. My eyes scanned the screen, heart pounding as I caught sight of a familiar figure at the edge of the frame—Ye-joon, ushering Hoseok toward the chair.
And then, there he was.
Hoseok looked… small compared to the width of that table, but somehow, he commanded the entire space. He smiled gently at the cameras, his perfectly crafted public persona in place. The camera flashes were relentless, almost blinding, yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t waver.
Then he bowed low, composed, before taking his seat.
“Dul, set. Annyeonghaseyo. Bangtan Sonyeondan J-Hope imnida.”
I swallowed.
It was almost hypnotic—the way his voice carried through the room, smooth and deliberate, not a single syllable out of place. He was completely in control.
“I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight and for giving me the time to address matters concerning my private life.”
His smile was poised, but it never quite reached his eyes.
“As many of you are aware, I am set to be married on February 19, just a day after my 27th birthday. My fiancé and I, along with our families, are happy and excited to share this moment with you all.”
It felt bizarre, hearing him say it so… plainly. Like it wasn’t something that had flipped my entire life upside down.
“Given the nature of my work, we initially chose to keep my fiancé’s life as private as possible. She is not a public figure. She is a student, dedicated to her field of study, and has no ties to this industry. It was my personal decision to shield her from the scrutiny that comes with this career—to protect her from the vicious eyes and even more vicious words.”
I sucked in a quiet breath.
“However, as of last week, unauthorized photos of my fiancé have been circulating online. Photos that we did not consent to be taken, let alone distributed. Following that, numerous articles were published, and baseless speculations were made. This—” he exhaled sharply, his smile fading entirely, “—is exactly the kind of exposure I had hoped to prevent. And I failed.”
The room seemed to shrink, his presence growing heavier with each word.
“Unlike me and my colleagues, my fiancé has never undergone media training. She has not been conditioned to ignore malicious headlines, to remain unaffected by constant scrutiny. She was thrown into this storm with no preparation, no defense.”
His fingers tapped against the table once before he continued, his tone darkening.
“The result? Due to the stress inflicted by these false reports, my fiancé was hospitalized. Unconscious for an entire day. She remained under medical supervision for five more. That was my breaking point.”
A chill ran through me. He’s serious.
“I want to address a few of the more… ridiculous claims that have surfaced.”
The way he said it—so calmly, so matter-of-fact—was almost more terrifying than if he had been outright angry.
“Firstly, the speculation that my fiancé comes from a debt-ridden family is false. Her grandfather is one of the two founders of JuYo Corp—one of the most successful corporations in the country.
Secondly, the disgusting insinuation that she was raised in a brothel?” He let out a short, humorless chuckle. “I would say it’s laughable, but frankly, it’s too pathetic to even joke about.”
I bit my lip. He was furious. And yet, he looked as calm as ever.
“Third, claims that this marriage is a desperate attempt to salvage a failing company? Also false. JuYo Corp recently closed a significant deal with the U.S., resulting in a sales increase of 108% compared to last year. And we are barely into the first quarter.”
He was laying it all out, piece by piece, dismantling every single rumor with ruthless precision.
“And finally—to those who have slandered my fiancé’s name, who have spread these fabricated stories, know this: we are taking legal action.”
My breath hitched.
“We will sue for defamation. Every single person who played a role in spreading falsehoods will be held accountable. You will not walk away from this unscathed.”
The weight of his words sent a ripple through the press room. The silence was thick.
Then, his expression softened just slightly as he took a deep breath.
“Lastly, to ARMY—” his voice lost its sharp edge, settling into something firm but sincere.
“I want to thank those of you who respected my privacy and my fiancé’s. Many of you have done your part in keeping harmful rumors at bay, taking down accounts that spread misinformation, and protecting us in ways I can’t fully express. Thank you for that. It has not gone unnoticed.”
He leaned back slightly, settling into his seat.
“I will now take questions.”
Silence.
Not a single journalist dared to move.
I stared at my phone, my fingers tightening around it.
I had never seen him like this before.
He was untouchable.
Everyone knew him as the bright, energetic J-Hope, but this? This was something else entirely. This was the heir to JuYo Corp, the man who had the entire room hanging on his every word. The man who could silence an entire press conference with nothing but a glare.
And I—I felt protected.
I had no idea if this was all part of some media strategy, if they had rehearsed this behind closed doors. But it didn’t matter.
Because for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Chapter Text
After the storm of the past two weeks—the press conference, the media chaos, and everything in between—it was now February 9th. Ten more days until the wedding. Everything was in place, all preparations finalized. There was nothing left for me to do but wait.
Hoseok never came back to the house after that day. The press conference ended the moment he finished speaking—no one had dared to step forward to ask a question. I had noticed the logos on the microphones, the very same outlets that had spread the worst of the false rumors. Yet in that moment, they sat frozen, unwilling to challenge him. It was the first time since this entire mess began that I had felt in control again.
For the first time, I was actually excited to check X and see what ARMY had to say.
And, of course, #ProtectMrAndMrsJung and #JHope were trending—not just that day, but for the entire week. ARMY had been completely caught off guard by the Hoseok they saw at the press conference. The charming, bubbly J-Hope they adored had turned into something else entirely—intimidating, unshakable, and utterly ruthless. They had never seen him like that before, and they were baffled. But more than anything, they understood. They stood by him, by us, offering support in ways I hadn’t expected.
Ye-joon had been busy the whole week, compiling every article written about me. They really were suing all those people. I hadn’t heard from the boys, and I definitely hadn’t heard from Hoseok, but Ye-joon kept me updated.
Apparently, the speech Hoseok gave at the press conference wasn’t the one they had planned. The entire team had been just as shocked as the rest of the world. But no one had dared to interrupt him—after all, they couldn’t afford to make it seem like they were trying to manipulate the situation further.
Still, whatever he had done, it worked. The media frenzy died down almost instantly. The articles stopped—completely. The only ones that remained were the positive ones.
And with that, I could finally breathe.
For the first time in weeks, I felt calm. I felt… at peace.
But now, the real challenge was ahead of me.
The marriage.
The gifts from the Jungs had been coming in steadily, each one more extravagant than the last. I’d barely had time to process one before another appeared at my door. Most recently, a delicate set of jewelry from my future in-laws—pieces they said were meant to be worn on the big day. I didn’t need to ask whether it matched my gown. Of course, it did. Perfectly. Like everything else they’d planned without me.
As if buying my wedding dress wasn’t enough, Jiwoo had also gifted me shoes. Beautiful, designer shoes that probably cost more than my monthly rent back in college. I didn’t even know what to say when she handed them over—only that smile of hers, all warmth and pride, made it harder to refuse.
They had already sent over the Ham , too—our traditional wedding chest. But this wasn’t some modest ceremonial offering. No, the box was ornate, carved with intricate patterns and adorned with inlaid gold and precious stones. It glittered under the light like something from a royal treasury. I’d stared at it for a long time, wondering if any part of this wedding was mine at all.
My parents were constantly busy these days—endlessly coordinating, checking, confirming. They moved like quiet soldiers behind the scenes, making sure everything went according to plan. I should have been relieved. Instead, all it did was remind me how little I had to do with any of it. Hoseok was nowhere to be found, not even in text form. Every decision, every task, had fallen to my parents and my brother.
That night, I descended the staircase for dinner, smoothing down my dress absentmindedly. To my surprise, Ye-joon was there, lounging comfortably on the sofa like he belonged.
“My, my,” I said, quirking a brow as I made my way to the dining table. “What brings you here?”
Ms. Jang, always one step ahead, already had dinner set out. The smell of warm soup and grilled fish filled the air.
“You’ve been out so often I was starting to think you were a mythical creature,” I added with a faint smirk as I sat down.
Ye-joon didn’t look up from his tablet. “I’m here to make sure everything with the wedding is running smoothly,” he replied, tapping away. “Almost everyone’s RSVP’d. Just a few stragglers left.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple.
“Well, that’s something, I guess.” I scooped up a bite of rice. “Not that it really matters to me. All the guests are Hoseok’s friends anyway.”
Then, as if remembering something, he reached to his side and grabbed a sleek black paper bag.
“Oh, right. The real reason I came—the Chairman asked me to give you this,” he said, offering it to me. “A wedding gift. For you and Hoseok.”
My eyes widened. “A gift? Didn’t he already give us this house?”
“Apparently, that wasn’t enough,” Ye-joon said with a shrug. “I guess you’ll have to thank him again. Open it.”
I took the bag slowly, fingers brushing over the matte texture. What else could he possibly give me? Jewelry? A watch? I had no idea. At this point, I wasn’t even sure how much more I could accept without feeling like a museum exhibit on display.
I reached inside and pulled out a small box wrapped with a gold ribbon. A note was tucked neatly underneath the bow. I read it aloud, voice soft.
“To Eun-ah, I know your grandfather will be happy. Take care of it—it’s a family heirloom.”
Ye-joon perked up, finally interested.
I hesitated for a second before giving the box a small shake. Something inside rattled faintly.
“Well?” he said, leaning forward. “Open it.”
I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside was a car key.
It looked old, maybe even vintage, but it had been kept so well it might’ve come straight from a showroom. The metal gleamed under the chandelier light. It felt heavy in my palm—real, solid, and strangely intimate.
I turned it over in my hand, confused.
Ye-joon gaped. “ No way. ”
“What?” I asked, eyebrows lifting. “It’s a car key. I mean, the Chairman can afford a dozen of these. I’m grateful, but… it’s not that shocking.”
Ye-joon practically tossed his tablet aside. “It’s not just a car. It’s the car.”
He leaned in, eyes wide. “He gave you your grandfather’s black Jaguar E-Type. That thing’s been sitting in his garage longer than I’ve been alive.”
“E… what now?” I blinked, completely lost. “You know I don’t speak car. I don’t even have a driver’s license. You’re gonna have to explain this like I’m in kindergarten.”
Without missing a beat, Ye-joon pulled out his phone and started scrolling. “Hang on.”
He stopped on a photo of himself, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, standing beside a sleek black car that looked like it belonged in a museum.
“This,” he said, turning the screen to me. “That’s the Jaguar E-Type. It was your grandpa’s. After he passed, the Chairman couldn’t bring himself to sell it. He’s kept it all these years, pristine.”
I stared at the photo for a moment. “So… that’s mine now?” I asked, my tone casual, though deep down I felt strangely touched.
Ye-joon nodded enthusiastically. “Looks like it. Seriously, that’s insane. That car’s a classic!”
I let out a soft groan. “What am I supposed to do with it? I don’t even know how to drive. Do I just… display it like a trophy in the garage?”
He laughed. “Don’t worry—I’ll teach you,” he said, eyes twinkling. Judging by his expression, he was way too excited about the idea. Probably more eager to drive the car himself than to actually teach me.
***
The next morning, I was jolted awake by Ye-joon’s voice echoing from downstairs.
“It’s here! It’s finally here!” he shouted, practically buzzing with excitement.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I dragged myself out of bed. “Ye-joon, calm down,” I muttered, scratching the corner of my eye, still half-asleep from staying up way too late the night before.
He was already waiting at the foot of the stairs, practically bouncing on his heels, waving the Jaguar key like a golden ticket. “Come on! Get dressed—we’re taking it for a spin!”
He looked like a kid who had just unwrapped his dream toy, except the toy was mine, and I wasn’t even awake enough to process it yet.
I tugged on the laziest pair of jeans I owned, threw on a plain shirt, and buried myself in the heaviest coat I could find. Grumbling under my breath, I padded downstairs, clearly irritated from the lack of sleep—because of course Ye-joon just had to drag me out early to see the car.
The cold morning air slapped my face the moment I stepped outside. I shivered, breath fogging in the winter chill. But then I saw it.
There it was, parked in my driveway.
Majestic.
My jaw slackened without me realizing it. “...It’s… wow,” I whispered, breathless.
“Told you,” Ye-joon beamed, gently patting the hood like it was a living, breathing creature. “It’s fire.”
The black body gleamed against the snow, the morning sun bouncing off its polished surface. It looked like it had driven straight out of another era and yet… not a day old. The interior caught my eye—beige leather seats, pristine and buttery smooth, as if no one had ever sat in them. The floors were lined with rich red carpeting, bold and elegant. The steering wheel still retained its vintage wood-grain charm, but the dashboard had been modified—modern, sleek, with a mounted screen nestled neatly where old dials used to be.
Then something delicate caught the light. A chain dangled from the rearview mirror, swaying gently. It held a locket—gold, small, with the letter Y intricately engraved on it.
“What’s that?” I asked, leaning in closer, fingertips brushing the charm.
Ye-joon squinted and shrugged. “Been there as long as I can remember. I never really touched it.”
Curious, I found the tiny clasp and gently pressed it. The locket opened with a soft click.
Inside were two tiny photographs—two kids grinning ear to ear. My breath hitched.
It was me… and Eun-woo.
“This… this is me,” I said softly, warmth blooming in my chest. My heart ached, but in the gentlest way. For all the distance, for all the absence—my grandfather had kept this. A piece of us. A piece of me.
“Whoa,” Ye-joon murmured, peering over my shoulder. “I had no idea. I never dared mess with it.”
I nodded, eyes still fixed on the locket, the kind of silence settling between us that said everything. Grandpa had loved us. He may have been gone… but he left pieces of that love behind.
I slid into the passenger seat and buckled myself in, the leather cool against my back. Ye-joon wasted no time—he turned the key, and the engine growled to life with a deep, throaty roar that rumbled through my chest.
“Ready for a spin?” he asked, practically vibrating with excitement, his grin stretching ear to ear.
I rolled my eyes at him, though I couldn’t help smiling a little. “You’re more excited than I am.”
“Obviously,” he smirked. “Let’s go.”
And just like that, he peeled out of the driveway.
The tires crunched over the thin layer of snow on the road, the world around us still dusted in white from the night before. Trees flanked either side of the road, their branches heavy with snow, like something out of a winter postcard. The sunlight cut through the trees in slivers, painting golden streaks across the windshield.
The cabin of the car was warm and quiet. Comfortable. There was something calming about the way the engine hummed, the way the seats seemed to cradle us. Then Ye-joon tapped a button on the dashboard.
I looked up as the roof began to retract.
“A convertible?” I blinked, surprised.
The cold rushed in instantly, biting at my cheeks and catching my breath, but it felt… freeing. The wind tangled through my hair, and for the first time in days, I felt light. Unburdened. I closed my eyes for a second and just breathed it in—the cold, the speed, the sound of the road beneath us.
The surroundings began to look familiar. The quiet hills, the manicured pines, the winding paths—all of it. I squinted ahead.
“Are we heading to Grandpa’s estate?” I asked, already recognizing the tall, ornate gates in the distance—the ones that now marked my father’s property.
But just as we were nearing the entrance, Ye-joon suddenly made a sharp turn to the right.
“Wait—what? The house is back there,” I said, whipping my head to look behind us, my hair whipping in the wind.
“We’re not going there,” he said casually, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on the edge of the door like he was in some dramatic car commercial. The kind where the guy’s too cool to care, but clearly does.
We veered down another road, quieter and more secluded. Then, up ahead, a tall wrought-iron gate loomed into view—painted in glossy black and flanked by massive stone pillars. As we approached, Ye-joon leaned slightly toward the dashboard. The intercom crackled, and the gates swung open without a word.
“Where are we?” I asked, puzzled, my eyes widening as the house beyond the gate came into view.
No— not a house.
A manor .
It rose from the hill like something out of an aristocrat’s daydream—grand, sprawling, old money from every angle. Stone-clad walls with ivy crawling up the side, symmetrical wings that stretched out with pointed gables, tall windows with wrought-iron frames. It looked like a castle. Not the Disney kind—no, this was the real kind. A place with weight and history.
The architectural part of my brain couldn’t help it—I gaped. Everything was perfect. Timeless. Whoever designed this masterpiece had known exactly what they were doing. Even the layout of the drive, the precise slope of the roofs, the ornamental fixtures on the facade—it was insane.
Ye-joon kept driving, winding through the circular driveway lined with trimmed hedges and vintage lanterns until we finally came to a slow stop near the grand front steps.
“Don’t tell me you live here ,” I said, still staring at the building from inside the car, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He shrugged, ever so casually. “Technically… I do.”
I turned to him, incredulous.
“But this,” he continued, nodding toward the massive estate before us, “this is Hoseok’s childhood home. The Chairman’s house.”
My mouth fell open.
This was it? This was where Hoseok grew up?
Of course it was.
Of course the man who walked around like a prince actually was raised in a castle.
No wonder.
I nearly slipped getting out of the car—half from the cold, half from gawking at the estate like a tourist. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t just some visit. This felt… monumental.
Ye-joon was already climbing the wide stone steps ahead of me, his long coat catching in the breeze. I hurried to catch up, still trying to process the fact that I was about to step foot into a literal mansion.
“What exactly are we doing here?” I asked, breath puffing into the cold air as I followed him.
He didn’t stop walking, just glanced over his shoulder casually. “The Chairman wants to see you.”
I halted for a second. “Wait—what? You could’ve told me! I look like I just rolled out of bed!”
He snorted. “You did just roll out of bed.”
I groaned, tugging my coat tighter around me as we neared the massive double doors. Maids bowed as we passed, their uniforms crisp, eyes respectfully lowered. But their posture told me something else—Ye-joon wasn’t just an assistant here. He moved through the space with far too much ease, too much quiet authority.
Before I could ask anything else, a voice called from just beyond the door. “Are they here?”
Then the door cracked open, and out popped the Chairman’s head.
My mouth parted slightly.
He was in a plain white T-shirt and plaid lounge shorts, a heavy robe slung over his shoulders like it barely managed to stay on. His hair was tousled, his feet in slippers. Not the intimidating titan of industry I’d met in the conference room—he looked like someone’s sleepy, slightly grumpy uncle.
Kind of… adorable.
Ye-joon gave a formal bow. “I brought her.”
I quickly followed suit, bowing deeply. “Good morning,” I said, trying to sound presentable despite my inner panic over my outfit.
The Chairman simply nodded and disappeared back into the house without another word.
The maids ushered me inside, and the moment I stepped through the threshold, the sheer opulence of it stole the air from my lungs.
The foyer was jaw-dropping.
Twin grand staircases curved up like something out of a ballroom scene in a period drama. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, hung with glittering crystal chandeliers. Sculptures adorned the alcoves, marble and gold glinting from every surface. The whole place didn’t just look like a castle—it felt like one. Heavy with history. Too polished to be real.
I tried not to trip over my own feet as I followed one of the maids through a corridor, each step echoing slightly on the pristine marble floor.
We reached a large open room where the Chairman was now seated at a long, ornate dining table. The surface gleamed white and gold, too luxurious to be casual, yet there he was—reading a newspaper like it was any ordinary morning.
He looked different now. Calmer. Less like the sharp, calculating man I’d met during the first meeting, and more like… a grandfather.
“Ah,” he said, lowering the paper with a gentle smile. “Please, sit.”
I gave another small bow and carefully slid into the seat across from him.
“I’m sorry I haven’t had a proper chance to speak with you,” he said, folding the newspaper neatly. “Everything’s happened so quickly… and I imagine it’s all been a bit overwhelming.”
His voice was sincere, softer than I expected. There was a quiet concern in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.
I nodded politely. “It’s alright. I understand—you have a lot on your plate.”
The words came out formal, respectful, but my mind was racing.
What did he want to talk about now?
The Chairman chuckled softly. “You’re so formal—just like your grandfather.” His smile lingered. “I suppose you got that from your father?”
I returned a sheepish smile, a little caught off guard by the observation. He was right. My father always did speak formally, especially around people he didn’t know well. Especially when he was nervous.
There was a moment of quiet before he nodded toward the direction we came from. “Did you like my gift?”
The car. Of course.
“I did, sir,” I said with a small smile, then added with a light laugh, “But I think Ye-joon might’ve liked it even more than I did.”
He chuckled at that, his eyes crinkling as he looked out the tall window beside the dining room. The early light caught on the frost outside, making the glass shimmer.
“Ah, Ye-joon… He’s loved that car since he was little. Every time it rumbled through the driveway, he’d come running to see it. His eyes would light up like fireworks.”
There was something wistful in his tone, like he was seeing the memory play out in real time.
I hesitated before asking, but curiosity pressed forward. “I hope it’s okay to ask but… Ye-joon, he’s more than just an assistant, isn’t he?”
The Chairman didn’t seem surprised. He let out a gentle sigh and nodded, his gaze softening.
“Yes. Ye-joon is the son of our former head maid. She was a kind woman—sharp, loyal, always with a kind word. Tragically, she passed away giving birth to him. We took him in after that.”
He paused, his fingers lightly drumming against the table.
“But he’s never let himself be one of us. No matter how many doors we opened, he always kept a little distance. He says he feels like an impostor… like he doesn’t belong.”
His eyes dimmed a little, a mix of fondness and helplessness in his expression.
“That child,” he murmured, shaking his head with a quiet smile. “He grew up side by side with Hoseok. He’s younger, but the two of them were always at each other’s throats—bickering like little old men. Still… no matter how big the fight, they always found their way back to each other.”
His chuckle returned, but there was a certain tenderness in it this time. The kind that only comes with love and years of watching someone grow up under your roof.
Breakfast was served quietly. The only sounds in the room were the soft clinks of silver cutlery against fine ivory plates. The food was exquisite, but I barely tasted it—too aware of the grandeur of the room, too aware of the man sitting across from me. When the last of the meal was cleared away by the maids, silence lingered, heavy but not uncomfortable.
The Chairman leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim cigarette. He lit it with a quiet flick of his lighter, the scent of smoke curling into the air like a question left hanging.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you here… just eight days before your wedding,” he said finally, his voice steady, measured.
I nodded, politely dabbing the corners of my lips with my napkin. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I could feel my chest tightening a little.
He took a drag from the cigarette, the tip glowing faintly. “I just wanted to ask you… are you sure you want to go through with this?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
I stared at him, trying not to show the flicker of confusion crossing my face. Why now? After everything had already been set into motion? The venue, the guest list, the flowers… everything had been planned, bought, and sent out. His timing felt too sudden, almost cruel—until I saw his expression.
He wasn’t challenging me. He wasn’t being cold. He was… concerned.
Whatever my face betrayed must’ve amused him, because he let out a soft laugh.
“I’m not telling you to back out,” he clarified, exhaling smoke slowly. “I’m simply asking if this is truly what you want.”
There was a pause, gentle but weighty.
“I know it’s late in the game. Believe me, I do. But sometimes, the closer we get to something—something big—the more clearly we see it. And I had to wait for that clarity to come to you.”
His tone was calm, but the words hung heavy in the air between us.
“The final stretch,” he added, “has a way of stirring up everything we’ve tried to bury.”
shook my head slowly, not out of hesitation, but certainty.
“I will go through with it,” I said, my voice quiet but firm.
The chairman studied me for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity behind my words. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders eased. The tension he’d been carrying melted into the backrest of his chair, and he exhaled—not just the smoke from his cigarette, but the weight of whatever worry he’d been holding onto.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Welcome to the family, then… Eun-ah,” he said, and for the first time, it sounded like he meant it.
***
The drive back was quiet. Ye-joon kept the top up this time, muttering something about the cold finally getting to him. Neither of us said much. The wind outside howled faintly against the windows, but inside the car, it was warm and still—almost heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
When we pulled into my driveway, he handed me the keys with a faint grin, then slipped out with a casual, “I’ve got some errands at the office.” Just like that, he was gone.
I stood there for a moment, keys in hand, staring at the car in front of me—shiny, untouched, full of history.
Eight days.
Eight more days.
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Notes:
This is long 🥲, Shout out to Spilly, love you girl 😘
Chapter Text
The wedding was tomorrow.
Ye-joon had brought my family and me to the villa where the ceremony would take place—a private estate tucked deep in the hills, surrounded by frost-kissed trees and wrapped in silence. On the far end of the grounds, separated by a very wide courtyard and rows of manicured hedges, was the wing where Hoseok would be staying. I hadn’t seen him yet. The whole place felt too quiet, like the calm before something irreversible.
I remembered Ye-joon mentioning something about a quick trip to Japan—BTS activities, probably. Ye-joon said Hoseok will be there by morning. I didn’t ask questions. I just nodded.
“Eun-ah,” Mom said gently, her voice breaking the stillness as she ran a brush through my hair, “tomorrow, you’ll officially be wed. I know you’re scared... but we’re always here. We’ll always be by your side.”
I met her eyes in the mirror and tried to smile, but my reflection barely looked like me. My brows had been laminated, my lashes curled to perfection. Jiwoo-unnie had insisted on a jaw and chin sculpting session. It was subtle, but enough that I could see the difference. Everything had changed. I had changed.
One and a half month ago, I was someone else. Someone uncertain but untouched. Now, I didn’t even know who was staring back at me.
I exhaled softly, a long, slow breath that fogged the mirror just faintly.
It really was tomorrow.
It’s happening.
And I wasn’t sure I’d sleep at all tonight.
After Mom left, the room fell into silence again. I stepped out onto the balcony, wrapping my arms around myself as I looked out into the winter night. The wind bit softly at my skin, but I didn’t mind. From here, I could see the other villa across the courtyard—the one Hoseok would be staying in.
It was quiet over there.
The tall windows revealed only shadows inside, their glass panes reflecting faint glimmers from the villa's driveway lights and the soft yellow glow by the front door. Snow blanketed the roof like powdered sugar, undisturbed and perfect.
What is he doing right now?
I pulled out my phone and opened SNS, the only way I could know what he was doing.. Not that I needed an update tho. I Scrolled through the latest updates. Twitter was flooded with clips and photos from a Japanese variety show they’d appeared on earlier that day. In one of the pictures, he was smiling—fingers held up in a heart pose, standing beside the members. It felt strange to see him like that again, familiar yet... different.
Since the press conference, he had slowly begun showing his true self. The carefully curated idol mask had thinned. The bright, overly energetic J-Hope had softened into someone more grounded. Someone real. Hoseok.
He smiled when it mattered, but he didn’t force it anymore. There was something steadier in him now—quiet strength under control. Maybe that’s why the internet had latched onto this new version of him. I noticed the jokes floating around. Tweets calling him a "Dom Daddy" trended for days after his firm tone at the press conference. I didn’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes.
His hair was still that fiery red. I wondered idly if he’d dye it black for the wedding. Would he?
It would feel strange standing next to someone in a tuxedo with scarlet hair.
Then again… maybe it fit. Everything about this felt a little unreal.
I let out a soft sigh, almost laughing at myself. Why am I thinking about him at this hour? He’s probably fast asleep somewhere, getting his beauty rest, unaware of the storm brewing quietly inside me.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the cold iron railing, the chill biting into my skin. Winter. Of all seasons, I never imagined I’d be getting married in winter. I always pictured a summer wedding—sun-drenched skies, flowers in full bloom, warmth all around. But here I was, staring into the quiet night, at the glass-roofed castle in the center of the estate, glowing under strands of fairy lights as staff moved like ghosts inside, still working.
It looked beautiful. Almost magical.
The pathway leading to it had been lit up too, the soft lights guiding the way like a dream. But the gardens were bare—no flowers bloomed, only frost and silence. A pang of sadness stirred in me. How strange, I thought. I’m mourning flowers now.
I let out a small chuckle, hollow and brief. I was on the verge of marrying someone I didn’t love. Yet here I was, lamenting the lack of peonies and hydrangeas. I guess I should be grateful—I got to choose the flowers, even if I never got to choose the life that came with them.
“You’re deep in thought.”
Ye-joon’s voice broke the silence, low and familiar, almost grounding.
I didn’t turn to look at him. He followed my gaze instead, to the softly glowing castle in the center of the estate.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
I let out a dry, hollow chuckle. “Do I even get a choice in that?”
The night was still, except for the distant hum of work below. People bustled beneath thick jackets, their breath rising in clouds of mist as they adjusted lights and laid down final touches. I watched them move, quiet and efficient. Just a month ago, I was one of them, calloused, heart unsure—but working. And now… I was up here. Separate. Elevated, somehow. It didn’t feel right.
“What are you sighing about now?” Ye-joon asked gently.
He had been the one constant in this whirlwind. The only one who offered steady, quiet support that didn’t feel performative or laced with hidden agendas—aside from my parents, of course.
I sighed again, voice softer this time. “That pathway down there… it looks sad. Like it’s missing something. It needs flowers.”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head at myself. “Listen to me. Picky about flowers. In the middle of winter. What even is this?”
“It’s okay,” Ye-joon said, his voice calm, understanding. “It’s normal to try and grab hold of something when everything else feels like it’s spiraling. Maybe the flowers… were just your way of taking back a little control.”
I looked at him then. He offered me a small, reassuring smile—the kind that didn’t need words to make you feel seen.
“You better try and get some sleep,” he added, already reaching into his pocket for his phone. “You don’t want dark circles in your wedding photos.”
He glanced across the estate, toward the other villa cloaked in shadow. His expression flickered—subtle, but telling. As if he knew.
“I’ll linger for a while,” I said quietly, turning my eyes back to the night. “I’m not tired yet.”
He gave a small nod, respectful of the space I needed, and left with a quiet goodbye.
And I was alone again, under the weight of the stars, watching the path that would soon carry me to a future I didn’t choose.
I settled into the plush chair on the balcony, letting the night air nip at my cheeks as I pulled my coat tighter around me. Below, the last of the workers moved like shadows, wrapping up for the night. I watched in silence, inhaling the chill, memorizing the calm—this fleeting moment that still felt like mine, before everything changed.
Somewhere between thoughts and exhaustion, I drifted off.
I jolted awake at the sound of my phone vibrating in my pocket. Disoriented, I sat up, glancing toward the now-dark castle. I pulled out my phone, heart stuttering when I saw the name glowing on the screen.
Hoseok?
It had to be a mistake. A pocket dial.
It stopped. Then started again.
My breath caught as I answered.
“H-Hello?”
“You’re overreacting,” his voice came, sharp and distinct, a contrast to the stillness of the night. “And why are you sleeping on the balcony like you’re trying to catch pneumonia?”
My eyes widened. He knew? I turned slowly toward the villa across from mine—and there he was, standing on his own balcony, phone pressed to his ear.
He is here.
He looked different under the lights. His hair, once blazing red, was now a soft golden brown—subtler, more refined. Wedding-ready.
“I… I fell asleep,” I managed to say.
“I have eyes,” he scoffed.
Then just as abruptly, he turned his back, disappearing into his room. The call ended. Curtains drawn.
I stared at the blank window, confused. Why did he even call? Why now?
Before I could process it further, I noticed movement below. More figures. I squinted—blonde hair, a smile. Jimin.
He spotted me instantly, waving with both hands, grinning like he always did.
“Eun-ah!” he shouted.
And like magic, Taehyung appeared behind him, then Jungkook—one by one, waving and calling out my name with warm, mischievous energy that cut through the chill of the night.
I stood up, leaned over the railing, and waved back, unable to stop the smile that pulled at my lips.
“Oppa!” I called, laughing softly, a little breathless.
More heads popped into view—Seokjin, Namjoon, and Yoongi—each of them waving from the warmth of the lit-up villa. Unlike their younger brothers, their waves were calmer, more subdued, but just as sincere. There was something comforting in their presence, like a silent promise that I wasn’t completely alone in all this.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I glanced up. Jimin now had a phone to his ear, grinning like he’d just pulled off the best prank.
I clicked Answer.
“Eun-ah!” Jimin’s voice exploded through the speaker. “Are you excited? You’re getting married tomorrow! Congratulations!”
“Ahehehe…” was all I could manage, sheepish and uncertain. Excited?
Hardly. I was about to step into a life I hadn’t chosen. A cage with silk curtains.
Suddenly, Taehyung’s voice broke through, clearly having snatched the phone from Jimin. “Eun-ah! Don’t get cold feet, okay? Welcome to our dysfunctional family.”
In the background, I could hear Jungkook yelling, “It’s my turn!” right before a scuffle and Taehyung’s dramatic laugh. Then—click.
The call ended, and outside, I watched them scatter, Jungkook chasing the others around the snowy driveway like kids again.
A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
Maybe it won’t be as bad as I thought…
I sighed softly, closing the balcony doors behind me. The warmth of the room met my skin like an embrace. I set my phone down, peeled off my coat, and crawled into bed.
Lying there, I stared at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing into my chest.
Please, I whispered silently to no one in particular, please let everything be okay.
***
The wedding wasn’t until 11 a.m., but they made sure to wake me up at 4:00 a.m.
For God knows what—or why.
T-minus 7 hours.
Bora greeted me with her usual warm smile, Ye-joon trailing behind her. He looked surprisingly casual—gray sweats, white t-shirt, hair slightly tousled. Not how I was used to seeing him. For a second, he looked like a regular college guy. Maybe even a frat boy coming off an all-nighter.
Mrs. Jang was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for everyone.
Mom, Dad, and Eun-woo were awake too—Eun-woo barely, nodding off in one of the chairs like his soul was still asleep.
Bora set up the ring lights around me, and I winced as the brightness hit my still-puffy eyes. The harsh glow highlighted every blemish, every pore. My hair looked dull and unkempt.
“Hmm,” Bora murmured, tapping her cheek thoughtfully as she inspected me. “I think we should change your hair color.”
“What?” I blinked. “Now?”
“Have you ever gone ash brown? Or maybe ash blonde?” she asked, already tilting her head with possibilities.
I shook my head. “No… it’s always been this mousy brown.”
“Perfect. You need a transformation moment,” she beamed. “Don’t worry, I brought the whole team.”
And just like that, as if she’d summoned them with a spell, people started pouring in—hauling carts of makeup kits, hair dyes, brushes, straighteners, curling rods, steamers… it was overwhelming.
I sat there, stunned. It was just a wedding, wasn’t it?
So why did it feel like a princess was getting married?
Bora spun the chair around, hands on her hips.
“Alright, let’s get to work.”
Before I could process what that meant, three people had already descended on me—hands in my hair, spritzing, parting, combing. Cold fingers smoothed product into my scalp while someone sectioned strands with tight precision. The room smelled like hair dye and setting spray.
“I think a light ash blonde will be perfect for this look,” Bora announced confidently, snapping her fingers. Another woman appeared almost instantly, kneeling at my side and taking my hand. Without a word, she started shaping my nails, pushing back my cuticles with expert ease.
“You’re just the perfect amount of pale to pull this off,” Bora added with a wink. “Trust me.”
So this was the reason for the 4:00 a.m. wake-up. A full 360-degree transformation.
As if laminated brows and permed lashes weren’t enough—I was being entirely remade.
Everyone moved around me with choreographed grace.
Mom was already having her makeup done across the room, soft brushes gliding across her cheeks. Dad was sipping coffee while someone fussed with his tie. Eun-woo blinked sleepily as a stylist curled his hair. Everyone moved in a delicate rhythm—gentle, focused, efficient. No one spoke loudly. No one needed to. It was like a symphony.
Ye-joon paced around the suite, phone pressed to his ear, barking last-minute instructions to someone. He was checking the schedule, the venue, the transport—everything. And then, suddenly, he stopped mid-call, turning toward the door.
“Hoseok needs me,” he said quickly, and with that, he vanished.
So he was already awake.
The clock said 7:03 a.m.
They were now blow-drying my newly colored hair, soft warm air cocooning my scalp as the stylists worked in tandem. One curled, another brushed, the third set each wave in place. My hair felt lighter, cooler—strange.
Bora stepped in again, applying primer to my skin with the softest sponge I’d ever felt.
Time ticked strangely. It was slow. But also fast.
My nerves still hadn’t set in.
“You need to be at the venue by ten,” someone reminded me from behind. I nodded.
Concealer tapped under my eyes. Foundation blended into my skin until it looked like porcelain. Bora worked swiftly—her hands graceful but sure—like she’d done this a thousand times.
Shimmer traced my eyelids in soft champagne tones, a warm glow highlighting my cheeks. A subtle wing lifted the corners of my eyes, and she placed colored lenses into them gently, almost surgically.
I blinked into the mirror.
My irises looked larger, almost doll-like.
Lashes curled upward, fanned perfectly.
Brows softly arched.
Lips plumped with a sheer gloss, a hint of rose.
Finally, Bora stepped back with a dramatic sigh. “And—ta-dah!”
She spun the chair around, and I gasped.
I didn’t even recognize myself.
My hair was now a cool ash blonde, with delicate face-framing highlights that made my features softer, brighter. It cascaded in loose waves, bouncing just slightly with movement.
My skin looked luminous. My eyes sparkled.
My lips looked full and soft and… kissable.
“Yah, Eun-ah,” Eun-woo called from the couch. “You look beautiful.”
I turned to look at them—my family.
Mom looked radiant in her soft peach hanbok, her hair pinned with grace. Dad had changed into a tuxedo, clean and polished. Even Eun-woo, who usually hated dressing up, looked surprisingly handsome.
A tight pressure built in my chest. My vision blurred.
Tears.
“No, no, no, no,” Bora scolded, rushing toward me with tissues. “Not the makeup! Don’t you dare cry—we haven’t even made it to the aisle yet!”
I let out a soft laugh, blinking rapidly as she dabbed my eyes with surgical precision.
For a moment… just a fleeting moment… I felt like someone in a dream.
Not a bride. Not a prisoner. Just a girl. A beautiful girl about to walk into a future she didn’t ask for.
But right now—at least for now—I looked the part.
Just as Bora finished blotting the last of my tears, the door creaked open again.
A hush fell over the room.
Two assistants stepped inside, carefully wheeling in a tall garment rack draped in layers of silk and tulle. It was covered with a sheer dust cloth, soft and ghostly, like something sacred. My breath caught.
The dress.
They brought it forward with reverence, as if afraid to disturb the air around it. One of them reached up and delicately peeled back the covering. The fabric whispered as it fell away.
There it was.
My wedding gown.
But it wasn’t quite how I remembered it.
The last time I saw it, it was beautiful—simple, understated, the kind of dress you admire quietly. But now… now it was something else entirely. Someone had retouched it, enhanced it—like a dream that had been embellished overnight.
The bodice was adorned with new, delicate lacework that crawled like vines across the neckline, blooming over the sleeves and down toward the waist. Tiny, almost invisible pearls were stitched between the patterns, catching the light like morning dew. The skirt had been softened further, layers of gossamer tulle cascading like fog on a moonlit lake.
At the hem, intricate embroidery shimmered faintly—florals so detailed they could’ve been mistaken for frost-kissed petals.
A delicate trim of silver thread lined the edges, like stardust framing a cloud.
It was no longer just a wedding dress.
It looked like something out of a fairytale—a gown not meant for this world, but for a storybook. A dress that belonged to a girl who found magic in a cursed castle.
I stepped forward instinctively, my fingers trembling as they hovered over the lace. I didn’t dare touch it. I felt unworthy of it somehow, like it was made for someone else entirely.
Bora came up beside me and leaned in. “They made the changes after your last fitting,” she whispered. “Your mom wanted it to feel more like… you. Like the version of you she sees.”
My throat tightened.
Like the version of me she sees.
Maybe the one I couldn’t see anymore.
I looked back at the mirror. At the girl with ash-blonde waves, glowing cheeks, and soft eyes that didn’t quite hide the weight she was carrying. I looked at the dress again.
Maybe, just maybe, I could be her—if only for a day.
“Let’s get you in it,” Bora said softly.
And with that, the room moved again, hands reaching gently, carefully helping me step into the fantasy I hadn’t asked for… but now had to live through.
The layers of tulle rustled softly as they guided me into the dress. Bora’s hands were sure and gentle, zipping, adjusting, smoothing the fabric like she was sculpting something fragile and precious. The gown slid over my body like a second skin—cool silk against my back, structured bodice hugging my frame perfectly, as though it had been waiting just for me. The skirt flared out, soft and weightless, floating with every step I took, like I was walking in a dream.
The lace sleeves kissed my arms, the neckline just low enough to be elegant, not daring. Everything shimmered subtly under the warm lights, and for a brief, breathless second—I looked like a princess.
No. I was a princess. In this moment, in this room.
But I didn’t feel like her.
I stood before the mirror, hands resting gently at my sides, and stared at the girl in the reflection. She was beautiful—breathtaking, even. But she didn’t feel real. She felt like an imposter playing dress-up in someone else’s fantasy. The weight of the gown, the shimmer of the highlights in my hair, the gleam of gloss on my lips—it was all stunning.
And yet… it wasn’t mine.
The door clicked open again.
Ye-joon stepped in.
His breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on me. He stopped just past the threshold, his posture faltering, his sharp tuxedo barely concealing the sudden awe that washed over him. He looked different now—sharper, more refined. The usual warmth in his gaze flickered with something else: pride.
He took a quiet step forward, white gloves pristine, his hands steady around a small black paper bag.
“You…” he exhaled, voice low, reverent. “You look…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Ye-joon turned to my father, crossing the room in a few careful strides, and handed him the bag. My dad looked surprised, his brows rising as he accepted it. The room fell silent again, the only sound the rustle of tissue as he pulled out what lay inside.
Gasps echoed softly.
Nestled in velvet was a tiara—delicate, dazzling, timeless.
It caught the light like water, like ice under moonlight.
Diamonds dotted its arched silhouette, each gem pronged so finely it looked weightless. Pearls were set at the base, creamy and round, woven between the stones like a secret. It was small but impossibly elegant—nothing gaudy, nothing ostentatious. Just… pure.
Ye-joon cleared his throat, his voice softer now. “The chairman sent it this morning. Said it was something your grandfather bought a long time ago. He’d kept it, quietly, with instructions… to give it to you on your wedding day.”
My hand instinctively reached toward my chest.
“Does the surprises end?” I echoed, barely above a whisper.
Ye-joon smiled.
“He chose it himself. Said it was meant for his granddaughter when she became a bride. No matter who she married… or when. This was something that wasn’t part of any agreement, just a family heirloom.”
My chest tightened, the emotion swelling suddenly, too fast to control.
My dad turned to me then, carefully lifting the tiara from its box, holding it like something sacred. He stepped forward, eyes shining.
“May I?” he asked.
I nodded, the lump in my throat growing.
And as he placed it gently on my head, I felt the final piece click into place—not just of the look, but of the moment. I was complete now. I looked every bit the fairytale bride.
But inside?
I was still trying to find myself beneath all the sparkle.
***
They needed to get me into the car carefully, so my dress wouldn’t drag through the snow that blanketed the ground like powdered glass. Assistants moved like clockwork—lifting my train, shielding me with umbrellas, ensuring not a single layer of lace or tulle grazed the slush.
As the car began its slow turn toward the venue, I caught sight of the road ahead—and my breath hitched.
The pathway had transformed.
Lined on both sides were arches overflowing with flowers—hydrangeas, peonies, white wisteria, soft-petaled roses in delicate blush and ivory. Flowers that had no business blooming in winter. Flowers I hadn’t chosen, but wished for.
But they were breathtaking.
The snow beneath them had been cleared, replaced by a pristine white runner. It felt surreal, like driving into a dream I didn’t remember dreaming.
Outside, Ye-joon stood in the crisp air, directing the florists with quiet precision. He didn’t even look up as the car passed—his focus razor-sharp, clipboard in hand, mouth moving in practiced efficiency. Not a single bloom dared to fall out of place under his watch.
Was this his doing?
The car slowed to a stop in front of the grand venue doors. A team of assistants swarmed around me instantly—some to carry the train of my dress, others to guide the skirt so it wouldn’t fold. My father appeared beside me, draping a luxurious white fur coat over my shoulders.
“To keep you warm,” he said gently.
We moved swiftly through the cleared walkway, snow glittering at the edges, until the heavy doors opened, ushering us inside.
The photo room was quiet. Empty. Still. It was only 9 a.m.
T-minus 2 hours.
I was guided to a plush velvet couch in the center of the space, the backdrop framed in soft neutrals and seasonal flowers. This would be my throne for the next hour—posing, smiling, greeting.
A hybrid ceremony, they called it. Not fully traditional, not fully modern. A blend of customs: the bride walking down the aisle, western-style vows, a lively reception after… but still, we’d kept the traditional photo room. The ham, the gift exchange, the ceremonial air.
I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling.
My mother slipped into the seat beside me and placed her hands over mine. Her smile was warm and calm, and when the photographer asked for a picture, she didn’t move. We simply sat like that—fingers entwined.
Our first family photo in this new context.
The flash went off. Then another. And another.
When I say I posed a few times, I mean a lot. My cheeks began to ache. My jaw felt like it might snap from the effort of holding a polite smile.
Finally, the photographer gave a small nod, signaling a break—just as muffled noise began to trickle in from the outer corridor. I glanced toward the door, just in time to see one of the assistants rushing in.
“There’s press outside already,” she whispered.
Of course there was.
Hoseok had promised them that the wedding would be televised, as a gesture of goodwill—to satisfy the media frenzy and get them off our backs. Still, the thought of cameras broadcasting this to the world made my stomach turn.
More noise echoed—shouts, flashes. The usual chaos of star-studded events. I tried to breathe through it. Tried to remind myself that I just had to get through today.
The first guests entered the room.
They approached in slow waves—some familiar just cause I saw them on TV, still they were all strangers. They came, posed, smiled, congratulated, bowed, and left. Over and over again. More retouches. A re-fluffed skirt. Another coat of gloss.
Then, the door opened again.
Ye-joon stepped in, clipboard still in hand. Always composed, but there was a slight shift in his voice.
“Fifteen more minutes,” he said.
I adjusted the bouquet in my lap, fingers grazing the satin ribbon. “Almost everyone’s here?” I asked.
“Almost,” he replied, scanning his list. “Kimberly isn’t here yet.”
“Oh… her.” I looked down.
I’d nearly forgotten she was invited. They were close once. Old friends. Maybe more. I wasn’t sure.
“She might not come,” Ye-joon said lightly, though his eyes flicked to the clock.
I nodded, unsure if what I felt was disappointment… or relief.
Ye-joon murmured something into his radio, and a soft response crackled through the earpiece. He turned to me, expression calm but eyes gentle.
“It’s time,” he said, holding out his hands to help me stand.
My heart thundered in my chest. This was it.
He led me out of the photo room and toward the grand entrance of the venue, where my father was already waiting in front of the towering closed doors. I hadn’t seen Hoseok yet. Not even a glimpse of the BTS members. Just Appa—standing tall, hands clasped in front of him, smiling the way only a father can on a day like this.
As I stepped closer, he reached out and gently draped the veil over my face, careful not to disturb my hair or makeup.
“My little girl,” he whispered, eyes brimming with tears.
“Appa, please don’t. Or I might…” I blinked quickly, already feeling the sting behind my eyes.
“Right… right,” he said, letting out a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb under his eye.
A few cameras were allowed inside the venue—only trusted ones, and they’d been given strict instructions to remain discreet. Still, I felt their quiet presence just behind the doors.
“If you ever feel the need to come back to me… if he ever hurts you, ever lifts a finger—you fight back, you hear me? Or come back home. I’ll always be your father,” he said, squeezing my hand firmly.
“I don’t think he’s like that,” I murmured with a soft laugh. “But… he’s a little grumpy.”
Appa chuckled, his gaze lingered on me, full of love and quiet sorrow. His daughter… about to walk down the aisle.
“Are you ready?” Ye-joon asked from behind.
I looked up at my father one more time. He gave me a small nod.
I nodded back.
On cue, the grand wedding doors began to open—slowly, deliberately—just as the first delicate notes of a harp floated through the hall, soon joined by the low, aching hum of violins. The sound echoed gently across the room, soft yet rich, filling every corner with something mournful and beautiful.
It was the melody of Fake Love —reimagined as a classical instrumental, and very fitting to be very honest, cause what is this wedding if it isn’t fake love.
Stripped of lyrics, the familiar song took on a new life. The strings wept with every note, the harp adding a fragile elegance. It was haunting, yes—but breathtaking. Poignant. Honest. The kind of song that clung to your ribs and settled in your throat.
It was perfect.
My father took my hand in his, the other carefully cradling my bouquet. Together, we stepped forward—into the music, into the light, into everything that waited ahead.
Then I lifted my head and—I saw it.
The inside of the wedding hall was transformed. Ethereal.
The ceiling was alive with hanging blooms—hydrangeas, ivory roses, white orchids, and soft wisteria, all cascading like a floral waterfall. Twinkling fairy lights were strung above, weaving through the flowers like stars caught in a dream. It was warm, golden, glowing.
Butterflies fluttered softly in the air, released just as I entered. They drifted gently above the aisle, wings catching the light like glass.
The aisle itself was lined with soft white petals, like snow that would never melt. As I walked, the crowd stood, hushed in awe.
At the end of the aisle stood Hoseok.
Hoseok stood at the end of the aisle, striking in a tailored black tuxedo that fit him like it was made by the stars themselves. The crisp white shirt beneath, the satin lapels, the sharp cut of his frame—he looked like something out of a dream. His golden-brown hair was swept back with careful precision, not a strand out of place, catching the light just enough to give him a soft glow.
For a moment—just a brief, flickering second—his expression shifted. Something unguarded passed through his eyes.
Then, almost as if on cue, he smiled.
That signature, charming smile.
The one everyone knew. The one cameras loved.
But today… it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Step by step, my father and I made our way forward. The music swelled gently. My heart thudded against my ribs.
When we reached the middle of the aisle, a gentle flourish of butterflies fluttered around us. Hoseok stepped forward then—his movements slow, reverent. He bowed deeply to my father, then looked up at me and extended his hand.
I took it.
Together, we turned toward the altar.
In the front row, Jiwoo sat gracefully in her hanbok, a soft smile on her face. Hoseok’s parents were beside her, as was the chairman. On the opposite side, my family sat proudly—my mother dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
We turned to face our guests. BTS stood lined up to the side—elegant, polished. Jimin caught my eye and gave a quick, reassuring wave. My lips twitched into a small smile.
But just as the ceremony began, the sound of sharp heels clicking against the floor drew every gaze to the entrance.
A final guest?
It was Kimberly.
She walked in with practiced grace, wearing a deep red dress that clung to every curve. Her dark hair framed her face in soft waves, and she gave a small bow before hurrying to an empty seat near the back.
Hoseok stiffened beside me.
His hand gripped mine—just slightly tighter than before.
***
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
Oh god.
I’d completely forgotten about this part.
Our first kiss.
The hall erupted in cheers, whistles echoing through the air—Namjoon’s being the loudest. Hoseok turned to face me, his expression unreadable under the warm lights. With slow, careful hands, he reached up and lifted my veil. The moment our eyes met, everything seemed to still.
He leaned in slightly, voice low, barely a whisper between us.
“Just smile... and follow my lead.”
So I did.
I gave him the softest smile I could manage, even adding a touch of eye contact—just enough to sell the illusion. I watched his eyes widen, just a fraction, caught off guard for a second. Then he recovered with a practiced grin, polished and picture-perfect.
For the cameras.
For the story we were telling.
Without warning, Hoseok slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him in one graceful swoop. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as he dipped me ever so slightly—dramatic, theatrical, a scene out of a film.
What the hell was he doing?
Before I could ask, his face hovered close to mine. And then—
He kissed me.
Soft. Slow. Like a sigh against my lips. His mouth was warm and gentle, his lips like velvet—unrushed, unforced, so tender it startled me. A kiss meant to look like love. Maybe it almost was.
And just like that, it ended.
He pulled me upright again with steady hands, seamlessly shifting into husband mode. One hand in mine, the other raised in a wave to the crowd, flashing that dazzling smile again. The guests were on their feet now, clapping and cheering, swept up in the magic of the moment.
Then, out of the corner of my eye—I saw her.
Kimberly.
She was clapping too, face composed, lips curved into a polite smile. But there was something in her eyes—something too sharp, too still. A smile that didn’t quite match the celebration. One she didn’t want to be wearing.
And somehow… I knew.
We walked out hand in hand, offering polite bows as we passed each row. Guests reached out to pat Hoseok on the back, offering hearty congratulations, while I smiled and gave small handshakes, murmuring soft thank yous.
The crowd was electric—buzzing with energy, flashing cameras, and murmured praise that echoed through the space like waves. It felt surreal, like we were gliding through a moment suspended in time.
Then, as we stepped beyond the aisle and disappeared through the tall double doors—the very ones I had entered through earlier—the atmosphere shifted.
The doors clicked shut behind us.
And the moment they did, Hoseok let go of my hand.
Hoseok made his way toward the sleek black car waiting to take us to the reception. It was still a ten-minute ride through the estate, and with the snow thick on the ground, walking was out of the question—not unless I wanted to ruin the dress.
He climbed in first. I followed, with assistants rushing to gather the massive skirt and train, carefully folding layers of tulle and lace as they guided me inside. The moment I settled into the seat, the dress exploded around us like a cloud, nearly swallowing the entire backseat—and most of Hoseok with it.
“What’s the deal with this dress?” he scoffed, squished against the side of the car like an unwilling passenger on a fashion runway. “You really couldn’t have picked something simpler?”
I shot him a look, rolling my eyes. “You’re not the one suffocating under layers of fabric and corset boning. Don’t complain.”
From the front seat, Ye-joon gave us a dry glance through the rearview mirror.
“At least try to look like you like each other,” he muttered. “This is being televised, remember?”
Hoseok let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Relax. The windows are tinted.”
Still, he didn’t bother to smile. Neither did I.
The ten-minute ride was… awkward, to say the least. Hoseok kept shifting beside me, shoving my skirt out of the way like it carried some kind of disease. Honestly, I didn’t mind—it was almost fun watching him squirm. Every time he pushed the fabric aside, I sank a little deeper into my seat, letting the layers of tulle spill back into his space like they had a mind of their own.
When the car finally rolled to a stop, we were ushered into separate rooms for touch-ups. The event hall had two private dressing suites that connected to a central corridor, which led to the grand reception doors.
Bora’s assistants worked with seamless coordination. I was seated immediately as they fluffed, pinned, and adjusted with practiced hands. They retouched my makeup, tamed a few stray curls, and re-secured the tiara atop my half-up hair. The veil was removed—it had served its purpose.
Then came the second dress. Wheeled in with almost theatrical flair, it was a sleek, silk-white number—much lighter than the gown before it. This wasn’t a princess silhouette. This was elegance with a whisper of seduction.
With practiced ease, they helped me out of the first gown and into the second. It slipped on like water, clinging in all the right places. The neckline dipped just enough to tease a hint of cleavage—not scandalous, but enough to make someone pause. The back plunged low, framed with delicate golden chains that sent a cold shiver down my spine as they settled against my skin. A high slit cut up the side, offering a subtle yet unmistakable edge.
It hugged my waist, traced my hips, and transformed me completely. Less bridal fantasy—more goddess arriving.
I waited in the dressing room, fingers lightly drumming against my thigh, as the hum of the guests settling beyond the walls grew louder. My heart had slowed, but it hadn’t quite steadied—not with everything simmering beneath the surface.
Ye-joon peeked in now and then, offering soft updates with a practiced calm. This was the private part of the night—no cameras, no press. Just friends, family, and the quiet tension of a new beginning that neither of us had truly chosen.
He slipped his head in once more, a small smile on his face. “It’s showtime.”
He pushed the doors open and I stepped out, the marble cool beneath my heels, each step lighter now. The second dress hugged my body like it was made for me—smooth silk that moved with each breath. Nothing like the heavy layers from earlier. I could finally walk on my own terms.
Ye-joon kept beside me, occasionally whispering into his headset.
“You know,” I said, glancing at him with a crooked smile, “you could seriously open your own wedding planning business after this.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “After this one? I’m done. I’m never doing this again.”
We reached the central lounge—the space between the dressing rooms, where the reception doors waited ahead. I hadn’t expected to see anyone else there.
But then I did.
Hoseok sat casually on the plush velvet couch, dressed in clean white. His shirt was tucked loosely into his tailored pants, a few buttons undone at the top. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, and the soft lighting caught the sharp line of his jaw. He looked dangerously good—effortless, polished, and just a little too relaxed.
But he wasn’t alone.
Kimberly was perched beside him, leaning in close. She tapped his arm as she laughed, the sound delicate and practiced, like the kind meant to charm a room.
I slowed. My breath caught before I could stop it.
Ye-joon noticed. He cleared his throat—loud and pointed.
They both flinched, straightening. Hoseok’s head snapped toward us.
His eyes landed on me. And for a moment, everything stilled.
His gaze roamed—slowly—from my face to the dip of my neckline, then lower still, lingering a heartbeat too long before rising again to meet my eyes. There was a shift in his expression. Not the detached politeness he usually wore. Not even a trace of amusement. It was something darker. Sharper. A flicker of something that sent a strange warmth curling in my stomach. Something he didn’t bother hiding. But maybe I was just imagining it.
Kimberly’s eyes widened briefly, but she composed herself with practiced elegance. Every movement as she stood was fluid, intentional. She crossed the room with a smile that was too polished, too perfect, the kind that never quite reached the eyes. Then came the hug—barely touching, just enough to register, all silk and strategy.
Her breath brushed the shell of my ear, warm and honey-sweet. “Congratulations,” she murmured, soft as velvet—yet somehow, it felt like a warning.
She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes—and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
I didn’t let my smile falter. Instead, I turned it up a notch. Sweeter. More naïve. The kind that made people underestimate me.
Behind her, Hoseok was watching. His jaw ticked—just once.
Kimberly bowed lightly and gave him a wave that lingered for a beat too long before retreating into the reception hall.
Silence followed.
Then Hoseok stood.
He didn’t speak, just crossed the room slowly and stopped in front of the tall reception doors. He extended his hand toward me. His palm open. Waiting.
I stared at it for a beat too long.
Then lifted my eyes to his.
I stepped forward.
Slipped my hand into his.
Warm. Steady.
His fingers curled around mine with more pressure than necessary. Not painful—just enough to tell me he’d noticed. Everything.
We didn’t say a word.
Just turned toward the doors.
And walked in—hand in hand—as though this night, this performance, this marriage… was ours from the beginning.
The room erupted in cheers as we stepped through the doors. Hoseok wore that familiar, dazzling smile—the one that made people believe everything was perfect. Compliments flooded in as we walked, people nodding their approval, praising my dress with warm exclamations.
Seokjin-oppa caught my eye from the front table and flashed me a playful finger gun paired with a wink, making me stifle a laugh.
We made our way toward the stage where a plush white sofa waited, framed by soft lights and pale flowers. The applause slowly faded as we took our seats, the room buzzing with excitement and expectation.
The MC handed Hoseok a microphone. He stood with ease, the posture of someone raised for moments like this. I watched the way his broad shoulders moved as he turned toward the crowd, giving them a calm, practiced smile.
“To all our guests… my family, my bride’s family, my brothers—” he gestured toward BTS, who gave him approving nods, “—and to everyone who came here today to celebrate with us… we thank you.”
He paused, scanning the crowd with quiet confidence. “This afternoon is a special one—not only for us, but also for JuYo Corporation. A merging of two families, two legacies, and a promise honored across generations.”
He smiled again, softer this time, then turned to offer his hand to me. I took it, and he gently pulled me to stand.
“And from me,” he added, “and from my beautiful wife…”
His other hand slipped around my bare back. His palm was warm against my skin, the contact sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. With that subtle pressure, we bowed together toward the audience.
The room responded with thunderous applause—then the unmistakable clink-clink-clink of metal against glass echoed through the hall.
The universal call for a kiss.
I felt the air shift slightly. Hoseok glanced at the crowd, then at me, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips like he hadn’t been expecting this part.
For a second, I thought he might refuse. Instead, he leaned in slowly, his lips brushing the edge of my cheek in the lightest, briefest kiss.
Soft. Polite. Measured.
Not quite enough.
The room reacted instantly—playful boos and teasing laughter filling the space. Hoseok gave a helpless shrug as if to say, What can you do?
And I just stood there, smiling for the crowd… while heat lingered on my skin, right where his lips had barely touched me.
The playful boos only grew louder. Jimin was practically banging his glass with a spoon, grinning wide. Taehyung joined in with a loud whistle, and someone from the crowd shouted, “Again—but properly this time!”
Hoseok gave a tight smile, then looked at me. Not the smile he gave the cameras or the guests—but something quieter, unreadable. His hand was still on my back, fingers spreading just slightly against my bare skin as he stepped closer.
He leaned in again—but this time, slower. Measured. I could feel the shift in his breath as his face neared mine, feel the warmth of his body brushing close. His hand moved gently from my back to the side of my waist, grounding me.
My heart stuttered.
There were hundreds of people watching, but somehow the room dulled into a soft hum. I held my breath.
Then he kissed me—this time on the lips.
It wasn’t rushed, not shy or awkward like the first. His lips pressed into mine with a kind of practiced ease… but underneath it, there was something else. Something searching. Something almost tender.
My eyes fluttered closed for a moment too long. I hadn’t meant to respond—but I did, just barely, just instinctively enough for him to notice.
When he finally pulled away, the room erupted with cheers and applause. Guests rose to their feet clapping, photographers capturing the moment like it was something worth keeping forever.
I blinked, grounding myself, breathing through the buzz that rushed through me—not from the crowd, but from the kiss.
Hoseok still hadn’t let go of my waist. He looked at me with a flicker of something… surprise? Satisfaction? Confusion? Maybe all three.
Then he slipped back into his usual smile, turned us both toward the audience, and raised our joined hands into the air like we’d just completed a flawless act.
I followed his lead, smiling for everyone else.
But my lips still tingled—and I wasn’t sure if that part was pretend anymore.
The MC gently took the stage to start the program, introducing some lighthearted games while the guests enjoyed their meals. Jungkook then stepped forward, with his small innocent smile, he nodded to the MC, serenading everyone with a soft, sweet rendition of “My You.” His voice floated through the room, drawing smiles and a few misty eyes.
As the last notes of his song faded, Jungkook called Namjoon to the front. Namjoon rose from his seat, lifting his glass as he stepped forward. Gone was the usual crisp suit—instead, he wore a white long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up, effortless and striking in his simplicity. He gave a small wave, and just like that, the room quieted. All eyes on him. That quiet authority of his… it needed no introduction.
“When I found out I’d be giving a speech today, I sat with it for a while… trying to figure out how to put into words everything I feel. Because how do you sum up years of growing up together? The quiet moments, the shared dreams, the late-night talks no one else knew about?” He paused, glancing toward Hoseok with a warm, steady smile. “Honestly, I always thought Jungkook would be the first of us to tie the knot, but here we are—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The room chuckled, the mood light but sincere.
“I remember those trainee days like they were yesterday. Cramped little apartments, barely enough room to breathe, but filled with so much hope and determination. Hoseok was different from the start—not because he came from money or privilege, but because he never let that define him. He was always hustling with the rest of us, staying up late practicing, pushing through exhaustion with that relentless passion.”
Namjoon paused, his gaze settling on Hoseok with unmistakable brotherly pride. “He was always the one to bring energy to the room—sometimes a little too much energy,” he chuckled, “and yeah, our grumpy brother could be tough to deal with. But beneath that tough exterior is a heart that cares deeply, maybe just not in the way you expect.”
He turned to Eun-Ah, his smile gentle but teasing. “Eun-Ah, I ask you to please understand our brother. He’s grumpy, sure—but he’s loyal, protective, and when he loves, he loves with everything he has. That grumpiness? It’s part of what makes him Hoseok.”
The crowd laughed, the atmosphere warm with affection.
Namjoon raised his glass higher, eyes sparkling. “So here’s to both of you—may your marriage be filled with laughter, understanding, and endless moments that make even the grumpiest of hearts smile. May your love flutter and grow stronger every day. And, of course,” he grinned, “may we soon be blessed with a few little Hoseoks running around to keep us all on our toes.”
The room erupted in cheers and applause as Namjoon’s heartfelt words settled like a warm embrace, wrapping Eun-Ah and Hoseok in the love of their family and friends. He stepped down from the front, offering a respectful bow to the chairman on his way back to his seat. The chairman gave a nod in return, rising with a gracious smile.
With quiet authority, he approached the microphone. His presence—commanding yet gentle—naturally brought the room to silence as every eye turned toward him.
“Good evening, everyone. On behalf of both families and JuYo Corp, I want to warmly welcome and sincerely thank all of you for joining us today to celebrate this very special union.”
He glanced briefly at Eun-Ah, his expression softening. “I had the privilege of knowing Eun-Ah’s grandfather for many years. Through him, I came to understand the strength and resilience that runs in her family—qualities that Eun-Ah herself now carries with grace.”
Then his eyes shifted to Hoseok, lingering with quiet pride. “And my grandson… Hoseok has always carried the weight of responsibility with a quiet kind of fire. I’ve watched him grow into a man who leads not just with ambition, but with heart.”
He looked back at them both. “Today, we witness the union of two legacies—bound not by business or tradition, but by the potential to build something even greater. Together.”
His tone grew reflective but hopeful. “Our families have built more than successful businesses; we’ve built legacies grounded in trust, partnership, and shared dreams. This marriage is not only a joining of two hearts but a continuation of those legacies.”
Looking toward the couple, he smiled warmly. “Eun-Ah, Hoseok, may your union be blessed with love, understanding, and unwavering support. May it grow stronger with every passing day, just as the bonds between our families have over the years.”
Raising his glass, he concluded, “To a future filled with happiness, prosperity, and lasting partnership—both for you and for all of us fortunate to witness this day.”
The room filled with applause, the moment heavy with history, hope, and heartfelt wishes.
As the party reached its peak earlier, laughter and music filled every corner, but slowly, one by one, the guests began to drift away. Soft goodbyes floated through the air like whispered secrets, delicate and fleeting. Kimberly’s goodbye lingered longer than most—she hugged Hoseok a little too tightly, her fingers digging just enough to remind him she wasn’t quite done. Her smile was polished, but there was an edge to it, a quiet tension that made my stomach twist. Then, just like that, she slipped away into the crowd, leaving a faint chill behind.
The once-vibrant room gradually quieted, the chatter replaced by the soft footsteps of servers clearing plates and gathering empty glasses. The grand hall now held only family and a handful of attendants, the atmosphere settling into something more intimate, more subdued. The chairman had left long ago, his absence a silent reminder that even the strongest men can be undone by too much drink.
Hoseok and I were seated at one of the longer tables, side by side but still separated by the invisible walls of the day’s events. We exchanged tired smiles as we waved off our parents and the last of the guests. The night’s formalities were finally winding down.
Just then, Ye-joon appeared, stepping through the clearing crowd with an ease born of countless rehearsals. His tuxedo was long gone, replaced by a simple inner shirt, the faint flush on his cheeks a testament to the evening’s indulgences. Yet his posture remained sharp, his voice calm and professional as he approached.
“The car is waiting outside,” he said quietly, his words hanging between us with unexpected weight. “It will take you to the main villa — where you’ll be staying as husband and wife for your first night together.”
I blinked, the words echoing in my mind. Together. Husband and wife. In a shared villa. My breath caught, a rush of emotions flooding me — disbelief, nerves, and a strange, unwelcome anticipation.
Hoseok let out a low, tired sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the exhaustion of the entire day. Without looking back, he rose from his seat and began walking toward the exit. The cold air outside hit me as I stood, and I found myself hesitating for just a moment before following him, my footsteps tentative on the marble floor.
Between us, the silence stretched — thick with everything unsaid. The weight of the day, the glances from guests, Kimberly’s lingering touch, and the unspoken questions of what tonight might bring. I kept my gaze steady ahead, matching his pace, trying to steady my racing heart as we moved toward the waiting car — toward the night that was supposed to mark the start of a new life.
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter Text
The drive took longer than expected, and the unbearable tightness of my dress was starting to get to me. The longer I sat there, the more I wanted to tear it off. At first, it felt beautiful—elegant—but after hours of stiff posture and photo-ready poise, it was suffocating.
Across from me, Hoseok sat with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He looked completely drained. I could hardly blame him. He’d gone straight from back-to-back schedules the night before into an early-morning wedding today.
Up front, Ye-joon was still tapping away at his phone like the world would collapse if he stopped for even a second.
Eventually, the car slowed to a stop. Ye-joon stepped out and opened our door, bowing low. His usually neat hair had fallen slightly forward from the motion.
The villa before us loomed quietly in the darkness—larger than any of the other places we’d stayed at recently. It looked more like a private retreat, tucked away at the far edge of the estate, distant from the noise and light. The silence around it felt… too private.
“The car will return in the morning,” Ye-joon said, gesturing toward the entrance.
Morning? I blinked. So it’s just us here? Alone for the night? My shoulders tensed. A part of me shivered from the cold, but another part was very aware of the silence between Hoseok and me.
“Whatever,” Hoseok muttered under his breath, brushing past me and heading inside. The door clicked shut behind him.
Ye-joon, ever composed, motioned again. “After you, please.”
As I stepped in, the warmth hit me immediately. The villa’s interior was undeniably stunning—soft, ambient lighting, a crackling fireplace, sleek leather sofas, and a chef-grade kitchen. But my eyes followed the staircase upward… leading to a single door.
“One room?” I turned back, aghast. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
From across the room, Hoseok had already claimed a spot on the sofa, slumped into it with a scowl. “Relax. Even if it’s one room, I’m not gonna touch you,” he muttered, rubbing his temples like the very idea exhausted him.
Ye-joon nodded once, already halfway to the door. “Everything you need is here. Your change of clothes is in the master—uh, the only bedroom.” He gave a small bow, then vanished before I could protest.
I turned to Hoseok, crossing my arms. “Guess you’re taking the couch then.”
He didn’t even look up at first. “If you’re gonna be sensitive about it,” he said coolly, “then you take the couch.”
But then he stood, slow and deliberate.
He took a few steps toward me, each one calculated, confident—until he was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body even through all the layers of my dress. His voice dropped just slightly, eyes locked on mine.
“Or…” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “are you scared you wouldn’t be able to control yourself around me?”
My breath hitched. Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could even come up with a proper response. He didn’t wait for one.
With a scoff, he turned, casually unbuttoning his tux jacket as he walked toward the bedroom.
“Suit yourself,” he called over his shoulder.
And there I was, still frozen in place, pulse racing—for all the wrong reasons. Or maybe all the right ones.
I hurried in behind him, determined not to let him hog the entire bed for himself. But the moment I stepped into the room, I came to a full stop.
The bedroom looked like something out of a romantic drama.
Rose petals were everywhere—scattered across the floor and artfully arranged into a heart shape right in the center of the bed. Candles flickered softly along the edges of the room, casting a warm golden glow over everything. The scent of vanilla from the diffuser lingered in the air, sweet and almost intoxicating.
And there he was.
Hoseok stood at the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, sleeves already loosened from earlier. His back was to me, and I swear he was moving slower than necessary—like he knew I was watching.
Panic kicked in, and I turned on my heel, rushing toward the other door.
It was the bathroom. Spacious, with marble countertops and a walk-in closet that was already filled with clothes. Just like Ye-joon said—everything we needed, maybe even more. Enough for a week, at least.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and walked up to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me—tired, yes, a little worn from the long day. But still standing. Still composed. Still elegant.
Even if everything around me screamed otherwise.
After taking a few more breaths in front of the mirror, I reached for the cleansing balm and began washing the remnants of makeup from my face. The smudged eyeliner, the bold lip, the blush—they all melted away, leaving behind nothing but bare skin and tired eyes.
I looked down at the massive dress still hugging my body and sighed. It was finally time to get out of it.
I turned around, reaching for the zipper placed inconveniently at the back. My fingers grazed the fabric, fumbling to grab the tiny metal tab. I found it—thank God—but when I tugged, it didn’t budge.
My brow furrowed. I tried again, this time using more force. Still stuck.
A soft groan escaped my lips as I twisted my arm farther than it wanted to go. It was right there, but the angle was impossible. I gritted my teeth, struggling in silence.
Five more minutes passed. Nothing.
A defeated breath left me as I slumped against the bathroom counter. “Do I just… rip it off?” I whispered to myself, eyes welling with helplessness. The fabric suddenly felt suffocating. “Oh my god… what am I gonna do…”
A sharp pounding on the door made me jolt.
“How long are you gonna be? I need to use the bathroom, for god’s sake!” Hoseok’s voice rang from the other side, muffled but irritated.
I winced. Was he… my only hope?
No. No way. I wasn’t going to call him in here for this .
I tried again, grabbing the zipper with both hands this time, twisting my body as much as I could manage. My heel caught the hem of the dress. And before I could register it—
Slip.
I lost balance.
“ Ahh—! ” My body hit the cold tile floor with a painful thud. “Ow…” I groaned, curling slightly from the impact.
The pounding returned, this time more urgent.
“Eun-ah? What happened?” Hoseok’s voice had changed—no longer annoyed, but sharp with concern.
I stared up at the ceiling, sprawled in overpriced satin, my dignity scattered somewhere between the zipper and the floor.
Great. Just great.
“Eun-ah? What happened?”
The pounding stopped. Silence.
I stayed where I was—on the floor, tangled in my dress and crushed pride, my back to the door.
No reply came for a few long seconds. I figured maybe he’d just walk away.
Then came the sound of the door handle turning, and without waiting for permission, it creaked open.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to.
“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath.
He didn’t sound worried. Just exasperated. Like I’d inconvenienced him by existing.
“You fell?” he asked, stepping just inside. His gaze trailed over the mess of my dress, the way the fabric twisted around my back—right where the zipper should be.
He scoffed. “You couldn’t get it off.”
My silence gave me away.
He rubbed his temple. “It’s the zipper, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
He crouched beside me with a tired sigh, not out of kindness—more like he was handling a task no one else wanted.
“Seriously?” he muttered. “You nearly cracked your skull over a damn zipper?”
“I slipped,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Yeah. Maybe because you were yanking at it like a lunatic.”
He didn’t wait for permission—just stepped forward with a sigh and crouched behind me. His fingers were cool against my bare upper back, brushing skin as they found the stubborn zipper.
For a moment, he paused.
Not long. Just enough for me to notice. Enough for the air to shift—heavier somehow.
Then, with one swift tug, the zipper slid down. Smooth. Final. My breath caught, uninvited.
“There,” he muttered, voice low. “Try not to break anything else.”
He stood and walked off like he didn’t wanna be there, the scent of his cologne trailing behind like heat.
The door clicked shut.
I stayed where I was, dress loosened, spine tingling, the silence suddenly loud.
And I hated how aware I was of my own heartbeat. Of the air on my skin. Of him.
Like I’d just lost something. Or almost gained it.
I stood up, letting the heavy dress slip off and pool around my feet like a defeated sigh. The bathroom air was colder than I expected—it wrapped around my now bare body, making me shiver as I turned toward the mirror.
What stared back at me wasn’t the picture-perfect bride from earlier today. My collarbones jutted out a little too sharply, the faint outline of my ribs already visible beneath my skin. The stress from the past month had hollowed me out without mercy.
I exhaled. Whatever. I could gain the weight back. I’d survive this too.
I picked up the dress with careful hands, hanging it inside the walk-in closet like I was tucking away a piece of battle armor. Then I started rummaging for something— anything —to sleep in. But the shelves and drawers had a very specific theme.
Lace.
Silk.
See-through.
Straps meant more for aesthetics than function.
My fingers froze over a blood-red slip that could barely be called clothing.
"...No. No no no." My voice pitched up. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
This wasn’t an oversight. This was intentional .
Planned. Curated. Engineered.
And worst of all— My phone. Was. Outside. With him .
I stared at the sheer nightgown in my hands like it had personally offended me.
“Ye-joon, you evil little shit,” I muttered under my breath, seething. “You’re getting an earful for this.”
I nearly let out a frustrated whimper, slumping onto the closet bench with the ridiculous excuse of sleepwear crumpled in my lap.
Of course this was all deliberate.
Of course I was stuck here.
And of course… I’d have to walk out there half-naked.
With Hoseok .
God help me.
I picked out the most modest thing I could find—which wasn’t saying much. A baby pink silk slip. It wasn’t completely see-through, but it was close. The fabric was thin, almost weightless—like it wasn’t designed to clothe so much as suggest . It clung to my fingers like mist. One look and I already knew it wouldn’t shield me from the cold… or from anything else, really.
God. Fucking. Damn it.
I scanned the far end of the closet, where the “everyday” clothes were hung. My last hope. Thick knits, wool-lined pants, puffer jackets. All made for the snow, all screaming not for sleep . I yanked through them anyway, like maybe— maybe —someone made a mistake and left a hoodie in there.
They didn’t.
I let out a long, pitiful sigh.
What the hell ever. It’s not like he’s even remotely interested. He’s already seen my bare back, hadn’t he? Probably couldn’t care less if I walked out there naked.
Still, my hands hesitated before pulling the silk over my head. It floated down my body like air, barely there. Not tight. Not loose. Just there .
What were they thinking we were going to do in this? The image made my skin crawl.
I turned to the mirror. The dress glimmered faintly under the bathroom lights. I reached up and gently undid the pins in my hair, letting the curls fall forward, framing my face and brushing over my collarbones. If I was going to be uncomfortable, I’d at least keep some illusion of modesty.
I stared at myself, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.
“Fuckin’ finally— I thought you were gonna sl—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
His head had lifted just as I walked in. The irritation in his eyes flickered—flickered and faltered—just for a second. His jaw didn’t drop or anything dramatic, but something in his expression caught, like the words dried up on his tongue.
He blinked. Looked away too quickly.
Which told me everything.
And nothing.
I slipped onto my side of the bed without a word, snatching up my phone from the nightstand like it owed me an explanation. My thumbs flew across the screen, fury practically radiating off.
What the fuck is with the clothing? I texted Ye-joon.
The reply came quickly: I’m sorry. I was just following orders.
I let out a frustrated sigh loud enough for the room to hear.
Hoseok stood wordlessly and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out, he was shirtless, wearing only the bottom half of a navy pajama set—clean, crisp, probably cotton—and looking a little too comfortable with himself. Without pausing, he tossed the top piece of the set in her direction.
“Where did you get these?” I asked, catching the soft fabric, my cheeks heating as I hurriedly shrugged it on over the barely-there silk dress.
“I’m familiar with the shenanigans around here,” he muttered, tone dry, as he settled onto his side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, making my slide a fraction closer. I tensed.
“I packed my own.”
“What do you mean shenanigans ?” I said, pulling the blanket up to my chest, clinging to it like a barrier. Even with his pajama top drowning my frame, I still felt somehow exposed.
“They pulled the same stunt at my noona’s wedding a few years ago,” he replied, reaching for the light switch beside him. “Lacy sleepwear. Romantic setups. You know. Trying to force chemistry.”
The room dimmed into a soft glow before going dark.
I stared at the ceiling, teeth gently worrying her bottom lip.
So… this was planned.
And Hoseok? He’d come prepared. Unbothered. Almost like he’d expected none of this to work on him.
That stung more than she cared to admit.
***
We arrived at the Seoul house late in the afternoon. The sky was overcast, the wind sharp, like even nature refused to celebrate their new “married” status.
The moment the front doors opened, Mrs. Jang and the younger maids greeted us with small bows and polite, practiced smiles. I returned a nod, trying to ignore the strange ache in her chest. Hoseok didn’t say a word. He just shrugged off his coat and climbed the stairs.
I watched him go, my heels clicking against the marble as I followed a few steps behind.
From upstairs, a sudden shout broke the hush.
“What the—?!”
I rushed toward the sound, only to see Hoseok standing frozen outside his old bedroom, brows furrowed. The door hung wide open, revealing a completely remodeled space. His bed was gone—replaced with a sleek studio desk, mounted screens, and rows of organized equipment.
“My room… my bed?” he said again, this time like it was a betrayal.
Her heart skipped. No…
I darted to my own room, hand gripping the knob, twisting fast.
“No way… No fucking way.”
Gone were my familiar linens, my skincare stacked neatly in the corner, the bookshelf with my dog-eared favorites. Instead, a large drafting table stood by the window, a scale model of the estate placed precisely next to a set of architectural prints. Easels lined one wall. Her room had become a private design studio.
“Ye-JOON!” I yelled, voice sharp.
Hoseok appeared at my shoulder, equally stunned. “What the hell is going on?”
From down the hall, footsteps approached quickly. Ye-joon peeked in with a tight smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Surprise?” he tried, grimacing.
“Explain,” Hoseok demanded.
Ye-joon cleared his throat. “The chairman… uh, he figured you two wouldn’t really transition into married life unless things were nudged a little. So he had your personal rooms converted into workspaces—more efficient, he said.”
“Nudged?” I snapped. “He evicted us from our own beds!”
“Now, now,” Ye-joon said, hands raised, “before you commit murder, let me show you something.”
He turned toward one of the tall wooden doors at the far end of the hallway—one neither of them had ever bothered to open. It had always just… been there. Decorative. Untouched.
With a click, he opened it.
Warm light spilled into the corridor.
The room was stunning.
A spacious, high-ceilinged master suite stretched before them, all modern luxury and understated elegance. Soft gray walls, floor-to-ceiling curtains, and golden accent lighting. A king-sized bed rested against a velvet paneled headboard, flanked by low wooden nightstands. A plush sitting area overlooked a private balcony. A walk-in closet branched off to the side, and the en suite bathroom gleamed like a five-star hotel.
“All your things have been moved here,” Ye-joon said, stepping aside like a tour guide. “Everything’s already sorted. Closets divided. Drawers labeled. I personally supervised. You’re welcome.”
“Ye-joon,” Hoseok said slowly, eyes narrowing, “did you know this was going to happen?”
Ye-joon coughed. “Define know.”
“Ye-joon,” I hissed, “you knew.”
“I had a feeling, okay?” he said, hands up again. “But it was above my paygrade. Technically.”
Eun-ah groaned. Hoseok dragged a hand down his face.
Ye-joon started backing out. “Well. Married life. Congrats. If you need anything, I’ll be… literally anywhere else.” He disappeared down the hall.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the two of us standing in a room neither asked for, but now had no choice but to share.
Hoseok didn’t stand his ground—not for long.
He yanked his phone from his pocket with a sharp exhale, barely sparing Eun-ah a glance as he turned his back and dialed. His voice dropped as the line connected, more formal than she’d ever heard him.
“Granp-Chairman,” he greeted, stiffly respectful.
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching his spine tense.
“With all due respect, this wasn’t part of the arrangement. We agreed on separate rooms,” Hoseok said, pacing slowly across the edge of the rug. “We already did what you asked. The wedding’s over. Can’t we just—”
He paused mid-step.
His jaw ticked.
“Yes, I understand how it looks,” he said tightly. “But you can’t expect—no, I am taking this seriously. That’s not the issue.”
Another pause. Long. Heavy. Suffocating.
Whatever his grandfather said, it seemed to suck the fight right out of him.
He didn’t speak right away after ending the call with his grandfather. Just stood there, head bowed slightly, like he was trying to swallow something bitter.
Then he exhaled sharply and dialed again.
“Ye-joon.”
A pause.
“My penthouse,” he said curtly, jaw tight. “Unavailable?”
His brows furrowed as he turned slowly toward the window, eyes narrowing on nothing in particular.
“Since when?”
Another silence. This one longer.
He let out a soft, disbelieving scoff. “Maintenance,” he repeated under his breath, like the word itself offended him. “For five months?”
He turned his head slightly, enough to shoot me a glance over his shoulder—short, unreadable.
“That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?” he muttered.
The line must have gone quiet again, because he gave a hollow laugh, no humor behind it.
“No, no—I get it. I get it. Just following orders, right?”
His grip tightened around the phone. “Thanks for letting me know now .”
Then he hung up without waiting for a response.
For a moment, he just stood there, completely still then, muttering a low curse, he tossed his phone onto the bed and sat beside it with a thud.
His voice was bitter, clipped. “Well. Seems like we don’t have a choice.” He looked up, expression sharp, unbothered by how close she was still standing. “Just don’t be in my way. Stay on your side, don’t touch anything, and we’ll be fine.”
I blinked at him, mouth twitching. “Yeah? Likewise.”
His eyes narrowed. Her tone matched his too perfectly.
For a moment, they just stared at each other across the plush room like a pair of reluctant chess pieces shoved onto the same board.
Every detail of the room screamed: This is your life now.
I stepped further in, letting the door shut behind me with a soft click.
“Great,” I muttered under her breath, dragging my suitcase from the corner. “Love being railroaded into domestic bliss.”
Hoseok didn’t reply. Just scrubbed his face with both hands and flopped back against the mattress, one arm flung over his eyes.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.
It was loaded.
***
The days bled into weeks, and it was as if we didn’t even exist to each other. He’d get home long after I’d already fallen asleep, and I’d wake to find he was gone again. It wasn’t surprising—he’d always been this busy.
On the rare mornings I did wake to him still in the house, I’d tread lightly, too afraid to make a sound. The last time I wasn’t careful, he snapped—came home at 7 a.m. and was just starting to sleep. I suppose that was reason enough for him to lash out.
Those days, his routine never changed. Wake up. Eat something. Hit the home gym. Then disappear into his studio for hours, door shut, world locked out.
Sometimes Jiwoo unnie would invite me to brunch just to get me out of the house. I’d come back to find he was gone again—no note, no message. Nothing.
We weren’t living together. We were coexisting. Two strangers under one roof, orbiting the same space but never crossing paths.
“Eun-ah, for god’s sake!” Hoseok’s voice echoed from downstairs, sharp and impatient. “It’s been an hour already—are you not done yet?”
“I’m coming!” I shouted, frazzled as I shoved toiletries into my bag and yanked the zipper closed. My heart pounded with anxiety. No one told me about the family outing until an hour ago, and now I was scrambling to keep up.
I slung the bag over my shoulder, clutching my phone in one hand as I bolted out the bedroom, steps hurried and uneven. “I’m sorry, I didn’t kno—”
The words cut off as my foot slipped on the top step.
Time slowed.
My heel twisted. My balance vanished. The carpeted steps rushed toward me, and dread sliced through my chest. I didn’t even have time to scream—just a split-second realization that I was about to slam face-first into something hard and possibly die.
But I didn’t.
A strong pair of arms caught me mid-fall. There was a sharp grunt and then a thud as both of us went down—hard.
We landed in a heap at the base of the stairs, my body sprawled across his. His back hit the floor first, and I collapsed on top of him with a sharp gasp, my face crashing into his chest.
The wind was knocked out of me.
My bag tumbled to the side. My phone slid across the floor.
“Shit—ow,” Hoseok groaned, voice tight with pain as he winced beneath me. “Damn it.”
I blinked, disoriented, my heart pounding wildly. My nose throbbed. My knees stung. My skirt had ridden up, and I could feel cool air against the tops of my thighs, mortifyingly exposed as I lay half on top of him.
“Ow…” I murmured, my voice small, barely holding back the sting of tears. I pressed my fingers to my nose and winced at the sharp, blooming ache.
“Hey.” Hoseok’s voice had changed—lower, softer. Still breathless from the impact. “Are you okay?”
My eyes flicked up to meet his.
There was a pause. A strange, suspended second where neither of us moved.
His hair, tousled and curling slightly at the ends, framed his sharp cheekbones. His eyes were wide now, no longer annoyed but alert—concerned. He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.
It startled me, how different he seemed without the wall of indifference.
Then I felt it. A warm, wet trickle sliding down from my nostril.
I stiffened.
His expression shifted again, this time with alarm. “Wait—shit. Your nose is bleeding.”
I sat up quickly, now fully aware of the blood staining my fingers. “Oh my god,” I breathed, the sting of tears no longer from pain but embarrassment. “Great. Just—great.”
I tried to pull away, but my knee accidentally brushed his thigh, and we both froze for a beat too long. I could feel his chest still rising beneath me, warm and solid, and I hated that part of me noticed.
“I didn’t mean to—” I started, but he was already shifting out from under me.
“Hold still,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. He reached into his back pocket for a handkerchief—who the hell still carries those?—and handed it over, careful not to look at me directly. His jaw was tight again. That flicker of softness already retreating behind cold detachment.
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking it. My fingers brushed his. Cool. Brief. Awkward.
He stood up, brushing off his pants, avoiding eye contact. “Try not to throw yourself down the stairs next time,” he said dryly, turning away before I could even muster a comeback.
I pressed the cloth to my nose, cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and frustration.
The silence stretched thick between us.
Not quite strangers. Not quite married.
Just a girl sitting in the mess of her pride, and a boy pretending he didn’t just catch her like it meant something.
Hoseok was the first to head out, walking briskly toward the black car waiting at the curb where Ye-joon stood, hands in his coat pockets, squinting against the morning light. I followed a few steps behind, still pressing Hoseok’s handkerchief to my nose.
“What took you both so lo—” Ye-joon started, but then he caught sight of me and his words trailed off. His eyes widened. “Wait. Are you okay? Your nose is—”
“Yeah,” I said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I fell down the stairs.”
“You fell down the what?” he nearly shouted, already moving toward me like he was about to do a full-body scan. “What the hell? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Oppa caught me before I hit the ground... well, most of me. My nose kind of hit his chest.”
I glanced sideways. Hoseok had already slid into the back seat, head tipped back against the rest, eyes closed like none of this concerned him.
“You hit... his chest?” Ye-joon blinked, then looked from me to Hoseok, clearly trying not to react. “So that’s how you’re bleeding?”
“I guess,” I murmured, rubbing my sore knees. The cold air made them ache more.
Hoseok let out a dry scoff from the back seat, eyes still closed. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered.
Ye-joon gave me another once-over before sighing. “Well... as long as you’re okay.” He opened the car door for me, then signaled the driver. “Everyone’s already at the airport. We’re the last ones.”
I slid in next to Hoseok without a word.
The car started moving.
“So… where are we going exactly?” I asked, glancing at myself in the car mirror. My nose was still red, but at least it had stopped bleeding.
Ye-joon gave me a look through the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised like I’d just insulted his entire career. “Don’t you check the calendar I send you?”
I winced. “I—I don’t,” I admitted, shrinking in my seat. “Why don’t you just text me like a normal person?”
He let out a sigh, long and judgmental. “That calendar is meticulously curated and synced across every device. I even add emoji for fun.”
Hoseok let out a dry scoff, eyes still closed. “So that explains why you were running around like a headless chicken earlier,” he muttered. “And why you brought that sad excuse of a bag.”
“What’s wrong with my bag?” I shot back, turning slightly to face him. “You said it was just a vacation. I figured three, four days max.”
Ye-joon shook his head, clearly disappointed in both of us. “You really need to start checking your calendar. And for your information—we’re going to the Maldives.”
“The Maldives?” I blinked. My mouth opened. “Wait—like the Maldives?”
He smirked. “That’s what I said.”
I groaned, dropping my head back against the seat. “Oh my god, I didn’t even pack anything summer related. I am so underprepared.”
Ye-joon chuckled. “Yeah, well. Maybe next time you’ll pay attention when I send you things.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Don’t worry—I’ll take you shopping when we land.”
From beside me, Hoseok muttered under his breath, “You’re just enabling her now.”
I ignored him, already mentally preparing myself for a wardrobe crisis in paradise.
We arrived at the airport, but instead of stopping at the main terminal for check-in like normal people, our car kept going—turning past the usual drop-off, around the side of the building, and straight toward the runway.
My eyes widened as the car rolled to a stop beside a sleek, waiting jet. There was no mistaking it—it stood alone, polished and regal under the morning sun.
Hoseok, looking unimpressed as ever, had already gotten out and was heading toward the stairs with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, like boarding a private jet was just another Tuesday.
I stared. “Wait… are we seriously flying on a private jet?”
Ye-joon glanced at me like I’d just asked if the sky was blue. “What do you mean are we ? Of course we are.”
My jaw dropped slightly.
He laughed at my expression. “Okay, to be fair—we don’t always fly private. But this time the whole family’s coming, and the chairman insisted we use his jet.” He gave me a playful wink. “Plus, flying commercial with a BTS member? Absolute nightmare. One photo and it’s chaos.”
I hesitated before stepping out of the car, eyes darting between the plane and Ye-joon. “But wait—what about customs? Visas? Don’t we have to check in or something?”
Ye-joon just grinned like I was being adorable. “Taken care of,” he said, patting his phone. “All cleared in advance. Perks of traveling under the chairman’s name. You’re basically royalty today.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
He smirked. “Try to act like you belong, yeah?”
Behind us, Hoseok was already disappearing up the stairs of the jet, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. I clutched my small bag tighter and followed, heart thudding a little faster—not from nerves about flying, but from stepping deeper into a world I wasn’t sure I’d ever really fit into.
I stepped into the jet—and stopped in my tracks.
This didn’t look like any plane I’d ever been on. It was more like a luxury lounge on wings—plush carpeting, velvet seats, soft lighting, and even a chandelier in the center. My eyes widened, taking in the impossible scale of it all. For a second, I forgot I was even supposed to move.
Hoseok had already melted into one of the deep leather seats beside Mr. and Mrs. Jung. I gave them a polite bow as I passed, trying not to gawk, and caught Mrs. Jung offering me a quick smile before turning her attention back to her son. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hoseok rubbing his temples, his brow deeply furrowed. Whatever conversation they were having looked… draining.
The chairman was lounging a few rows ahead, legs crossed, champagne flute in hand, wearing a loud palm-print shirt and matching shorts like he’d been flown in from a resort. His eyes were closed, expression unreadable.
“Eun-ah!” Jiwoo’s voice rang out with warm delight as she approached, pulling me into a quick hug. Her eyes scanned me, stopping at the heavy coat I was still clutching around myself. “Yah… what are you wearing?”
I laughed awkwardly, cheeks flushing. “Unnie… I didn’t get the memo.”
She glanced over my shoulder at Ye-joon, who had just boarded behind me.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, holding up both hands. “I sent her the full itinerary.”
“You’re her assistant,” Jiwoo said with a playful huff. “You could’ve reminded her.”
“I thought she was a grown adult who checks her calendar.”
“Well clearly she’s not,” Jiwoo smiled, grabbing my arm. “Come on, let’s get you dressed appropriately. You’re not going to the Arctic.”
Before I could argue, she pulled me deeper into the jet. I passed a full kitchenette, a lounge space, and then—an actual suite.
This wasn’t a plane. This was witchcraft.
Inside a small room lined with hanging clothes, Jiwoo hummed thoughtfully, running her fingers through the racks. “Hmm… ah! This one’s perfect.” She yanked out a soft pink floral sundress and held it up to me. “Try it on.”
She nudged me toward the in-suite bathroom, and I hesitated. “There’s… a bathroom? With a door?”
I really needed to research more about this lifestyle.
I shut the door behind me and stripped out of my travel clothes, the chill air grazing my skin. I slipped the dress on—it was tighter than I expected. Jiwoo was slimmer, and definitely shorter. The hem barely reached my mid-thigh, and it clung to my waist and chest more than I was used to. My eyes went wide when I saw the mirror.
It revealed just enough stomach to make me self-conscious. And the neckline—oh god.
“Uh… can we maybe try another?” I half-whispered through the door.
“What’s wrong?” Jiwoo’s voice was laced with concern. Before I could stop her, she opened the door. Her eyes landed on me—and she gasped.
“Oh my god,” she squealed, clapping her hands. “You look so cute!”
I froze as heads turned. Every single person on the jet had snapped their attention toward me like I’d just announced I was naked.
“You look lovely, dear,” Mrs. Jung called warmly from across the cabin.
“Right, eomma?” Jiwoo grinned. “Hobi! Look at your wife—she’s adorable!”
“Oh no, please don’t—” I tried to hide behind the door, but it was too late.
Hoseok turned lazily in his seat, already mid-eye-roll. He let out a long sigh, his expression flat… until his gaze landed on me.
There was a flicker of something—his eyes widened for just a second before he masked it again. He turned back to his parents, expression unreadable.
“She looks fine,” he said, voice low, indifferent.
“Yah,” Jiwoo huffed, slapping his arm. “Is that how you compliment your wife? Poor Eun-ah—sorry you have to deal with my grumpy, emotionally stunted brother.”
Mrs. Jung leaned over and tapped Hoseok’s shoulder. “Hobi-ah… be nice. Give her a proper compliment.”
He let out another sigh, this one heavier. “Fine. She looks cute, okay? Can everyone get off my back now?”
I knew it was forced. I knew he was probably just trying to shut everyone up.
But still, the word cute left his mouth—and something warm bloomed in my chest.
Even if he didn’t mean it, I smiled. Just a little.
The flight was excruciatingly long.
I’d never been on a flight this long before—and honestly, I was going a little stir-crazy. Hours blurred together. I was too restless to sleep for long, too uncomfortable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. At some point, I ended up scrolling through X, falling down a rabbit hole of ARMY edits.
It started with one. Then two. Then suddenly I was looking at a dozen posts, each one photoshopping my face out of the wedding pictures and inserting theirs in mine—posing with Hoseok like they were the ones who married him. Some of them were shockingly good. A few were hilariously bad. I snickered to myself more than once, biting my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
At least someone was having fun with all this.
I snuck in a few naps here and there, helped myself to snacks, and tried not to lose my mind. But by the time the plane began its descent, I was more than over it.
We landed 19 hours later in a different time zone—still somehow four hours behind Korea—and every part of me ached. My legs, my back, my neck. Even the roots of my hair felt sore from the pressure of staying upright for that long.
The attendants ushered us toward the exit with practiced precision. Three sleek black cars waited just off the tarmac. The chairman, already a step ahead of everyone, slipped into one and was gone before we even touched the ground.
Jiwoo and their parents were led into the second car.
The third—of course—was for me, Hoseok, and Ye-joon.
I climbed in first, the cold leather pressing against the backs of my thighs as my dress rode up. I tugged at it quickly, uncomfortable with how high it had crept. Just as I tried to discreetly adjust it, Hoseok slipped in beside me. Sunglasses on, head tilted back against the seat, he looked like he hadn’t slept a second.
He didn’t say anything.
But then, as if he noticed my discomfort, he took off his leather jacket and casually tossed it over my lap.
I blinked. “Thanks,” I murmured.
He didn’t respond, just stayed as he was—eyes closed, face relaxed, like the weight of the world had temporarily lifted. Or maybe he was just pretending to sleep to avoid conversation.
The car rolled forward, a smooth and quiet ride from the private terminal to the docks.
And of course, because nothing about this trip was normal, waiting for us wasn’t another car or a hotel lobby.
It was a yacht.
Of course it was.
The car doors opened, and the first thing I noticed were the cameras.
A small cluster of media personnel was already waiting—flashes poised, lenses aimed. Of course. Because even halfway across the world, this performance had to continue.
Before I could even react, Hoseok reached into the car and gently took my hand, pulling me out with practiced ease. With his other hand, he held the leather jacket up just enough to shield me while I adjusted my skirt, a quiet, subtle move that didn’t go unnoticed. He waited for me to get situated, then laced our hands again, offering a polite smile to the cameras as we stepped forward together.
His bow was graceful, professional. Mine was smaller, more hesitant, but I mirrored his expression—soft, reserved, polite. The perfect image of a newlywed couple.
It was all a show.
Still holding my hand, Hoseok helped me step aboard the yacht. Jiwoo was already there, lounging under a wide sunhat like she was born for this kind of life. The heat hit me instantly—thick and humid. I could feel sweat gathering at the base of my neck and slowly trickling down my back.
Without a word, Hoseok pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I blinked, then took it, patting myself dry with quiet gratitude.
“Thanks,” I murmured, but he was already turning away.
Jiwoo waved me over to the seat beside her, and I gratefully took it. Hoseok slid in on my other side, still holding my hand, his grip loose now but steady.
The yacht’s engine rumbled to life. As we pulled away from the dock and the media shrank into the distance, the pressure seemed to lift—just slightly. And right then, without a word or even a glance, Hoseok released my hand.
As if the very act of holding it had begun to offend him.
The ride over was surprisingly peaceful. All around us, the vast ocean stretched endlessly, broken only by the occasional glimpse of small, distant islands scattered across the horizon. The yacht swayed gently with the waves, just enough to lull the body into a relaxed rhythm.
Every now and then, the tour guide would gesture excitedly—pointing out schools of dolphins playfully arching through the water beside us. It felt almost surreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Magical, really. The kind of moment that would only fuel those ridiculous fairy tale headlines.
Hoseok, however, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.
While the rest of us took in the beauty, he remained hunched over his phone, barely glancing up. If he noticed the dolphins—or the soft breeze or the sparkling water—he didn’t show it. His silence wasn’t cold, just distant. Like he’d mastered the art of being physically present but emotionally elsewhere.
Eventually, the yacht slowed and pulled up to a dock that jutted out from a secluded stretch of beach. There, perched just beyond the sand, was a villa—sleek and modern but still warm in its design. It was big. Not quite the grandiose scale of the chairman’s main estate, but still impressive in every way. Wide glass windows faced the ocean, and tall palms swayed along the stone path leading up to it. Sunlight bounced off the whitewashed walls and terracotta roof, casting soft golden hues over everything.
This was the chairman’s vacation home.
Even his idea of “simple” felt like stepping into another world.
“Oh no,” I whispered to Ye-joon, leaning closer. “We forgot to buy clothes back at the main island.”
Before he could respond, Jiwoo unnie—of course—overheard.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said brightly, reaching for my hand. “I brought plenty. I’ll lend you some. Actually, I even brought an extra dress for the party, so you’re covered.” She winked.
“Party?” I blinked. “What party?”
Ye-joon let out a dramatic sigh and placed a hand over his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is exactly why I send you calendars.”
“She doesn’t check them,” Jiwoo said teasingly, and I sank a little lower in embarrassment.
Ye-joon continued, more amused than annoyed. “A bunch of the chairman’s colleagues are coming—with their families. It’s a social thing. We’re hosting.”
My stomach twisted. Great. More pretending. More smiling and nodding. More of this show.
We finally stepped into the villa, still hand in hand, and I let Jiwoo pull me down the wide hallway. Everything inside was minimalist but elegant—warm wood finishes, high ceilings, ocean air spilling in through sliding glass doors that opened to a private deck. It was luxury without even trying.
Eventually, we all retreated to our assigned rooms. The moment I stepped in, I collapsed face-first onto the bed with a groan, the exhaustion of the day settling deep in my bones. I didn’t even bother to fix the way my dress had ridden up—my legs sprawled carelessly over the edge of the mattress, the breeze from the open window cooling my skin.
That’s when the door creaked open.
“Can you at least sit like a lady?” Hoseok’s voice came from the doorway.
I jerked upright instinctively.
Without waiting for an answer, he tossed his leather jacket at my legs again. My face flushed with embarrassment—had he seen my underwear?
“Oh my god,” I mumbled under my breath.
He walked in casually and sank into the chair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, his sunglasses finally off, revealing tired eyes.
“You know how Ye-joon walks in and out like this place is his. Be mindful of people’s eyes.”
It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. Sharp. Indifferent. Like he was constantly on the verge of being annoyed.
“It doesn’t hurt to say things nicely, though,” I said quietly before I could stop myself.
He stilled. Then turned his head slowly toward me.
“Excuse me?” His tone was flat, but his posture had gone stiff, like he couldn’t believe I dared to talk back.
“You’re just always…” I swallowed. “So rude. You could say the same things without sounding like you hate me.”
Why was I saying this? Why now?
He stood, his movements deliberate, and walked toward me. I shrank back on the bed instinctively as he stopped right in front of me.
Then he leaned in—close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath, the sharp tension between us suddenly impossible to ignore.
“Would you be nice,” he said quietly, eyes boring into mine, “if your entire life got thrown away without your permission?”
The words hit harder than I expected. He didn’t yell. He didn’t raise his voice. But there was pain behind it—buried deep beneath the sarcasm and detachment. It caught me off guard.
“Well, it’s not just your life that got thrown away,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “I had a life too, you know.”
His expression didn’t change at first—just that same unreadable stare—but then, to my shock, he laughed. A dry, bitter kind of laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
He’s laughing? Now?
“You?” he said, leaning back in the chair like this was all some kind of joke. “What life did you lose?”
I felt my face heat up, my fists clenching at my sides.
“If anything,” he continued, waving a hand vaguely in my direction, “you gained from all this.”
I blinked. “Wow.” The word came out colder than I intended. “I didn’t think you were this arrogant.”
He raised a brow, mouth twitching like he was amused—but there was something darker behind his eyes. Something tired. Defensive.
“And I didn’t think you were this naïve.”
That shut me up for a second. The room felt heavier now. Thick with unspoken things.
“I didn’t ask for this marriage either,” I said quietly, voice shaking slightly with restraint. “I had plans. Dreams. Things I wanted to do. But all of it got buried under your last name.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just stared out the window, jaw tight.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered eventually, “some of us buried more than that.”
And just like that, we were at a standstill again—both of us wounded, both too proud to say what we really meant.
***
Dinner was painfully quiet. No one had the energy to speak, not even to pretend. Jet lag clung to all of us like a fog, making everything feel distant and dull. We just ate in silence, each of us trapped in our own haze of exhaustion.
Before disappearing into her room, Jiwoo reminded me to stop by hers tomorrow so she could lend me some clothes. I nodded numbly, offering a tired smile, then quietly slipped away to the room I was sharing with Hoseok.
I changed into pajamas quickly, not bothering to turn on the lights. My limbs were heavy, my body aching from the long travel, but my mind wouldn’t rest. I laid down on my side of the bed, thoughts looping endlessly.
So that’s what he thinks? That my life hasn’t been affected just because I don’t come from money? That I should be grateful to be here?
I felt heat rise in my chest — a slow, simmering anger that pulsed with every breath. My fists clenched beneath the blanket. I wanted to believe he didn’t mean it that way, but the words had echoed too clearly in my mind.
You gained.
Like none of this cost me anything. Like my life, my choices, my identity — were all worth trading for a name and a ring.
I sighed, the pillow muffling the sound.
Part of me wanted to scream. To march down the hallway and shake him by the shoulders. You’re not the only one whose life got hijacked, Hoseok. But what would be the point? He wouldn’t listen. Or worse — he’d laugh it off again.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled at my eyes, and I let myself drift — not asleep, but somewhere between.
It was the soft click of the door that brought me back.
I cracked one eye open, peeking at the clock on the nightstand. 3:07AM.
The smell of alcohol hit me first. Subtle but unmistakable. Hoseok stumbled in quietly, trying not to wake me, though his footsteps weren’t exactly stealthy. I didn’t move — didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a conversation, especially not like this.
He sat down on the edge of the bed with a tired sigh, then slowly lowered himself beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I felt the heat of his body behind me. His presence.
Then, quietly — almost to himself — he spoke.
“I didn’t mean it.”
My breath caught.
Was he… talking to me?
“I got carried away,” he continued, voice low and rough. “I know I’m always too grumpy but…” he trailed off, sighing again. “But imagine being 27… expected to run a company and still somehow keep up being in the biggest boyband in the world.”
He let out a short, broken laugh. One that didn’t sound amused at all.
“I didn’t choose this either. And now we dragged you into it. Into all this mess. Just because our families want some… stupid legacy.”
He shifted closer. I could feel his breath brush the back of my neck.
“It was absurd to me when I first heard it. When I first understood it. I thought they were joking.” Another pause. “But they weren’t. And now we’re here. Married. Living like strangers.”
He exhaled, softer this time.
“I’m sorry, Eun-ah. I’m sorry it’s you.”
That last line felt like a dagger — not for its cruelty, but for its strange, mournful honesty. Like he hated this for me. For us.
I didn’t dare move. Didn’t even blink.
Moments later, I felt him retreat, rolling to his side of the bed. A few minutes passed. Then his breathing deepened into sleep.
And I stayed there — eyes wide open in the dark — heart pounding, heat rising to my chest. Not from anger this time, but from something else. Something tangled and tender and aching.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
His words kept me awake.
Even long after he began snoring softly beside me, they echoed in my head—over and over, like a whisper I couldn’t shut out.
“I’m sorry, Eun-ah. I’m sorry it’s you.”
I stared at the blank wall, watching shadows shift as the moonlight slowly faded. The weight of what he said pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. It wasn’t an apology wrapped in warmth or affection—it was weary, resigned, hollow. And yet… it lingered.
I didn’t know what hurt more—the way he said it, or the fact that part of me understood it.
By the time the first streaks of dawn began peeking through the villa’s sheer curtains, my body was still tense, but my mind was slowing. Exhaustion settled into my bones like a heavy fog. It wasn’t rest, but I welcomed the blur.
I’ll think about it when I wake up.
Maybe the distance of sleep would help me make sense of everything. Maybe later he’d pretend like it never happened. Or maybe—just maybe—he’d look at me differently.
I wonder how he’ll act around me later.
With that last thought, I finally let my eyes close, letting the early sun blur into my dreams.
***
I was jostled awake by a light knock and Ye-joon’s familiar voice slipping through the door.
“Eun-ah? It’s almost noon.”
“What—noon?” I croaked, sitting up sluggishly, my limbs heavy with sleep. I rubbed my eyes and blinked against the sunlight bleeding in from the balcony window. “Why didn’t anyone wake me for breakfast?”
“You looked like you needed it,” he said, stepping inside with a neat stack of clothes in his arms. “I figured rest was better than dragging you into small talk with jet-lagged adults.”
He placed the clothes on the foot of the bed. “These are from Jiwoo. Everyone’s already downstairs waiting for you.”
Still groggy, I rolled to the other side of the bed out of habit—toward the cold, untouched pillow Hoseok had used last night. The faintest imprint of his head remained, but his warmth was long gone.
“He’s with the chairman,” Ye-joon offered casually, as if he already knew where my thoughts had gone.
I didn’t say anything, just nodded and dragged myself to the bathroom. The shower was a godsend, washing away most of the fatigue, but not the strange heaviness left behind from last night’s half-confession.
His voice still echoed in my head:
“I’m sorry, Eun-ah… I’m sorry it’s you.”
Like I was some tragic bystander caught in the crossfire of his inherited legacy.
By the time I pulled on the dress Jiwoo had sent up, I was back in my thoughts. The fabric clung to me in all the ways I was trying to ignore. Blue plaid, short, tight around my chest and waist—it made me feel like someone I didn’t recognize. A little too much skin, a little too much curve.
Was this how rich people vacationed? Looking like idols at a fashion shoot?
I sighed, adjusted the hem, and headed downstairs.
The sound of seagulls and gentle waves grew louder as I stepped outside onto the sun-drenched balcony. Laughter bubbled in the background—subtle, but real. Jiwoo was seated beside the chairman, dressed in an effortless white sundress and wide-brimmed hat, sipping something cool. Mr. and Mrs. Jung were further down by the beach, stretched out in the sun like they were born for it.
And Hoseok—
He stood a little apart from everyone else, shirtless in nothing but loose black shorts, the sharp lines of his back catching the light as he held his phone up, framing the beach. His expression unreadable, calm but detached, like nothing here truly interested him.
Still, he looked beautiful. Even I had to admit that.
“Ah, Eun-ah,” the chairman called out with a pleased smile. “You’ve finally come to.”
I bowed slightly, offering an apologetic smile as I approached. “Sorry, Chairman. I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”
He waved it off with an amused chuckle. “Rest is important. Especially in paradise.”
I took the empty seat beside Jiwoo. The ocean breeze lifted my hair, and I was suddenly very aware of the shortness of my dress.
Jiwoo glanced over, smirk tugging at her lips.
“You should wear my clothes more often,” she teased, nudging me lightly with her elbow.
I let out a breathy laugh. “Isn’t it a bit… short?”
She eyed me for a beat and then popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “No way. It suits you perfectly. You look so cute.”
I glanced toward the beach—Hoseok hadn’t looked this way, still preoccupied with his phone. I hesitated, then murmured, “Well, I think Hoseok hates it. He kind of… scolded me last night.”
Jiwoo’s brows lifted, interest piqued instantly. “He did?”
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “Said something about sitting like a lady. Threw his jacket at me. I think he saw… too much.”
She leaned in, voice softening. “If he really hated it,” she said, her tone edged with playful mischief, “then why does he keep stealing glances at you?”
I blinked. “What?”
She tilted her chin toward the beach. “He’s been looking over here since you arrived.”
I turned to glance at Hoseok—subtle, careful, trying not to be obvious. But he wasn’t looking at me. Just the waves.
“Unnie, no. If he is looking, it’s probably because he’s judging me again.”
Jiwoo chuckled, low and knowing. “Oh, Eun-ah. I know my brother. He might act like a cold, brooding robot, but at the end of the day… he’s still a man.”
Her words stayed with me longer than I wanted them to.
Because when I did sneak another glance, I caught him.
Just for a second—his eyes flicked up from his phone, scanning the group. And then, briefly, they landed on me.
And stayed.
Not long. But long enough.
Before I could even process it, he looked away again. As if nothing had happened. As if I’d imagined it.
But I hadn’t.
And my heart was already beating too fast to pretend otherwise.
The people who had been lounging on the beach had now all settled back up on the balcony for lunch. The table was full—grilled meats sizzling on platters, chatter soft and easy under the warm sun. Even Ye-joon, usually glued to his phone or scribbling in a planner, sat with Mr. and Mrs. Jung, laughing at something Mr. Jung said as if he were their second son.
I took the seat across from Jiwoo, who immediately shot me a knowing look. She nudged my shin under the table with her foot, then subtly tilted her chin toward Hoseok, seated beside me, his eyes fixed on his phone like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
When I didn’t respond, she did it again—harder this time.
“Unnie,” I whispered through clenched teeth, warning her.
She just giggled, unable to hide her amusement.
“Oh, will you two stop it?” Hoseok finally snapped, tossing his chopsticks down with a clatter. “I just want to eat in peace.”
“Grumpy old man,” Jiwoo muttered with a smirk, leaning back in her chair. “You weren’t rolling your eyes earlier when you kept ogling Eun-ah.”
“Unnie!” I gasped, heat flooding my cheeks.
“I wasn’t—why would I even look at that ?” Hoseok scoffed, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“Omo!” Mrs. Jung suddenly joined in, her voice lilting with excitement. “Is that true? A crush, maybe? When was the last time you had one?”
“I know, right?” Jiwoo grinned. “He keeps sneaking glances like a middle schooler. It’s adorable. Poor boy doesn’t know how to give a proper compliment.”
“Whatever,” Hoseok muttered, shoving a piece of steak into his mouth. “I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh, please,” Mr. Jung added with a laugh. “That’s the same face you made when—what was her name again?”
“Kimberly,” Mrs. Jung answered, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yes! That girl you liked so much. Remember, dear?”
The table went still. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Jiwoo was the first to break the silence, cool and sharp as always. “Oh, come on, eomma. That was ages ago. Puppy love at best—and besides, they’re just friends now. Right, Hobi?”
Hoseok’s expression had changed. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. His jaw clenched, and he gave a tight nod. “Yeah. Right.”
I looked at him then, trying to read the truth behind his words—but his face was unreadable. Just like always.
So they really remembered Kimberly like that… like someone Hoseok once had a real thing for. A crush. Was that why she was seated with Mr. and Mrs. Jung at the wedding like she was part of the family? Ye-joon had told me Hoseok turned her down years ago, so why did it still feel like there was more to the story?
I had so many questions swirling in my head—but I chose to keep my mouth shut. What good would it do now?
After lunch, Jiwoo and I retreated to her room to pick out swimsuits for the beach. She was already pulling out a handful from her drawer, tossing them casually across her bed.
“Pick whichever one you like,” she said, already digging through her tote for sunscreen. “I’m fine with any of them.”
I wasn’t. Every option laid out was a two-piece—some with more string than fabric. No one-pieces, no tankinis, not even a sarong in sight.
“Unnie…” I stared helplessly at the array of bikinis spread out like lingerie. “Can I just wear a shirt or something?”
“Nonsense!” Jiwoo chirped. “This is a private island, remember? No one’s going to see you except us. Plus…” She held up a sleek black set, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she handed it to me. “I think this one might push Hoseok into finally admitting he finds you attractive.”
“Oh… I—” I hesitated, feeling my ears burn. “I’m fine with how things are. It’s hard enough to create a connection when there isn’t really one to begin with… not like what he had with Kimberly.”
Jiwoo’s smile faltered for a split second. Then she shoved me gently toward the bathroom.
“Don’t say that name again,” she said, her tone turning firm. “That was just puppy love. It doesn’t mean anything now.”
With a final push, she closed the bathroom door behind me and called through it, “And don’t even think about coming out until you’re in that black one!”
I looked down at the swimsuit in my hands. My heart beat a little too fast.
I stared at the black bikini in my hands like it had personally offended me.
It was simple in design—sleek and minimal—but something about it felt…dangerous. The top had thin straps and a slight plunge that pushed my chest up higher than I was used to, while the bottoms curved high along my hips, exposing more skin than I’d ever dared to show before. I slipped it on slowly, adjusting the straps and tugging the fabric here and there in hopes it might somehow feel less revealing.
It didn’t.
I turned to the mirror and froze. The dark color contrasted starkly against my skin, accentuating every dip and curve. My waist looked smaller, my legs longer, and my chest—God. No wonder Jiwoo picked this one.
I ran my fingers over my arms, hugging myself lightly. It didn’t feel like me… and yet, somehow, it looked good. Not in a flashy, attention-seeking way. Just… confident. Soft but striking. A version of me I’d never really let anyone see.
My cheeks were warm just thinking about Hoseok seeing me in this.
Would he glance? Would he say nothing again but then act strange like he always does? Would he even care?
A knock on the bathroom door broke the spiral of thoughts.
“Eun-ah?” Jiwoo’s voice was playful, impatient. “You better not be chickening out in there.”
I swallowed hard, adjusted the straps one last time, and grabbed the light cotton robe hanging on the back of the door.
“Coming,” I said quietly, voice unsure.
With one last glance at the mirror, I stepped out—every nerve in my body suddenly wide awake.
When I finally opened the bathroom door, I stepped out slowly, tugging the hem of the robe tighter around my waist as if it could somehow protect me from the sheer exposure I felt.
Jiwoo was already changed, lounging casually on the edge of her bed in a vibrant coral bikini that looked straight out of a summer magazine. Her long hair was piled into a loose bun, sunglasses perched on her head. She glanced up lazily at first—then did a double take.
Her eyes widened, and she gasped dramatically, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
“Oh my God, Eun-ah,” she giggled, hopping to her feet and circling me like a cat sizing up a prize. “It’s perfect. No—you’re perfect.”
“Unnie, stop…” I mumbled, cheeks already heating up as I pulled the robe tighter.
“No way,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I knew the black one would suit you. It hugs you just right. Ugh, your waist is so tiny. And your legs? Girl, you look like you walked off a runway. And those..” she eyed my chest “i wish I had those..”
I let out a small, embarrassed laugh, trying not to shrink under her praise. “It’s a bit much, no?”
“It’s just enough,” Jiwoo said, brushing off my hesitation with a wave of her hand. “Trust me, if Hoseok doesn’t say anything today, I might just push him into the ocean.”
“Please don’t,” I groaned, half-laughing, half-terrified.
She grabbed her sheer cover-up and tossed me one too—an airy, white chiffon piece that offered little in terms of coverage but somehow made me feel less bare. Jiwoo winked as she pulled hers over her shoulders. “Come on, Mrs. Jung. Let’s go make some men forget how to breathe.”
I rolled my eyes, heart pounding already as we headed for the beach.
We stepped onto the path leading to the beach, the sun warming our skin as the ocean breeze danced around our legs. Jiwoo walked ahead with a kind of effortless confidence, her cover-up billowing behind her. I, on the other hand, clung to mine like it was armor, even though I could already feel the fine grains of sand slipping into my sandals.
The scene at the beachfront was casual—Mr. and Mrs. Jung were lounging under a large parasol, drinks in hand. Ye-joon and Hoseok were knee-deep in the water, tossing a ball between them like carefree kids. The moment we rounded the bend, Jiwoo gave a little wave, drawing attention.
Ye-joon turned first—and froze.
The ball slipped right through his fingers, landing with a quiet splash in the shallows. His jaw slackened, eyes darting from Jiwoo to me. “Dang,” he said almost in audible to me, nudging Hoseok, “someone’s here for the kill.”
Hoseok, who had his back turned toward the house, didn’t seem to understand the sudden shift in atmosphere. He glanced at Ye-joon briefly, squinting at his expression, before turning around—slowly.
His gaze landed on Jiwoo first, but it only lingered for a second before flicking to me.
He stilled.
I felt the blood rise to my ears, wishing I could disappear into the sand. His sunglasses made it impossible to read his eyes, but his mouth parted slightly, as if he’d been caught off guard mid-breath.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Jung chimed in from under the parasol, leaning forward behind her shades. “Eun-ah, you look absolutely lovely.”
Jiwoo bowed dramatically, hands behind her back, grinning ear to ear. “Thank you, omonim! I styled her myself. She was hesitant, but look at her now.”
I muttered a soft “thank you” and gave a small bow, heart thudding as I glanced toward Hoseok again. He was still watching. Still unmoving.
Then he —snapped out of it. He bent down, scooping up the ball Ye-joon had dropped, and turned abruptly, tossing it back harder than necessary.
“Let’s go, the water’s great,” Ye-joon called, trying to ease the sudden tension, but I noticed the way he was smiling behind his words, amused at hoseok’s delayed reaction.
I looked at Jiwoo. She winked at me like she’d just set a plan in motion.
Jiwoo didn’t even hesitate. With one quick motion, she pulled off her sheer top, flinging it aside as she broke into a run toward the water, her laugh echoing through the salty breeze.
“Unnie! Wait!” I called out, realizing in horror, “I haven’t put on sunblock yet!”
But she was already gone—sprinting across the sand like a runway model on a mission, hair catching the light, the ocean beckoning her like some sort of dramatic K-drama climax. Typical.
I stood there, still clutching the hem of my cover-up like it was some sacred robe. But then… Ye-joon’s stunned face flashed in my mind. The way Hoseok looked at me. Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a bad decision after all.
I took a breath.
Screw it.
I tugged the cover-up over my head and took off after her. The sand was hot under my feet, but I didn’t care—wind rushing past me, hair whipping behind me, my things bouncing in a way that made me seriously consider suing gravity, and kudos to this bikini for holding on tho.
Ah… men will be men. That’s all I could think as I caught Jiwoo’s shocked expression turning over her shoulder, delighted that I was actually following her in full stride.
I could practically hear Ye-joon choking on his laughter and Hoseok letting out an audible scoff—probably pretending not to watch, while very much watching.
The water sparkled ahead, the sun glaring down, and I felt strangely alive.
The four of us stayed in the water longer than expected. Jiwoo kept splashing Ye-joon like a five-year-old, and he retaliated by picking her up and tossing her into a small wave, which only fueled the chaos. Hoseok pretended not to join in at first, but eventually gave in—pulling Jiwoo back by the ankle and dragging her underwater, then ducking away when she screeched like a banshee.
I couldn’t stop laughing. There was something infectious about their energy, and for a while, I let myself forget the pressure, the awkward silences, even the strange family politics. We were just people at the beach. Laughing. Soaking wet. Free.
Hoseok didn’t say much to me—but every time our shoulders bumped or he helped steady me against a strong wave, my stomach twisted. His touches weren’t lingering, but they weren’t cold either. And when he pulled Ye-joon down with a mischievous smirk, catching me in the splash zone, his eyes flicked toward mine just long enough to leave me breathless.
By the time we finally dragged ourselves out of the water, the sun had shifted low, warm light spilling over the beach in golden tones. I felt the faint sting on my cheeks and shoulders—sun-kissed, just slightly. I should’ve applied that sunscreen after all.
But Jiwoo was already grinning at me as we reached the towels laid out near the lounge chairs. “You look like a walking postcard,” she said, flopping down beside me. “That tiny flush? Ugh, I’d kill for that glow.”
I glanced down. My skin was just a shade deeper, flushed pink in places, glistening with leftover seawater. The black bikini hugged my figure snugly, and strands of my damp hair stuck to my shoulders in a way that—annoyingly—did look kind of cinematic.
Hoseok walked past, towel around his neck, still drying his hair. His eyes skimmed me once, quick and unreadable.
But not uninterested.
He didn’t say a word. Just kept walking.
Still, I noticed the way Jiwoo glanced at me, then at him, biting back a grin. “Mmhm,” she hummed under her breath, lying back with a satisfied sigh. “Today was a good day.”
And somehow… I had to agree.
***
By the time we started packing up, the beach had begun to shift—no longer a quiet escape, but the backdrop of something extravagant. More people had arrived, some in headsets and matching polos, hauling props and setting up towering lights and elegant white tables along the sand.
“We better move,” Jiwoo muttered, stuffing her towel into her bag. “It’s gonna get wild here soon.”
“Unnie, is the party happening right here on the beach?” I asked, eyes wide as I watched the transformation unfold.
She nodded with a smirk, already heading toward the house. “Yup. Theme is White Sands & Gold Nights . Everyone’s wearing white, with gold accents. Don’t worry—I’ve already picked something for you.”
My stomach dropped. If it was another one of her barely-there dresses, I was doomed. But I couldn’t exactly show up in a hoodie and leggings either—not in a party hosted by a chaebol family. I sighed and headed to our room to shower, sand clinging to my skin and salt crusting my hair.
I pushed open the bedroom door and stepped in—and stopped cold.
Hoseok was already there.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, fresh from his own shower, a white robe casually knotted around his waist, damp hair still tousled from the towel. His skin had that warm post-shower glow, and he looked unfairly serene, flipping through a magazine like it was just another afternoon.
He didn’t glance up. Didn’t say a word.
For a second, I stood frozen in the doorway in nothing but my bikini, my cheeks flushing from more than just the sun. The sound of the ocean outside faded behind the low hum of the room’s air conditioning and my suddenly racing pulse.
He was silent. So was I.
And in that stillness, something unspoken lingered in the air—awkward, tense, and impossible to ignore.
I swallowed hard and stepped inside, forcing my legs to move like nothing was out of the ordinary. Just me. In a bikini. In front of my husband. Who happened to be lounging on the bed like a magazine model. No big deal, right?
I grabbed my towel from the hook and made a beeline for the bathroom, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against my back.
But as I pushed the door shut behind me, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Like someone was watching.
The rational part of my brain told me it was just nerves—that I was overthinking it. That Hoseok hadn’t even looked up.
But my skin prickled anyway, hyper-aware of every inch he might have seen. The curve of my waist. The way my bikini top clung to me after the ocean. The bounce in my step I hadn’t meant to show.
God.
I turned the shower on quickly and stepped under the stream, hoping the heat would wash away the goosebumps and the thoughts alike. But they clung harder than the sand.
Was he really not looking?
Or had he looked too much?
The water wasn’t helping. If anything, it made everything worse—the way it slid down my body, the way the heat contrasted with the coolness in the pit of my stomach. My heart was racing, and I didn’t even know why. Or maybe I did.
I pressed my palm to the wall and exhaled slowly, trying to clear my head. This wasn’t anything. It didn’t mean anything.
So why did it feel like everything?
Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Chapter Text
After the shower, I took a deep breath and carefully wrapped myself in my robe, fingers lingering at the tie just a second too long. I cracked open the bathroom door and stepped out quietly, hoping to slip past unnoticed.
But there he was.
Hoseok sat near the vanity, mid-styling session, his damp hair pushed back as a stylist worked around him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only white trousers that clung perfectly to his hips. His skin was bronzed from the sun, his shoulders slightly pink from what looked like the beginnings of a sunburn. The faint sheen on his chest made the definition of his torso stand out even more—and I hated how sharply I noticed.
I had seen him like this earlier at the beach, sure. But here, under soft golden light, in a quiet room with no noise to distract me—it was worse. Or better. I didn’t know.
God, he was toned. My gaze lingered a second too long before I forced myself to look away, feeling a warmth crawl up my neck.
Snap out of it, Eun-ah.
I slipped past without saying a word and walked straight out, trying to keep my breathing even until I reached Jiwoo’s room.
The moment I closed the door behind me, I collapsed dramatically against it, sliding down to the floor with a groan and burying my face in my hands.
“Eun-ah?” Jiwoo blinked, one eye open as her stylist touched up her eyeshadow. She turned in her chair slightly to face me. “What happened?”
I let out a long sigh, voice muffled against my palms. “I don’t know.”
But I did. My face was burning—cheeks hot and undoubtedly pink.
Why am I thinking of him like this? This way?
Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
It wasn’t like this before. Hoseok has always looked good. That was nothing new. But now? Something was different. Sharper. Unavoidable. Like I was seeing him not just as my husband in name, but as… a man. And not just any man.
My heart thudded against my ribs and I dropped my hands from my face, staring blankly ahead.
This isn’t good.
And the worst part? I wasn’t sure I wanted it to stop.
Jiwoo caught on immediately, eyes lighting up with that familiar glint of mischief that meant trouble—in the best way.
She smirked, her voice teasing but knowing. "Aren't we supposed to let him fall, not the other way around?"
"Unnie…" was all I could manage, weak and too full of heat.
That was enough. She already knew.
"Don’t worry," she said, waving one perfectly manicured hand like it was no big deal. "We’ll work our magic."
And just like that, she clapped her hands, commanding half of her glam team with the confidence of a director calling out the opening scene of a blockbuster.
"She needs to look like she just woke up like this—effortless, natural, soft." Her eyes scanned me with purpose. "No heavy contour. Think flushed, sun-kissed skin, peachy tones. Highlight her collarbones and shoulders. And hair—waves, but messy. Like she’s been out on the beach all day."
I sat down as they began working around me, fingers weaving through my hair, brushes grazing my cheeks. Jiwoo walked over to the clothing rack and pulled out the dress she’d been saving.
"This," she announced proudly, holding it up against the light.
It was… stunning.
Bohemian in spirit, but whispering luxury in every detail. The dress was a soft, creamy white, embroidered with delicate lace that caught the light in a subtle shimmer. It was cut in an empire waist that draped just above my ribs, giving way to a flowing skirt that ended mid-thigh. The fabric was light as air—dangerously light. The kind that would absolutely dance at the mercy of the wind, which I had no doubt was part of Jiwoo’s evil genius.
The neckline plunged in a deep V, framing the chest in a way that wasn’t vulgar—but definitely noticeable. The back was completely open, the thin, crisscrossing straps barely holding it all together, baring my sun-kissed skin from nape to waist.
“You’re joking,” I said, staring at it.
“Oh, I never joke about fashion,” Jiwoo grinned, draping it across my arms. “Trust me. You’re going to look like trouble.”
Trouble .
I wasn’t sure if she meant the kind I’d cause… or the kind I’d be in.
Either way, I didn’t stop her.
A gentle knock came at Jiwoo’s door just as the stylist behind me adjusted the last wave of my hair, letting it fall over one shoulder in loose, cascading curls.
“Coming~” Jiwoo sing-songed with a grin already curling on her lips, like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
When the door opened, Hoseok stood there.
And everything in the room seemed to shift.
He was stunning in a fitted white shirt, the collar and cuffs lined with the faintest shimmer of gold thread—subtle, refined, expensive. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone, and his sleeves were rolled just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. His skin, still warm from the sun, glowed a rich bronze beneath the white, and his hair—damp and tousled from the shower—fell artfully into his eyes like he’d just stepped out of a magazine shoot without trying.
His gaze landed on me—and everything stopped.
His expression didn’t change instantly, but I saw it: the way his brows lifted ever so slightly, the flicker in his eyes, the almost imperceptible inhale. His lips parted just a little, then closed again like he was fighting off a thought.
My heart stuttered.
I stood near Jiwoo’s mirror, the soft lace of the white dress clinging gently to my body. The empire cut cinched right below my chest, flowing down into sheer layers that danced even with the air conditioning. The deep neckline dipped delicately between my collarbones, and the open back revealed more than I was used to—yet somehow, in this moment, I didn’t feel self-conscious. Just... aware.
Of myself.
Of him.
He blinked, then scoffed—not convincingly.
“Why do you keep putting her in these dresses?” Hoseok muttered to Jiwoo, his voice low, like he meant to scold but came off more unsettled than annoyed.
Jiwoo arched a brow and turned, arms crossed with smug amusement painted all over her face. “Can’t help it if she’s naturally taller than me,” she said coolly, then leaned in with a grin. “Why? Do you hate it?”
That made him pause.
Just for a moment—but it was enough. His eyes dropped before he could stop them, dragging over the curve of my legs, the lace skimming my thighs, the dip of my neckline.
And then his face tightened as if catching himself.
“Whatever,” he said, voice clipped, already turning away. “Let’s go. People will start talking if I show up alone. I won’t hear the end of it.”
The door didn’t slam, but it closed with a finality that made my breath catch.
Jiwoo was practically vibrating with glee as she turned to me, hands on her hips. “That,” she whispered, satisfied, “was a man barely holding it together.”
I stared at the floor for a second, my cheeks blazing, my chest too tight.
“Unnie…” was all I could manage, but Jiwoo had already seen everything.
She walked over, straightened the hem of my dress, and winked.
“Don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”
And as she guided me to the door, I took one last breath, steadying myself—aware of the weight of his stare still lingering in my skin like sunlight that refused to fade.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting everything in a golden hue that shimmered off the white sand. Lanterns shaped like sea shells lined the path to the beach, flickering to life one by one as dusk bled into the sky. The low hum of music drifted over the breeze, mingling with the sound of waves lapping gently at the shore.
The party was already in full swing—men in crisp white linen shirts and women in flowing dresses of ivory and pearl, golden accents catching the light like fireflies. Servers glided between the guests with trays of champagne and glittering canapés, laughter rising in elegant bubbles.
And then we arrived.
Hoseok walked a step ahead of me, his stride confident, casual—but his jaw was set, eyes focused straight ahead like he felt every pair of eyes already turning in our direction.
He didn’t offer his hand, but he waited—just at the curve of the path—until I caught up. And when I did, he glanced down.
Just once.
And the corners of his mouth twitched.
I don’t know if it was approval. Or awe. Or maybe even regret.
The sea breeze lifted the hem of my lace dress just slightly, teasing the sheer fabric around my legs as if nature itself wanted to show me off. The deep neckline and backless design kissed my skin with every step, the soft lace fluttering like wings. I walked slowly, barefoot, my gold anklet catching the light, the wind toying with the loose strands of my curled hair.
Conversations paused.
Chairs turned.
Someone—Jiwoo, no doubt—let out a low whistle from somewhere behind.
Mrs. Jung clasped her hands in delight. “Oh my. Eun-ah… you look like something out of a summer dream.”
Jiwoo appeared with perfect timing, sliding beside us with a proud smirk. She gave me a once-over and hummed dramatically.
“That’s not a dress,” she declared to no one in particular, “that’s a declaration.”
Then, leaning toward Hoseok with a conspiratorial grin, she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “You’re gonna need to keep your jaw off the floor tonight.”
Hoseok blinked, scoffed lightly, and turned away as if unbothered—but his ears had gone unmistakably pink.
“You really love causing trouble, don’t you?”
“Only the fun kind,” Jiwoo smirked, nudging him before disappearing into the crowd.
The music swelled.
The lights glowed brighter.
And for a fleeting moment, it felt like every eye at the party was on me.
But I didn’t look away. I didn’t shrink. I stood a little taller beside Hoseok, let the breeze lift my skirt again, and gave the night a small, knowing smile.
Let them look.
Not even an hour in, I was already ready to get away. I walked towards the shore, excusing myself, the sea breeze swept past, lifting strands of my hair and brushing the hem of my lace dress against my thighs like a teasing whisper. The champagne in my hand was dangerously easy to sip, even though I was already feeling the fog swirl around the edges of my mind. My cheeks ached from smiling. My feet ached from standing. I wasn’t made for this world of flashbulbs and flirtations masked as polite banter.
I stared out at the waves, letting the wind cool my flushed skin. The water lapped just inches from my toes, never quite reaching. Always just shy. Like most things in my life lately.
“Excuse me,” a voice called softly from behind.
I turned.
He looked about Hoseok’s age, maybe even closer to Ye-joon’s—young, tall, effortlessly handsome in a crisp linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that could model for luxury watches. His shoulder-length wolf-cut hair was a little tousled, and he had this gentle, almost serene expression, like someone who didn’t need to try hard to make others feel at ease.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
I blinked, startled, but nodded, scooting over instinctively. “Not at all.”
He settled down beside me, a respectable distance away, but not too far. The kind of closeness that suggested familiarity, or at least comfort in his own skin.
“You’re Hoseok hyung’s wife, right?” he asked, glancing sideways with a soft smile. “What are you doing here all alone?”
That “hyung” told me everything—he was younger.
I chuckled lightly, swirling the remaining champagne in my glass. “Just recharging. Too many people, too much socializing. I’m not great with crowds.”
He nodded as if he understood completely. “Same here. I’m Kyu, by the way. And of course… Eun-ah, right?”
He offered his hand. I took it, a brief, polite shake.
It still caught me off guard—how easily everyone knew me now, like I was just another headline they’d all been forced to memorize.
“Yes,” I said softly, “nice to meet you.”
He smiled again, warm and open. “So… how do you know the family?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation casual—hoping it would remain that way.
“Cousin,” he replied. “Our grandfathers were siblings. I’m mostly based in New York, though. I only visit during these big events.”
The waves had started reaching closer, soft foamy swells brushing past our ankles. I instinctively lifted my dress, laughing as I scooted back slightly. Kyu chuckled beside me, standing up with ease and offering his hand to help me.
“Careful,” he smiled, steadying me as I took it. “It’ll sneak up on you.”
I nodded, laughing under my breath. “I’m starting to think the sea’s conspiring with the champagne.”
He laughed at that. “Want to walk for a bit? You might feel less dizzy.”
We wandered along the edge of the shore, the hem of my dress fluttering with each salty gust. Our footsteps left soft imprints in the wet sand as we talked—nothing deep, just light stories about growing up, funny relatives, and shared jokes about these kinds of parties being more exhausting than fun.
“So, how are you adjusting?” Kyu asked, glancing at me kindly. “This life can’t be easy.”
I shrugged, managing a faint smile. “It’s... a lot. I still feel like a guest most of the time.”
“You’re doing better than most would,” he replied earnestly. His voice was full of heart and sympathy. Someone that I feel really understood.
But just as I was about to respond, I caught the unmistakable silhouette of Hoseok standing farther down the beach, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on us. Jiwoo was next to him, trying to distract him, but it was clear—he wasn’t listening.
He started walking.
“Kyu!” he called, his voice clipped.
Kyu turned with a grin. “Hyungnim!”
But Hoseok didn’t smile back. He came up beside us, giving Kyu a once-over.
“So this is where you wandered off to,” Hoseok said, his voice deceptively light—but the strain behind it was unmistakable. His gaze flicked past Kyu, landing squarely on me, and it held for a beat too long.
Kyu glanced sideways at him, then let out a soft chuckle, unbothered. “Just keeping your wife company, hyung,” he said easily. “Didn’t realize that was off-limits.”
Hoseok’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not. Unless someone starts acting like they’ve forgotten who she came here with.”
Kyu raised a brow. “And here I thought we were just talking. Didn’t think a simple chat would rattle you so much.”
Hoseok took a step closer, jaw ticking. “You sure it’s just talking? The way you were standing, looked like you were getting a little too familiar.”
Kyu’s smile thinned. “Or maybe you’re just not used to seeing her smile with someone else.”
That landed.
I felt the tension tighten between them like a pulled thread, one word away from snapping.
“Hobi,” Jiwoo’s voice rang out as she finally caught up, tone edged with warning. Her eyes darted between the two men. “Stop it—you’re causing a scene.”
For a second, I thought Hoseok might ignore her. His eyes stayed locked on Kyu, unreadable. But then he exhaled, a quiet, sharp breath through his nose, and turned to me.
“Come on,” he said lowly, not giving me a chance to protest before reaching for my hand and firmly guiding me away.
Jiwoo, already in damage control mode, turned to the curious onlookers. “Ah—Eun-ah just felt a little lightheaded from the champagne. I think she needs a moment to rest.”
There were murmurs of sympathy, a few nods, and attention shifted quickly to the next tray of hors d'oeuvres being passed around.
Back in the villa, Hoseok didn’t let go until we stepped into our room and the door clicked shut behind us. His grip on my wrist was tight—too tight.
“Ow—you’re hurting me. Stop!” I snapped, trying to pull away, but he didn’t budge.
His jaw was clenched. “Are you playing some kind of game?”
“What? What are you talking about?” I demanded, stumbling back as he moved closer. “We were just talking!”
I kept retreating until my back hit the wall.
But Hoseok didn’t stop.
He followed.
His arm shot up, palm pressed flat beside my head, caging me in. His eyes locked onto mine, burning with something I couldn’t quite name—anger, yes, but not just that.
“Talking,” he muttered, voice low and sharp. “Right.”
The air between us shifted. Charged.
His chest was rising and falling hard, the open collar of his shirt brushing against my arm. His was warm from the alcohol, the faintest hint of a tan line visible above his collarbone. I tried not to look, but he was so close now, I couldn’t look anywhere else.
I felt my breath catch. Why was he this mad?
We were just chatting.
But the tension rolling off him wasn’t just jealousy—it was heat. Raw and uncontrolled. And the way he was staring at me now—it wasn’t just angry. It was... hungry.
I pressed my back harder to the wall, suddenly unsure of what I was trying to escape—his temper or the fire it was lighting in me.
“Why are you so upset?” I asked, quieter this time.
He didn’t answer. His eyes dropped—slowly—to my mouth. Then lower.
And just like that, I felt the air suck out of the room.
I wasn’t stupid. I saw the way his jaw flexed, how his fingers curled like he was restraining himself. My pulse throbbed in my neck. I should say something, break this—whatever this was—but my lips stayed parted and useless.
Because I was confused.
Because something in me… liked it.
“You’re being—” I started, but my voice faltered as his other hand grazed the wall beside my waist, not quite touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat of it.
He leaned in, voice low and ragged near my ear.
“Do you have any idea what you look like in that dress?”
My breath hitched.
There it was—the slip.
The thing he hadn’t wanted to say.
And now, I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth either.
I didn’t know if I wanted to scream at him or—
God help me.
Kiss him.
The air between us was thick—too thick.
I could feel the electricity humming as Hoseok’s eyes bore into mine, his chest rising and falling as if he were holding back something feral. I should’ve stepped away, should’ve said something—anything—to break the tension. But I didn’t. And he didn’t either.
Instead, he stepped forward, his hands suddenly gripping my waist.
Before I could blink, he pulled me down with him, the bed dipping beneath our weight as I landed—straddling him.
My breath caught. My hands instinctively braced against his shoulders, firm and warm beneath my fingers. I could feel him under me, solid and unyielding, and for a second, I forgot how to think.
“You don’t understand how you look in that,” he muttered again, voice low and husky, like it was dragged from somewhere deep in his chest, the same confession. His eyes raked over me slowly, pausing where the lace dipped and the hem floated just a little too high. “You walk around like that and expect me not to—”
He didn’t finish. Couldn’t.
Because I was already leaning in, not to kiss him—but to cup his face, palms cradling both his cheeks, anchoring myself to him as my forehead nearly touched his.
“Not to what?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, fragile in the quiet between us. I wasn’t teasing—I was genuinely asking, confused by the way his touch burned into my skin and why it mattered so much what he thought.
His hands had found their way to my thighs, his thumbs tracing upward, slow and maddening. The lace of my dress did nothing to shield the sensation.
He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking down to my lips. “Cause trouble,” he said, almost like a confession.
And I might have leaned closer—might have done something reckless—if it weren’t for the knock.
Click.
“Eun-ah?” Jiwoo’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, followed by the twist of the doorknob. “I brought—oh my god!”
Startled, I jerked back, and gravity took care of the rest.
THUMP.
“OW!” I yelped as I hit the floor, limbs tangled in lace and embarrassment, my hair falling across my face like a curtain of shame.
Jiwoo gasped. “Why are you on the floor?!”
“I tripped!” I blurted, too fast, as I scrambled to gather myself and what little dignity I had left.
Behind me, Hoseok had already straightened up, cool as ever, like nothing had happened. “She’s just drunk,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Can’t even stand straight.”
But when our eyes met again, I saw it—he was rattled too.
He just wore it better.
The atmosphere at the villa shifted after that night.
Where once there was forced civility, now there was… hesitation. Awkward silence. Every move felt too loud. Every shared glance felt like a mistake we weren’t sure how to name.
Hoseok had started sleeping in the guest room.
He said it was because he needed better rest—but the look in his eyes the morning after said otherwise. He barely spoke to me, and when he did, it was clipped, cautious. The kind of careful that made it obvious something had changed between us.
And it wasn’t just him.
I found myself avoiding sitting too close. My face warmed every time he walked into a room. I couldn’t explain it—how the smallest things, like brushing hands over breakfast condiments, suddenly made my heart trip over itself.
Jiwoo noticed instantly.
She pulled me aside by the balcony, eyes sharp and arms crossed, like she’d been waiting for the right moment to pounce.
“Okay, what happened?” she asked, voice low but insistent.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You and Hoseok. You’ve been acting weird since the party. And not your usual awkward weird—this is some ‘I almost kissed my husband and now I can’t make eye contact’ weird.”
I exhaled slowly, hands gripping the balcony rail. “…Something almost happened.”
Jiwoo’s eyes widened. “Wait— almost ?”
I nodded, cheeks warm. “You kind of walked in… right before.”
She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “ I interrupted?”
“You didn’t know,” I muttered, covering my face with a groan. “It’s fine. It’s not like we even kissed. We were just… close. I don’t even know what it was.”
Jiwoo leaned in. “But you know it was something.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know what I feel. I mean… I never really looked at him like that. Not seriously. But now I catch myself thinking about it. About him. About that moment.”
She watched me quietly.
“I’m not saying I’ve fallen or anything,” I added quickly. “It’s just… something’s starting. I think.”
Jiwoo softened. “You’ve never felt this way before, have you?”
I shook my head.
“It’s not love, unnie,” I said honestly, looking down at my hands. “But it’s something. I just don’t know what to do with it yet.”
Jiwoo gave a small smile, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine. “You don’t have to do anything yet. But maybe… just stop running from it.”
***
After the Maldives, life in Seoul settled back into its usual rhythm—at least on the surface.
We never talked about what happened. Not the villa. Not the party. Not the moment that never went further. It was as if we silently agreed to pretend none of it ever existed.
We still shared the same room. I still fell asleep to the soft rustle of him coming in late, or sometimes not at all. Most mornings, I woke up to an empty bed, the other side already cold.
Some days, when he was home, he’d move past me like I was a ghost. Other days, his fingers would graze mine when he handed me a teacup, lingering just a second too long. It was maddening. Was he avoiding me—or was he noticing me too much?
It was already mid-March. Two weeks had passed since we returned, and I had taken a temporary break from school to adjust to this new life. Married. Still unsure if I belonged.
This morning was quiet. I sat on the balcony, watching the garden below. The first spring blooms had started to emerge, soft petals stretching into the sunlight. A warm mug of coffee was nestled between my palms, but I didn’t feel warm.
Catalogues for a few prestigious universities sat untouched on the table beside me. I was meant to be researching, planning my next steps. Instead, I was bored. Restless. Something inside me felt… stalled.
Then the front gates groaned open. Three sleek black cars rolled in one after the other. Curious, I leaned forward to get a better look. The first window rolled down slowly—and a flash of blonde hair peeked through.
Jimin.
My heart leapt as Taehyung leaned forward and waved, his signature boxy grin lighting up his face.
“Oppa!” I called out instinctively, rising quickly. I hurried downstairs, still dressed in an oversized sweater and a pair of shorts that definitely weren’t meant for guests.
“Eun-ah!” Jimin beamed as he pulled me into a warm hug. One by one, the rest of BTS began filing in behind him.
“Oh—you’re all here?” I asked, still slightly breathless from the surprise.
“Yeah,” Namjoon said with a smile. “We figured it was time to visit you two properly. We haven’t seen you since the wedding.”
The commotion must’ve reached him upstairs. Hoseok appeared at the top of the staircase just as I turned back toward the living room. His hair was slightly tousled, a plain black t-shirt hugging his frame. His eyes scanned the group briefly—then landed on me.
Or more precisely, on my bare legs.
His gaze lingered a second too long before his jaw tightened ever so slightly. Not a word was said, but the silent message was clear. I suddenly became hyperaware of how short my shorts were, how much skin they showed under the soft hem of my oversized sweater. Heat crept up my neck.
Without a sound, Hoseok made his way down, the energy around him shifting the moment he entered the room. The casual chatter softened as he greeted his members—one by one, like always—but there was something reserved about him today. Controlled. Polite.
“Game room?” he said, tilting his head toward the hallway.
“Sanctuary,” Yoongi agreed with a knowing smirk, already moving.
The boys began filing in after him, chatting among themselves.
“Eun-ah,” Jin said over his shoulder, pausing in the hallway with a warm smile. “You’ll come too, right?”
“Of course, oppa,” I replied with a small smile, trying to shake off the chill Hoseok’s stare had left on my skin. “Let me just get dressed first.”
“Take your time,” Taehyung said with a wink before disappearing around the corner.
As they all vanished down the hallway, the house felt quieter again—except now, the echo left behind was something else entirely. Not silence.
Tension.
Lingering, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
I hurried upstairs, cheeks still warm from the way Hoseok had looked at me earlier—not with affection, but with disapproval. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. But I still found myself pulling open my closet faster than necessary.
I dusted on a bit of makeup, just enough to erase the sleepiness from my face and bring some color to my cheeks. Jiwoo always said a little went a long way. I remembered her tip as I swept my hair up into a loose bun—the kind she called “effortlessly sexy.” I didn’t even know who I was trying to impress.
Just not trying to embarrass myself, maybe.
I slipped into a fitted skirt and a tucked-in shirt—simple, but clean. Composed. More like the version of myself I was still getting used to. When I finally padded downstairs and peeked into the game room, I found all of them already there—laughing, lounging, teasing one another like no time had passed.
The air buzzed with comfort. Familiarity. Brotherhood.
But it shifted the second I stepped in.
Taehyung looked up first and grinned, scooting over to make space on the couch. “Eun-ah! You clean up nice.”
Jimin turned and gave me an exaggerated once-over, raising both brows playfully. “Damn, Eun-ah. You sure you’re not going on a date instead?”
I laughed softly, brushing past him with a gentle nudge.
But it was Hoseok I felt first.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at me at first. Just sipped from his glass, leaned slightly back in his chair like he didn’t care one bit—except his eyes flicked toward me once. Brief. Sharp. And low.
Like he saw right through the bun. The makeup. The clothes.
Then just as quickly, his attention drifted back to Yoongi, who was complaining about Jin cheating in whatever game they were playing.
I took a breath and smiled, settling beside Taehyung. I laughed where I was supposed to. Listened as they spoke. But a thin current buzzed beneath my skin the entire time.
Because Hoseok never once looked at me again.
And yet… I could still feel him.
The doorbell rang sharply, slicing through the sound of Taehyung’s laughter and the clinking of glasses.
Namjoon stood up, stretching. “Must be the food.”
We barely noticed him leave—until he returned with a bouquet so large it could’ve belonged on a wedding altar.
“Uh… Eun-ah,” he said, voice laced with confusion, “this is for you. Someone delivered it just now.”
My brows furrowed as I stood. “For me?”
Namjoon held out the bouquet, roses in deep crimson blooming like fire between his arms. Everyone was watching now. I accepted them gingerly, the scent wafting up in a soft, dizzying wave.
There was a note tucked into the stems.
“Oh… there’s a card.” I opened it and read aloud, without thinking.
“The sunset cried when she saw your beauty.
Cheers to Maldives… and I’ll see you again.”
—Kyu
The air shifted.
I blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief. “Oh…”
A beat passed. Then:
“Kyu?” Jin repeated, eyebrows lifting.
“Wait—that Kyu?” Taehyung asked, dragging out the words with mock scandal, already grinning. “Hoseok’s annoying cousin?”
I gave a small, awkward laugh. “Y-yeah, him. I guess he’s just… being friendly?” I looked at the flowers again, my voice softening. “They’re really beautiful. That’s such a nice gesture.”
I meant it. I wasn’t thinking anything of it, not really. It was sweet. Thoughtful, even. A harmless, poetic little note. But the silence that followed made the air feel heavier than before.
I glanced around.
Namjoon was clearly intrigued. Jin exchanged a look with Yoongi. Jimin leaned forward with a glint in his eye, already halfway to teasing me again. But Hoseok—
Hoseok hadn’t said a single word.
I looked at him.
He was leaning back on the couch, fingers drumming once—just once—against the cushion beside him. His face was unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere far from the flowers. Far from me.
I don’t know why, but the way he didn’t react said more than if he had.
I cleared my throat quickly, searching for something to say. “Ms. Jung?” I called out toward the hallway. “Could you find a vase for these, please?”
She emerged right away, taking the bouquet with a knowing smile. I turned back to the group, still feeling the ghost of Hoseok’s stare even though he wasn’t looking.
“Man,” Jungkook said, finally breaking the tension with a grin, “you make friends fast, Eun-ah.”
The others chuckled, even as they eyed me curiously. But all I could focus on was how Hoseok’s jaw flexed once. And how he still hadn’t said a word.
Chapter 16: Chapter 16
Chapter Text
We had long forgotten about the bouquet.
The roses had been exiled to a far corner of the dining room—pretty, yes, but completely ignored now, like they’d just appeared for aesthetic. No one asked about them again. Not even me.
By that evening, the Seoul estate had been transformed into the set of a low-budget variety show. Half the boys were on the floor, the other half shouting across couches, and someone had cranked the volume of the video game so high it could probably be heard from the driveway.
“NEXT ROUND—EUN-AH VS. JIN!” Jungkook announced, leaping up from the floor like he was hosting a championship match.
“Wait, what?!” I looked up from my third wine glass, blinking. “I don’t even know how to play!”
“That’s the point,” Taehyung grinned, tossing me a controller. “You’ll be better than Jin in no time.”
“Yah!” Jin sat up, scandalized. “Excuse me? Have you all forgotten I’m a legend at this?!”
“You’re a legend at talking, hyung” Namjoon snorted, tossing a chip in his mouth.
“EUN-AH! Come here!” Jungkook tugged me by the wrist to sit beside him on the floor. “You and me—teamwork. Let’s destroy Jin-hyung’s ego.”
“Excuse me, I’m right here,” Jin deadpanned.
“Exactly,” Jimin smirked, sipping his drink. “You can watch your downfall in real time.”
As I settled next to Jungkook, he scooted close, smiling. “Okay. Hands here. Let me show you.”
He placed the controller in my hands and gently wrapped his over mine.
“This one accelerates, this one turns, and this is your secret weapon—banana peel of doom.”
I burst out laughing. “What?”
“You’ll see,” he winked. “Now watch out for the blue shell of death.”
The screen lit up with the countdown. Jin cracked his knuckles dramatically.
“Prepare to be humiliated,” he warned. “I’ve trained for this.”
“Trained? You cried last time you got fifth place!” Taehyung yelled from the back.
“That was a warm-up round!” Jin shot back.
“Three… two… one—GO!”
I hit the gas and immediately swerved off the track into a pit.
“OH NO—WHY AM I FALLING?!” I yelped.
“YOU’RE GOING BACKWARDS!” Jungkook wheezed with laughter.
“TURN! TURN!” Yoongi shouted from the couch, standing like a coach on the sidelines.
“I’m trying!! It’s not turning!”
“She’s in twelfth!!” Namjoon announced with a dramatic gasp.
“BUT JIN’S IN ELEVENTH!” Taehyung screamed, rolling on the floor laughing.
“YAH!” Jin stood up with a hand on his chest. “I demand a new controller! This one’s cursed!”
The room exploded in chaos—Jungkook doubled over laughing beside me, still trying to guide my hands. Jimin was face-down on the carpet, cackling. Even Namjoon had fallen back into the cushions, wheezing.
Somewhere in the noise, I felt light. Giddy. Like I was thirteen again at a sleepover with too much sugar and not enough rules.
But then, for just a second, I looked up.
Hoseok was in the armchair by the window. Legs crossed, glass in hand, jaw resting on his knuckles.
He wasn’t laughing.
He was watching.
Not angry. Not smiling. Just… watching. Quietly.
My laughter slowed for a beat, heart doing something strange.
I turned back to the screen, forcing my eyes to focus—but suddenly I could feel it. The warmth of Jungkook’s arm brushing mine. His hand still half-guiding my fingers. My flushed cheeks. My heartbeat loud.
I wasn’t doing anything wrong. We were just playing.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder—what did Hoseok see?
The night stilled and the party had long tipped into chaos.
Everyone was either passed out in the sofa or singing their final drunken karaoke renditions, slurred and passionate. Jin was asleep with a mic still in his hand, Yoongi and Namjoon were in deep debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza, and Jimin was slumped sideways on the couch like a broken mannequin. The bodyguards were already ushering people to bed one by one, carrying half-conscious idols like bags of flour.
I had stopped drinking a while ago—right after Yoongi sang The Truth Untold. His voice had stripped the noise out of my head, leaving me quiet, a little foggy, but still present. I sat curled into the corner of the large couch, head resting against the backrest, watching the lights flicker lazily from the sound system. My legs were pulled to my chest, the room spinning just slightly around the edges.
I didn’t even hear him approach.
“Oh,” I murmured when I noticed Hoseok standing above me. Looming, really. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, brows drawn, jaw set. I blinked slowly at him, then looked away again, unfazed.
I was tired of trying to guess what he wanted. If ignoring me was his new game, fine. I could play that too.
“Disappointed?” he asked, voice low, eyes burning down on me. “Were you waiting for someone else?”
My head lifted slowly. “What are you talking about?”
He scoffed under his breath, one hand pulling from his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “Tell me, then. The flowers? ‘Nice gesture’? Is that what you call it?”
I stared at him, baffled. “You’re still hung up on that?”
“You think I didn’t notice?” His voice dropped further. “You looked like you liked it.”
“I did like it,” I said with a shrug, my tone sharp and flippant now. “It was sweet. Friendly. And frankly, none of your business.”
Something snapped in his expression.
He leaned down, gripping my wrist—not hard, but not soft either. “Get up.”
“What?”
“We’re not doing this here.”
Before I could argue, Hoseok tugged me to my feet. I stumbled slightly, half from the alcohol and half from surprise, but his grip steadied me. He didn’t say another word as he led—no, dragged—me toward the stairs. The remaining staff and bodyguards barely spared us a glance.
Our shared bedroom door shut behind us with a soft but final click.
I barely had time to catch my breath before Hoseok pushed me onto the bed. It wasn’t rough, but the suddenness of it knocked the wind out of me. I landed with a bounce and a startled yelp, the room spinning from both the motion and the whiskey still warm in my veins.
“What the hell is your problem?!” I snapped, propping myself up on my elbows. My skirt had ridden up in the fall, lace underwear embarrassingly visible now—Jiwoo’s ridiculous little gift after we got back from the Maldives. I hadn’t worn them for anyone. Just thought they were cute.
But Hoseok’s eyes flicked down—and then he moved, yanking a blanket off the edge of the bed and throwing it over me like I’d done something shameful.
“Seriously? See what you’re doing?” he barked, voice hot and slurred. “You’re even wearing that.”
He said it like it was a crime. Like I’d done it on purpose. His frame swayed slightly, alcohol making his anger burn brighter, less filtered.
“So what if I’m wearing this?” I shot back, sitting up and adjusting the blanket around me like armor. “I want to feel cute, okay? And it’s not like anyone will see.”
He scoffed, stepping in closer, heat radiating off his body as he loomed over the bed.
“Cute. For who exactly?”
My eyes narrowed. “Do I need to look cute for someone? I like it. That’s it.”
He let out a dry, humorless laugh, his hand raking through his hair like he was holding something back. “Right. Just like how you liked those flowers from Kyu. Real thoughtful, weren’t they? Or how you let Jungkook hold your hand like you forgot who you’re married to.”
Was that… jealousy?
“Jungkook is your friend. Kyu is your cousin! What the hell are we even talking about?” I sat on the bed, unsteady but unwilling to sit still. “You’re being ridiculous. Possessive like—like I belong to you.”
“You do belong to me.”
The words dropped like stones between us.
He looked just as shocked as I felt. The confession slipped out raw and unguarded—and then his jaw clenched, eyes darting away like he regretted saying it out loud.
“You’re my wife,” he added quickly, voice tightening. “Even if it’s on paper. People look at us. At me. You want them to see you flirting with every guy in the room and think, ‘what a poor bastard, he can’t even keep his wife’s attention’? Think about my image, Eun-ah.”
But I wasn’t buying it. Not the cover-up. Not the weak deflection. Because his eyes—clouded, dark, and burning—told a different story entirely.
“Huh. So that was it. For your image?” I said, arms crossed tightly across my chest. “All this ridiculous shouting, dragging me up here, covering me up like I’m some scandal—was all that for your damn image?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, shoulders stiff, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.
“What else would it be?” he said finally, voice low, almost too calm.
“I don’t know. You tell me!” I snapped, my heart pounding. “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like this is just about reputation.”
He looked away. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to see the crack.
The tension in the air pulled taut again, heavy with everything he wasn't saying. His fists were clenched at his sides now, like he needed to hold himself back—from me or from his own damn mouth, I couldn’t tell.
“Nothing I do is ever enough for you, is it?” I continued, softer now, not out of gentleness but exhaustion. “I wear what I want, I talk to people, I breathe the wrong way and suddenly it’s about how it looks. You’re scared someone might think I don’t belong to you—but frankly, you’ve never even tried to make me feel like I do.”
His gaze snapped back to mine, fierce. For a moment, I thought he might finally say something real.
Instead, he stepped closer—close enough for his breath to graze my cheek, his voice a sharp whisper meant for no one but me.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never get it.”
I held my ground. “Then make me.”
Then, like a wire had snapped, something shifted. Something ignited in him the second the words left my mouth.
Hoseok moved—swift, deliberate—and before I could process it, I was flat on my back against the bed, the room spinning around me.
He loomed above, hands planted on either side of my head, knees pressing into the mattress as he hovered. His movements weren’t harsh, but they were firm—like restraint barely holding something in.
"You really want to?" he murmured, voice raw and low, almost disbelieving. Frustrated. Angry.
He adjusted his weight, and I felt the press of him in between me—hard, unyielding—right through the thin lace that did absolutely nothing to shield me. A dangerous ache rippled through me, but he didn’t move. Not really.
He simply stared.
One of his hands moved, threading through the strands of my messy bun and gripping—not painfully, but with purpose. His face lowered to mine until his breath scorched the space between us.
"You really want to get it?" he repeated, slower this time, almost cruel with how close he brought his lips to mine without touching.
I couldn’t breathe. My legs were still parted, his body caging mine completely, every nerve in my body screaming for something I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want.
And then—
He stopped.
Just like that, the air broke.
Hoseok pulled away. Peeled himself off me slowly, his hands lingering on the bed for one final beat before he stood.
I was left there—legs parted, skirt pushed high around my waist, the air cool against skin where the lace barely covered.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t glance back.
Just walked out, leaving me wrecked with thoughts I shouldn’t be having… and a hunger for something that was never mine to want.
***
The city buzzed outside, all horns and hurried footsteps, but inside the café, everything was too warm… too calm… too painfully at odds with the chaos twisting in my chest.
I stirred my iced coffee for what had to be the tenth time without actually drinking it. Across from me, Jiwoo sipped her smoothie, blissfully unaware—until I mumbled it.
“He walked out.”
Her eyes snapped up. “Walked out… when?”
I leaned in, voice low, like I was confessing a crime. “After crawling on top of me… pressing against me… grabbing my hair like he was about to devour me—then he just stood up. And left.”
Jiwoo coughed so hard she almost choked on her straw. “You’re telling me he walked out?” she wheezed. “Like just—left you—legs open, skirt up, brain fried?”
I groaned and covered my face with both hands. “Stop saying it like that.”
“No, no. I’m sorry but—what kind of man does that?!” She leaned in with eyes glittering like she’d just found the juiciest plot twist in a K-drama. “That’s not normal. That’s psychological warfare.”
“Or he’s just weird,” I muttered through my palms. “Or conflicted. Or drunk.”
“Oh, he was drunk,” Jiwoo scoffed. “Drunk on you. And now he’s spiraling because he doesn’t know what to do about it. Classic emotionally constipated male syndrome.”
I peeked at her between my fingers. “You make everything sound like a drama.”
“That’s because this is a drama,” she grinned. “What’s confusing isn’t that he wants you—it’s why he’s acting like a coward about it.”
I slumped back in my chair, more dazed than ever. “Exactly. He gets so close—like he’s going to kiss me or… something—and then he bails. What am I supposed to do with that?”
Jiwoo looked me over slowly, then set her drink down with intention. “Drive him crazy.”
“…What?”
“We’re going shopping.”
I blinked. “Shopping?”
Her smirk could have shattered glass. “To ruin that man’s entire life. Obviously.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’ve never been more serious,” she said, standing. “You said he went a little feral when you wore that short skirt and had your hair up? Good. We’re about to see how far we can push him.”
“I can’t believe I’m even telling you all this.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing about my brother’s sex life,” she muttered, stabbing her straw into her drink with force. “But here we are.”
I winced. “Sorry… you’re just… you’re my only friend, Unnie.”
She sighed like I’d put the weight of the world on her, but her face softened. “Yeah, well. Lucky for you, your only friend is also a genius.” She stood up, grabbed her bag, and extended her hand. “Let’s go turn you into his worst nightmare.”
She paused. “But, you know… sexy.”
Cue the makeover. Satin, silk, and a whole lot of side-eye.
I stood in the middle of the boutique dressing room like some sacrificial lamb to the fashion gods, half-swallowed by a silk slip dress that felt more like it belonged in someone’s honeymoon suite than a closet.
“This barely covers anything,” I muttered, tugging uselessly at the hem as it flirted dangerously with the tops of my thighs.
Before I could talk myself out of it, Jiwoo burst through the curtain like a woman on a mission, her arms overloaded with what looked like the scandalous offspring of a runway and a fever dream.
“Exactly the point,” she chirped, grinning like the devil herself as she dumped the pile dramatically onto the settee. “The goal isn’t coverage, it’s carnage.”
I groaned and stared at the mountain of microfabric. “Why do all of these look like they were designed for someone who stopped growing at a certain age?”
“They were,” she said without remorse, holding up a halter top that looked like it had a vendetta against modesty. “That’s how we win. Hoseok won’t know whether to look at your back, your legs, or the fact that you’ve suddenly become the plot twist he didn’t see coming.”
“I need armor,” I deadpanned. “Not spaghetti straps.”
But Jiwoo was already circling me like some possessed stylist on a makeover show that had no budget for shame. “No, no. You don’t need armor. You need glow. Shine. Distraction. You are the summer heatwave, Eun-ah. And Hoseok? He’s the poor fool who forgot his sunscreen.”
I blinked at her. “That metaphor got weird really fast.”
She adjusted a strap on the champagne cami I’d reluctantly slipped into, stepping back with all the pride of a sculptor admiring her magnum opus. “You’re glowing. You’re glistening. You’re a walking fantasy.”
“I'm a nervous breakdown in silk,” I muttered.
She ignored me. Of course. “And now,” she said, voice dropping to a mischievous purr, “let’s hang you up where he can see.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You make it sound like I’m a painting in a museum.”
“Oh no, babe,” Jiwoo smirked. “You’re a limited-edition art piece. One-of-a-kind. Labeled do not touch—but let’s be real, you kind of want him to break the rules.”
I let myself collapse backward onto the plush settee in dramatic defeat. “Why am I letting you do this to me again?”
Jiwoo didn’t miss a beat. “Because I’m your only friend, and you’re in love with a man-child who’s allergic to his own emotions but clearly obsessed with your thighs.”
“I never said I was in love.”
“Mm-hmm.” She tossed a pair of microscopic shorts onto my lap like she hadn’t just casually dropped a psychological nuke. “And I never said I wanted to hear about my brother’s sex life, but again here we are.”
I groaned into my palms. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’re welcome,” she chirped, already thrusting the next outfit into my arms. “Now hurry up. We’ve got a man to emotionally unravel—one crop top at a time.”
Operation Bait started on a Wednesday.
Day one, I came down to breakfast in a cropped tee and drawstring shorts so small they could’ve doubled as a sleep mask. Jiwoo had insisted—commanded—that I commit fully. “Lean into the fantasy,” she’d said. “Let the man suffer.”
Suffer he did.
Hoseok looked up from his black coffee, blinked once, then again—slower, like his brain needed time to reboot. His jaw twitched. Then he looked away with all the force of someone restraining a forest fire.
I sat across from him, pretending not to notice. My legs were crossed, deliberately so. My voice was overly sweet when I asked, “Could you pass the honey?”
He passed it without a word.
But he gripped the jar a little too tight.
That night, I texted Jiwoo under the covers:
Me: This is insane. He looked like he was in physical pain.
Jiwoo: GOOD. That’s what guilt and horniness do when they hold hands.
Me: Are you sure this is okay? I feel kinda… scandalous. Mrs. Jang saw me and blushed.
Jiwoo: That woman has seen my brother shirtless since he was five, she’ll survive.
Jiwoo: Also. You looked hot. Shut up and keep going.
By day two, I was in a ribbed tank that dipped a little too low in the front and hugged a little too tight around the middle. The shorts stayed, because I was beginning to understand their power.
Hoseok wasn’t blinking anymore.
He didn’t say anything when I leaned over the counter to reach for the granola, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on the slope of my back. That weird electricity—thick, buzzing—crackled in the air between us.
I didn’t look at him. But I smirked into the cereal bowl.
By day three, I’d started to schedule my appearances. I’d wait until he came back from his workout, sweaty and flushed and least capable of higher reasoning—and that’s when I’d walk past the kitchen in a pale lavender cami, no bra, and a silk robe that fluttered just enough to tease a glimpse of thigh.
He made a sound. A small, strangled one.
He was unravelling.
I could feel it in how quiet he got. In how long he stared at the same page of his newspaper. In the way his fingers drummed the table, restless, impatient, like his body was arguing with his brain.
Still, I kept it up.
It was strangely addicting—this back-and-forth game of chicken. Except neither of us seemed to want to win. We just kept circling, toeing the edge of something neither of us had the words for.
By day four, even Mrs. Jang had stopped trying to act like my outfits were normal. She gave me a long, sideways glance when I strolled in wearing a backless satin top and the shortest sleep shorts known to man. Then she cleared her throat and busied herself with the dishes, cheeks pink.
I escaped to our room and immediately texted Jiwoo.
Me: I think I broke Mrs. Jang.
Jiwoo: LMAO
Jiwoo: She’s just jealous of the plot you’re living.
Me: This plot has too much chest and not enough dialogue.
Jiwoo: Good. Keep it visual. He’s a man. Let him suffer.
That night, I pulled out the sheer peach slip I’d been saving. Lace trimmed the hem like an afterthought. The fabric clung to every curve like it had signed a contract to seduce.
I walked past him casually. No makeup. Hair up. Feet bare.
He was holding a glass of water.
He dropped it.
“Oops,” I said sweetly, not turning around.
I disappeared into the room with my heart hammering in my chest. From the other side of the door, I heard a low, sharp curse. And then the quick, unmistakable clatter of ice against tile.
Victory tasted like strawberry lip balm and vindication.
But underneath all of it—the teasing, the wins, the power—I felt something else brewing. Something quieter. Something sadder. Because the more Hoseok looked at me like that, the more I wanted him to see me. Not the bait. Not the revenge.
Just… me.
And I wasn’t sure if he ever would.
***
I didn’t mean to wear it.
Okay—maybe I did. Just a little.
His shirt had been sitting there for days, draped across the edge of the bed like it was waiting for me. Oversized, worn soft at the collar, still holding that scent that lingered on him no matter how hard he trained—cedar, sweat, and something clean I could never name.
I hadn’t planned to wear it. But this morning, with the laundry still sitting untouched and my satin shorts mysteriously missing…
Well. What better bait than something that used to cling to him?
It barely covered anything. The hem grazed the tops of my thighs. One sleeve slipped off my shoulder every few seconds, and I didn’t bother finding anything to wear underneath.
I headed down the stairs like it was just another lazy morning, like I didn’t know he was coming out of the home gym right then—towel around his neck, shirtless, skin flushed, muscles tight from whatever torture he’d just put himself through.
He looked up.
Stopped walking.
His gaze dragged—slow and obvious—before he yanked it away, jaw clenched tight.
Score.
But then—
“Eun-ah?”
I froze.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Ye-joon. And beside him, like a plot twist I didn’t ask for, was Kyu.
My stomach dropped.
Kyu looked exactly the way I remembered—warm tan, soft brown eyes, that crooked half-smile like he’d just stumbled across something off-limits. Ye-joon, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to hit rewind on the last ten seconds.
“…Is that your shirt?” Ye-joon asked, looking at Hoseok, his voice caught somewhere between panic and confusion.
I opened my mouth. Silence.
“Don’t mind her,” Hoseok cut in, smooth and flat, throwing me his towel, like the whole thing was routine. “She’s been dressing weird lately. Experimenting..”
Weird. Sure. Like slipping into his shirt and acting like it meant nothing.
But his eyes hadn’t left Kyu.
He stepped forward, still catching his breath, but his posture turned razor-sharp. “You brought him here?” he asked Ye-joon.
Ye-joon lifted his hands. “He said he just wanted to say hi. I was showing him around Seoul.”
Hoseok’s jaw tightened. “You should’ve known better.”
“I came to see her, not you” Kyu said, calm and direct.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I know what this is,” Kyu went on, turning to face Hoseok fully. “This marriage. It’s not real. It is for show.. People told me.”
He looked back at me.
“But what I felt back in Maldives wasn’t fake. Not to me.”
The atmosphere snapped tight. Like a wire pulled too far.
“How bold of you,” Hoseok said, voice dropping. “In my house?”
Kyu didn’t blink. “She deserves something real. Someone who sees her. Not someone playing a role.”
“She’s not your concern,” Hoseok said, steady and sharp.
“She should be,” Kyu said, taking a step forward. “That night on the beach, she laughed like she hadn’t in years. She looked… free. I haven’t been able to forget it.”
“I can’t forget you” He turned to look at me. “Weeks and weeks and weeks I tried”
I swallowed hard. “Kyu, stop—”
“I know what you two have is just pretend,” he said, gently now. “But I’m not pretending. I’m willing to make it real.. when it comes to you.”
And then—he reached for my hand and I flinched.
It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t forceful. It was soft. Hesitant.
That was the problem.
And then—Hoseok moved.
Not a step. A warning. A wall.
He was suddenly between us, hand curling around my wrist, tugging me back behind him.
“She’s my wife,” he said—low and cold, like metal sliding into place. “You don’t touch her.”
The words dropped like a hammer.
Kyu’s jaw tightened. “You don’t even care—”
“Watch your mouth,” Hoseok cut in, too calm to be calm. “You don’t know what goes on in this house.”
“You’re right,” Kyu said. “I don’t. But I know what I saw. And it sure as hell wasn’t love.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” Hoseok said. “Especially not feelings you couldn’t begin to understand.”
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at Kyu.
Just… stood there.
Solid. Silent. Breathing a little too hard.
Kyu stared at him, something cracking in his expression. “Then why do you look at her like you’re afraid?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
Hoseok’s grip loosened. Just slightly.
Ye-joon cleared his throat, awkward and quiet, like he was praying someone would call him and tell him to evacuate the building.
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t correct him.
Hoseok didn’t say a word at first.
Just stood there with my wrist still in his hand—his grip no longer tight, but firm enough to remind me who had pulled me back. Who had stood in the space between.
Then, finally, without taking his eyes off Kyu:
“Ye-joon. Get him off my property.”
His voice was level, but it didn’t need volume to cut.
Ye-joon hesitated, lips pressed into a tight line. “Yeah. Okay.”
He stepped toward Kyu, placing a hand lightly on his back like he wasn’t sure whether to guide or shove him out.
Kyu turned. Took a step.
Paused at the threshold.
And looked back.
“Oh,” he said, casual. Too casual. “I’m not stopping.”
Hoseok’s jaw ticked.
“Go back to New York,” he said flatly. “Or wherever the hell you crawled out from.”
Kyu chuckled. “Funny you mention that. I’m actually moving back. Here. Korea”
That made Hoseok blink. Just once. No change in posture. But something sharpened in the air again.
Kyu smiled wider, like he knew exactly which nerve he’d hit.
“I accepted the position at JuYo Corp. Chairman was pleased that I finally said yes, only the finest in finance, he said” he smiled, hands tucked in his pockets, gaze flicking briefly to me and back. “That’s why Ye-joon’s been showing me around.”
Ye-joon tensed behind him.
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet,” Kyu added with a shrug. “But I figured—since I’m already pissing you off, might as well go all the way.”
Hoseok didn’t move. But his silence wasn’t calm—it was coiled.
Kyu tilted his head. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”
Then, with one last glance—directly at me this time—he stepped outside. Ye-joon followed after with a strained apology and shut the door behind them.
The lock clicked.
But it didn’t feel like anything had settled.
I stood there, pulse still jumping beneath my skin, waiting for Hoseok to say something. Do something. Let go.
He didn’t.
Not for another long, unbearable beat.
Then finally—quietly—
“…You shouldn’t have worn that.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I wasn’t sure if he meant his shirt. Or the look on my face.
He disappeared into his studio that night and didn’t come out once—not for water, not for dinner, not even for air. I didn’t usually bother him when he locked himself in there, but something about the way he stormed off had left a bitter pit in my stomach.
So, for once, I knocked.
Softly, hesitantly. No answer.
The door was cracked open just enough for voices to leak through.
“…Chairman, you added that… buffoon to our roster?”
A short pause.
“I know Mr. Kim is retiring, I just—”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Okay, but why him? I know someone better—”
The tension in his voice coiled tight, then snapped.
“You know he’s no good. Don’t say that.”
A deep, frustrated sigh followed. Then, flatly—“I understand.”
And then—a shout. Loud. Raw. Something crashed. Violent.
The noise jolted me so hard I stumbled forward, shoulder bumping the door. It swung open with a groan, revealing him in the eye of the storm.
Hoseok stood there — chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted miles, eyes blazing. The remains of his phone lay in shards on the floor, scattered like broken glass.
I froze. “D-Dinner?” I said, my voice barely a whisper, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his shirt — the one I still hadn’t changed out of.
His eyes dropped to it. Stayed there. Then met mine.
For a beat, he didn’t say a word. Then he turned on his heel and stormed past me, retreating to our room without a sound.
I didn’t dare follow.
Chapter 17
Notes:
Hello friends of mine (mostly Spilly) I changed from first person POV to third person POV. It was very difficult to write in First person POV and i felt that it was limiting the story :) still i hope you all enjoy :)
Chapter Text
It was nearing midnight, and Eun-ah remained curled up in her study, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows around the room. Her thumb dragged across her phone screen aimlessly, though she wasn’t really reading anything.
She hadn’t dared check on Hoseok. Not after seeing him like that — furious, storming off without a word. Had she pushed him too far? Was everything too much? Not to mention Kyu… when Kyu saw her like that… It wasn’t her fault he appeared out of nowhere.
A sigh slipped from her lips. She glanced down. She was still in his shirt. The fabric hung loose around her thighs, the faint scent of him still clinging to it.
Maybe he’s cooled off by now, she thought, chewing on her lower lip.
But then again… what if he hasn’t?
This is going nowhere, she told herself with a frustrated groan.
Should I apologize?
For what, exactly?
her mind argued.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
With a soft huff, she let herself collapse onto the small sofa, arms sprawled, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Maybe it’s best I just stay here tonight, she reasoned, sinking deeper into the cushions. Give him space. Let tomorrow deal with itself.
Eun-ah stopped scrolling.
Her thumb hovered for a moment before she tapped on a familiar contact and brought the phone to her ear. Is she even awake? Will she pick up?
“Ya—Eun-ah?” Jiwoo answered almost immediately, her voice loud and alive, background noise buzzing through the speaker like clinking glasses and music.
“Unnie… are you busy? I can call back later—”
“No, no. I just stepped outside. What’s going on?” Jiwoo said, her voice softening as she moved to a quieter spot.
Eun-ah curled up on the sofa, hugging one knee to her chest. “It’s… about Hoseok.”
Even saying his name out loud felt like tempting fate.
She started to explain—about the tension, the fight, the silence—but Jiwoo cut her off.
“Kyu?? Again??” Jiwoo’s tone sharpened. “Ugh. Never mind. Let’s talk about this in person. Meet me at the bar.”
“But Unnie… it’s almost midnight. And I— I don’t even know how to drive yet. I think Ye-joon’s already asleep—”
“Nonsense. Sleep is for the weak,” Jiwoo declared. “I’ll have him pick you up. Be ready in ten. And wear something nice—I want you to meet my friends.”
Before Eun-ah could protest again, the line went dead.
She sighed, letting her head fall back against the couch cushion. There was no way she could go back to the bedroom—not when Hoseok was still fuming. So instead, she made her way down the hall to the maid’s quarters and lightly tapped on a door.
Chun Hei, still awake, opened it with a kind smile.
“I’m sorry to ask, I really wouldn’t if it wasn’t awkward… but could you grab some clothes for me?” Eun-ah asked sheepishly. “I’ll be heading to meet Jiwoo Unnie in this bar, I just… I don’t want to go back in there. He’s still really mad.”
Chun Hei nodded knowingly. “Of course, miss. I’ll bring you something fitting.” She winked before disappearing.
She slipped in and out with practiced quiet, emerging with a small bundle of clothes and a clutch.
“Is he asleep?” Eun-ah asked quietly, taking the stack.
“Seemed like it,” Chun Hei replied. “He was facing away from the door, so I couldn’t see clearly, but he didn’t move.”
She bowed and vanished toward the kitchen, leaving Eun-ah alone again.
Eun-ah carried the clothes into her study and stepped into the bathroom. The moment she unfolded the outfit, her eyes widened.
Red velvet dress. Black belt. Fur-trimmed jacket. Knee-high black boots.
She looked like she was about to walk into a high-end club—not quite for an elegant meeting with a friend. Her cheeks flushed.
If Hoseok sees me in this… never mind that, it’s bar appropriate right.. Or is it? She stopped mid-thought, biting her lip.
She considered asking Chun Hei to swap the outfit—but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She hated ordering people around for something so petty.
So instead, she stared at her reflection. And slowly—without really thinking—she started changing.
Ten minutes later, Ye-joon knocked at the front door—wearing sweats, clearly pissed off, and already barking into the intercom.
“Whatever you two are up to, I don’t want to get—” He stopped cold the second Eun-ah opened the door.
His eyes did a full scan. “You’re going out wearing that?”
Eun-ah blinked. “What? It’s a bar right? What’s wrong—?”
“Jesus Christ.” He looked personally attacked. “Where did you even get that? I remember you having soft pink pastels, not—‘dominatrix on a one-night stand.’”
“Shhhh!” she hissed, tugging him inside and glancing toward the stairs. “I didn’t choose this, okay? If you hate it so much, go upstairs and pick something else for me.”
“Why don’t you go?”
“I can’t,” she grumbled, zipping up the black fur jacket. “Hoseok’s still mad. I asked Chun Hei instead to fetch clothes for me. I didn’t want to see him.”
Ye-joon narrowed his eyes. “Wait. What happened after Kyu and I left?”
Eun-ah gave a quick, hushed rundown—the yelling, the shattered phone, the storming off. Ye-joon’s expression shifted to something between disbelief and exhaustion.
“Well... why were you even wearing only Hoseok’s shirt earlier?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Then he grimaced. “Never mind—I don’t want to know what kind of kink you both have.”
Eun-ah groaned. “Seriously?”
“Just saying!” he snapped, then sighed. “You do realize how that looked to everyone, right?”
“I didn’t know you were bringing Kyu!” she half shouted. “Next time, ask first.”
He shook his head, muttering under his breath.
“Are we going or not?” she said, brushing past him toward the car.
Without another word, Ye-joon opened the door and held it open for her. Still grumbling.
The drive was painfully quiet. Awkward. The air inside the car felt heavier than it should have, filled with everything Eun-ah didn’t say. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, constantly shifting, tugging at her dress. The fabric clung in all the wrong places—itchy, tight, and revealing enough to make her want to sink into the leather seat and disappear. More than once, she considered asking Ye-joon to turn around and just take her home. But home didn’t feel like a safe option anymore. Not tonight. Not with Hoseok’s words still echoing in her chest.
Ye-joon turned into a narrower road lined with manicured hedges and discreet signage. Sleek black cars were parked along the side, and the street lamps here were gold-trimmed and faintly glowing, bathing the area in a warm, amber haze. He slowed in front of a modern, nondescript building with smoked glass windows and no visible name—one of those places that didn’t need a sign because everyone who mattered already knew.
He shifted the car into park and leaned back. “Alright. I’ll let you off here,” he said, nodding toward a subtle entrance beneath a hanging lantern. A hostess in all-black stood silently beside it, eyes sharp and unbothered. “You’ll head down that hallway, and when you reach the door near the elevator, knock on the glass panel three times—like this.” He tapped the steering wheel with a calm, practiced rhythm. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Then give the password. Tonight it’s Orange.”
“O-orange… G-got it.” Eun-ah straightened her back and ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth it down. Her heart was thumping erratically, her palms clammy. This was her first time in a place like this—exclusive, opulent, and just a little intimidating.
Ye-joon tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “Is it your first time?”
“No!” she snapped too quickly. “I mean… shut up. I can do this myself. I’m a grown woman.” But her voice trembled slightly, and the blush creeping into her cheeks betrayed her nerves.
She stepped out of the car, immediately met by a cool breeze that licked at her bare legs and made her shiver. She tugged the hem of her skirt down—it wasn’t that short, but it wouldn’t stay put either. Her boots clicked softly against the stone as she walked toward the entrance. Before knocking, she glanced over her shoulder. Ye-joon was still in the car, watching.
She lifted her hand and tapped once—too soft. She tried again, only to be met with silence. She looked back. Ye-joon had stepped out now, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. He made a little gesture in the air: firmer. She shrugged helplessly.
“They’re not gonna hear you if you knock like that, miss.”
Eun-ah spun around. The voice was smooth, warm—and came from someone very tall. Her eyes landed on a broad chest in a tailored jacket before they traveled up to see who it was. He smelled expensive. Confident. Familiar.
“O-oh I—” she fumbled, flustered. And then—
“Eun-ah? I almost didn’t recognize you!”
Her breath caught. She knew that voice. “Omo!” she gasped, wide-eyed. “Kyu?!”
She turned back toward Ye-joon, who had already paused mid-step, jaw clenched. Realizing who it was, he stopped. His eyes flicked between them, visibly unsure whether to intervene or trust Eun-ah to handle it. She gave him a quick thumbs-up and a nod. Kyu noticed.
“So you have a babysitter tonight,” he teased, throwing a casual wave in Ye-joon’s direction.
“Not really. He just likes to make sure I’m… not in jail or anything,” she muttered. She watched as Ye-joon exhaled and slid back into the car, pulling off from the curb.
Kyu chuckled. “So, what brings you here?”
“Well, I—”
“Let’s go inside first.” He stepped up, tapped a code on the glass panel, and the door slid open without question. No password. No questions asked.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Music pulsed through the marble floors, it was loud, but not the type that is just noise. In some ways it still screamed rich nightclubs. Lighting cascaded from crystal fixtures, catching on the sequins of expensive dresses and the polished watches of men who knew power too well. People mingled in velvet booths, drinks glowing in dim candlelight. A few were laughing, others locked in whispered conversations. A couple near the back kissed like the room wasn’t watching.
Eun-ah followed close behind Kyu, her boots clicking against the floor. Everything was overwhelming—the sounds, the shimmer, the heat.
A waitress caught Kyu’s eye and nodded toward the stairs, her manicured hand beckoning them forward.
“This way,” Kyu murmured close to her ear. His breath brushed against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. He took her wrist gently and guided her to the second floor. The hallway was lined with private rooms—glass on the sides, some lightly frosted, revealing silhouettes within.
She passed one room where people were crowded around a cake, clearly celebrating something. Another had a man lounging with three women draped over him. She didn’t want to guess what that was.
The third room was empty.
The waitress opened it. Kyu gestured for her to go in.
Eun-ah hesitated. Her heart was racing again, not from nerves—but from the sudden flare of guilt. Hoseok. He had been furious earlier—and it was because of this man. What would he say if he knew she followed Kyu into a private room?
“I really shouldn’t,” she said quietly.
Kyu smiled, unfazed. “We’re just going to talk. Nothing more.”
“Jiwoo unnie might be looking for me. I need to call her.”
“Then call her inside. I’ll stay with you until she comes. It’s not exactly… safe for you to linger out here,” he said, his gaze trailing down her dress. “Especially dressed like that.”
Eun-ah instinctively tugged her skirt down again and glanced around. A few men were already eyeing her, one of them lifting his glass with a smirk.
Her skin crawled.
“I… I guess,” she whispered, then stepped inside.
Kyu gently pushed the door, holding it open for Eun-ah before stepping into the private lounge behind her. The room was warm and intimate—dim lights reflecting off low glass table, with plush velvet chairs that looked too comfortable to sit properly in.
He gestured toward one of the seats with an easy smile. “Go ahead,” he said. “You’ll like this spot.”
Eun-ah hesitated for a second, then sat down stiffly, her purse still clutched tight in her lap. Kyu took the seat across from her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. Then he leaned slightly toward the waitress who had followed them in and said, in a low, courteous voice, “Could we get the house champagne, please? Thank you.”
The waitress nodded and disappeared without a word, but Kyu gave her a polite nod of appreciation as she left, his smile lingering.
“Oh—um, I’m not really staying that long,” Eun-ah said, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “I’m just here for a bit.”
“I know,” Kyu said easily, leaning back into the velvet chair, one arm resting over the side. “We’re just waiting for Jiwoo-noona, right? Don’t worry—you don’t have to entertain me.”
His voice was calm, soothing in a way that made her feel slightly out of place. Like he belonged here. Like he always did.
“I’m so sorry about this,” she said after a beat, straightening her back, trying to sound more composed than she felt. “I’ve never really been to places like this before. And… I don’t know. Crowds get to me sometimes.”
He tilted his head, watching her closely. “Yeah. You told me that… on the beach, remember?”
Her lips parted slightly. “Oh. Right,” she said, letting out a weak laugh—thin and hollow. She tried to cover it. “Listen, I—”
Before she could finish, Kyu sat up a bit. “Ah, champagne’s here,” he said brightly.
The waitress reappeared with a tray in hand, two slender glasses clinking softly against the silver. She placed them on the table with a practiced grace and presented the bottle with a quiet nod. Without needing to be told, she uncorked it smoothly, the soft pop of the bottle echoing in the cozy space. She filled the two glasses, the pale gold liquid catching the light before she gently placed the bottle in a small bucket beside the table.
“Thank you,” Kyu said again, this time catching her gaze and offering a sincere smile—polite, warm, and just charming enough to make the waitress flush slightly before bowing and stepping out.
Kyu turned back to Eun-ah, nudging her glass closer. “Cheers,” he said lightly.
She hesitated, then reached for the glass and took a small sip. It was the same champagne from the Maldives—light, crisp, and dangerously easy to drink. She swallowed and set the glass down, about to speak.
“Kyu, I need to—”
“So… you really like him, huh?”
The question landed like a stone in her chest. She froze, the glass still between her fingers.
“What’s with the sudden question?” she asked, trying not to sound defensive.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on his knees, glass in one hand. “I just got a feeling,” he said, voice smooth. “You’re about to tell me to stop… to step back, maybe even to leave you alone.”
He took a small sip of his champagne, set the glass back down with a quiet clink.
“Right?” he said, eyes fixed on her. “Unless, of course, my instincts are off. Maybe this one time, I’m actually wrong.”
Eun-ah’s breath caught. She tried to find something to say, but he was already moving on.
“I’m guessing you’re here to talk to Jiwoo-noona,” he said slowly, like he was piecing it together in real time. “Because you and Hyung had a fight. Something happened earlier… and now you don’t know what to do.”
He scratched his chin, thoughtful. Calm.
Too calm.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was too spot-on. Too specific. It didn’t feel like a guess.
He laughed suddenly, breaking the tension like it had all been nothing. “Come on, Eun-ah,” he said, smiling warmly. “I’m just joking.”
And just like that, he was back to being the charming, carefree version of himself—the one who made you question whether the sharpness from before had even been real.
“Well, since you’re just joking…” Eun-ah said, shifting slightly in her seat, the unease catching in her throat. She tried to keep her tone light, even teasing, though the air between them had shifted. “Maybe you could, I don’t know… dial it down a bit? Or better yet, drop the whole dramatic love confession thing entirely?”
She laughed—but the sound was too sharp, too practiced. It didn’t reach her eyes.
Kyu raised an eyebrow, then brought his glass to his lips. He took a slow sip of champagne, eyes never leaving her. When he set it down again, his expression was unreadable.
“Oh, that?” he repeated casually. “Yeah… I wasn’t joking.”
Eun-ah blinked, her breath hitching. “Wait—what? What do you mean not joking?”
She leaned forward slightly, trying to read his face. “Come on, Kyu… don’t do that. This is another one of your charming little games, right? Another joke?” She forced another laugh, louder this time—hoping if she said it out loud enough, it would make it true. “Right? It’s funny. You got me.”
But Kyu didn’t laugh.
Instead, something in him seemed to shift. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, and his smile faded—not completely, but enough for her to notice the edge beneath it.
“I’m serious, Eun-ah,” he said quietly. His voice lost its playful lilt, replaced by something low and firm. “I don’t play around when it comes to the things I want.”
He leaned in, just enough to make her pulse kick up, his gaze locked onto hers.
“I meant every word. I will make you mine,” he murmured. “Whatever it takes.”
The words didn’t sound like a confession anymore. They sounded like a promise. A warning.
And just like that, the air between them thickened—no longer playful, but charged. Heavy. Dangerous.
“Eun-ah?!” A muffled voice rang from the other side of the glass door, cutting through the heavy air like a pin to a balloon. The tension in the room cracked instantly. It was Jiwoo.
The door pushed open and Jiwoo stepped inside, her expression tight with concern.
“I’ve been calling you—where have you been? Ye-joon said he dropped you off over thirty minutes ago—” Her eyes flicked around the room until they landed on the man seated opposite Eun-ah. “Oh. Kyu-ah… it’s you. Yet again.” Her voice thinned with pointed disapproval.
Kyu stood up smoothly, that ever-effortless smile returning to his lips.
“Noona,” he greeted warmly, pulling her into a light hug. “I ran into Eun-ah by the entrance. She couldn’t get anyone to hear her knock, poor thing.” He chuckled, glancing back at Eun-ah like it was some harmless story. “So I just… stepped in.”
“Aww, my poor baby,” Jiwoo crooned, stepping over to Eun-ah and gently brushing a hand down her arm. “And look at you—you look amazing. So sexy,” she added with a knowing wink.
“T-thanks,” Eun-ah mumbled, cheeks coloring with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.
Kyu let out a playful hum. “So you’re the one dressing her like this.” His gaze lingered teasingly. “Explains your outfit from earlier too… must be noona’s influence,” he added, shooting Eun-ah a wink that made her look away.
“Not your business, Kyu,” Jiwoo snapped, already sliding her arm around Eun-ah and ushering her toward the door. “And stop flirting with my baby sister—she’s married. To my brother. Your cousin, remember?”
Kyu let out an amused laugh, unfazed. “Only second cousin though…” he called after them, wiggling his fingers in a casual wave as Jiwoo dragged Eun-ah out.
Jiwoo pulled Eun-ah down a dim corridor and into a much larger room, the door swinging open to reveal what looked like a private bar. The lighting was low and moody, a soft golden hue casting shadows on the sleek leather furniture and polished floor. A bartender stood behind a marble counter, calmly mixing drinks. In the center, a small crowd swayed to the music, bodies moving languidly beneath the slow pulse of overhead lights.
Jiwoo exhaled dramatically and guided Eun-ah to one of the curved leather booths along the side wall.
“He really does seem to be everywhere lately,” she muttered, tossing her clutch to the side and letting her body sink into the seat with practiced ease.
Eun-ah followed, sitting down with a soft thud, brushing her dress as she adjusted.
“I know… it’s like he wants to make sure I know he’s there. Like he wants to be seen—by me, by Hoseok, by everyone,” she said, voice low but taut with discomfort.
Jiwoo picked up her cocktail, resting her chin lazily in her palm as she took a slow sip. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes flicked over Eun-ah with interest.
“What did he say earlier again?”
Eun-ah hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line before answering. “Back at the house, in front of Hoseok, he said he knew it was all fake,” she said quietly. “And that… he was willing to make it real for me.”
Even just repeating the words sent a chill crawling up her spine. Her posture stiffened slightly, as if her body remembered the moment—how Hoseok stepped in immediately, jaw clenched, hand wrapping around hers and yanking it away from Kyu like he was branding a boundary in real time.
Jiwoo made a face, then scoffed, signaling the bartender with a small wave. “That little bastard,” she muttered. “I swear, I don’t know what his endgame is.”
“Should I be scared?” Eun-ah asked, finally bringing her margarita to her lips. The cold glass was a comfort in her warm hands. “Because… it didn’t feel like a confession. It felt like a warning. Like he’s actually going to do something.”
Jiwoo set her empty glass down with a soft clink and looked at her seriously for a beat. Then, she shrugged, trying to brush off the tension with a flick of her wrist.
“Oh, he will try, no doubt about it,” she said, tone casual but with an edge that didn’t sit right. “But don’t worry—Kyu’s smart, sure, but harmless. He likes to play games more than actually win them.”
Eun-ah gave a slow nod, but her brows remained drawn together. Jiwoo’s words weren’t exactly reassuring. The way she said it—like she was trying to convince herself, too—left a small, uneasy knot in Eun-ah’s chest that her drink couldn’t dissolve.
“Well, at least we know he’s jealous now,” Jiwoo giggled, swirling her drink playfully. “Which means… what we did worked.”
Eun-ah let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m never doing that again. If you saw the maids’ faces every time I walked out of the room dressed like that—God. Even the bodyguards can’t look me in the eye anymore.”
Jiwoo leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table as she gave Eun-ah a knowing look. “Still… it worked.”
“I don’t know, unnie.” Eun-ah exhaled slowly, her expression softening as her thoughts drifted to earlier that day. “He didn’t look jealous. Not really. It felt… different.”
Jiwoo tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“More like territorial. Possessive. Like I was something he owned.” Eun-ah frowned, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. “It was strange. He looked at Kyu like he was ready to kill him… but then he looked at me like I crossed some invisible line.”
Jiwoo’s playful expression faltered. Her brows knit together, eyes searching Eun-ah’s face with something close to concern.
“It couldn’t be that,” she murmured. “That’s… not like him.”
“But it was, unnie. It was intense,” Eun-ah insisted quietly, her voice lined with confusion. “Why is Hoseok so pissed off about Kyu, anyway? He looked—genuinely—angry. Not just annoyed. Like something deeper.”
Jiwoo sighed, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling for a beat, weighing whether to say it. Then she slowly sat up and folded her hands on the table.
“When they were kids,” she began, “it was always the same thing. Hoseok would come home after getting second place in something—school awards, piano recitals, fencing tournaments—whatever it was, and the first thing anyone would say was, ‘Did Kyu win again?’”
Eun-ah blinked, caught off guard.
“Kyu was the golden boy,” Jiwoo continued. “Smarter, smoother, more charming. Everyone loved him. And Hoseok—he tried so damn hard. But he could never outshine him, not in their parents’ eyes, not in the press, not in the family. It put this insane pressure on him. Worst part? Kyu made it seem like its no big deal to him, like he didn’t try hard, he just… won without effort.”
She took a long sip of her cocktail and sighed again. “I remember one night—Hoseok was maybe thirteen—he locked himself in the piano room for hours after Kyu won a competition he was supposed to win. When I went in, he didn’t even turn around. Just kept playing until his fingers bled.”
Eun-ah’s lips parted slightly in surprise, a chill crawling across her skin. Jiwoo stared into her glass for a second, then continued.
“Things only shifted after Hoseok debuted. When BTS blew up, suddenly he was the name everyone knew. People bowed when he walked in. Kyu went to the States around that time—grad school, networking, whatever. He vanished from the scene. And for the first time, Hoseok wasn’t in his shadow anymore.”
Eun-ah tilted her head. “So they grew apart?”
“Maybe physically. But not… emotionally.” Jiwoo looked up. “You don’t erase that kind of rivalry. Especially when it’s built into your bones from childhood.”
A silence settled between them, the music in the background suddenly feeling distant.
“But don’t tell Hoseok I said any of this,” Jiwoo warned, pointing her cocktail straw like a dagger. “He’ll deny it, bury it, and pretend he doesn’t remember any of it and he’ll kill me”
Then, with a small smirk, she added, “Still… I don’t think it’s just about old grudges anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Eun-ah asked softly.
Jiwoo leaned in again, this time with a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“I mean… this time, it’s not about who came out on top. It’s not some piano recital or who pulled the higher math score. It’s not petty anymore. It’s not about being better. This time…” Jiwoo paused, locking eyes with Eun-ah, “…it’s about you. And Hoseok? He’s never been good at sharing the things he actually cares about.”
***
The party only got wilder as the night dragged into dawn. Thumping basslines vibrated through the walls, neon lights spun across the ceiling, and the scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air. Jiwoo, giddy and mischievous, had discovered Eun-ah had never been to a bar before—and treated it like a personal mission.
“I want her to try everything!” Jiwoo announced like a proud general before war, snapping her fingers toward the bartender. “One of each. No—two!”
And she meant it. Shots, cocktails, margaritas, soju bombs—each one delivered with a flourish and an evil giggle. By the time the crowd had thinned and dawn’s first gray light kissed the skyline, the two women were melted into a leather booth in the corner of the private lounge—barely upright, barely conscious, and nowhere near coherent.
Ye-joon stood in front of them, arms crossed, massaging his temples like he had a migraine sent from hell. He stared at the trainwreck of a duo.
“Ye-shuuuuun?” Eun-ah blinked up at him, her head wobbling like it wasn’t fully attached. “Ish that youuuu?”
Jiwoo, curled sideways on the booth with one shoe missing and the other in her hand like a microphone, peeked up without lifting her head. “You’re my angel,” she slurred, voice dreamy. “Take me hoooome, little bro~”
Ye-joon let out a long-suffering sigh and gave a silent nod to the waiting bodyguards. Without missing a beat, the two men stepped in and plucked the drunk women from the booth like limp dolls.
The ride home was a nightmare. Both women insisted on rolling the windows down and sticking their heads out like puppies—until the wind made them gag. The driver had to pull over five separate times so one of them could throw up. They laughed hysterically every time it happened. At one point, Eun-ah tried to steal Ye-joon’s glasses, and Jiwoo kept asking if the car was “flying.”
By the time they pulled up to the estate, Ye-joon looked like he had aged ten years. He dragged himself out of the car and hoisted Eun-ah’s arm over his shoulder as she stumbled onto the driveway.
“Nooo—Unnie!” Eun-ah cried, spinning toward the car where Jiwoo was now limp against the window. “I don’t wanna go home here!” she wailed, “The mean man lives here!”
Jiwoo groaned from the backseat. “Don’t leave me, you traitorrrrr—” But mid-sentence, she passed out cold, her shoe still clutched in her hand. Ye-joon gestured to the guards to take her straight home.
Back at the door, Eun-ah began smacking Ye-joon’s chest with feeble little slaps. “I don’t wanna go home here,” she kept whining, dragging her heels.
Just then—“What the hell is all this noise?”
The voice came from above. Hoseok stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, scowling down in his sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. His voice echoed through the foyer like thunder. “What the fuck happened to her?” he barked, descending fast.
Eun-ah’s head snapped up. Her eyes squinted at him like he was blurry.
“Youuu—” she pointed, swaying dangerously. “You’re the mean man!”
She teetered forward and stabbed her finger into his chest. “You’re sooo mean,” she muttered, nearly falling against him.
Hoseok caught her easily, gripping her wrist to steady her. His jaw clenched as he looked to Ye-joon, who gave a deep bow.
“Jiwoo called her out. To a bar.”
“She’s barely standing,” Hoseok muttered, glaring at Eun-ah, whose head had now lolled onto his shoulder.
“Ish not your business!” she blurted. “You don’t own me!” Her words slurred and tangled as she weakly shoved his chest. The sharp stench of alcohol and vomit hit Hoseok’s nose, and he visibly grimaced.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, bridal style.
“Put me down! Meanie!” Eun-ah protested, limbs flailing like a drunk, angry noodle.
Hoseok didn’t even flinch. He just turned and started carrying her up the stairs, grumbling under his breath as she whined into his shirt.
“Why are you always so mean to meee—?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept walking, steady and silent, with a flushed, incoherent Eun-ah in his arms—leaving Ye-joon at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his temples all over again.
Hoseok laid Eun-ah gently onto the bed, her head sinking into the pillows as she continued to mumble something about him being a “big fat meanie.” He stood there, arms crossed, silently taking in the mess in front of him.
Her velvet dress was wrinkled and hiked up awkwardly, one boot still half-on, the other long gone. The hem of her dress was stained with something unpleasant—faintly yellow, likely from the last time she’d leaned out of the car window. A smear of it trailed near the neckline.
Hoseok sighed, jaw ticking. He reached down and hauled her upright again, trying not to let his irritation show. She groaned but didn’t wake. Her jacket slid off her shoulders with a soft rustle. Thank God she wore one—because the back of the dress dipped so low it was practically nonexistent. One wrong move tonight, and any man could’ve taken that the wrong way.
His fingers found the zipper on her boots. He knelt, pulled them off one by one, her legs limp. Then he tried to rouse her.
“Eun-ah.” He tapped her cheek lightly, shaking her shoulder. “You need to wake up. You need to shower.”
Nothing.
Just a soft murmur and her head flopping to the side.
He let out a heavy breath and muttered under his breath, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” before lifting her again.
This time, he carried her into the bathroom. He sat her gently in the empty tub, the cold porcelain making her shiver and curl inward like a child.
Hoseok knelt beside her and reached for the zipper at her back, hesitating for a moment. She didn’t move. He exhaled sharply and tugged it down, slowly peeling the damp, stained dress off her shoulders.
He tried—truly tried—not to look. But as the fabric slipped away, revealing the thin black lace underneath, his throat tightened. It barely covered her. The cold had made her skin flush, and the sight of her like this—unguarded, vulnerable, and entirely unintentional—felt intrusive.
“Shit,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
With practiced hands, he unclasped her top and slipped the rest of her clothes away, moving fast, eyes averted. He turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature to warm. Once the steam began to rise, he propped her up carefully against the tiled wall and began rinsing her body with the detachable shower head, gently wiping away the grime and residue from the night.
He didn’t say a word. Just worked in silence, his movements careful, deliberate. Every time her body shifted or leaned too far, he caught her instinctively—like muscle memory.
As the water ran over her, washing away the remnants of the night, Hoseok swallowed hard and stared at the tiles.
After what felt like an hour of chaos—water, towels, and silently cursing Jiwoo’s idea of fun—Hoseok finally wrapped Eun-ah in a soft towel and carried her back to bed. She didn’t stir, her limbs pliant, her breathing slow and even.
He sat her gently on the edge of the mattress and crouched in front of her, towel-drying her damp hair with a quiet focus, trying his best to keep his eyes on the task and not on the pale curve of her shoulder or the delicate rise and fall of her chest.
He’d seen everything. Too much. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed her beauty before—but this was different. This wasn’t her dolled up to tease him or to play some coy game. This was her—unguarded, flushed from sleep and alcohol, hair tangled and skin pink from warmth.
He reached for her pajama set—one of the modest ones—and, after slipping the fabric gently over her limbs, tucked her in like she might break. He pulled the covers up to her chin, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face before sitting at the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers digging into his temples.
He stayed there for a moment in the dark, the silence only broken by the soft hum of the heater and her even breathing.
Finally, he stood, turned off the lights, and—after one last sigh—climbed in beside her.
Sleep dragged him under almost instantly.
****
A few hours later, Hoseok stirred.
It was 8:03 a.m. The room was still dim, the gray of early morning filtering through the curtains. But something was heavy on his chest. He blinked blearily and tilted his head down.
Eun-ah.
She was curled against him, face tucked into the side of his neck, one arm slung across his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her breathing was soft, warm against his skin. Her body, so much smaller than his, fit so perfectly in the crook of his side, it made something in his chest ache.
Hoseok stared at the ceiling, frozen.
She looked so peaceful like this. So soft. Like she belonged there.
No.
He shook the thought off like water from his shoulders and carefully began to move. He slid his arm out from under hers, inch by inch, until he could guide her gently back onto her own side of the bed. She murmured something in her sleep, but didn’t wake.
He stayed there for a moment, staring at the shape of her beneath the blanket.
He didn’t need this.
He didn’t want to feel like she fit.
Not when this was supposed to be fake.
Not when she wasn’t supposed to mean this much.
Chapter 18: Chapter 18
Chapter Text
Eun-ah stirred beneath the heavy duvet, her head pounding like a war drum, each throb sending a sharp ring through her ears. She winced, instinctively pulling the covers over her eyes as she tried to piece together the night before.
Her limbs felt like lead, but she forced herself upright, groaning as the movement made her stomach churn. Her hair stuck to her cheek, and her mouth tasted like regret and tequila. She blinked hard, trying to steady her vision as she glanced around the room.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
The space beside her was already cold, the sheets tucked and empty—no sign of Hoseok. Her brows furrowed as she looked to the drawn curtains. Not a single ray of sunlight bled through.
Did the maids do that? Did they know I’d wake up with a hangover this bad?
She reached for her phone on the nightstand, wincing at the brightness of the screen. The time read 2:07 PM. Her eyes widened.
I slept half the day?
The real shock came with the notifications—dozens of messages from Jiwoo while she was dozing off in dream land. Eun-ah blinked hard, scrolling through with trembling fingers.
“Your husband nearly screamed my ear off this morning.”
“He looked like he was gonna kill someone.”
“He said I’m banned from taking you anywhere. LOL—AS IF.”
“Seriously though, girl. We were a mess. I think I left a shoe in the car??”
“Oh Ye-joon wont take my calls, I think he’s mad too”
Eun-ah’s stomach dropped. Her eyes scanned the rest of the texts in disbelief, her pulse quickening.
Hoseok saw me like that?—was I even walking? Was I yelling?
A sharp pang of embarrassment crept in as she lowered the phone and took in her surroundings again. She was no longer in that tiny, velvet dress. She was in clean, soft pajamas—hers, she realized. Her hair smelled faintly of the shampoo from the bathroom. Her skin didn’t feel sticky or sweaty.
She froze.
Wait… who changed me?
Her gaze darted toward the bathroom door. It was ajar. A damp towel hung on the side of the laundry bin.
No… no no no…
She fumbled with the hem of her pajama top, checking underneath as if it might offer answers. Her cheeks flushed. Her mind raced.
It must’ve been a maid… right? It had to be. There’s no way—
But something in her gut, a sinking, breathless tug of dread and humiliation, told her otherwise.
And it came with a face.
Hoseok.
No. No, calm down. Don’t jump to conclusions.
She rubbed her temples, trying to will her memory to cooperate, but all she got were vague flashes. Blurred lights. Laughter. Jiwoo screaming something about angels. Someone—Ye-joon?—lifting her. Then—
A voice.
You’re the mean man!
Her heart dropped.
“I said that out loud,” she whispered to herself in horror. “To his face.”
Bits and pieces started to drift back like fragments of a dream. The car ride… hanging her head out the window. Someone pulling off her boots. Cold tile against her skin. She vaguely remembered the jolt of the porcelain tub against her back, the chill making her shiver. And hands—warm hands—steadying her, careful, almost… tender.
Her face burned.
She clutched her forehead, groaning. “Oh god, did he… actually shower me?”
She looked down at her neatly buttoned pajama top again. Her hair had been dried—she could feel the soft texture of the ends. Her skin didn’t smell like alcohol or sweat or vomit. Someone had gone through the trouble of cleaning her up. And Hoseok was the only one who had been there when she—
Her chest tightened.
Not because she felt anything in particular—but because she didn’t know what to feel. And that was worse
But… he hadn’t said anything? She blinked at the ceiling. No yelling? No lecture? Not even a pissed off text message? That didn’t sound like him.
She glanced back at the phone on her hand, still lit up with Jiwoo’s messages.. So he had been angry. With Jiwoo, at least.
But why not with her?
He’d seen her—drunk, incoherent, a mess. And apparently… changed her clothes? Cleaned her up? Put her to bed?
She didn’t remember any of that. And that was the worst part. The not knowing. The pieces didn’t fit, and the silence this morning felt like a space she wasn’t sure how to fill.
She rubbed her face with both hands and let out a groan. The room was too quiet, her thoughts too loud. She didn’t want to think about Hoseok right now. She just wanted to find a glass of water, some painkillers—and maybe, if she was lucky, her dignity.
Eun-ah padded down the stairs, wincing with every step as her headache pulsed behind her eyes. The house was too quiet. Too clean. Even the maids had vanished, as if sensing she needed solitude to process… whatever disaster had unfolded last night.
Ye-joon was already at the kitchen island, scrolling through his tablet with a cup of coffee in hand. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and smirked.
“Well… Alive, I see.”
Eun-ah narrowed her eyes and made a beeline for the fridge. “Barely,” she mumbled, pulling out a cold water bottle and pressing it against her forehead.
Ye-joon watched her, amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “You really don’t remember, huh?”
“Bits,” she muttered, sliding into the dining chair. “Mostly chaos. Some yelling. Maybe a koi pond?”
He chuckled. “I’ll spare you the dramatics, but yeah—you made a scene.”
Eun-ah tilted her head back and groaned. “Of course I did.”
“Hoseok carried you up. Looked like he aged five years doing it.”
That made her sit up, suddenly hyper-aware of her outfit. Her pajamas. “So… no one else changed me?”
Ye-joon lifted a brow. “What do you mean?” he sipped his coffee, confusion evident on his face. “No one was awake last night when you came home, just me and Hoseok. So to answer your question… No one else saw you and changed you.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Great. Fantastic. That’s just… amazing.”
Silence stretched for a moment, punctuated only by the soft hum of the fridge.
“Where is he now?” she finally asked, peeking at Ye-joon through her fingers.
“Office,” he said, casually checking his watch. “Something about contract revisions. And after that, back-to-back BTS rehearsals until late.”
She let out a long, shaky sigh and dropped her forehead to the table. “Good.”
Ye-joon blinked. “Good?”
“I mean—I don’t know. I just… can’t look him in the eye today.”
He chuckled again and went back to his tablet. “Don’t worry. He probably saw more of you than you saw of him.”
Eun-ah groaned louder. “Ye-joon.”
He grinned without looking up. “Just saying.”
Across Seoul, Hoseok sat in the Ju-Yo Corp boardroom, sharp in his charcoal suit, one ankle resting over the other. His arms were folded, expression unreadable, as the head of marketing continued through a slideshow of quarterly figures.
The numbers were fine. Projections steady. The chairman seemed satisfied.
But Hoseok barely registered any of it.
His jaw tensed slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere past the glass walls. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was thinking about. Just—images. A flash of something from this morning, maybe. Her weight on his. Her soft snoring. A glimpse of pale skin. Nothing specific. Nothing important.
He shifted in his seat, adjusting his posture like something had crawled under his skin. The voice at the front of the room droned on about logistics and sales forecasts, but the details washed over him, meaningless.
His mind flicked—briefly, involuntarily—to warm water, the scent of soap, the faint sound of someone murmuring. Her voice? Why now?
He cleared his throat, abrupt.
A few heads turned. He gave a small nod, crisp and deliberate—just enough to signal he was paying attention. Even if he wasn’t.
His fingers tapped once against the polished table before stilling again.
There was work to do.
He didn’t have time for distractions.
Two hours later, the boardroom was replaced by the familiar hum of the studio. Hoseok sat in a swivel chair near the sound system, arms folded, eyes trained on the floor as Namjoon went over the updated rehearsal schedule.
Everyone else was locked in, scribbling notes, nodding along.
Except him.
Taehyung nudged his side with an elbow. “You good, hyung?”
Hoseok blinked, like he’d just come up for air. “What?”
Jungkook glanced over, brows raised. “You zoned out. Like, hard.”
“Did I?” he muttered, brushing it off, uncapping his water bottle. But his fingers stalled, gripping it tighter than necessary as something surfaced—uninvited.
You’re the mean man…
Her voice, thick with alcohol. The way her hand had fisted the front of his shirt. How she’d melted into him, barely conscious, her skin flushed, hair clinging to damp shoulders. The soft sound of her breath against his neck when he carried her upstairs.
He shook it off. Just a memory. That’s all it was.
Practice started at seven sharp.
The bass thumped, their routine filling the room—something they’d drilled a hundred times over. Hoseok moved with muscle memory at first, sharp and in sync, until somewhere in the middle of the third run-through—his steps faltered.
A late turn, a misstep—he nearly clipped Jimin.
“Whoa!” Jimin caught him with a laugh. “Hyung, what the hell? You drunk or something?”
The others chuckled. Hoseok didn’t.
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling away and immediately stepping back into position.
Jimin tilted his head with a playful grin. “You sure? You’ve been off all day. What’s her name, huh?”
That made Hoseok’s gaze snap to him, sharper than it needed to be. “What?”
Jimin blinked, startled. “It was a joke—”
“Don’t.” Hoseok’s tone was clipped. Cold.
Silence stretched. Jungkook’s smile faded. Namjoon cleared his throat and moved them along.
Hoseok turned back toward the mirror, jaw tight, pulse thrumming in his ears.
He wasn’t distracted.
He wasn’t thinking about anyone.
And he definitely wasn’t affected.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders back.
Focus.
It’s just a distraction. Nothing more.
So why did it feel like something was lodged in his chest—tight and unrelenting? Why the hell did the image of her slumped against his chest feel like a warm hand tightening around his throat?
And why—why—was the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging to his senses, as if she were right beside him?
A sharp ping cut through the studio noise.
Hoseok blinked, fingers instinctively reaching for his pocket. His phone screen lit up.
“Hyung! No phones during rehearsal—you’re the one who made that rule,” Jungkook called out from across the room.
“Take five,” Hoseok said curtly, already turning his back. As dance leader, he didn’t need approval.
The group scattered—Jimin and Taehyung made a beeline for their water bottles, Jungkook flopped onto the floor, Yoongi slipped out for air. Hoseok dropped onto the studio couch and leaned back, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple before unlocking his phone.
It was a message.
Eun-ah: I’m so sorry about earlier… I didn’t mean to cause a scene.
A second bubble popped up almost immediately, paired with a furious bowing chibi cat sticker.
Please don’t be mad at Unnie. It was all me.
And then—
Thank you for cleaning me up. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.
He stared at the screen for a long moment.
So… she remembered. At least fragments of it.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. But he didn’t type. Didn’t respond.
Instead, he clicked the screen off and slid the phone back into his pocket with a quiet sigh, chest heavy for reasons he refused to examine.
“Alright,” he said, already rising, voice brisk. “Back at it.”
Jungkook groaned from the floor. “That wasn’t even two minutes, hyung. What’s gotten into you?”
“Eyes on the mirror,” Hoseok snapped, already taking his place.
The music surged again, loud and relentless.
One by one, they fell into step.
And as the beat pulsed through the floor, Hoseok pushed harder, sharper, chasing perfection in the rhythm—not because he needed the practice.
But because it was easier than thinking.
***
Practice ended around 3:00 a.m.
The members parted ways with tired grins and lazy waves, their footsteps dragging, voices low with exhaustion. “See you tomorrow,” was passed around like a lullaby, barely above yawns. Hoseok climbed into his car, limbs heavy, neck aching, his body demanding rest—but his mind still buzzing.
He pulled out his phone again. The screen lit up to the same message she’d sent hours ago.
He hadn’t answered.
With a short exhale through his nose, he tossed the device onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The quiet hum of the car was a welcome shift from the loudness of the studio. Seoul’s streets were mostly empty now—headlights gliding over asphalt, the sky above just starting to bleed into pale grey.
By the time he got back to the estate, the sky was soft with pre-dawn light. Still dim, but not fully dark. In-between.
The house greeted him in silence. No lamps. No footsteps. Just the faint echo of his own breath as he stepped inside. The air was still, like everyone had turned in hours ago.
He made his way upstairs, footsteps muted on the carpeted steps. The shared bedroom door gave way to an empty bed—duvet neatly pulled, pillows undisturbed.
His brow furrowed, and he paused briefly.
No Eun-ah.
He moved to the bathroom. No steam. No hum of the fan. Just clean towels and dark tiles.
A flicker of irritation—or something close to it—settled in his chest.
Without meaning to, he turned and headed back down the stairs. Slower this time. He glanced toward the living room couch, trying to make it casual—like he just happened to look that way.
Empty.
His gaze shifted to the entertainment room. That sofa was her favorite; she always said it had the best view of the garden. But the room was dark. Untouched.
Then her study.
He tried the handle—locked. Lights off.
Now he stood in the center of the house. No sound. No sign of her.
Why was he even looking?
He clicked his tongue softly, annoyed with himself. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. She could be wherever she wanted.
“Mr. Jung?”
He turned.
Chun Hei stood by the hallway, robe knotted tightly at her waist, she gave him a small bow
“Did you need something to eat, Sir?” she asked, voice low and careful, as if wary of stepping on something brittle.
“No,” Hoseok said quickly. Then paused. “I was just—” He caught himself. “Never mind. Why are you up?”
“I Just finished the laundry sir,” she replied simply. “I’m heading to bed now.” she left with a small bow.
He gave a nod, rubbing at the side of his face as she padded quietly down the hall again. She hadn’t looked alarmed. No mention of Eun-ah. No urgency.
So… she was probably still around.
He let out a breath.
Good.
…
…
His jaw ticked as he turned back toward the stairs.
He clicked his tongue sharply. “What the hell is going on,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as if he could claw the thought out.
—
The next morning, the dining room was still quiet.
Hoseok sat at the long table, a steaming cup of coffee nestled between his fingers. The scent of toasted bread and soft, buttery eggs lingered in the air—his usual. Mrs. Jang had returned from her trip to the province just that morning and resumed her post, standing respectfully nearby after setting his breakfast down.
But the chair across from him remained untouched.
He unfolded the newspaper and stared blankly at the headlines. Politics. Stocks. International affairs. None of it stuck. The words bled together, losing meaning before they reached him.
His mind had wandered elsewhere—again.
Back to the night she mumbled into his chest, breath warm against his collarbone. Back to the way her fingers gripped him as if she knew him. Trusted him. Needed him.
Back to bathtubs and bare shoulders and skin.
He set the paper down with a quiet sigh and glanced at the plate in front of him. The eggs were done just right—fluffy, soft, a little runny in the middle. Exactly the way he liked them.
Still, he didn’t move.
“Is it not to your liking, Mr. Jung?” Mrs. Jang asked gently, tilting her head.
“No, it’s fine,” he replied, snapping out of it. “Please let the drivers know I’ll be heading out soon.”
She bowed silently and slipped out of the room.
He tapped his fingers against the edge of the plate, jaw tight. Eun-ah didn’t always show up for breakfast. But she usually did by now. At least a half hour ago. Still groggy. Still in oversized shirts. Sometimes asking for toast. Sometimes just sitting across him in silence, doing things she does.
But this morning, her seat was still empty.
Still no sign of her.
Again.
Where the hell was she
By the time he reached the foyer, Ye-joon was already waiting—perfectly pressed and precise as always, tablet in hand and the car door held open like clockwork.
“Good morning,” Ye-joon greeted with a polite nod. “Here’s your schedule for today.”
Hoseok offered a grunt in return and slid into the backseat. Ye-joon climbed in beside the driver, scanning the screen in front of him.
Everyone acted normal. Too normal. Like Eun-ah hadn’t all but vanished from their shared life.
“11:00 — marketing briefing,” Ye-joon recited. “12:00 — lunch with Director Go. 1:00 — finance meeting. BTS practice at 5:00.”
Hoseok leaned his head back against the seat, his temples pounding from too little sleep and too many thoughts. He listened out for her name—for any mention of her.
Nothing.
But it was the “1:00” that snagged his attention.
Finance.
His eyes opened, sharp and tired all at once.
Kyu.
Of all days.
Of all goddamn people.
Perfect.
“Can we just cancel that 1:00?” he muttered, voice laced with irritation. “I don’t feel like starting my day with that bastard’s face.”
Ye-joon didn’t flinch. “No can do. Since Mr. Kim’s retiring, the turnover process begins today. Your attendance is expected.”
Hoseok exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face. “Great,” he mumbled. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.”
Ye-joon didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.
They both knew the answer.
Even if Hoseok was trying hard not to say it out loud.
Not even to himself.
After back to back meetings, 1:00 p.m. rolled in, the double doors to the Ju-Yo Corp conference room opened with a quiet but commanding swing as Hoseok stepped inside, polished as ever in a crisp black suit. His posture was composed, every detail in place—but his eyes held a quiet storm.
At the head of the long table sat Chairman Jung, with Mr. Kim beside him. And directly across—unsurprisingly—was Kyu.
Kyu sat with one leg crossed lazily over the other, laughing too freely at something the chairman had just said. He always looked like he belonged anywhere he walked into—and that had always been the problem.
Hoseok’s jaw tensed as he approached.
“Ah, hyu—Director Jung,” Kyu stood with his usual lazy grin, extending a hand. “Didn’t think you’d actually make it.”
“I had more important meetings,” Hoseok replied flatly, grasping his hand just a moment too long. “But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you, Director.”
Kyu’s grin never faltered. “Of course.”
“Now, now,” Chairman Jung interjected, amused, “it’s always been like this between the two of them. You should’ve seen the way they fought as kids—everything was a competition.” the Chairman looked at Mr. Kim who was nodding in amusement.
“Competition?” Kyu echoed, glancing at Hoseok with mock innocence. “Chairman, I never took any of that seriously. Isn’t that right, Director Jung?”
The words dripped with condescension. Hoseok didn’t bite. He simply adjusted his watch and took his seat in silence.
Smug bastard.
Ye-joon cleared his throat beside the screen. “Shall we begin?”
What followed was hours of market analysis, financial forecasts, and risk projections. Hoseok sat through it all like carved stone, speaking only when necessary, though his focus barely touched the numbers. Kyu kept looking over. Watching. Waiting.
When the meeting finally adjourned closer to 4:00 p.m., the older executives exited, leaving Hoseok, Kyu, and Ye-joon behind in the now-empty conference room.
Kyu didn’t leave yet, eyeing Hoseok like a hawk.
“Be sure to send my regards to Eun-ah,” he said, casually straightening his cuff. “Tell her the other night was… interesting.”
Hoseok’s spine stiffened, he didn’t let it show.. but he was thinking.
The other night?
Kyu smirked, already pleased, already caught Hoseok’s confusion. “Wait.. don’t tell me she didn’t tell you? She was trying to get into one of those exclusive bars in Cheongdam. I happened to be there. Helped her past the doorman. Waited with her till Jiwoo-noona showed up.”
He took a slow step closer.
“She was dressed so…” Kyu paused, like he was savoring the memory on his tongue, eyes glinting. “Suggestive. I figured I should stick around. You know how men get when they catch a whiff of something sweet.”
Hoseok’s nostrils flared, a muscle ticking along his jaw.
“She didn’t say much—actually tried to push me away,” Kyu went on, his tone almost lazy, like he was recounting something mildly amusing. “I found it cute. I like a little resistance. Makes things more interesting.”
There was a glint in his eye now—calculated, self-satisfied. Like he was already envisioning the win.
“Don’t worry though,” he added with a smirk, “she didn’t have to say a word. I can read signs. You two fought, didn’t you?”
Hoseok didn’t answer. He kept his eyes down, methodically gathering his things—folder, pen, phone—focusing on each task like it could drown out the noise.
Kyu tilted his head, watching him with mock curiosity.
“That obvious?” he hummed. “She had that look… a little lost, a little reckless. Trust me, I know it when I see it.”
Hoseok’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You need to learn your boundaries,” he said, tone sharp. “Whatever’s happening between me and my wife is none of your business.”
Kyu paused—and then let out a soft laugh, eyes narrowing.
“None of my business…?” he echoed.
“Guess it’s none of yours, either. Because she’s clearly running to someone else to vent… and that someone sure as hell isn’t you.”
The words landed like a slap.
Hoseok’s fists tightened at his sides, knuckles whitening.
Kyu leaned in just enough for his voice to drop.
“Good thing Jiwoo found her when she did. If she hadn’t…” He let the sentence dangle, the smirk deepening. “Well. Who knows where she would’ve ended up. Maybe with me.”
He patted Hoseok’s arm with mock sympathy.
“You know how it is, hyung. I always win.”
And just like that, Kyu turned and strolled out of the room, whistling under his breath, like he’d just scored a silent victory.
Behind him, Hoseok stood frozen, breath tight, his face unreadable—except for the fire in his eyes.
He didn’t know what burned more—his anger, or the sting of truth buried in Kyu’s words.
With a sharp crack, Hoseok slammed his fist against the conference table, the sound echoing through the now-empty room. A faint dent marred the wood, and a hissed “Fuck.” slipped through his clenched teeth as he shook out his hand, knuckles already reddening from the impact.
“That smug bastard,” he growled.
His eyes snapped to Ye-joon, sharp and accusing. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me Kyu was there?”
Ye-joon stiffened. “I didn’t know. I swear—all I saw was Jiwoo with her. I didn’t even see Kyu.”
Hoseok exhaled sharply through his nose, adjusting his tie like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling.
“Why the hell does he keep finding her…” he muttered under his breath, as if the question itself was eating him alive.
****
“Again!” Hoseok’s voice cracked like a whip through the studio, echoing off the mirrors.
It was already past 10 p.m.—they’d been at it nonstop since 6, and the strain was showing.
“Hyung…” Jimin gasped, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “I seriously need water. Just five minutes, please.”
“Ya, Hobi-ah,” Jin added, his voice hoarse as he wiped sweat from his brow. “You’re pushing too hard.”
Namjoon stepped in, breath labored but firm. “Alright, that’s enough. Take ten, everyone.”
The group broke formation like a collapsing wave. Taehyung and Jungkook dropped to the floor, limbs spread like starfish as staff rushed in with towels and water. Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi were already chugging water like it was their last sip on Earth.
But Hoseok didn’t move.
He stood at the front of the room, shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the mirrored wall, watching their last run-through replay on the screen beside it. His gaze was sharp, almost punishing—like he could cut through the reflection if he stared hard enough.
“We looked sloppy,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Unfocused. Weak.”
He turned back toward the group, voice rising again.
“We need to do it again.”
His tone left no room for argument—only the unmistakable edge of something else beneath it. Anger. Frustration. Distraction. Like the ghost of that smug grin from earlier was still coiled around his ribs, squeezing.
Jimin gave Namjoon a look. Namjoon exhaled. They all felt it, but they didn’t know the cause, they didn’t know what Kyu had said… and what he said, it hadn’t stayed in that boardroom.
One round became two… then three… and before long, no one could keep count. Legs shook beneath them, shirts clung to their backs, and even the assistants stopped calling for breaks. It was well past midnight by the time they finally staggered through the final run. Years in the industry had hardened them all—but never had Hoseok pushed like this. Not even in their rookie days.
As the music faded out, Hoseok didn’t wait for applause or feedback. He grabbed his towel, slung his bag over one shoulder, and made a beeline for the exit, sweat still dripping down his temples.
“Hyung—wait up!” Jungkook called, breathless, half-jogging after him with a hand extended. “Come out with us!”
The team scrambled to keep up as Hoseok reached the lobby, barely slowing his pace. His expression was unreadable, jaw tight, brows still faintly furrowed from hours of perfectionism that hadn’t burned out of his system.
“Let’s go for a drink,” Taehyung offered.
“I’ve got work at the office later,” Hoseok muttered without looking back, brushing past them.
Namjoon caught up easily, towering beside him, chest still heaving from the practice. “It’s Saturday,” he said, brow arched. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Hoseok didn’t respond—just kept walking until Namjoon stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop.
“We all saw you today, man,” Namjoon added quietly, not unkindly. “You’ve been chewing glass since the minute you walked in.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He threw an arm around Hoseok’s tense shoulders and dragged him toward Jin’s car. Hoseok resisted, trying to twist out from under the grip, but Namjoon held firm, muscles locking him in place like a steel trap.
“Let’s go to your place,” Jin shouted from the driver’s seat as he unlocked the doors. “That way we can drink and die on your couch instead of another bar’s floor.”
“Brilliant,” Jungkook laughed, practically bouncing on his heels. “Plus—we get to see Eun-ah too!”
At that, Hoseok’s steps faltered.
He didn’t say anything at first, just yanked open the passenger door with a bit too much force, throwing his bag inside.
“She’s not there,” he said finally, voice clipped.
There was a pause. Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not home,” Hoseok repeated, climbing in and slamming the door.
Jin slid into the driver seat, adjusting the side mirrors and rearview mirror. “Wait… where is she? Like a vacation or something?”
“I don’t know,” Hoseok muttered, tilting his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes, as if that would shut everything out. “And frankly, I don’t care.”
Yoongi, already settled in behind him, leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t know where your wife is?”
Hoseok’s jaw clenched so hard it clicked. He stayed still, fingers curling lightly into fists on his lap.
Then, without opening his eyes, he spoke.
“Are we gonna drive,” he said, voice quiet and cold, “or are we all here to interrogate me tonight?”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Thick with the weight of things unsaid.
The drive to the estate was quiet from Jin’s car. Hoseok deliberately closed his eyes, pretending to rest—mostly to avoid the inevitable questions. But he could feel it anyway: the low burn of Yoongi’s stare from the seat behind him.
In the other car, Tae, Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook were blasting something obnoxious from the speakers, all of them yelling the lyrics and pretending to ask Jin for a race. It was like the exhaustion from practice had been replaced by pure chaos once they’d hit the highway.
As both cars came to a halt at the tall estate gates, the guards stepped forward and greeted them with deep bows. The vehicles eased through, and the members handed off the keys to the waiting drivers, who parked the cars neatly in line out back.
“Ah, home sweet home,” Jungkook sighed dramatically as they stepped into the estate, dragging his feet across the polished floors and inhaling like he’d just arrived at a five-star resort. “Smells like wealth and unresolved family tension.”
Hoseok didn’t even crack a smile. He was already walking ahead, tossing his duffel bag onto the nearest sofa in the entertainment room. The others followed, loud and rowdy—everyone still buzzing from the night’s adrenaline.
And that’s when the chaos started.
Within minutes, Seokjin had pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey from the mini-bar, he grinned and said “A gift from a director, don’t ask me which one!”, and Taehyung found an old deck of cards tucked between the coffee table books.
A drinking game was declared before anyone had the chance to protest.
The rules didn’t really matter—just that they were followed with absolute, illogical commitment.
Ten minutes in, Jungkook was balancing a remote on his nose. Yoongi, stone-faced, was drinking apple juice someone had poured into a wine glass just to mess with him. Namjoon had already knocked over a lamp trying to “strategically dodge” a dare that involved calling his high school crush.
But the highlight?
Jin, half a bottle deep, lost a round of “Never Have I Ever” and was now being adorned with random flower petals Jungkook plucked from the hallway vase.
“Hyung, don’t move—this is high fashion,” Taehyung said solemnly, tucking a daisy behind Jin’s ear and handing him a phone. “Now. Selfie. Shirtless. Give us smolder. Like a tortured prince of spring.”
Jin, shirt off, arm draped dramatically across the back of the sofa, posed with the elegance of a Greek statue and the intensity of a man who regretted everything. The resulting photo made Jimin collapse to the floor laughing.
“Send that to the group chat,” Namjoon wheezed.
As the chaos spun louder—music playing from the sound system, snacks spilling onto the floor, half the guys shouting over each other—Hoseok sat on the edge of a chair, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched.
He wasn’t really listening.
His eyes occasionally darted to the hallway. The kitchen. The stairs.
Still no sign of her.
Jungkook suddenly looked around, frowning. “Wow… Eun-ah really isn’t here. If she was, she would’ve joined us by now.”
The laughter didn’t stop, but the words lingered. Hoseok didn’t say anything. Just kept his gaze fixed on the rim of his glass.
“She’s probably hiding,” Jimin joked, nudging Yoongi with a grin. “Hobi-hyung is terrifying.”
Yoongi snorted, and someone threw a pillow at Jimin.
Hoseok gave a tight smirk, one that barely twitched the corner of his mouth. Just enough to play along.
But inside, something gnawed.
He still didn’t know where the hell she was. No text and no mention from anyone.
And for reasons he refused to name, it was beginning to bother him. More than it should.
****
As the night dragged into the early hours, the energy slowly bled from the room. Laughter dulled into low murmurs, music faded into the background, and one by one, bodies slumped over—some curled up on the couches, others sprawled out on the floor with half-empty cups still in hand.
Only two remained fully conscious.
Yoongi and Hoseok had claimed the chess table sometime after midnight, converting it into a makeshift whiskey station. The polished board was littered with bottle caps, condensation rings, and a sad, toppled knight piece stained with scotch.
They were three bottles deep now.
Yoongi’s eyes had long since disappeared into sleepy slits, his cheeks flushed and his speech lazily slurred. Across from him, Hoseok looked like someone had dunked him in red watercolor—ears, neck, and face all glowing with the kind of drunken heat that had long passed pleasant.
He took another swig and exhaled like it hurt.
“So…” Yoongi’s voice dragged out, thick and hoarse, “how’s married life treating you?” He didn’t bother lifting his head—just kept twirling his glass, ice clinking quietly inside.
Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, setting his drink down with a dull clunk. “It’s… working out pretty nicely,” he said, voice too casual for the weight in his shoulders. “We don’t get involved in each other’s personal lives. We don’t care. So… yeah. Perfect. As one might say.”
He leaned back and let himself collapse into the hard wooden backrest, arms spread out like he’d just finished a war.
Yoongi hummed, eyebrows twitching. “I knew it’d turn out like this,” he muttered, lifting his glass again. “This is why I told you not to go through with the damn marriage.”
The clink of his ice cubes echoed louder than it should have.
“Nah,” Hoseok replied after a beat. “It’s fine. Not like I’ve ever had control anyway.” His voice was flat—rehearsed. Like he’d said that same line a thousand times to himself just to make it feel true.
Yoongi shook his head slowly. “Maybe it’s fine for you. But what about her?” He leaned forward now, looking up through tired, narrowed eyes. “She has a life too, man.”
“I know that.” Hoseok’s answer came quickly, like a reflex. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling again. “That’s why I’m not stopping her from doing whatever the hell she wants. If she wants out, she’s free to leave. She can divorce me tomorrow for all I care.”
“You really mean that?” Yoongi scoffed, eyebrows raised. “Because if you do, you’ve got a real shitty way of hiding it. You’ve been checking your phone every ten minutes like a guy waiting for a text from someone he does care about.”
“Shut it,” Hoseok snapped, tone sharp but slurred at the edges. “It’s work. Ye-joon hasn’t updated me about… something.”
Yoongi stared at him blankly. “Right. ‘Do-not-reply’ Ye-joon with a profile picture of a goddamn cartoon cat. Sure.”
Hoseok tried not to smile—but he did, just barely. “Hyung, you’re drunk.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Yoongi set down his glass and gestured between them, a slow lazy wave. “But drunk doesn’t mean wrong.”
Silence stretched between them. Hoseok looked down at his lap, then to his phone on the table. The screen stayed dark. Still nothing.
Yoongi leaned forward again, voice quiet now. “Point is… if you’re already feeling something… why not take the chance to make it real?”
Hoseok laughed. Loud, dry, tired. “Who says someone’s feeling something?”
Yoongi scoffed lazily, drunk but wasn’t taking bullshit from him. “I know bullshit when I hear it.. Hoba. And you’re bullshitting me right now.” He said, resting his back to the wooden chair.
Hoseok scoffed at the thought, him, feeling something? For Eun-ah? It lingered in his mind, like it offended him. “What a fucking weird thing to say.”
But even as he leaned back again, sinking into the chair, eyes half-lidded and lips curled into a smirk—his fingers tapped absently at the table, inches from his phone and he didn’t look away from it. Not even once.
“Hyung, I—” Hoseok started, finally lifting his head to speak.
But Yoongi was already gone—slumped in his seat, soft snores escaping, head bobbing slightly with each breath. Hoseok blinked at him, then gave a tired chuckle.
“Of course.”
With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying as the weight of alcohol and exhaustion hit him. The floor tilted just enough to make the mess of the room feel like a maze—Jungkook half on the floor, Taehyung curled up with a throw pillow, Jin sprawled like roadkill under the coffee table with a flower still tucked behind his ear from some long-forgotten dare.
He stepped over limbs, bottles, and snack wrappers with the kind of care that only came from not wanting to deal with a hungover tantrum the next morning. Every move was slow, deliberate, and heavy.
By the time he reached the stairs, the house was silent again—eerily so. His hand dragged along the banister as he climbed, the soft glow of hallway lights blurring at the edges. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the lack of sleep, but his eyelids grew heavier with every step.
He finally reached the bedroom door and twisted the knob gently, half-expecting the light to be off and Eun-ah curled on her side, maybe pretending to sleep.
But when he opened the door—it was just… cold.
Empty.
The bed was untouched on her side. Not even the usual dent in her pillow. The RJ plushie sat stiff and in the center, its oversized scarf drooping between the pillows like a ridiculous velvet barrier.
They’d argued about that plushie too—more than once. He hated how it dominated the bed. It made sleeping awkward, made the space feel even more divided. He’d tossed it on the floor before, more than once, out of irritation.
Now he just stared at it.
And her absence.
He let out a sharp breath through his nose and trudged forward, pulling back the blanket on his side and sinking onto the mattress with a quiet thud. His arm draped loosely over RJ—too tired to shove it off this time.
“It’s just you and me now,” he muttered to the stupid plushie, his voice dry and flat.
And as the silence pressed in, he closed his eyes and gave in to sleep—alone, and aching, without knowing why.
****
“I’m home…” Eun-ah murmured as she stepped into the foyer, her voice soft and hoarse from sleep.
The sky outside was just beginning to brighten, a pale wash of blue filtering through the tall windows. It was a little past 7 a.m.—she’d left Gwangju at 4:00 and had barely slept. Her eyes were puffy with exhaustion, her limbs heavy. Even the hoodie she wore felt too warm now, clinging to her like the last bit of her long journey.
She gave the driver a small bow and a tired smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, then dragged her suitcase inside with a dull clunk across the marble floor.
The house was… oddly still.
Too still.
By now, Mrs. Jang was usually bustling in the kitchen—pans clattering, soup simmering, the faint hum of a morning tune drifting into the halls. But now? Not even a creak. Not a single sound.
Eun-ah slowed her steps, suddenly alert despite the fatigue weighing her down.
Then, just as she reached the stairs, a sharp, unmistakable scent cut through the still air.
Alcohol.
She stopped short, nose wrinkling. The smell was strong—sour, bitter, heavy.
Her gaze shifted sharply toward the entertainment room. The door was cracked open, and just barely visible in the low morning light was a hand, limp and hanging over the edge of a cushion.
“Huh… did he fall asleep here drunk?” she muttered under her breath, blinking the fog from her eyes.
Cautiously, she stepped closer, pushing the door open wider—and immediately tripped over something solid and unmoving.
“Ah—ow!”
She stumbled forward and landed with a thud, her palms catching the floor just in time. Pain shot up her shin as she hissed through her teeth.
“What the hell—”
A groggy voice grumbled beneath her. “Hey, what’s the big deal—?”
Jimin.
Flat on the carpet, barely opening one eye before slumping back into his snore, too gone to care who or what he’d just spoken to.
Eun-ah blinked in disbelief, pushed herself up, and brushed her hair out of her face. She fumbled for the nearest switch and flicked it on.
The room blinked to life in dim, golden light.
Her jaw dropped.
Taehyung was sprawled across the couch like he’d melted there, arms flung wide. Jungkook was face-down on a beanbag, one leg still in the air. Jin was somehow under the coffee table, cheek pressed against the wood, a single flower stuck behind his ear. Namjoon had curled up behind the largest armchair like a kid hiding during hide-and-seek. And—
Yoongi.
Curled in a slouch on the floor by the chess table, still gripping a nearly empty glass, his head drooped, motionless.
The entire room was littered with the aftermath of chaos—half-eaten snacks, crumpled napkins, empty bottles scattered like trophies of the night before.
Eun-ah stood at the threshold, utterly stunned.
“What in the world happened here…” she whispered, eyes wide, exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
She flicked the lights off once more, the room falling back into soft, sleepy darkness. Whatever had happened down there clearly hadn’t been long ago—the alcohol still lingered in the air. But Eun-ah had known the boys long enough now to not be too surprised. When they partied, they really partied.
With a soft huff, she turned on her heel, grabbed her luggage handle, and quietly made her way up the stairs. Her footsteps were light, careful not to wake anyone, the wooden steps creaking just slightly under her weight.
She pushed open the bedroom door.
And stopped.
There—right in the center of her side of the bed—was Hoseok, fast asleep, curled around the massive RJ plushie like it was clinging to life. His hair was slightly tousled, lips parted as he breathed evenly. The early light poured through the windows, touching his face just enough to make him look soft… boyish, even. Completely at peace.
A small, involuntary grin spread across her face.
Without thinking, she reached for her phone and quickly snapped a picture.
“One for the books,” she murmured, barely audible over the hush of the morning.
Her smile lingered as she stood there a second longer, just watching him. The Hoseok she knew—sharp, unreadable, always slightly out of reach—was nowhere in sight. This version of him… she wondered if anyone else ever got to see this.
“I wonder…” she whispered under her breath, stepping closer and removing a stray hair away from his face. “if we’d met under different circumstances, what would’ve happened to us?”
Her voice faded as a sigh left her chest, heavy with exhaustion. She slipped out of her hoodie and climbed onto the bed, choosing his side instead of her own. She nestled into the mattress, her head barely brushing the edge of the RJ plushie, her body sinking into the familiar scent of laundry, warmth, and faint cologne.
Sleep took her almost instantly.
****
Hoseok stirred sometime later, barely conscious, eyes blinking blearily against the bright morning light.
Everything felt hazy. The room was quiet. But now, warm.
Then he turned his head.
And froze.
Eun-ah…?
Her body was turned toward him, lips slightly parted as she breathed softly in her sleep. One arm had somehow found its way near his, her head just inches from his shoulder. Her long lashes twitched, dancing faintly with the rhythm of her dreams. A lock of hair had fallen into her face.
She’s..home
Still unsure if he was dreaming, he reached out, almost afraid to touch her. His fingers brushed the hair gently away from her cheek.
Her skin was warm. So soft.
It felt real.
Too real.
His chest tightened, something unspoken blooming quietly behind his ribs. But before he could make sense of it—before the moment could shift into anything else—sleep pulled him back under like a tide, and everything went quiet again.
Chapter 19: Chapter 19
Notes:
Sorry for the long wait, I got busy and sick. I hope everyone likes it :)
Chapter Text
Eun-ah stirred awake to the sound of chaos echoing from downstairs—loud laughter, clattering dishes, and what distinctly sounded like someone yelling about eggs. A groggy glance at the clock told her it was 11:00 a.m.—late, even for a Saturday.
She was alone in bed. Again.
But RJ was there.
The oversized plushie lay beside her like someone had carefully tucked it in after leaving, its scarf slightly wrinkled, arms stretched toward her as if to stand in for someone else.
She blinked up at the ceiling for a beat, then let out a quiet breath.
Downstairs, Jungkook’s voice rang out, high and dramatic—something about “the last sausage,” followed closely by Jimin’s louder protest and Jin’s signature exasperated scolding. For a bunch of people who should’ve been dead from hangovers, they were loud as hell.
A sleepy snicker escaped her lips.
Dragging herself upright, Eun-ah stretched her limbs, then slipped out from under the blanket. She padded into the bathroom, brushing her teeth and splashing her face with cold water to wake herself up. Her hair went up into a messy bun—the one Hoseok always hated—but it was the easiest fix this early.
She yawned as she descended the stairs, fingers trailing along the cool railing, the sound from the dining room growing louder with every step. As she turned into the tall open space, the scene came into full view—and the chaos finally had a face.
BTS.
Jungkook and Jimin were halfway into a skirmish over a single sausage, using their chopsticks like swords. Taehyung had joined in for the fun, egging them on with exaggerated gasps. Jin looked like he was about to throw his spoon across the room. Namjoon sat with the morning paper, brows furrowed in focus while sipping his coffee. Yoongi, meanwhile, looked half-dead, blinking into his mug like he had no idea where—or who—he was.
And Hoseok…
He sat quietly at the far end of the table, elbow resting on the edge, fork absently prodding his eggs like he was testing for signs of life. His expression was unreadable. Detached.
Until—
“Eun-ah!”
Jungkook spotted her first, his bunny grin lighting up his whole face. His hair was pulled into a tiny bun on top of his head, and he looked far too energetic for someone who’d passed out on the floor hours ago.
“Good morning!”
At the sound of her name, Hoseok’s shoulders twitched—just slightly. His back straightened, fork freezing mid-poke. He didn’t look at her, but she saw it. That flicker of tension, caught in the corner of her eye.
She offered a smile and made her way to the table.
“I was saving this sausage for you,” Jungkook announced proudly, pointing to the last piece on the platter. “But Jimin-hyung kept stealing it.”
“I did not—” Jimin began, mouth already halfway full. Then, with a sheepish look, he plucked the sausage with his chopsticks and dropped it onto her plate. “Here. You take it.”
Eun-ah chuckled and shook her head, waving a hand. “It’s okay. I just want coffee.”
No sooner had she said that than Jimin popped the sausage into his mouth, grinning in triumph while Jungkook gasped, betrayed.
“We can ask Ms. Jang to make more,” Eun-ah said soothingly, patting Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m sure the kitchen still has plenty.”
Jungkook beamed, crisis averted.
Jin, ever the designated parent of the group, cleared his throat with theatrical flair. “So… rumor has it you weren’t home yesterday. Or the day before.”
The air shifted. Just barely—but enough. Hoseok’s jaw ticked, the subtle clench betraying a flicker of annoyance beneath his otherwise unreadable expression.
“I think our Hoseokie here was too shy to ask where you went,” Jin added with a sly grin.
“Hyung, I wasn’t—” Hoseok started, only for Jin to cut him off with a finger pressed dramatically to his lips.
“Shhh. Let the lady speak.” Jin turned back to Eun-ah with mock seriousness. “Care to share where you disappeared to?”
Eun-ah scratched the back of her neck, sheepish. “Ah, yeah… My childhood best friend’s dad passed away. It was pretty sudden. My parents wanted to visit, so we drove down to Gwangju.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Namjoon said gently, folding the paper and setting it down.
“Yeah…” Eun-ah nodded softly. “His dad was doing fine a few months ago, but cancer’s like that, I guess. You never really know.”
There was a small pause. And Hoseok finally looked up—brief, fleeting. But it was there.
His eyes met hers, just for a second. Then he looked back down, quietly shifting a piece of egg across his plate like he hadn’t heard a thing.
After breakfast, the boys slowly migrated to the living room, limbs still heavy from sleep and hangovers. The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight spilling lazily across the hardwood floor.
It was somewhere at early noon when the idea was tossed out—half-joking, half-serious.
“We need to sweat out all that whiskey,” Namjoon groaned, sprawled across the couch in an oversized tee and shorts, a water bottle tucked under one arm like a pillow. “Hydration and sunlight. Cleanse the system.”
“Or,” Jin said, dramatically waving his hand like a royal decree, “we use the pool and tan like kings.”
“It’s Eun-ah’s house,” Jimin said with a grin. “Makes sense we use the royal amenities.”
Jungkook perked up first, already pulling out his phone and texting the group chat from three feet away:
POOL DAY. Bring floaties or stay inside like a coward.
“Dibs on the unicorn!” he added out loud before sprinting upstairs to change in one of Hoseok’s larger shirts.
It didn’t take long for the backyard to transform. The house staff had already pulled out the summer supplies from the storage room: oversized towels, lounge chairs, colorful floaties—including the infamous flamingo and Jungkook’s treasured unicorn. The shaded bar was lined with chilled drinks, fruit platters, and chips. Music played softly through the outdoor speakers, something summery and upbeat. The scent of citrus and sunscreen drifted on the breeze, blending with the faint smell of chlorine.
Hoseok came out last.
Dressed in black swim shorts and a dark sleeveless hoodie, he kept his sunglasses hooked to his collar and sipped slowly from a cold glass of iced coffee. He wasn’t really in the mood for sun or socializing—but anything was better than stewing inside alone.
Yoongi was soaking his feet at the edge of the pool, face tilted toward the sun, while Namjoon and Jin argued quietly over which sunscreen had better ingredients. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook were already mid-splash battle, half-wrestling over the unicorn float.
Everything felt chaotic. Familiar. Safe.
And then—
A flicker of movement near the patio doors.
“Woa–,” Taehyung said, his tone more surprised than anything else.
They all turned instinctively.
Eun-ah stepped outside, calm and collected, her long linen button-down fluttering behind her in the breeze. Her hair was tied up in a loose twist, sunglasses in hand, and beneath the white fabric—just visible—was a sleek black two-piece. Simple. Chic. Effortless.
She wasn’t trying to turn heads. But that didn’t stop a few jaws from momentarily slackening.
No one said anything inappropriate. No one dared—not to their brother’s wife, not with Hoseok right there. But the surprise was genuine.
“Damn,” Jungkook said, blinking as he floated past on his unicorn. “Eun-ah cooler than all of us combined.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jin sniffed, adjusting his hat. “I look amazing in this sun.”
“True that, Oppa you look great,” Eun-ah replied, walking past them with the kind of grace that didn’t try to impress—because it didn’t have to.
She folded her linen shirt neatly on a chair, picked up a glass of water, and eased into one of the loungers under the shaded umbrella like it was any normal afternoon.
For a second, no one moved.
Hoseok didn’t look at her directly. But his hand, wrapped around his glass, had stilled.
“She lives here, guys. Chill,” he said, his voice a touch flatter than usual. “It’s not a runway.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Namjoon muttered, still trying to discreetly adjust his seat.
Eun-ah smiled faintly behind her glass. “If this is what pool days are like, I should’ve come out more often.”
That was when Hoseok finally glanced her way. Just for a second. And just as quickly, he looked away.
But that second was enough.
Because everyone saw it.
And it was definitely already a thing.
The sun was high now, shimmering off the surface of the pool like a sheet of glass. The music had changed to something brighter, a summer anthem thumping softly from the estate speakers. Laughter erupted in waves—someone had just cannonballed onto Jungkook’s float, nearly capsizing him.
Hoseok sat under the shade, legs stretched out, one arm lazily draped over the side of the lounge chair. A cold drink rested in his palm, ice melting faster than he could drink. His sunglasses masked most of his expression, but his clenched jaw said enough.
She was everywhere.
Eun-ah, now without her linen cover-up, stood knee-deep in the pool as Jungkook squirted her with a water gun. She shrieked, laughing as she lunged forward, trying to splash him in return. Her swimsuit—minimalist and simple—left very little to the imagination. Hoseok’s throat worked as he swallowed another mouthful of his drink, his gaze trailing the way droplets slid down her spine.
It was maddening.
How she fit in with his members. How naturally she moved between them—like she belonged. How she laughed without caution. How he’d never seen her like this before.
Yoongi wandered past with a bowl of pineapple, squinting toward the chaos. “If someone dies today, I’m not dragging the body inside.”
Hoseok didn’t answer.
He was too busy watching Eun-ah.
Jimin charged toward her with a water bucket, Jungkook shouting something about betrayal. She squealed, grabbing the nearest floatie as a shield—but it was too late.
The water hit her in one splash.
“YA!” she cried, half-laughing, but then froze mid-movement—expression twisting in horror.
Everyone paused.
“Oh my god—DON’T MOVE!”
Her arms clutched her chest, eyes wide as she dipped low into the water.
“Everyone turn around. RIGHT NOW!”
The boys instantly spun, hands up in surrender. “WE’RE NOT LOOKING!” Jin yelled, eyes shut tight.
Hoseok had already stood up.
His drink was on the ground. His jaw tight. He scanned the water with sharp, purposeful eyes—then spotted it.
A sliver of black floating by the steps.
Without hesitation, he dove.
The splash barely echoed before he emerged, holding the small triangle of fabric in his fist. He waded toward her silently, eyes on her face—not anywhere else. Eun-ah’s cheeks were burning, her breath shaky.
“I’ve got it,” he said, voice low.
He reached behind her and helped her fasten the strings, his fingers brushing her damp skin only briefly—but that brief contact was enough to make his breath hitch.
A jolt.
A sharp, electric rush surged through him at the touch—like static crackling beneath his skin, like some part of him short-circuited. She was just water-slick warmth beneath his fingertips, but for a split second, it felt like the world narrowed to just that point of contact.
“There,” he murmured. “You’re good.”
She exhaled in relief, not even daring to look at him yet.
Jimin, sheepish and soaked, called from the sidelines, “I’m so sorry, Eun-ah—I didn’t mean to—”
“You could’ve actually hurt someone,” Hoseok barked, whirling toward him with unexpected force. “Stop fooling around.”
The tension snapped through the air.
Eun-ah laid a hand gently on Hoseok’s forearm. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Really. I’m fine.”
He blinked shocked at himself for being too worked up, then nodded once and stepped back. The moment passed—but not without weight.
“Let’s just… keep the water below murder level, yeah?” Namjoon added, trying to lighten the mood.
And just like that, the games resumed.
Hoseok climbed out of the pool and reclaimed his seat. He rubbed the water from his face and watched the scene unfold.
Eun-ah was laughing again—already teaming up with Jungkook for some improvised water volleyball. Jimin joined their side, pretending to be dramatic with every play. Jin shouted play-by-play commentary from a lounge chair, and even Yoongi cracked a smile from behind his sunglasses.
But Hoseok didn’t move.
He sat back down, elbows on his knees, sunglasses still shielding his expression.
That side of her—the easy laughter, the teasing competitiveness, the way she splashed Jungkook and shouted “I got you!” like they were old friends—that side of her… he didn’t know.
He’d never let himself know it.
He’d always seen her through the lens of their obligation. Their contract. Their walls.
But this? This was real. And it was burning something deep in his chest.
***
The day faded into streaks of orange and purple, the estate glowing under the last wash of sunlight. Everyone had changed into dry clothes and now gathered around the fire pit, where flames crackled and popped, sending wisps of smoke into the cooling evening air.
Jin was tending the grill, flipping pieces of meat with careful precision while Yoongi hovered beside him, offering dry commentary and poking at a piece of pork with his chopsticks.
Namjoon sat off to one side, a towel still draped over his shoulders, sipping from a glass as he gazed into the flames.
Nearby, Jimin and Taehyung were locked in a playful harmony battle, while Jungkook strummed Yoongi’s guitar, laughter spilling out between bursts of music.
Hoseok sat apart, elbows resting on his knees, swirling the ice in his glass with a distant look in his eyes.
Eun-ah was nestled close to the maknae line, knees drawn up to her chest. She let out a small shiver as a cool breeze swept across the patio, rustling leaves overhead.
Jungkook caught it immediately. “Eun-ah, are you cold?”
Before she could reply, he peeled off his hoodie and slipped it over her head.
“Here. Wear this.”
Eun-ah blinked, then laughed softly as she pulled her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you, oppa.”
“Dang, we’re out of meat!” Jin called suddenly, waving his tongs like a weapon. “Jungkook, run inside and grab more. Hurry before I starve.”
Jungkook set the guitar aside. “Aye aye, chef.”
“I’ll help!” Eun-ah said quickly. “You’re the guest—you shouldn’t be doing it alone.” She stood and followed him, the oversized hoodie bouncing around her hips as they slipped inside.
The kitchen felt cool and quiet after the glow of the fire. Eun-ah darted toward the pantry, scanning shelves for the marinated meat.
“I got it,” she insisted, reaching up on her tiptoes.
“Careful—” Jungkook warned, stepping closer.
But the bag teetered forward—and so did Eun-ah.
“Ah—!”
She slipped on a slick patch near the sink, arms flailing. Jungkook lunged forward, catching her around the waist just before she could hit the floor.
The bag of marinade hit the counter with a wet slap, bursting slightly and sending sauce splattering across stainless steel.
Eun-ah blinked up at Jungkook, wide-eyed, their faces suddenly close enough that her breath fanned his lips.
Jungkook froze, still gripping her waist, his cheeks pink.
A quiet sound broke the moment—a slight intake of breath.
Both of them turned their heads sharply.
Hoseok stood just inside the kitchen doorway. He didn’t say a word.
His eyes moved from Jungkook’s hands on her waist, to Eun-ah’s startled face, then to the spilled sauce dripping off the counter. For a heartbeat, something unreadable flickered across his features—a tightening of his jaw, a small crease between his brows—but he swallowed it down.
Without a single comment, he pivoted and walked away.
Eun-ah started, moving to follow, but Jungkook gently caught her wrist.
“Eun-ah… let him be. It was nothing, he knows that.”
But Eun-ah stood rooted in place, staring at the spot where Hoseok had been, a prickle of unease coiling low in her chest.
Out on the patio, the laughter continued, oblivious to the silent storm brewing beneath Hoseok’s calm exterior.
After a few minutes, Jungkook and Eun-ah finally emerged from the house, returning to their seats around the fire pit. Jungkook handed over the bag of meat to Jin, who snatched it up like a man starved.
“Ya—what took you two so long?” Jin demanded, brandishing his tongs. “It’s just meat, not gold bars. Hoseok even offered to go in and help because we were about to die of hunger. But he came out empty handed”
Jungkook held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hyung, blame Eun-ah. She nearly cracked her head open trying to grab the sauces. Everything spilled, so we cleaned up before Ms. Jang could have a meltdown over the mess.”
As he spoke, he flicked a glance toward Hoseok—half teasing, half cautious.
“Omo, Eun-ah, are you okay?” Jimin exclaimed, leaning forward, worry crinkling his brow.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Taehyung chimed in, eyes wide.
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine,” Eun-ah said, waving them off with a small laugh. “Jungkook-oppa caught me just in time.”
“Well, good thing JK was there,” Yoongi murmured, nursing his drink.
Hoseok said nothing. He didn’t even look up from his glass.
Soon, the smoky aroma of sizzling meat drifted through the cooling air. Plates were passed around, laughter rising in gentle bursts as they ate and drank their fill. When dinner wound down, everyone slouched deeper into their chairs, bellies full, faces warm from the fire and the lingering glow of the day.
Jin patted his stomach and sighed dramatically. “Ah, we should do this more often.”
Namjoon nodded in agreement, cap tipped low over his eyes. “It’s so nice, right?”
Then, as the crackle of the fire filled a brief lull, Namjoon broke the silence, tipping his head toward Hoseok and Eun-ah with a small grin. “So… how are the newlyweds holding up? It’s been, what—a month now? And Hobi seems grumpier than ever.”
Eun-ah blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Namjoon shifted in his seat, folding his arms as he glanced between Eun-ah and Hoseok. The crackle of the firelight threw shifting shadows across their faces. “Just checking in. You two have been pretty quiet tonight.”
Eun-ah blinked, caught mid-sip of her drink, and gave a small, startled laugh. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at Hoseok out of the corner of her eye. “We’re fine. Totally fine.”
Jin narrowed his eyes, brandishing his tongs like a judge’s gavel. “Are you sure? Because you’re sitting as far apart as humanly possible without falling off the patio. Like total strangers.”
Hoseok scoffed, leaning forward to set his glass on the low table with a soft clink. “Strangers? Please.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I adore every little thing about her. I love how she takes over the entire bed with that massive plushie. Feels like I’m sleeping beside an actual boulder.”
Eun-ah’s mouth fell open. She dropped her arms from around her knees, sitting up straighter as a laugh burst out of her. “Excuse me? At least my plushie stays on my side. Meanwhile, I absolutely adore how you leave your clothes scattered all over the floor like a snake shedding its skin. So charming.”
“Oh, that’s rich.” Hoseok shot her a look, leaning back in his chair and crossing one ankle over his knee. His fingers drummed the armrest, agitated. “Your hair clogging the sink every day is truly the highlight of my morning routine.”
Yoongi made a gagging face from his seat by the fire pit. “Okay, wow. Can we not talk about sinks and hair?”
But Eun-ah was undeterred. She leaned closer toward Hoseok, her eyes glinting with mischief, chin tilted defiantly. “At least my hair smells nice.”
Jungkook, perched beside Jimin, pressed a hand to his mouth, trying—and failing—to stifle his laughter. Jin, meanwhile, looked delighted, grinning from ear to ear. “See? Domestic bliss at its finest.”
Eun-ah huffed out a little sigh and shook her head, though the corner of her mouth curved upward. “Seriously, we’re fine. We just… mind our own business.”
Hoseok picked up his glass again, swirling the melting ice, the faint clink loud in the quiet moment that followed. His jaw tightened as he stared into the amber liquid like it might reveal some answer he hadn’t figured out yet. Finally, he said flatly, “Yeah. Totally fine.” His gaze flicked up, dark and unreadable. “In fact, this is such a bliss, that she can divorce me anytime, so she can be more happy. She can do what she wants, I don’t care..”
The words dropped into the gathering like a stone tossed into a pond, rippling outward in tense silence.
Eun-ah’s entire posture stiffened. Her head whipped toward him, eyes suddenly sharp and glinting with something halfway between hurt and fury. “Oh, is that so?” Her voice cut the cool night air like a blade. She let out a brittle laugh, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, maybe I’ll call Ye-joon first thing and ask how to fix the paperwork.”
Jin nearly dropped his beer, flailing his hands as if to ward off the tension. “Whoa, whoa—let’s not jump from sink hair to divorce papers, okay? Can’t we just digest in peace?”
Yoongi groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ. You two…”
But neither Hoseok nor Eun-ah was looking away. They were locked in a silent battle across the glow of the fire, heat and defiance flashing between them like sparks off a live wire.
Jungkook shifted awkwardly, his gaze flicking between them. He reached out, gently tugging at Eun-ah’s sleeve. “Eun-ah… hyung… come on. Let’s not fight.”
Eun-ah finally tore her eyes away from Hoseok. She leaned back in her chair, sinking deeper into the borrowed hoodie, arms wrapped tightly around herself like a shield. Her voice was smaller now, though still laced with an edge. “It’s fine. I’m used to this.”
Hoseok took a long, deliberate swallow from his glass, jaw rigid as he set it back down with a muted clink. But despite the stiff set of his shoulders, his eyes kept flicking toward her, betraying an unease he couldn’t fully bury.
***
The moon was up high when the boys finally began to load into their cars, voices echoing through the open air like the last strains of a fading concert. Jin blew a dramatic kiss from the passenger seat, his laughter ringing like a bell, while Taehyung leaned half out the window to yell, “Don’t kill each other!” before disappearing inside with a playful grin.
Eun-ah lifted her hand in a stiff, distracted wave, the corners of her lips trembling as though she might smile but couldn’t quite manage it, while Hoseok stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, his expression shuttered and distant as the engines revved and the convoy of black vehicles disappeared down the long tree-lined driveway, dust rising in lazy swirls behind them.
When the door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the laughter and the noise, an abrupt hush fell over the vast foyer, leaving nothing but the echo of their breathing and the faint ticking of the ornate clock above the hallway. Eun-ah spun sharply on her heel, her hair whipping around her face, her voice edged and brittle as fine glass.
“And another thing—my hair in the sink is still less disgusting than your stubble hair all over the mirror!”
Hoseok barked a short, incredulous laugh, stalking after her as she stormed toward the hallway, the soles of their shoes slapping against the cold marble.
“Oh, here we go again,” he snapped, eyes glinting under the glow of the chandelier overhead, which threw shifting patterns of light across his face like fractured gold.
They practically raced each other down the corridor, the simmering heat of their argument rising like steam off asphalt after rain, slinging accusations and insults back and forth like weapons drawn in a duel neither of them wanted to end.
“You know what?” Eun-ah bit out, planting her hands on her hips as she reached the bedroom door and glared at him over her shoulder. “Maybe we should just divorce. Might save us both the trouble.”
“Fine!” Hoseok spat, a flush creeping up his neck, his jaw locked so tight the muscle there jumped. “So you can run off with your precious boys—”
Eun-ah stared at him, her chest heaving, disbelief warring with outrage in the flash of her dark eyes. “Oh my God—that’s what this is about? Are you serious right now? Again with this fragile masculinity of yours?”
Hoseok looked like he had been punched in the gut.
“You’re greedy as always, huh?” Hoseok shot back, stepping closer until she could feel the heat rolling off his body in waves. “Want Kyu drinking with you in the bar and Jungkook trailing after you like a lovesick puppy? You happy FLIRTING your days away?”
Her mouth fell open as though he’d slapped her, her voice trembling with stunned fury. “Flirting? With Jungkook? And Kyu? Have you completely lost your mind? Kyu showing up at the bar was a coincidence! And Jungkook was helping me because I nearly cracked my skull open!”
“Oh, please,” Hoseok snarled, his voice lowering to a dangerous rasp as he loomed closer, the shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “You think I don’t see it? The way you light up around him—the way you laugh at every stupid thing he says?”
They were chest-to-chest now, noses practically brushing, the air between them charged and sparking like a live wire.
“God, you’re impossible! That is literally your childhood friend! Someone you grew up with! And the other is your cousin! Are you even hearing yourself!” Eun-ah shouted, shoving at his chest with both hands, though he barely budged under her push. “This is why I didn’t want this shit in the first place!”
“Then leave!” Hoseok roared, his voice bouncing off the hallway walls, harsh enough to make the chandelier tremble overhead. “Pack your shit and go!”
She stared at him, her lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You… you really think I’m with Jungkook? That I’d…?”
Something in Hoseok’s expression fractured then, as though her disbelief scraped raw against a wound he’d been trying to ignore. Without warning, he lunged forward, his hands closing around her upper arms, shoving her back until she hit the wall with a soft thud, a picture frame rattling wildly beside her head.
His chest heaved as he pinned her there, the tension in his body coiling so tightly he seemed on the verge of shaking apart. His fingers dug into her arms, possessive and trembling, his breath hot and ragged as it ghosted over her skin.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel dragged across pavement. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s driving me crazy. Like an itch I cannot scratch away”
Eun-ah’s eyes were wide, her pulse fluttering under his thumbs as she tried to push him off, though her resistance weakened the longer he hovered close, close enough that the faint scent of soap and lingering chlorine clung to his skin. “L-let go—”
“Say you don’t want me,” he rasped, his voice breaking like a thread pulled too tight. “Say it.”
“I—I don’t—” she stammered, but the words fell apart as Hoseok’s thumb brushed gently across her lower lip, a gesture so tender it made her eyes sting. His breath came faster, stirring loose strands of hair against her cheeks.
“Liar,” he whispered, dipping his head until their lips hovered a whisper apart, heat radiating between them like the glow of the setting sun still streaming faintly through the window.
For a long moment, they both hung suspended in that fragile space, trembling on the brink of something neither of them wanted to admit. Hoseok’s thumb traced the quick, erratic beat of her pulse as if searching for proof she felt the same. Eun-ah shivered under his touch, her hands twisting into the front of his shirt, eyes dark with confusion and yearning.
“I hate you,” she breathed, her voice soft as a confession.
A humorless, crooked smile tugged at Hoseok’s lips. “Yeah? Well, too fucking bad.”
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. His lips crashed into hers with a force that stole her breath, teeth clashing, mouths moving against each other in a feverish, bruising dance that tasted of frustration, fear, and an ache so deep it bordered on pain.
Eun-ah let out a muffled gasp, gripping his shirt like she might rip it from his shoulders, kissing him back with matching desperation. His hands slid from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer until there was nothing but heat and the furious pounding of both their hearts.
Her back arched against the wall as his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming, probing, as though trying to draw every secret from her lips. She tangled her fingers in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as he angled his head for more.
When he finally tore his mouth from hers, their breaths came in ragged gasps—lips red and swollen, their foreheads pressed together like the only thing holding them upright was each other’s heat. The hallway was silent except for the desperate sound of breathing and the muffled thud of their hearts pounding like fists in their chests.
Eun-ah blinked up at him, her gaze dazed and wet, her lashes clinging together from unshed tears. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t yet find the words.
“I hate you,” she whispered again, softer this time—like it was less of a curse, and more of a confession.
Hoseok let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as if her words scraped against something raw inside him. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Me too.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Just stood there, pressed against each other, trembling.
And then—he stepped back.
Quick, almost startled—like he’d been burned by the very closeness he craved. The warmth between them vanished the moment he put distance between their bodies. His hand, which had been cradling her waist, dropped like dead weight to his side. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
Without a word, Hoseok turned.
And walked away.
Down the hall, into the shadows, fists clenched, back stiff—like he didn’t trust himself to stay one second longer. The echo of his retreating footsteps felt louder than it should’ve been, ricocheting through the silence Eun-ah hadn’t yet found the strength to break.
She stood frozen against the wall, her pulse still thrumming wildly beneath her skin, her lips still tingling with the memory of his. She didn’t call out. Didn’t follow. She couldn’t.
Instead, she slid down to the floor slowly, knees folding, arms curling around herself.
And for the first time that night—she wasn’t angry.
She was confused.
And heartbreakingly aware… that maybe she didn’t hate him at all.
****
Chapter 20: Chapter 20
Chapter Text
“Tell me why you’re here again?” Yoongi asked, his voice carrying across the quiet apartment as he padded toward the kitchen sink, the faint clink of glass against granite echoing in the space.
“Hyung, I told you—my penthouse is getting renovated,” Hoseok shot back with a huff, sprawled on the couch like a sulking cat, thumb jabbing the remote as channels flickered by in restless flashes of light.
Yoongi filled his glass at the tap, water splashing in crisp bursts. “Then go to a hotel or something,” he said over his shoulder, meticulously scrubbing the rim of the glass like he could scrub away the headache forming behind his eyes.
“They might find out I’m not home,” Hoseok muttered, voice low, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“What was that?” Yoongi asked sharply, leaning forward with one hand braced on the sink’s edge, his dark eyes narrowing.
“Nothing,” Hoseok said quickly, a forced grin tugging at his lips as he flung his arm over the back of the couch. “Are you kicking me out, hyung? You’re so cruel. So heartless.”
Yoongi slammed the tap shut, droplets spraying across his fingers. “Seriously, Hobi. It’s been five days. Why are you really here? Just go home to the estate if the penthouse is being renovated”
Hoseok let out a loud, ragged sigh, tipping his head back against the cushions. “I just… like hanging out with you,” he mumbled, his voice smaller than usual.
Yoongi rolled his eyes and snatched his phone off the counter. “That’s it. I’m calling Ye-joon.”
“FINE—fine!” Hoseok exclaimed, hands shooting up in surrender. He scrubbed both palms over his face, ruffling his hair. “I’m running away from Eun-ah.”
Yoongi blinked, pausing mid-dial, his brows climbing his forehead. “Huh?” He walked over and dropped down onto the sofa beside him, elbows on his knees. “Why?”
For a fleeting second, Hoseok looked like the air had been punched out of him. His eyes darted around the silent living room, catching on the framed photos on the wall, the glow of the muted TV, anywhere but Yoongi’s face. “We fought… after you guys left.” He swallowed, throat bobbing, and forced the next words out. “And… we kissed.”
Yoongi stared at him, the quiet stretching so taut it hummed like a plucked string. He let out a loud sigh
“You’re so helpless,” Yoongi said, shaking his head as he flicked open his lighter. The tiny flame danced before he brought it to a cigarette, inhaling deeply until the tip glowed red. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, eyes half-lidded. “You kissed… your wife… and now you’re running and hiding like a kid.”
“Hyung, you know that marriage isn’t real,” Hoseok shot back, raking a hand through his hair. He slumped deeper into the couch, voice tight with frustration. “It was an accident. But I just get… too worked up. Too mad. And I don’t know—” He broke off, gesturing vaguely, fingers clenching in the air. “I can’t explain it.”
“Mad about what?” Yoongi pressed, arching a brow as he tipped his head back, one arm crossed over his chest. Smoke drifted lazily from his lips, swirling in the kitchen’s dim light. “She looked like she was having a great time when we were all there. What is there to be mad about?”
Hoseok flinched, his shoulders pulling taut at Yoongi’s words, jaw grinding as though he wanted to retort but couldn’t summon the words.
Yoongi watched him silently, taking another drag from his cigarette, eyes narrowing as a memory clicked into place—a puzzle piece falling where it belonged.
“Ya, where’s the meat?” Jin’s voice had echoed that night by the firepit, irritation coloring his tone as he pointed accusingly at Hoseok who came out of the kitchen empty handed. “Seriously, is it that hard to find meat? We’re starving out here!”
Hoseok’s face then had been unreadable, his eyes dark, jaw ticking hard enough to crack. Yoongi recalled catching that look but had brushed it off as Hoseok just being his usual grumpy self.
And later, when Jungkook and Eun-ah had finally emerged from the house, Jungkook laughing as he explained how Eun-ah had nearly cracked her head trying to grab the sauces, Yoongi remembered how Jungkook’s eyes had flickered to Hoseok—like he was checking his reaction. And Hoseok, sitting stiffly by the fire, had only stared at his glass with a look Yoongi could now recognize as something far more complicated than mere annoyance.
“I never took you for the jealous type, Hoba,” Yoongi drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as realization flickered in his eyes. He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching Hoseok like he’d just discovered a secret.
“Jealous? Me? Please.” Hoseok scoffed, his voice sharper than intended. He stabbed at the remote, flicking through channels so quickly the images on the TV blurred into flashes of color and noise.
Yoongi tilted his head slightly, amusement glinting in his gaze. “Exactly. That’s why I said I don’t recall you ever being the jealous type. Especially when it comes to your own brother.” His tone was casual, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather.
“I’m not jealous of Jungkook!” Hoseok snapped, his voice rising. His thumb froze over the remote, and he clenched it so tightly the plastic creaked. “That’s ridiculous.”
A beat of silence passed. Yoongi turned his head, looking away toward the window where thin daylight spilled across the floor. His lips curved in a subtle, knowing smile. “Did I ever say it was Jungkook?”
Hoseok’s face drained of color, then flared bright red, as if a spotlight had caught him mid-performance. He shifted on the couch, shoulders stiff, mouth opening and closing without a sound. For a moment, the only noise was the muted chatter of the TV, forgotten in the background, as embarrassment—and something else—sparked in his eyes.
Yoongi let the silence settle, then let out a quiet breath, like he pitied him.
“Can I give you some advice?” he said, voice casual as he pulled a mint from his pocket and unwrapped it with a quiet crinkle. “Unsolicited, obviously. My specialty.”
Hoseok groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” Yoongi popped the mint into his mouth, then fixed him with a look—not mocking this time, but edged with quiet concern. “If you’re gonna fall, Hoba, don’t do it halfway. Nothing’s worse than a guy who’s jealous but too proud to admit he cares.”
Hoseok’s head snapped up. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Yoongi interrupted smoothly, pointing the mint wrapper at him like a tiny weapon. “And that’s fine. But either own it… or let it eat you alive. Those are the rules.”
He leaned back into the couch, folding his arms. “You don’t get to hover in the middle—pretending not to care while looking ready to explode whenever someone else steps close.”
“I’m not—”
Yoongi tilted his head, eyes softening. “You don’t have to say it out loud. But you’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself.”
Hoseok let out a slow breath, sinking deeper into the cushions.
Yoongi shrugged lightly. “You can keep pretending, if that makes it easier. But one day… she’s going to start looking back. And she might see someone else there first.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the faint hum of the TV.
Hoseok didn’t respond—not right away. But the remote slipped from his hand and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.
Yoongi shifted forward, elbows on his knees, voice lower now. “And another thing,” he said. “You’ve gotta make up your mind, Hoba.”
Hoseok blinked at him, still silent.
“If you don’t want her, and you’ve got no intention of ever wanting her, then don’t cage her up. She’s got her own life to live. You don’t get to keep her hanging around just because you like knowing she’s there like some kind of property.”
Hoseok opened his mouth to argue, but Yoongi kept going, softer but sharper all at once.
“Or is it that you’re keeping her close because you don’t have anyone else to share your misery with?”
Hoseok recoiled slightly, as if the words had struck him. A flush crawled up his neck, and his eyes darted away, suddenly finding the pattern in the rug intensely interesting.
Yoongi sighed and sat back, mint dissolving on his tongue. “Think about it. You’re not the only one whose feelings matter in this.”
Hoseok swallowed hard, still avoiding Yoongi’s eyes. His voice came out rougher than he intended. “It’s… much more complicated than that, hyung.”
Yoongi studied him in silence for a moment, as if weighing how hard to push. Then he nodded slowly. “I know. I know it’s complicated.”
He paused, leaning back, his gaze distant for a moment as though he were measuring his own regrets. “But remember something, Hoba…” He flicked the empty mint wrapper onto the coffee table. “Life’s wasting away while you’re too scared to take a step. Complicated doesn’t mean you get to stand still forever.”
Hoseok looked up, caught off guard by the softness beneath Yoongi’s words.
Yoongi continued, voice gentler but firm. “Either go after what you want… or let it go and set her free. Because the worst thing you can do—for both of you—is nothing.”
The TV droned on in the background, but Hoseok barely seemed to hear it, his chest rising and falling a little faster than before
***
On the other side of Seoul, in a sprawling private gym overlooking manicured gardens, Jiwoo pounded the treadmill, her sleek ponytail swinging like a metronome. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the glitter of crystal chandeliers overhead, even as sunlight spilled across the polished wood floors.
“Wait, wait… hold on,” Jiwoo said, tapping the treadmill controls until the belt slowed. Beads of sweat glistened on her temples as she squinted into her phone, breath coming fast. “You’re telling me he hasn’t come home since then?”
“Mmmhmm,” Eun-ah murmured, voice muffled by the thick blanket cocooning her. She was curled up on the massive bed in their shared bedroom, the sunlight painting stripes across the walls and duvet. Only the top of her head and her tired eyes peeked out from under the covers.
“Ye-joon doesn’t seem to know either,” she continued, voice soft. “He says Hoseok’s still going to the office. He even asked him to buy him new office clothes.”
Jiwoo gave an exasperated sigh, stepping off the treadmill. The camera on Eun-ah’s screen wobbled wildly before focusing on the high, coffered ceiling of Jiwoo’s gym, inlaid with ornate crown molding.
“Well, did you ask one of the boys? He might be crashing at their place,” Jiwoo said, her voice echoing faintly in the vast space.
Eun-ah shifted, rolling onto her back, stretching her limbs out like a starfish across the bed. Her hair spread across the pillow as she held the phone loosely against her chest. “I’m embarrassed to bring it up. I mean… how do I casually ask them, ‘Hey, my husband hasn’t come home. Is he sleeping at yours?’”
From the other end, Jiwoo’s voice carried closer again, mingling with the distant sound of running water. “You want me to do it for you? I mean, I can… but that might be even weirder.”
Eun-ah let out a weak, breathy laugh, pressing her lips together.
“Listen,” Jiwoo went on, now stepping into her enormous marble bathroom, the echo bouncing off the glossy surfaces, “let’s get brunch tomorrow. Help you get your mind off your childlike husband.” She leaned closer to the screen, hair piled up in a messy bun, steam rising behind her. “I have to shower, though. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Sure, unnie,” Eun-ah said quietly, lifting her thumb to press the red drop button.
The screen went black, leaving Eun-ah surrounded by shadows and silence. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then slowly brought her fingers to her lips.
She could still feel the heat from that night—his mouth crashing onto hers, desperate and hungry, like he’d been starved for her. The memory made her chest constrict, her breath catching.
But just as quickly, the warmth was swallowed by the memory of how cold his eyes had been when he pulled away… and walked out without a single word.
“Snap out of it. That was just… the heat of the moment. It meant nothing,” Eun-ah muttered to herself, the words barely louder than a whisper. Her voice seemed to echo slightly in the quiet room, bouncing off the tall windows and high ceiling.
But her chest tightened as another thought slipped through, stubborn and quiet: But if it was nothing… why isn’t he coming home?
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her palms against them as if she could scrub the thought from her mind.
“Get it together,” she hissed, dropping her hands and letting them fall limply to her sides. “Who cares if he comes home or not?”
Yet even as she said it, the small ache inside her pulsed stubbornly, refusing to be buried. It clawed at her ribs, whispering that she did care—and far more than she wanted to admit.
Ugh… why am i even thinking of this… right i’ll just go out and take a walk in the park or do some groceries
And with that final, stubborn thought, Eun-ah threw back the blanket and swung her legs off the bed. The chill of the hardwood floor bit at her bare feet as she stood, shaking out her hair like she could shake loose all the feelings clinging to her chest.
She marched into the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as she could bear, and let the scalding water drum against her skin until her breath stopped fogging the glass. She dressed quickly afterward—a simple summer dress, flats, hair left loose—and made her way downstairs.
In the pale afternoon light spilling across the grand foyer, she flagged down one of the drivers waiting near the entryway.
“Could you drop me off at the mall, please?” she said, voice polite but clipped.
“Of course, madam,” the driver replied with a respectful bow.
When they arrived, Eun-ah slipped out of the car and offered a tight smile. “I’ll… just call you when I’m done.”
Hours slipped by inside the mall—aimless wandering through rows of glittering stores, the air scented with expensive perfume and roasted coffee. She browsed clothes she didn’t really want, flipped through books she wouldn’t read. No matter how crowded the corridors became, she felt like she was moving through glass—watching people laugh and live on the other side, unable to touch any of it.
Eventually, her feet carried her out into the open streets, the sky deepening into indigo. Neon lights blinked awake as she kept walking, her thoughts looping around Hoseok like a noose. Without realizing how far she’d gone, she found herself standing on the wide banks of the Han River, the night breeze tugging gently at the hem of her dress.
It was well past dark now, the water rippling under scattered pools of golden lamplight. Couples strolled along the walkway, hands intertwined, laughter floating into the night air. Some leaned close to whisper secrets. Others shared ice cream cones, soft smiles lit by the glow of phone screens.
Eun-ah perched herself on a bench, folding her arms tightly across her chest. The sight of so much quiet affection made her feel smaller than ever. Lonelier than even in her own silent home.
She dropped her gaze to her lap, pressing her lips together.
“Hey there.”
A shadow fell over her. She glanced up to see a small group of young men standing in front of her, all grinning a little too widely, jackets half-zipped against the cool breeze. One of them tilted his head.
“You here alone, miss?” he asked. “Want some company?”
Eun-ah’s pulse stumbled. She forced a polite smile. “No, thank you.”
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” another chimed in, stepping closer. “It’s dangerous out here at night. We’ll keep you safe.”
One of them reached out, fingers grazing the air like he might touch her arm. Eun-ah shrank back on the bench, her breath catching in her throat.
“Hey.”
The voice sliced through the night like a blade—low, calm, and carrying an edge that demanded obedience.
The group froze. Slowly, they turned around.
Standing a few feet away was a man in black joggers and a matching bomber jacket, the hood pulled low over his hair. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, concealing his identity. Despite the disguise, his posture radiated quiet confidence, his dark eyes glinting under the harsh glow of the lamppost.
“I’d leave her alone if I were you,” he said, voice flat and cold.
“Wh—” one of the guys began, but the stranger shot him a warning look.
“Go,” he repeated, his voice carrying a steely finality. “Now.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances, then slunk away into the darkness, muttering curses under their breath.
When they were finally gone, the stranger sighed, shoulders easing just a fraction. He stepped closer, then lifted a hand to tug down his mask.
Soft brown hair fell across his forehead as he revealed his face, lips pressed in a tight line of worry.
“Eun-ah?” Jungkook said, blinking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. His voice gentled, rough edges smoothing out. “What are you doing out here alone? You could’ve gotten into trouble!”
Eun-ah blinked up at him, still a little breathless, fingers gripping the edge of the bench so tightly her knuckles blanched. She swallowed, trying to steady her voice as her mind raced.
“Ah… Almost. But you’re here oppa…” she said, forcing a light laugh that fell flat. She waved a hand vaguely toward the river as if the darkness and biting breeze were perfectly normal places to linger alone. “And I’m… just getting some fresh air.”
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, studying her with eyes that missed very little, his gaze narrowing with a mix of suspicion and gentle concern.
“Did you fight with Hoseok-hyung again?” he asked, voice casual, but the question hung heavy between them like damp fog.
Eun-ah’s eyes flew wide, caught off guard. “No! Why would you think that?” she blurted, a little too quickly. Heat crept up her neck as she sat up straighter, frantically smoothing invisible creases from her dress, heart stuttering in her chest.
Jungkook let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Because you two always fight.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking oddly amused. “I guess that’s… your default.”
Eun-ah opened her mouth to protest again, but her words shriveled on her tongue. She closed it silently and dropped her gaze to the river, watching the faint glint of city lights ripple across the black water. A swirl of guilt and uncertainty twisted low in her stomach.
She shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him like this. Eun-ah noticed that Jungkook has been the center of the argument in the past. If Hoseok finds out… will he be mad again?
On the other side Jungkook, ever the observant one, continued to watch her, the playful glint fading from his eyes, replaced with something softer, more perceptive. He tilted his head, dark brows pulling together as if trying to read secrets off her face.
“You know…” he said slowly, “you look like you’re carrying a thousand-ton weight on your shoulders right now.”
Eun-ah blinked at him, lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out. The wind teased at her hair, lifting strands around her face, cool and sharp as it brushed the dampness gathering at the corners of her eyes.
“So,” Jungkook continued, voice suddenly bright again as he clapped his hands once, “I have an idea.”
Eun-ah eyed him warily, a flicker of unease tightening her chest. “An idea?”
“Yeah.” He rocked back on his heels, his eyes glittering under the lamplight like stars. “Let’s go for a bike ride across Seoul.”
“A… bike ride?” Eun-ah echoed, blinking. “In the evening?”
Jungkook grinned, all dimples and youthful mischief. “It’ll be fun!”
Eun-ah hesitated, glancing around as if the shadows might be eavesdropping. This was reckless. Hoseok would be furious if he knew. But a tiny spark inside her whispered Why do you care? He hasn’t even come home.
Before she could argue further, Jungkook gently took her wrist, his fingers warm against her cool skin, and began tugging her along the path, weaving around strolling couples and flickering streetlights.
“Wait, Oppa—where are we going?!” Eun-ah spluttered, stumbling after him as her flats scuffed against the pavement.
“Just trust me,” he called over his shoulder, tossing her a quick grin.
A few minutes later, they rounded a corner into a quieter parking lot, empty but for a sleek, matte-black motorcycle gleaming under the glow of a lone streetlamp. Jungkook spread his arms wide, the grin returning in full force.
“Jajan!” he declared, eyes crinkling with delight. “Our ride for tonight.”
Eun-ah stared, jaw dropping. “That is not a bike.”
“It is a bike,” Jungkook insisted, placing a hand reverently on the handlebars. “A big bike.” His grin widened, as if this were the most obvious truth in the world.
“That’s a motorcycle, Oppa!” Eun-ah hissed, shooting a nervous glance around the empty lot as though someone might pop out and scold them—or worse, take pictures.
“Semantics,” he said breezily. Then he pulled a spare helmet from the seat compartment and held it out to her, his dark eyes softening. “Here. Wear this.”
Eun-ah hesitated, anxiety swirling in her chest. “I… I don’t know how to ride one of those.”
“You don’t have to.” Jungkook’s voice grew gentle, the mischief fading into quiet sincerity. “You just sit and hold on. Come on. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
Eun-ah’s lips parted as if to refuse. Hoseok’s furious face flashed in her mind—but so did the cold emptiness of their bed these past five nights.
Before she could decide, Jungkook stepped closer and carefully placed the helmet over her head, buckling it beneath her chin with deft fingers.
“There. Perfect.” He tapped the top of her helmet lightly, his smile small but genuine. “Now, get on.”
Eun-ah lingered another heartbeat, heart thudding wildly, then sighed and muttered, “This is insane…” as she swung her leg over the bike and settled behind him. She perched stiffly, hands hovering uncertainly near his sides, pulse galloping in her throat.
Jungkook twisted around, dark eyes sparkling with playful challenge. “Nope. Safety first.”
He reached back, caught her wrists, and firmly wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Better,” he said, giving her a cheeky wink. “Hold on tight.”
Before Eun-ah could say another word, Jungkook kicked the bike into gear. The engine roared to life, vibrating through her chest as headlights flared against the asphalt.
Then they were off, wind whipping around them as Seoul’s neon lights blurred into ribbons of color, the city stretching out like a sea of stars.
Eun-ah squeezed her eyes shut at first, but then slowly opened them. Her breath caught at the rush of cool night air, the city glimmering and alive around them.
And for the first time in days, caught between fear and exhilaration, she felt… weightless. But she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in her chest.
***
They slowed to a gentle stop at the top of a hill just outside the city, the motorcycle engine purring into silence. Below them, the sprawling lights of Seoul glittered like scattered jewels, the skyline rising tall and bright against the velvet night sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Eun-ah murmured, breathless, as she took in the horizon where the dense city lights bled into the darkness of the hills beyond.
She swung her leg over the bike and slipped off, though her legs wobbled slightly from the rush of wind and adrenaline. Jungkook quickly steadied her with a gentle hand at her elbow, his touch warm and grounding even through the cool breeze rolling over the hilltop.
Once she was sure she wouldn’t topple over, he dismounted as well, flipping up his visor and pushing the helmet hair off his forehead. A soft grin tugged at his lips.
“I always come here when I’m sad,” Jungkook said, glancing out over the city. “Sometimes alone… sometimes with Jimin-hyung or Taehyung-hyung.” He shrugged one shoulder, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. “It’s peaceful. People rarely come up here.”
“Well, thank you for sharing your secret spot with me, oppa,” Eun-ah said, her voice gentle. She lowered herself onto the grass, stretching her legs out in front of her, then leaning back on her palms. Cool dew dampened the fabric of her dress, but she didn’t care. She tilted her head back and inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling her lungs.
“We have lots of places like this in Gwangju,” she continued, eyes scanning the stars above. She lifted one arm and pointed toward a cluster of faint lights in the sky. “I always look up and find that constellation. That way, I know I’m always where I’m meant to be… wherever I am.”
Jungkook lowered himself beside her, sitting cross-legged on the grass. He followed her gesture upward, his eyes softening as he traced the delicate pattern of stars with his gaze.
“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a kind of reverence.
“It is,” Eun-ah agreed, but as she turned her head, she found Jungkook already looking at her instead of the sky.
Their eyes met, and something subtle seemed to tighten in Jungkook’s chest, a silent thump echoing there. But Eun-ah blinked rapidly, cheeks warming. She cleared her throat, shifting away slightly as she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
She stared out at the glittering city below, oblivious to the flutter of feelings stirring in Jungkook’s chest as he continued to watch her in the glow of the distant city lights.
On the other side of Seoul once again, Hoseok lay sprawled out on Yoongi’s living room carpet, one arm flung over his eyes as if shielding himself from some invisible glare. The low hum of the stove filled the quiet apartment, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a ladle against a pot.
Yoongi hovered over the kitchen counter, stirring a bubbling sauce, the scent of garlic and spices wafting through the air.
Both their phones buzzed almost simultaneously on the coffee table, the sound slicing through the silence. Hoseok barely flinched, still staring blankly at the ceiling.
Yoongi, however, leaned over to check his screen. The second his eyes landed on the message, his hand froze mid-stir, sauce dripping slowly off the ladle back into the pot.
“Yah…” Yoongi said, voice dry and edged with barely concealed amusement. He tilted the phone so the screen faced Hoseok, who didn’t bother to look.
“Guess your top competitor is hanging out with your prize,” Yoongi added casually, as though discussing something that didn’t cause five days of isolation.
Hoseok’s brow furrowed beneath his arm. Slowly, he shifted just enough to peek at the phone Yoongi was dangling above his head.
There it was.
A photo glowed on the screen, bright even in the soft kitchen light. Jungkook and Eun-ah sat side by side on a patch of grass. Jungkook grinned widely, tongue poking out in playful defiance, while Eun-ah flashed two peace signs, her hair slightly windblown, cheeks pink from the night air.
Underneath, Jungkook’s caption read:
“Look who I rescued tonight 🏍️✨ Prettier than the Seoul skyline, hyungs!”
Hoseok blinked once. Then twice. His chest tightened as if someone had cinched a rope around his ribs.
Yoongi raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Should I congratulate you on the open relationship?”
Hoseok shot upright, snatching Yoongi’s phone out of his hand. He stared at the photo as though it might burst into flames under his glare.
“That little brat,” he muttered, jaw clenching.
Yoongi went back to his sauce, shrugging. “I mean… he did rescue her. Technically.”
“From what?!” Hoseok snapped. “Why the hell is she with him in the middle of the night?!”
Yoongi gave him a look that said Really? You’re asking me?
“Hyung,” Hoseok continued, voice rising, “he’s got his arm around her! And she’s smiling like—like—” He waved the phone in Yoongi’s direction, words failing him.
Yoongi lifted a calm brow. “Like someone who’s been stuck married to a brick wall and finally had some fun?”
Hoseok opened his mouth, closed it, then dropped back down onto the carpet with a groan.
Yoongi went back to stirring the pot, smirking faintly. “Just saying… your maknae might steal your wife before Kyu even gets the chance.”
***
He barely slept tossing and turning in Yoongi’s guestroom, he studied that photo like it might change, like it would give him answers. And the next day, sunlight spilled through the high windows of Hoseok’s office, turning the polished floor into shifting pools of gold. The air was cool, the low hum of the building’s ventilation the only sound as Hoseok sat behind his massive desk, eyes glued to a spreadsheet on his monitor—but barely seeing any of it.
The photo from last night felt burned into the backs of his eyelids. Jungkook’s grin. Eun-ah’s peace signs. The easy closeness.
He shut his laptop with a loud snap, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.
A knock came at his office door. Sharp. Almost cheerful.
“Come in,” Hoseok called, voice tight.
The door swung open and in strode Kyu—tall, impeccably dressed in a slim-cut charcoal suit, hair swept back, a faint, knowing smile already playing on his lips. He carried a slim black envelope tucked under one arm.
“Hyung,” Kyu said smoothly, as though they were the best of friends instead of lifelong rivals. “Busy morning?”
“What do you want?” Hoseok muttered, not bothering with pleasantries.
Kyu clicked his tongue lightly and crossed the room, planting himself in the chair opposite Hoseok’s desk. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he regarded Hoseok with those sharp, playful eyes.
“Oh, nothing much,” he said. “Just thought you might want to see this.”
With exaggerated care, he pulled the envelope open and slid a glossy photo across the desk.
Hoseok stared down. His heart gave a violent thump.
There, captured under the harsh flash of a telephoto lens, was Eun-ah on the back of Jungkook’s motorcycle, arms wrapped tight around his waist. Her hair was swept back by the wind, her face partially buried in Jungkook’s jacket. Jungkook was smiling, oblivious to the camera, looking every bit the knight in shining armor.
Hoseok’s jaw flexed.
“Cute, right?” Kyu murmured, voice silky. “I mean… I knew that Jungkook was bold, but this? Taking your wife for a midnight ride? That’s… spicy. Even I got jealous…” he let out a laugh like this was amusing him.
“Kyu…” Hoseok ground out, his voice dangerously low.
Kyu lifted his palms in mock innocence. “I’m just looking out for family, hyung. Thought you’d want to know who’s keeping your wife company while you’re… busy.” He sat back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “But hey. If you’re cool with it…”
Hoseok’s fingers curled around the edge of the photo so hard his knuckles whitened.
Kyu smiled—a flash of teeth, quick and predatory. “Anyway. See you at the family dinner this weekend?”
Without waiting for an answer, he rose smoothly and strolled out of the office, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors.
Hoseok stared at the photograph one last time before shoving it into a drawer and slamming it shut. But the image wouldn’t leave him—the wind in Eun-ah’s hair, her arms wrapped around another man, the easy, unguarded smile he’d almost forgotten she knew how to wear.
Outside his office windows, the city pulsed and glittered, utterly indifferent to the chaos twisting inside his chest.
He leaned back in his chair, jaw set, his pulse thrumming like war drums in his ears.
If there was one thing he’d learned after a lifetime of rivalry with Kyu, it was that his cousin never played a game he didn’t intend to win.
And for the first time in a long while, Hoseok realized he might actually lose.
Either to his maknae… or his cousin.
Chapter 21: Chapter 21
Notes:
Special thanks to: Hobi at Hobipalooza Berlin. 🥴🥴
Chapter Text
The echo of Kyu’s footsteps hadn’t even faded down the hallway when Hoseok shot out of his chair, the wheels of it screeching faintly against the floor.
He stood there for a second, chest rising and falling, his eyes fixed on the closed office door as though trying to burn a hole straight through it.
Then, abruptly, he whirled around and yanked open the sleek wooden drawer built into his desk.
Papers rustled as he rummaged through them with jerky, impatient movements. His fingers closed around the photo Kyu had dropped off—its glossy surface cool and sharp against his skin.
He stared down at it for a split second. The colors seemed too bright, too vivid: Eun-ah on the motorcycle, hair blown by the wind, arms wrapped around Jungkook, his smile, her face buried in his jacket, she was open and unguarded.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. He shoved the photo into his inner jacket pocket, fingers lingering there for a moment as if trying to crush the offending image into dust.
Then he slammed the drawer shut hard enough to make the items inside rattle.
He strode to the door and yanked it open so violently that it banged against the wall, rattling the framed photos hanging beside it.
Ye-joon, who was just raising his hand to knock, flinched back so quickly he nearly dropped the stack of folders in his arms.
“Cancel all my meetings,” Hoseok snapped, voice low and lethal.
“Hoseok—wait—your lunch with the chairman—”
“Cancel. Everything.”
Ye-joon gaped at him, eyes wide, papers half sliding from his grasp.
But Hoseok didn’t slow down. He brushed past him, his shoulder bumping Ye-joon slightly, strides long and purposeful. His fists were balled so tight at his sides that his knuckles were white, the veins standing out stark against his skin.
Ye-joon stood frozen in the hallway, watching as Hoseok disappeared around the corner, his steps echoing like gunshots through the polished marble corridor.
***
The drive home was a blur.
Seoul blurred past in streaks of neon and brake lights, the hum of traffic barely cutting through the roar in Hoseok’s head.
His hands gripped the wheel so hard the leather creaked under his fingers. His other hand drummed an erratic rhythm on the gearshift, the sharp tap-tap echoing inside the car.
Kyu.
Always poking at him, needling for a reaction, like they were still kids competing over who could get the last word.
But it wasn’t just Kyu.
It was Jungkook too.
That was the part that really crawled under Hoseok’s skin—the fact that it was him. The youngest, the kid who was supposed to be like a brother. Always trailing after him before
“Hyung! Hobi hyung look!” 15 year old Jungkook yelled, showing his dance moves to 18 year old Hoseok. He’d laugh at him, and teach him the proper steps.
He has grown into a man Hoseok couldn’t quite read anymore.
Jungkook who made Eun-ah laugh so easily.
Jungkook who’d been in that photo with her.
Jungkook who showed up when Hoseok didn’t.
Hoseok’s jaw flexed, heat and cold warring in his chest.
He’d stayed away for six days.
Not because he’d wanted space.
But because he hadn’t known what to do after that kiss.
Because every time he thought about her—the softness of her lips, the way she’d looked at him—something inside him twisted into knots he didn’t know how to untangle.
So he ran.
And now the distance he’d forced between them felt like a fuse burning toward an explosion.
He slammed his foot down on the gas, weaving past a slow-moving car, adrenaline spiking through his veins.
Fine. He’ll go home.
And he’ll deal with whatever waited for him there.
Hoseok shoved through the doors of the estate as if the house itself had wronged him.
Sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting long bars of pale gold across polished marble floors. His footsteps rang out, sharp and clipped, bouncing off the high ceilings and echoing through the cavernous silence.
He strode forward, chest tight, each breath burning in his lungs like fire. Every muscle in his body felt coiled, bracing for impact.
From the dining room came the delicate clink of a fork against porcelain.
And there she was.
Eun-ah sat alone at the long table, a plate half-covered in fruit and toast going cold in front of her. Loose strands of hair framed her face, catching glimmers of sunlight like copper threads. She looked up the instant he entered, eyes widening, lips parting as if to say something.
For a single heartbeat, something almost hopeful flickered in her gaze.
But it vanished the moment she saw the storm in his eyes.
Hoseok didn’t bother with greetings. He reached into his jacket and yanked the photograph from his inner pocket. With a swift flick of his wrist, he flung it across the table.
The glossy paper skidded over the smooth surface and landed beside her plate.
Eun-ah blinked, fingers tightening around her fork until her knuckles blanched. Slowly, she set it down with deliberate care. She picked up the photo and stared at it.
A muscle ticked in her jaw as she lowered the picture back to the table.
“So this is why you finally came home?” she asked, her voice low but trembling at the edges. “Because of a photograph?”
Hoseok’s jaw flexed. “So what is this, then? You sneaking off behind my back? Making me look like an idiot? Is this all some kind of game to you?”
Eun-ah let out a brittle, incredulous laugh. She shoved her chair back so hard it scraped across the marble, the sound sharp as a blade.
“You disappear for six days,” she shot back, stepping out from the table, eyes blazing. “Six fucking days. No calls. No texts. Nothing. I didn’t even know if you were still in the country. The only way I knew you were still alive was no one was panicking about you.”
Her voice dropped, sharp and cold. “Never mind that you kissed me and left me standing there like a fool—but out of simple decency, you could’ve at least let me know-.” She stopped herself. It doesn’t matter anymore, instead she thrust the photo toward him like evidence.
“This.. this is what you bring home? A picture? A piece of paper? This is your problem? You came home cause you have something to be mad about? Something to accuse me of?”
Hoseok glared at her, chest heaving. “Accuse is out of the window as this is already proof” he hissed “and besides, that’s past the point.”
“Oh, really? Proof” Eun-ah spat, voice slicing through the silence. “Of what actually? Of your dirty mind? Or even the decency that you can’t give me, as a person, maybe?” She said harsher than intended. “Then tell me, what is the point? All you ever feel is anger. All we ever do is argue.”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance.
“You know you need to make up your damn mind!” Her voice cracked, fierce and exhausted all at once. “Either you don’t care—or you do. Pick one. So I know how I’m supposed to act. So I know where I stand.”
He flinched at the jagged edge in her voice, but she barreled on, eyes bright and glassy but stubbornly dry.
“You flip me like a switch,” she said, her voice dropping to a bitter hush. “One minute you’re cold as ice, the next you’re jealous and ready to fight. You decide how you feel, when you feel it, and I’m just supposed to keep up?”
She drew in a shaky breath, pressing a hand briefly to her chest as if trying to steady her heartbeat. Then she straightened, arms folding tightly across her body like a shield.
“Be honest,” she said, her voice now soft, deadly quiet. “Am I even a person to you… or just something you think is your property?”
Hoseok stared at her, the words catching in his throat. Eun-ah let out a long, trembling sigh, the fight seeming to drain out of her all at once.
“I’m tired,” she murmured. “I’m tired of being civil. I’m tired of riding the waves of your mood swings. I’m tired of living in this limbo where I never know what you want.”
Hoseok shot back instantly, voice sharp and raw. “You’re tired… or is it just because someone is making you happy now?”
The accusation sliced through the room like a knife.
Eun-ah let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “You’re so untrusting. The moment someone does something you don’t like—or something you can’t control—you act like it’s a personal attack on you.”
She stepped closer, eyes blazing, voice trembling with fury. “Wake up. The world doesn’t revolve around you. So I can’t be happy? Not even with a friend who’s willing to listen to me after you abandon me for six days?”
Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “Or is it that I can’t be happy because you didn’t decide I’m allowed to be? And it’s eating you alive… not being able to control me.”
Hoseok’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Eun-ah’s eyes glinted like shards of glass as she drew herself up taller, her voice chilling to ice.
“Remember when we first met?” she said. “You told me to mind my own business.” A humorless laugh slipped out of her. “Fine. Let’s go back to that.”
She lifted her chin, eyes blazing despite the tremor in her voice.
“I’ll be your wife on paper. I’ll be perfect. I’ll attend your parties. I’ll laugh at your jokes. Hell, I’ll even sneak kisses for the cameras. But that’s just part of the agreement. And the agreement—that’s all we’ll ever be.”
For a moment, the only sound in the vast room was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each second falling like a hammer blow between them.
Eun-ah held his gaze another moment longer, then turned sharply and walked out, her heels striking the marble in crisp, echoing beats that seemed to reverberate through Hoseok’s chest.
Hoseok stood frozen, fingers clamped around the back of a dining chair, knuckles white. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.
A strange weight pressed against his ribs—tight, restless, almost painful. He didn’t know what to call it. Anger? Regret? Fear?
All he knew was that the house felt colder now, the silence around him deeper than before. And for the first time, staring into the space Eun-ah had left behind, he felt the unsettling certainty that somewhere along the way, he’d become the man with the most to lose—and he couldn’t even explain why.
***
Eun-ah slammed the bedroom door behind her so hard the hinges rattled. She stood there for a moment, trembling from head to toe, as if the force of her own fury might make her burst apart.
Then the tears came. Hot, silent, unstoppable.
She pressed a shaking hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs, but the sound escaped anyway—a raw, broken sound that seemed to echo off the tall windows and gilded moldings of the room.
When she finally looked up, her gaze swept over the room she’d called home for nearly five months.
Five months since her life had turned upside down.
Three months of this marriage—this careful lie.
And all she’d received from it were accusations, cold silences, and endless fights.
A sharp ache twisted in her chest. She felt suddenly suffocated by the sight of their things mixed together: his suits in the wardrobe beside her dresses, the scent of his cologne lingering on the air.
She needed to escape. Fuck the agreement.
Without pausing to think further, she strode to the closet and yanked open the doors. Her hands moved quickly, almost frantically, shoving clothes into a small suitcase. She threw in toiletries, a few pairs of shoes, and zipped the bag closed with trembling fingers.
Moments later, she was thundering down the grand staircase, her footsteps echoing like gunshots through the hushed house. Hoseok was already out of sight. Retreating somewhere? Who cares anymore? That’s his specialty, hiding.
Startled maids scurried into the hall, whispering worriedly. Ms. Jang, the head housekeeper, stepped forward, wringing her hands.
“Ms. Eun-ah—where are you going?” she asked, her voice hushed but urgent.
Eun-ah didn’t slow down. She kept her eyes fixed on the front doors as sunlight poured through the glass panels.
“I need to think,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse and ragged. “I… I don’t know if I can keep up with this anymore.”
Ms. Jang opened her mouth to say something else, but Eun-ah swept past her, shoving open the heavy front doors.
Outside, she found the driver waiting by the car.
“Take me anywhere,” she said, climbing into the back seat. Her voice was so quiet it barely carried over the breeze. “Just… somewhere I can get a cab.”
The driver hesitated, glancing back at the house, but finally nodded and pulled away from the curb.
***
The driver dropped her off at a nearby bus station where she then flagged down a cab. A short while later, Eun-ah found herself standing at the gates of her parents’ inherited estate. She paid the cab fare with trembling fingers and approached the security guard, who blinked in surprise at her disheveled appearance.
Within minutes, her mother opened the front door—and Eun-ah collapsed into her arms, sobs tearing out of her chest in waves.
Her mother said nothing. She simply gathered Eun-ah close, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently like a child.
From a few paces away, her father stood near the hallway entrance, frowning in concern.
“So she’s been locked in that room for hours now?” he murmured to his wife later that evening, arms folded across his chest as they both stood outside the guest bedroom and Eun-ah’s temporary sanctuary.
“Yes,” her mother said quietly. “And she’s been crying the whole time. It looked like she packed in a hurry before she left. I think… maybe they fought.”
She sighed, worry creasing her brow as she gazed at the closed door.
***
Eventually, one day turned into three. Then five.
Eun-ah stayed holed up at her parents’ estate, it felt like another world entirely.
Here, the hush of expensive silence lay thick over polished floors. Soft daylight streamed through tall windows. The scent of fresh-cut flowers lingered in every room, placed by staff who tiptoed around her with worried glances.
Even Eun-woo, usually oblivious to anything outside his own orbit, had paused one afternoon in the hallway to study his sister’s pale face with a worried frown.
During her stay, Eun-ah’s phone became a lifeline—and a source of guilt all at once. It buzzed constantly with calls and messages from the other half of her life. 10 missed calls from Jiwoo, a dozen from Jungkook and she can’t even recall how many from Ye-joon and a string of silly and worried messages from them all.
Jiwoo had been the first to text:
Where the hell are you? Are you okay? Hoseok’s been looking. Also, if you’re dead, please tell me now so I can get your clothes and bags before your mom throws them away.
Eun-ah had stared at the message for a long time before typing:
I’m fine. Just need some time.
Then came Ye-joon, polite and anxious:
Eun-ah, please confirm you are safe. The estate feels lonely without your rumbling.
Jin chimed in not long after:
Hey kid. You hiding out? Don’t make me come drag you back. I already told Namjoon I’d use him as muscle.💪
Jungkook’s was gentler:
Eun-ah… are you okay? Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. I swear I’ll bring snacks.
Taehyung sent a string of memes of cartoon characters sobbing dramatically, followed by:
If you don’t come back soon, I’ll wear black and pretend I’m mourning you. 🫤
Jimin left her a rambling voice note:
“Yah! Eun-ah! You better not be crying. If you’re crying, I’m going to cry, and then everyone else is going to cry, and then Yoongi-hyung will just glare at us all. COME HOME.”
Namjoon dropped a line that was somehow both wise and exasperated:
Running is human. Coming back is courage. But also, please don’t make me mediate this marriage.🤦♂️
And Yoongi, ever himself, simply wrote:
u alive or nah 👍
She scrolled through them all more than once, smiling faintly despite herself.
But from her husband… nothing.
No call. No text. Not a single sign that he cared whether she was safe, or where she’d gone.
Not that it mattered.
Or so she kept telling herself, over and over, until the words lost meaning.
She’d let go of the idea that they’d ever be anything real. She was done measuring her worth against how closely—or how distantly—he chose to stand beside her.
Yet on some nights, lying awake in her temporary bedroom, listening to the muffled traffic of Seoul just outside the windows, a quiet thought would sneak in:
We’re only ten minutes apart. Why does it feel like another universe?
***
It was on the seventh day that her mother finally spoke up.
They were in the sunroom, warm afternoon light spilling across the tiled floor, the soft fragrance of gardenias wafting through the open windows.
Her mother set down her teacup and studied her daughter’s face, worry etched into the fine lines around her eyes.
“Eun-ah,” she said quietly. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Eun-ah blinked at the question, then let out a small laugh, as if brushing away the weight pressing on her chest.
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “I just… needed a change of scene. It’s so quiet and lonely over there sometimes.”
Her mother arched an eyebrow. “A change of scene that takes seven days, a sobbing reunion and a suitcase?”
Eun-ah gave a helpless little shrug. “Plus… I missed you guys. We haven’t even had time to bond properly since you moved here. Or since… I got married.”
Her mother’s eyes softened, though a crease of concern still lingered between her brows.
“We’re always here for you, you know that,” she said gently. “And no marriage—arranged or otherwise—should leave you looking like you’re carrying the whole sky on your shoulders.”
Eun-ah smiled, but it was thin, the kind of smile that never quite reached her eyes.
“I know, Mom. I just… needed a break. That’s all.”
But as she lifted her cup and took a sip, her hand trembled slightly, and her mother pretended not to notice.
The steam from her tea curled gently upward as Eun-ah reached for her phone, expecting another dramatic message from Jimin or Taehyung.
She set the cup down and opened the screen—then froze.
Unknown Number:
Eun-ah, I’ve been meaning to catch up. Can you meet me tomorrow for coffee? — Chairman Jung
Her blood ran cold.
Had it reached him?
Surely Ye-joon wouldn’t say anything… right? And Hoseok—he wouldn’t bring it to the Chairman, not after everything. Or had the maids slipped something without meaning to?
A nervous twitch pulled at her lips.
“What’s wrong, Eun-ah? Who is it?” her mom asked gently worry etched on her face.
“Ah… it’s nothing, Mom.”
She smiled tightly, brushing it off, slipping the phone face down onto the table. She couldn’t worry her mother. Not when she wasn’t even sure herself.
What did the Chairman know?
And more importantly… what did he want?
Eun-ah hadn’t slept.
Long after midnight, she’d stared at the ceiling of her temporary bedroom, her mind a cyclone of what-ifs. Even the soft hush of the curtains swaying in the breeze couldn’t quiet the question hammering in her chest: What does the Chairman want with me?
By morning, her eyes were gritty, but she forced herself up. She dressed carefully in a pale blouse and tailored slacks, her hair sleek and pinned back, every detail chosen to project perfect composure.
Still, her pulse fluttered wildly as she arrived at the coffee shop a full thirty minutes early.
She chose a seat near the window. Sunlight spilled over the marble tabletop, catching on the gleaming silver cutlery and the glass domes of pastries stacked like delicate jewels. Outside, traffic rolled by in gentle waves, the distant honking somehow muted here.
Why a coffee shop? she wondered. He’s the Chairman of a multi-billion company. He could have summoned me to the estate. To an office. Even to a private meeting room.
She drummed her fingers against her water glass. Her throat felt dry as dust.
Then, without warning, the atmosphere outside shifted.
A sleek black car glided to a stop at the curb, sunlight flashing off its polished surface. Three more vehicles rolled in behind it like loyal shadows. Passersby slowed, their heads swiveling, murmurs following the small entourage.
Eun-ah’s breath stuttered.
Moments later, the car door opened. Chairman Jung stepped out, a tall figure in a crisp charcoal suit, moving with a calm grace that belied his years. Despite the tension coiling in her gut, Eun-ah stood up so quickly her chair scraped across the floor. She dipped into a deep bow, hair slipping forward around her face.
“Ah, Eun-ah!” the Chairman said with a warm wave, his eyes lighting up. His voice was deep but gentle, as if greeting a favored granddaughter. He gestured her back into her seat. “No need to bow so low, child. We’re just having coffee.”
Eun-ah straightened, forcing a serene smile even as her heart beat like a war drum. She watched him glance down at the spread of pastries—flaky croissants, glossy fruit tarts, little butter cookies dusted with sugar.
Outside the realm of business and boardrooms, Chairman Jung was surprisingly… normal. Almost sweet, in the way an old man might wander a bakery and ponder over which pastry to bring home.
“Why are you just sitting there staring?” he scolded gently. “Come on, help yourself.”
“Ah… after you, Chairman,” Eun-ah said quickly, bowing her head a fraction. Her palms were still damp against the fine porcelain cup.
He doesn’t know, she told herself firmly. He can’t. Not if he’s talking like this. Right?
The thought made the tight band around her chest loosen—if only slightly.
The Chairman finally plucked a croissant from the center of the tray, settling into his chair with a satisfied little grunt. He broke off one end and popped it into his mouth, crumbs dusting his elegant cuff. He chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small sigh.
“I think the last time we spoke properly was at the estate, wasn’t it?” he said with a soft chuckle. “Before your wedding day, if I recall correctly. I should have checked in sooner. But an old man like me… always getting caught up in paperwork and phone calls, ah I want to retire already. I’m sorry if I missed out on checking up on you.”
“Oh, not at all,” Eun-ah said smoothly, though her voice felt tight in her throat. “I completely understand. It’s an honor to share coffee with you today.”
The Chairman smiled at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. But slowly, his expression shifted. He set his cup gently into the saucer, the faint clink startlingly loud in the quiet café.
“Ah… I’m afraid I’m not here for only pleasantries today.”
The warmth seemed to drain out of Eun-ah’s spine. Her stomach flipped as she held his gaze.
So this is it, she thought, panic flickering at the edges of her vision. He knows. He’s going to scold me. Or worse… ask me to fix it.
Still, she forced her lips into a polite curve.
“Of course, Chairman,” she said, folding her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. “Anything.”
The Chairman straightened his coat, fingers deftly unbuttoning the middle button so he could sit more comfortably. He eased back in his seat, exhaling as though settling into an important conversation.
“I know you haven’t been home,” he said finally—straightforward but gentle.
Eun-ah felt her breath catch, her pulse thundering in her ears. A flicker of panic raced through her. She needed to think of an excuse—anything. She couldn’t let Hoseok take the fall for this. The Chairman would be furious with him, and she wasn’t about to make things worse.
“Ah…” Eun-ah let out a small, awkward laugh, desperately trying to compose herself. “I’ve just been missing my parents, so I took a short vacation. I apologize for not telling you sooner.” She gave another polite bow, hoping it might smooth things over.
The Chairman watched her for a long moment, his wise old eyes seeming to peer right through every layer of her composure. Then he sighed, deep and weary, though a wry smile tugged at his lips.
“Your husband is a total jackass,” he said, with a chuckle that somehow felt equal parts exasperated and affectionate. “Yet here you are, still covering for him. Makes me think… it’s not too late after all.”
Eun-ah blinked, stunned. He knew. Of course he knew. He always knew. Who was she kidding, thinking she could keep secrets from a man like him?
“No, no—it’s not that at all,” Eun-ah blurted out still trying to cover it up, waving her hand as if she could swat away the tension hanging between them. “He didn’t do anything, Chairman. Don’t worry about it.”
She forced a small laugh and lifted her coffee cup again, trying to hide how her fingers trembled against the delicate porcelain. The rich aroma of roasted beans seemed almost too strong, swirling around her like a fog she couldn’t escape.
The Chairman merely watched her over the rim of his own cup. His suit jacket creaked softly as he shifted.
“Child,” he said, his voice gentle as velvet. “I have eyes where walls should be. You don’t need to hide it from me.”
Outside, muted daylight poured through the café’s tall windows, scattering soft patterns of light across the polished wooden tables and the gentle curve of the chairman’s white hair. A barista called out names from behind the counter, the hiss of milk frothing filling brief pockets of silence.
“And I mean it,” he added, shaking his head with a soft scoff. “That child is a jackass.”
The Chairman let out a sudden, genuine laugh that turned a few heads nearby. His shoulders shook lightly as he glanced off toward the window, as though recalling some distant memory that made the years fall away from his features.
“That brat and his older sister…” He paused, exhaling as though carrying the weight of countless years. “They’ve taken ten years off my life, I swear.”
His voice shifted then, from resigned to warm, as though peeling back layers of old affection.
“Ah, I still remember the day Hoseok told me he wanted to be an idol,” he went on, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “He was what—thirteen? Still in middle school. Skinny as a rake but already thinking he was ten feet tall.”
Eun-ah found herself blinking, caught between surprise and a reluctant curiosity, even as her stomach knotted tighter.
The Chairman leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table.
“He stormed into my office like a little general, eyes blazing. ‘I’m going to be famous,’ he announced. Just like that.”
Eun-ah’s lips twitched despite herself, picturing a teenage Hoseok with that same intensity he wielded like a sword now.
“And his father—your appa-in-law—nearly choked on his tea,” the Chairman said, dropping his voice into a deep imitation. “‘What on earth are you talking about?!’ he yelled. And Hoseok just pulled up this video—boys singing and dancing like mad—and he jabbed a finger at the screen and said, ‘I’m going to be that… but bigger.’”
He paused to take another sip of his coffee, steam curling upward like delicate ribbons in the gentle café light.
“And he did,” the Chairman finished softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Became big. Bigger than any of us ever dreamed. That boy—stubborn as a mule—but once he decides something?”
He gave Eun-ah a look full of quiet conviction, his eyes crinkling.
“He makes it happen.”
Outside, cars drifted past the windows, their muted hums fading into the background as Eun-ah sat there, caught between the warmth in the Chairman’s words and the chill that lingered around her marriage.
She lowered her eyes to her cup, swirling the coffee slowly, a tiny furrow between her brows. How strange, she thought, that the Hoseok the Chairman described seemed so far from the man she’d been fighting with for months.
“I’m not going to order you to come home, Eun-ah,” the Chairman said quietly, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
He reached for his coffee cup, fingertips tracing the rim as though collecting his thoughts. Outside, the faint thrum of passing cars drifted into the café, mingling with the gentle clink of spoons against porcelain.
“I’m here to ask you not to.”
Eun-ah blinked, her breath stuttering as though the words had knocked the wind out of her. She stared at him, brows pulled low in confusion.
Not to come home? Was he asking me to… leave permanently?
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Panic fluttered in her chest like trapped wings.
Seeing her expression, the Chairman let out a deep, rolling chuckle, warm and fond. He waved his hand as though swatting away her alarm.
“No, no. I’m not telling you to divorce my grandson,” he said, laughter lingering in his voice. “Your grandfather would stir in his grave if I even thought of such a thing.”
Then, leaning in a little, he lowered his voice conspiratorially and winked.
“But I admire that you don’t want to divorce him, too.”
Eun-ah flushed, eyes darting away as her fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
Wait, was that the look on my face?
The Chairman’s smile softened as he continued.
“What I mean is…” He paused, eyes sharp and twinkling all at once. “Don’t come home. Let’s see what he’ll do.”
Eun-ah blinked again, stunned. She sat back in her chair as the words sank in, the sunlight suddenly feeling too bright on her skin.
“And if he does nothing…” The Chairman’s voice dropped a notch lower, his gaze steady and full of quiet weight. “Then that’s the time I step in. Or maybe, that’s the time you think about it.”
For a moment, the café seemed to hush around them, the hum of conversations fading into a soft, distant murmur.
Eun-ah swallowed, her throat tight, as she tried to process this unexpected alliance. A flicker of something—relief, maybe—unwound itself in her chest, tangled up with sorrow and uncertainty.
She’d come prepared to be scolded, or at best gently persuaded. She hadn’t expected someone—even the Chairman—to stand beside her.
***
She and the Chairman exchanged polite bows as they stepped out of the café, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft chime. Outside, the street buzzed with late-morning life—cars rolling past in slow waves, sunlight catching on windshields, the distant murmur of conversations and laughter drifting from shopfronts.
“Please give my regards and apologies to your parents,” the Chairman said, adjusting the fall of his coat, smoothing a wrinkle with careful fingers.
“Of course, Chairman. And… they truly know nothing of this.” Eun-ah lowered her gaze, her voice soft but resolute.
The Chairman gave a quiet hum, eyes lingering on her face with an unreadable mix of affection and calculation. Then a gentle smile curved his lips.
“Thank you for that, Eun-ah. For still protecting that very stubborn boy’s image to your parents.”
A fond warmth entered his eyes, and he shook his head slowly, as though marveling at an old memory.
“I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Maybe he’ll finally bust out of that shell. That boy’s always needed a little push… but once he decides on something—” He chuckled, low and deep. “Like I said, he always finds a way to make it happen.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice a touch. “And you—use this time for yourself, hmm? Figure out what you want. I’m not telling you to just sit around and forgive him if he shows up begging. No, no.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Think it through. Decide if this is the life you really want.”
Another quiet laugh escaped him. “Though if I know that punk, he’s probably stewing even worse than you are right now.”
Eun-ah blinked, startled by the mischievous spark in his eyes.
The Chairman gave her one last wink before stepping toward the waiting car. A driver hurried to open the door, bowing low as the Chairman eased inside.
The sleek black sedan purred to life and pulled away from the curb, followed closely by the other two vehicles in quiet formation. The sun flashed off their glossy surfaces, and then the cars vanished around the bend, leaving behind only the faint scent of exhaust and the hush of the city resettling around her.
Eun-ah stood for a moment on the sidewalk, staring at the space where the cars had disappeared. A breeze skimmed past, fluttering loose strands of hair across her cheek.
A tight knot seemed to loosen in her chest, though an ache remained beneath it—a confusion of hope, fear, and an odd, unfamiliar spark of something else.
She tilted her face upward, letting the pale sunlight warm her skin. Above her, a strip of sky stretched endless and blue, thin clouds drifting like pulled cotton.
She wrapped her coat a little tighter around herself and took a deep breath, the crisp air filling her lungs and clearing her foggy thoughts, if only a little.
Then she turned and began to walk slowly along the sidewalk, heels tapping against the concrete. Each step felt measured, as though she were carefully navigating the fragile bridge between the life she’d been handed… and the life she might still choose to claim for herself.
Chapter 22: Chapter 22
Notes:
This is a bit short. Sorry :(
Chapter Text
Eun-ah found herself wandering the glossy corridors of the nearly empty mall. The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the faint chill of overpowered air-conditioning. This wasn’t the kind of place she’d once frequented, but ever since marrying into the Jungs, it was one of the few public spaces where she could go without being hounded by cameras.
Jiwoo often dragged her here on shopping trips, claiming retail therapy was the answer to any problem. Sometimes Eun-ah browsed alone, as she was today, drifting past window displays like a ghost in her own life.
She paused here and there—admiring delicate handbags she didn’t truly need, fingers brushing silk dresses whose price tags made her cringe. Triple what her father used to make in a month. The extravagance still felt foreign, no matter how many months passed.
Inside a boutique lined with racks of designer gowns, she ran her fingertips along a dress the color of deep wine, considering whether she’d ever have an occasion—or the audacity—to wear it.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone familiar.
“Oppa?” she blurted before she could stop herself.
Jungkook was standing in front of a towering mirror, half-turned as a staff member fussed with the sleeve of a sleek tuxedo jacket. His eyes snapped toward her voice, widening in sheer surprise.
“Eun-ah,” he said, his voice bursting out on a breath, relief flooding his features. “It’s you—you didn’t answer my calls or texts…”
Before she could respond, he was already shrugging out of the tuxedo jacket and hurrying across the boutique toward her, long strides eating up the distance. The boutique staff and his manager exchanged startled looks and scrambled to follow him, arms full of hangers and garment bags.
Jungkook let out a low, disbelieving laugh as he reached her, dragging a hand through his hair, the tension visibly melting from his shoulders.
“Thank god. I thought you’d run away for good. What happened?” Jungkook asked, worry creasing his forehead, eyes darting over her face as if trying to read secrets hidden in her expression.
Eun-ah glanced past his shoulder, spotting his manager and several boutique staff standing awkwardly nearby. A couple of stylists held measuring tapes midair, pretending to busy themselves with fabrics and pins while clearly eavesdropping.
“Ah… hang on,” Jungkook said suddenly, as if only just realizing the spectacle they were making in the middle of the boutique. “I gotta finish this fitting. Let’s have late lunch after, okay? Don’t run off. Wait for me—I’ll be quick.”
Before Eun-ah could even form a reply, he’d already turned his back to her, waving frantically at the tailor.
“Hyung, just pin this quickly, yeah? No more adjustments. It’s fine!” he barked, his voice carrying across the store.
One of the staff gave him a scandalized look, clutching a measuring tape like a lifeline.
So persistent, Eun-ah thought, shaking her head with a faint, reluctant smile.
Left with no choice, she let herself sink onto one of the boutique’s elegant cream-colored sofas, feeling the velvety upholstery cool against her skin. Overhead, delicate crystal chandeliers scattered golden light across the room, catching in the sequins of lavish gowns hanging on velvet hangers.
The boutique smelled faintly of expensive perfume and crisp new fabric, a scent that always reminded her of Jiwoo dragging her around these places, insisting she needed “proper wife attire.”
A discreet staff member approached, bowing slightly.
“Champagne, ma’am?” they asked, offering a slender crystal flute balanced on a gleaming silver tray.
Eun-ah blinked, hesitated, then accepted it with both hands.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The cool bubbles burst against her tongue, fizzy and bright, but it did little to quell the flutter of nerves low in her stomach. She exhaled a slow breath, eyes drifting across the boutique to where Jungkook was now animatedly talking to his manager, gesturing at the tuxedo as if it were a life-or-death decision.
Part of her wanted to slip away quietly, avoid any more questions she wasn’t ready to answer. But another part—the part so very tired of feeling alone—couldn’t deny that Jungkook’s familiar presence brought a small comfort she hadn’t realized she craved.
So she sat, legs crossed delicately, swirling her champagne and trying not to look like a woman on the verge of running away. She waited for at least ten minutes, shifting on the sofa, feeling slightly out of place amid racks of glittering gowns and the faint, sweet scent of expensive perfume that hung in the air. Soft piano music played overhead, barely loud enough to drown out the rustle of fabric and quiet chatter of the staff.
Eun-ah kept glancing toward the fitting area, where Jungkook was a blur of motion—arms lifting, jackets sliding off his shoulders, sleeves being pinned or tugged by eager stylists. Every few moments, he twisted around to look at her, as if to check she was still there, his dark eyes sharp beneath the fringe of his hair.
A staff member passed by, offering her another flute of champagne. Eun-ah accepted it politely, though she merely held it, staring into the pale bubbles instead of drinking.
Near a rack of sequined cocktail dresses, two younger staff who just came in from the back whispered together, giggling.
“Is that his girlfriend?” one murmured, eyes darting toward Eun-ah.
“That must be. She’s really pretty,” another whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth, her voice trembling with excitement.
Heat bloomed in Eun-ah’s cheeks. She looked down at the drink, wishing she could sink into the cushions and disappear. She could feel the weight of every curious glance in the boutique, as though the entire room was holding its breath.
Then Jungkook appeared at last, striding over to her, the tuxedo gone, replaced by a soft black hoodie and relaxed black pants. His hair was slightly tousled from the fittings, and he smelled faintly of cologne and fresh linen.
“Eun-ah—I’m done. Let’s go?” he said, his voice low and warm, eyes crinkling in relief. “Sorry for making you wait.”
From behind them, Eun-ah heard the same staff squeal under their breath.
“Oh my god—that’s definitely his girlfriend,” one gasped, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Eun-ah felt as though the floor had tilted. Her stomach twisted at the sudden rush of attention, every inch of her skin prickling under invisible scrutiny.
Jungkook’s cheerful expression slipped into a tight line. He shot a glance over his shoulder, his jaw hardening, a flash of sharpness in his gaze. Without a word, he leaned toward his manager and murmured something low and clipped into his ear.
The manager gave a small, grim nod and strode briskly to the counter.
“Come on,” Jungkook said, gently curling his fingers around Eun-ah’s wrist and tugging her toward the boutique’s glass doors.
Eun-ah cast a final, bewildered look back. A quiet storm was brewing behind them. The gossiping girls were now standing stiff and silent, heads bowed as a senior staff member stood in front of them, voice low but scolding, her expression severe.
“What… happened back there?” Eun-ah murmured as they stepped into the glossy mall corridor, the hush of the boutique giving way to the echoing thump of distant footsteps and muffled music from store speakers.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Jungkook said lightly, slipping his hands into his pockets, trying to sound breezy. “I just told them I want to shop somewhere else and to cancel my order.”
Eun-ah stared at him, eyes widening. “Wait—you cancelled? After spending minutes barking those adjustments? Why?”
Jungkook shrugged, though his jaw was still set. “I dunno. I just realized maybe I don’t like their product after all.”
Eun-ah studied his face, suspicion prickling at the back of her mind. Did he… hear the gossip? That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t cancel a whole order just because of me… would he?
Before she could push further, Jungkook spun around to face her, a grin suddenly brightening his face.
“So—where do you wanna eat?” he said, his voice suddenly playful, eyes sparkling. “There’s tons of good KBBQ places here. You wanna try one? My treat!”
Eun-ah couldn’t help it—despite the swirling confusion in her chest, her lips curved into a reluctant smile.
***
“So…” Jungkook said, poking at the sizzling strips of marbled beef on the grill with his tongs. The fat crackled and hissed, sending up little wisps of fragrant smoke that made Eun-ah’s stomach growl. The warm light above the table gleamed off the polished grill, and all around them, the small private room hummed softly with the faint murmur of music and clinking dishes outside.
The table was practically overflowing with side dishes—kimchi in vibrant red, crisp green lettuce leaves, glossy pickled radish, and small dishes of dipping sauces. The aroma of grilled meat mixed with the sweet tang of garlic and sesame oil, wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.
Jungkook tilted his head and gave her a sly grin, acting as though what she’d done was completely normal.
“Where’ve you been hiding off to?” he asked, his tone light and teasing, though a flicker of genuine concern sparked in his dark eyes.
Eun-ah let out a sheepish little laugh, brushing a stray hair behind her ear as she picked up her chopsticks to help flip over some pieces of meat.
“Ah… just my parents’ place,” she said, trying to sound breezy, though her voice caught slightly at the end.
Jungkook froze, chopsticks hovering midair, eyes going wide.
“No way. You were there this whole time?” he burst out, his voice bouncing off the wooden walls of the small room.
Before she could answer, he stuffed a freshly grilled piece of beef into his mouth, cheeks puffing out as he chewed enthusiastically. His eyes rolled back in delight, making Eun-ah giggle despite herself.
“You know,” he said around a mouthful, finally swallowing, “Jin-hyung’s been bugging me every day asking if you’ve so much so replied to my text, cause he said you don’t reply to his.” He chuckled, plucking a glistening pickled garlic clove from a small dish and popping it into his mouth.
Eun-ah arched a brow, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Really? Jin-oppa’s that worried?”
Jungkook nodded fervently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before hastily grabbing a napkin. “He’s driving us all nuts. ‘Where’s Eun-ah? Is she okay? Is Hoseok looking for her? Do we need to stage an intervention?’”
He deepened his voice in a mock-serious imitation of Jin, earning a small burst of laughter from Eun-ah.
“Thank you, guys,” Eun-ah said softly, setting her chopsticks down for a moment. “But I’m really okay.”
Jungkook tilted his head, frowning slightly. “But what happened? Did you two… well, fight again?” His voice dropped lower as he leaned in, elbows propped on the table. “You know you can tell me, right?”
Yes, we fought…. about you… but how could she say that? The last thing she wanted was to drag Jungkook deeper into the tangled mess between her and Hoseok.
“Ah… yes, we did.” She tried to keep her voice light, but hurt flickered in her eyes, quick and raw, before she could mask it again. She toyed with a bright red slice of chili in her bowl, moving it back and forth. “I mean… we always do.” She let out a small, humorless laugh. “But I’m used to it. Don’t worry. I just… got tired. It made me wonder if this is really something I want for the rest of my life.”
Jungkook’s eyes softened, concern etched across his face as he watched her. He could tell, even if she was trying to hide it—she was hurting. Or maybe, he thought, she was only just realizing how much she was hurting.
“Hobi-hyung is really an ass,” he blurted out suddenly, his voice firm and blunt.
Eun-ah’s eyes widened in surprise, then she let out a startled giggle. “Ah… I heard that from someone else, too.” Recalling her meeting with the chairman earlier.
Jungkook cracked a small grin, though it faded almost as quickly as it came. He sighed and poked at a piece of meat on the grill. “I just hate seeing you like this. You deserve… I dunno. Peace. Happiness.”
Eun-ah stared at the glistening meat sizzling over the flames, a soft sadness pooling in her chest. “I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me, Oppa.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, voice low, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that.”
She managed a faint smile, touched by the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. “I’ll try not to.”
Jungkook grinned, a playful glint softening the edge of worry in his face. “Good. And if you vanish again, I’m sending Taehyung after you—and he’ll show up wearing leopard print and singing trot songs at full volume until you come out.”
Eun-ah laughed, a real, bright sound she hadn’t realized she’d been holding back for days. It felt like her chest loosened just enough for her to breathe. She glanced away, her fingers brushing the rim of her cup.
“Come on,” Jungkook said suddenly, eyes lighting up as he pushed away from the table. “Let’s go sing. You look like you need to scream into a microphone for a bit.”
She blinked. “Karaoke? Now?”
“Yes, now.” He was already fishing for his wallet, waving a hand for the restaurant staff. “My treat. Come on, don’t make me beg.”
And so, twenty minutes later, Eun-ah found herself tucked into a cozy booth of a private karaoke room. The walls glowed with soft neon shapes that shimmered across plush navy velvet. The faint scent of lemon-scented cleaner still clung to the air, mingling with the electrical heat of the sound system.
Jungkook was already half-lounging across the couch, flipping through the digital songbook with fast, eager fingers.
“Oh—THIS one!” he exclaimed, punching in a song before she could protest. The opening bars of “Love Scenario” poured from the speakers in a wave of cheerful pop.
“Oppa—no—”
But Jungkook was already singing, half shouting, waving his arms around with exaggerated drama. His voice cracked deliberately on certain high notes, sending Eun-ah into fits of laughter so intense she nearly choked on her plum tea.
Halfway through the chorus, he shoved the mic at her. “Your turn!”
“I can’t—”
“YES, YOU CAN!”
And suddenly, she was singing, voice tentative at first, but growing louder as Jungkook bounced around like a maniac, mouthing the words and throwing peace signs at her.
She was breathless when the song ended, hair falling into her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were pink, her lips parted in a half-dazed smile.
While she wiped sweat from her brow, Jungkook leaned back on the couch, discreetly lifting his phone. He snapped a quick photo of her, grinning to himself.
“Yah!” she gasped when she noticed the flash. “Jeon Jungkook!”
He laughed, quickly shoving his phone behind his back. “For memories.”
“Delete it!”
“Never.”
After another hour of songs and relentless teasing, they left the karaoke building and stepped into the night. Seoul sparkled around them, neon lights reflected in damp pavement, the air tinged with the faint crispness of a coming summer rain.
They decided to grab tteokbokki from a tiny food stall tucked beside a convenience store. Eun-ah perched on a plastic stool, watching steam curl up from the bubbling sauce while Jungkook fished out rice cakes and blew on them dramatically before shoving them into his mouth.
“Thanks, Oppa,” Eun-ah said quietly as she wiped her lips with a napkin. “For today.”
Jungkook tilted his head, his expression softer than she’d seen all day. “Anytime. Seriously.”
He glanced down, hesitating, then slipped his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen, a flicker of mischief creeping into his eyes.
By the time Eun-ah’s taxi disappeared into the rainy street, Jungkook stood under the shop awning, thumbs flying over his phone. He pulled up the Bangtan group chat and started dropping photos one after another.
BANGTAN GC
Jungkook: [Photo: Eun-ah mid-song at karaoke, hair flying everywhere.]
Jungkook: [Photo: Eun-ah glaring, hand up like she’s going to smack his phone.]
Jungkook: [Photo: Eun-ah with lettuce stuffed in her cheeks, eyes wide.]
Jungkook: Found her. But kept her for myself today 😎✌️
Taehyung: …BRUH.
Jimin: KEPT HER???
Namjoon: well… glad she’s okay, at least.
Jin: sigh I guess… an update is an update.
Taehyung: WHERE WERE YOU??
Jimin: DID YOU KIDNAP HER OR WHAT
Yoongi: don’t encourage him.
Jungkook: chill hyungs. we just ate and sang a bit.
Jin: could’ve told us earlier instead of dropping selfies like a maniac.
Jimin: I FEEL BETRAYED.
Taehyung: same. you hoarded Eun-ah time for yourself.
Namjoon: she looks okay in the pics. that’s the important part.
Yoongi: you all sound like jealous aunties.
Jimin: WELL MAYBE WE ARE.
Taehyung: show more pics.
Jungkook: [sends another of Eun-ah flashing a peace sign, cheeks flushed with laughter]
Jin: …fine. she does look good. but you’re still annoying.
Namjoon: thanks for the update, kook. seriously.
Jimin: BUT YOU STILL SUCK FOR NOT TELLING US EARLIER.
Yoongi: deleting this chat.
Jungkook smiled faintly, slipping his phone into his pocket as the rain dripped steadily from the awning above.
***
Hoseok sat in the stiff leather chair at the head of the boardroom table, eyes fixed on a slide he wasn’t actually seeing. The numbers blurred together. A voice droned on from the front of the room—something about quarterly margins and supply chain risk—but none of it reached him.
All he could hear was the faint buzz of his phone where it lay face-down beside his water glass. Again. And again. And again.
Ignore it, he told himself. But his pulse thumped a fraction harder each time the vibration rattled against the polished wood.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He flipped the phone over, thumb already swiping through notifications.
Photos filled the screen in rapid succession.
It took him half a second to register what he was looking at—and then his chest tightened so abruptly it felt like a punch.
Eun-ah.
Her hair flying as she sang into a karaoke mic. Her eyes bright and sharp as she scolded someone behind the camera. Her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk, mouth half-open in laughter.
In every shot, there she was—alive, moving, smiling.
And beside her, always close enough to touch, was Jungkook.
Hoseok sat motionless, his knuckles paling where they curled around the edge of his phone. A strange heat spread beneath his skin, clawing up from his chest and lodging in his throat.
Why the hell was she laughing like that when she’d run away from him?
But she’s not yours to dictate how she laughs, some cold voice whispered in the back of his skull.
He shoved that thought away.
At the front of the room, the presenter trailed off, clearing his throat delicately. “Ah… Hoseok-ssi…? Shall we proceed?”
It took Hoseok a second to find his voice.
“Email me the rest,” he said shortly. His own voice startled him—it was hoarse, like he’d been shouting, though he hadn’t spoken a word all day.
Silence fell as he stood. His chair scraped harshly against the tile. Without waiting for anyone else to move, he strode out, phone clutched tight in his hand.
He kept walking until the hallway emptied out, cold fluorescent lights washing over the sleek glass and marble. He stopped at a window overlooking Seoul’s skyline, lights smeared into ribbons by the rain still drizzling outside.
He stared at the city but didn’t really see it.
He scrolled back through the photos one by one. His thumb hovered over the last one—a blurry shot of Eun-ah grinning, throwing a peace sign.
A part of him felt something almost like relief, seeing her okay. Alive. Not locked away somewhere hurting.
Another part wanted to throw his phone through the glass.
She’s fine. She doesn’t need you.
He swallowed, jaw working silently.
He didn’t want to admit it was jealousy. Didn’t want to admit how much it gutted him, the thought of her finding comfort—laughter, warmth—in someone else’s company. Especially Jungkook’s.
But beneath all that twisted heat, there was something else. Something dark and tight in his chest. Fear, maybe. A cold voice whispered that she might decide she was better off without him—and mean it this time.
He tried to scoff at himself. As if she was even his to lose.
They weren’t in love. They’d agreed on that.
Then why the hell did it feel like someone had just ripped his insides out?
He stared at the phone for a long moment, thumb hovering over the group chat. A hundred sarcastic replies fought to rise to his tongue. But he typed nothing.
He locked the screen instead, shoving the phone into his pocket like it burned.
He didn’t know what he wanted more—to drag her home and lock the doors behind them…or to keep pretending he didn’t care at all.
So he stood there, silent and unmoving, the rain tapping gently against the glass. And for the first time, a thought lodged itself in his mind with terrifying clarity:
Maybe she’s not the one running away anymore.
Chapter 23: Chapter 23
Chapter Text
Hoseok found himself seated alone in a discreet, members-only bar nestled in the heart of Gangnam — the kind of place where celebrities weren’t gawked at, where wealth bought silence, and anonymity came with the price of a bottle. The interior was dark and muted, lined with polished mahogany walls and gold-trimmed sconces casting a low, amber glow. Jazz hummed softly from a corner speaker, almost drowned by the clinking of ice in crystal glasses and murmured conversations between Seoul’s elite.
He swirled his glass absently, eyes blank as he watched the amber liquid circle its rim. His third glass. Nearly half the bottle is already gone. The ice had long melted. His reflection in the mirror behind the bar looked worn — jaw tight, lips set in a line that hadn’t softened all evening. He barely noticed the vibration of his phone on the table until it buzzed again.
Yoongi: “Hey, checking in. U home yet?”
Of course. He could already hear the teasing tone behind the message. Yoongi had probably seen the photos in the group chat — Eun-ah, smiling beside Jungkook in a black hoodie, a little too close for comfort. Of course Yoongi would use this as ammo. He never missed a chance to corner Hoseok into saying things he didn’t want to say, like his non-existent feelings.
"Non-existent feelings," Hoseok muttered to himself with a bitter laugh, setting his glass down with a soft thud . The words tasted like ash in his mouth. These so-called non-existent feelings — the ones that clenched in his chest every time Eun-ah’s name was mentioned. The ones that made his blood boil every time Jungkook smiled like that around her. He took another swig, chasing the ache in his throat, and slammed the empty glass onto the coaster.
He reached for the bottle again just as a figure stumbled into the side of his table, rattling the entire set-up and sending a fresh pour of whiskey splashing over the rim and onto his lap. The alcohol soaked into the fine black fabric of his Tom Ford tux.
“Aish,” Hoseok hissed under his breath, standing up sharply as he looked down at the spreading stain across his thigh.
“Ahh—shit—sorry, man,” the stranger slurred. Mid-forties maybe, gold watch too tight on his wrist, hair slicked back like he was still in his twenties. His breath reeked of expensive scotch and desperation.
“It’s fine,” Hoseok muttered, brushing the liquid off with the edge of a napkin as he sat back down, jaw tight.
But the man didn’t move. He stayed rooted beside the table, swaying slightly.
“No, no, I insist, let me buy you another drink— Waiter! ” he shouted, voice too loud, echoing against the velvet walls.
“I said, it’s okay,” Hoseok snapped, the edge in his voice sharper now, anger seeping through. The room was supposed to be quiet. This place was meant for silence. Peace. Somewhere he could think .
The man blinked at him slowly, face twisting as if surprised that someone would reject his drunken apology. “What’s your problem?” he barked, voice rising again. “You think you’re better than everyone?”
“I think you’re drunk,” Hoseok bit out, tone clipped.
The man scoffed, then shoved the edge of the table, tipping the glass again. That was it. Hoseok shot to his feet. Chairs scraped against marble. Words were exchanged — harsh, ugly words neither would remember clearly the next day. Then fists. Fast. Sloppy. Loud.
Hoseok barely remembered the punch that hit his jaw. He was too far gone to stop himself. All the frustration and confusion and jealousy he’d been bottling up came spilling out in an uncharacteristic rage. Staff were quick to intervene, two security guards dragging him out through the back door while the other man shouted obscenities, held back by another patron.
The cool night air hit him like ice, sobering and stinging as he was dumped unceremoniously onto a wooden bench near the side alley, the back entrance of the bar looming behind him. He touched his lip — wet. Sticky. Blood. He pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket and wiped it carefully, the sting sharp and grounding.
He was about to close his eyes when—
“ Hyung? Holy shit—are you okay?”
Hoseok’s spine stiffened at the familiar voice. His hand froze halfway through dabbing the cut.
Not him.
Not now .
Jungkook approached with measured steps, eyes wide, expression caught somewhere between concern and alarm. He was still wearing the same black hoodie from the photos — the one Eun-ah had playfully tugged earlier that day, their faces close in that annoyingly candid shot.
“Hyung, what the hell happened?” Jungkook asked, crouching beside the bench. “Who did this to you?”
Hoseok let out a breath through his nose, slow and tight. “It’s nothing. Just a cut.”
Jungkook sat beside him, hands stuffed into his pockets. “You don’t get into fights,” he said quietly. “Seriously who? Is it from this bar? I’ll talk to him-”
“Drop it,” he muttered. “It was my fault.”
Jungkook looked at him like he hadn’t heard right. “Your fault? What the hell does that mean—?”
“I said drop it.” Hoseok’s tone was firm now. Final. His gaze was locked on the hem of his trousers, still faintly stained with whiskey and speckled with dirt. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. The air smelled like exhaust and rain — even though it hadn’t rained at all. Jungkook’s shoulder relaxed, ready to let go of whatever happened in that bar, he knew even how much he wanted to do something, Hoseok wouldn’t let him.
“You just getting home?” he asked finally, voice low, eyes flicking sideways to the younger man.
“Ah, yeah,” Jungkook said. “Was with Eun-ah earlier. Thought you oughta know. But I guess…” he scratched the back of his neck, awkward, “you already saw the pictures.”
Hoseok’s fingers curled slightly on the bench’s edge. There it was again — her name, coupled with that same black hoodie. Coupled with him. His temples throbbed.
But he didn’t lash out. He couldn’t.
This was Jungkook.
His maknae .
He remembered when they first met — the shy Busan boy who barely spoke but lit up when music played. The one who used to cling to Hoseok’s arm during long flights, who danced beside him every day for years without complaint. The kid who used to bring him water bottles and giggle behind the camera during shoots. No matter how old he got, how bold, how confident, muscular or tattooed — part of Hoseok still saw the boy who once cried on his shoulder when the weight of the industry felt too much.
So no, he couldn’t yell at him . Couldn’t call him out. Couldn’t tell him to stay the hell away from Eun-ah.
“Yeah,” Hoseok muttered finally. “I guess she’s okay.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Hoseok stared ahead. Jungkook didn’t press further. The tension sat like fog around them — thick, suffocating, and unresolved.
But in the quiet, Hoseok could still hear it — the echo of her laugh, the clink of a whiskey glass, and the gnawing ache of something he refused to name. It haunted the air between streetlights, curled beneath the hum of distant traffic, lingered in the cold bench beneath him. Her voice, soft and unguarded, still rang in his ears. Her smile, effortless and unbothered, burned behind his closed eyelids like an afterimage he couldn’t blink away.
“Hyung, how long are you going to keep this going?” Jungkook finally dropped it, his tone edged but careful. “It’s hard for her too. Not only you,” he added, voice quieter now, like he was afraid of saying too much. He lit a cigarette, and the flame briefly lit his face — troubled, tired, and yet so sure of himself. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his face like mist.
Hoseok didn’t look at him.
How, in the world, do I explain that it is you that I’m mad about?
How your presence wraps around her like something safe.
How you make her laugh so effortlessly, like it’s second nature.
How you’re always there when I’m not.
The silence stretched long and brittle. Hoseok let it run, let it eat at him from the inside. This wasn’t something he could answer, not now. Not in words. It wasn’t even something he could admit out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Why was he dragging this on?
He could have ended it. He could’ve found Eun-ah that night, taken her hand and brought her home, someone who could move mountains but chose to stay still. He could’ve told her everything he was too afraid to say. Could’ve held her like he wanted to. Could’ve stopped pretending. Could’ve chosen her.
But he didn’t.
But why would he? Why should he?
He heard Jungkook take another drag — slow, deliberate.
“Seriously,” Jungkook said, smoke slipping through his words, “if you can’t give her the happiness she deserves… let her go, hyung.”
A pause. Then—
“I’ll be glad to take her.”
It wasn’t said with venom. There was no arrogance, no twisted smirk. Just truth. Bare and unwavering. Jungkook said it like someone volunteering for a job. Calm. Steady. Sincere.
It was like the world spun.
For weeks, Hoseok had felt it — something shifting beneath his skin. Paranoia. Gut feelings. Half-suspicions. But now, it had a name. A form. A confession.
Something seared through his chest. Anger? Betrayal? No. Not quite. Something hotter. Deeper. It was indeed jealousy and more — unmistakable and suffocating. The kind that made his jaw lock, his fists curl into his thighs. It had a pulse. A heat. It had always been there, lurking, and now it came roaring to the surface. The wind blew past them, cold and calculating
“Jungkoo—” his voice cracked before it could even form a sentence.
“I know,” Jungkook cut in, dragging a hand down his face, his cigarette burning dangerously close to his fingers he gave a hollow laugh, like he couldn’t believe it either, the words coming out of his mouth. “I know how that sounds.” He gave a bitter exhale. “But I’m ready to fight for it.”
He turned to Hoseok now, eyes dark but clear.
“But of course… I’m still looking at you. Hoping, praying, that maybe somewhere in there, you’ll make this real. That you’ll finally stop holding back. Because I see it, hyung. I see it in you. And I see it in her.”
His voice dropped just above a whisper.
“But maybe… maybe take this as a warning.”
A beat. The smoke settled. The weight of it all did not. In the corner, the neon signs of a closed cafe flickered, it’s reflection evident in the misty road.
“If it doesn’t happen… and she says she wants out? I’ll be here to save her . No matter who I have to fight.”
Was this a casual conversation between brothers?
It felt like it.
Like they were talking about what to order for lunch. Or what movie to see. But every word landed like a brick to the chest. Like a quiet war waged with steady tones and unsaid wounds.
Hoseok felt his world tilt. Like his insides had been twisted and wrung out. And suddenly, it wasn’t just Kyu.
It was Jungkook now too.
Another man offered to take her. To do what he couldn’t. What he wouldn’t .
They were lining up, one by one, ready to take her off his hands — the hands that had all the chances in the world to hold her, and always, always chose not to.
Hoseok stood up slowly, brushing the dirt off his trousers with one hand while the other slid into his coat pocket. His shadow stretched long in the streetlight’s glow, flickering slightly as a passing car swept by, tires hissing over damp asphalt. The air still smelled of rain that never came — thick, heavy, expectant.
He walked over to Jungkook and tapped his shoulder, the motion deliberate, but not rough. The younger man looked up, cigarette still smoldering between his fingers, his eyes sharp with questions Hoseok wasn’t ready to answer.
Hoseok gave a faint shake of his head — not dismissive, but firm. Then, voice low, steady, he said:
“You can always try to outdo me… but you never will.”
A beat.
“I’m one of the leaders for a reason.”
He didn’t wait for a reaction.
Turning on his heel, he started down the road, the soft thud of his shoes disappearing into the quiet. Streetlights blurred against the fog rising from the ground. Behind him, Jungkook didn’t follow — didn’t even move. Just sat there, stunned but oddly settled.
Because somehow… Jungkook felt like Hoseok wasn’t walking away from the girl. He was walking toward something else. Even if it meant giving up his joy, giving up love — He’d do it.
Just to make sure she smiled in the end.
Even if it wasn’t because of him.
***
“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Ye-joon asked, standing just behind Hoseok. The sun reflected harshly against his glasses, making them nearly opaque as he squinted down at his tablet. They were on the patio, a rare quiet settling between meetings. Hoseok sat comfortably, coffee in hand, legs stretched out like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
“What do you mean? Isn’t this what you all wanted?” Hoseok replied, tilting his head back lazily, letting the sun warm his bruised lip.
“Yes, but—this is too much,” Ye-joon muttered, swiping through something on his screen with visible unease. “You could’ve just picked her up and… I don’t know, smiled like a normal person.”
“Oh, I will,” Hoseok said, tone final. “Later.”
Ye-joon lowered the tablet with a sigh. “Then why are we sending her:
- Flowers that completely cover her entire garden,
- A full orchestra to play her favorite movie soundtrack outside her house
- And a handwritten letter delivered by a man on horseback?”
Hoseok didn’t even flinch. “You forgot the chocolate-dipped strawberries flown in from Switzerland.”
Ye-joon blinked. “Hoseok. Eun-ah doesn’t even like strawberries.”
“She likes the idea of them,” Hoseok said, coolly. Then took another sip of his coffee.
Ye-joon stared at him like he was genuinely concerned now. “…Yeah. You’re definitely sick.”
“I’m gonna cancel that orchestra and the man on horseback. That’s too cringe even for me,” Ye-joon said flatly, already tapping at his tablet.
“Alright,” Hoseok murmured, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Maybe change it to… I don’t know—have that bakery near that one beach we went to bake that tangerine chiffon cake she liked. The one from Busan. Fly it in.”
Ye-joon didn’t even blink. “You remembered that?”
“Of course I did,” Hoseok replied, tone cool, unreadable. “She mentioned it once.”
Ye-joon studied him, then looked back down. “One cake?”
“Twelve. All slightly different,” Hoseok said. “Let her pick which one tastes closest to her memory.”
Ye-joon let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You really wanna convince everyone you’re the doting husband, huh?”
Hoseok didn’t respond right away. Just sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
“Isn’t that the whole point?” he said finally. “Play the role well enough and no one asks questions.”
Ye-joon’s eyes narrowed. “Including her?”
Hoseok gave the faintest smile. “Especially her.”
He leaned forward, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “If I act like the smitten husband, Jungkook stops poking around. Kyu backs off. People stop asking questions. It’s efficient.”
Ye-joon raised a brow. “So this is about efficiency now?”
Hoseok shrugged, reaching for his phone. “What else would it be?”
But even Ye-joon couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or deflection. Hoseok wasn’t looking at him anymore—just scrolling calmly, his jaw flexing once like there was more he wasn’t saying. Like maybe he wasn’t lying. Or maybe he was just lying so well, even he couldn’t tell the difference.
***
“We can use the helicopter,” The chairman said, already pushing back his leather chair. His gold cufflinks glinted under the morning sun spilling through the wide windows of his office. “Call Ye-joon. If we take off now, we’ll make the Daegu board meeting by noon.”
The nearest staff member gave a small bow and stepped out quickly. The others continued shuffling through papers, tapping their tablets. Everything was in motion—until it wasn’t.
The door opened again just a minute later.
“Sir,” the assistant said cautiously. “Ye-joon reports that the helicopter isn’t available.”
The chairman froze halfway to standing. His hand gripped the armrest. “What do you mean unavailable?”
“He… didn’t approve the request, sir.”
There was a beat of silence. A rare moment of disbelief. The room grew still.
“I’m the chairman,” he said slowly, as though the staff had somehow forgotten. “It’s available for me. Why would it not be?”
The assistant shifted awkwardly. “Ye-joon said he’s using it for a… private errand.”
The chairman narrowed his eyes. “Errand?”
“Yes, sir. He said he’s flying to Busan. To pick up custom cakes.”
“Cakes?” The chairman leaned back in his chair, incredulous.
“Yes, sir. For Miss Eun-ah.” The assistant swallowed. “A gift from Mr. Hoseok.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
A flicker of surprise crossed the chairman’s face—then something else. Something sharper. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he steepled his fingers, staring at the far window as though calculating the weight of this newfound information.
“A gift,” he echoed. Then chuckled, low and amused. “So that boy’s finally playing the game.”
He didn’t sound angry. Not yet. Just… interested.
He waved a hand. “Reschedule the Daegu meeting. Tell them something came up.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the staff scrambled again, the chairman stayed seated, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. His fingers tapped against the table—slow and deliberate.
“Let’s see just how far he’s willing to go.”
***
Later that afternoon, the chairman stood by the window of his top-floor office, arms crossed behind his back thinking of what might be happening. The city pulsed below him in its usual rhythm—cars, people, sirens, the hum of weekday urgency.
But something caught his eye.
A line of trucks—no, flower trucks—rolled steadily through the avenue below. Not one or two, but at least a dozen. Wrapped in white satin banners, the backs of the trucks overflowed with blossoms. Ivory roses, pale lavender hyacinths, clusters of baby’s breath—all arranged like they belonged in a royal wedding.
Pedestrians had stopped to take photos. A couple of interns from the building next door leaned out their windows, phones raised. Somewhere down below, someone let out a soft whistle.
The chairman raised a brow.
“Get me Ye-joon,” he said, not turning from the view.
His secretary nodded and made the call. A few minutes passed before she returned, clutching her tablet a little tighter.
“Sir, Ye-joon is currently at Incheon Airport and cannot talk” she said. “He’s… retrieving a parcel.”
“A parcel?” the chairman asked dryly, gaze still fixed on the scene below.
“A refrigerated box, sir. Swiss chocolate-covered strawberries. Flown in this morning, marked urgent.”
He slowly turned toward her.
“Chocolate-covered strawberries,” he repeated. “From Switzerland.”
“Yes, sir. For Miss Eun-ah.”
There was a pause.
“And the flowers?”
“They’re being delivered to the Yoo’s family’s estate this evening. All fifteen trucks.”
A beat of silence.
“Those flowers?” he said, voice rising slightly. “That many?”
The secretary gave a hesitant nod. “Apparently… they’re just the centerpiece arrangements. The main display is still en route.”
The chairman let out a low breath, somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “And all of this—” he motioned toward the window, “—is part of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another long silence.
Then came a sound—half scoff, half laugh—as the chairman sank back into his chair. He didn’t speak for a while. Just leaned back, fingers laced together, a slow, calculating look settling in his eyes.
“So,” he murmured, almost to himself. “He’s not just playing.”
He tapped his ringed finger against the desk once, twice. Then smirked.
“He’s performing. ”
***
On the other side of Seoul later in the evening, Eun-ah was enjoying a quiet dinner with her parents. The clink of silverware, the gentle hum of a string quartet playing softly through the house speakers, and her mother’s laughter filled the space with warmth. For the first time in days, Eun-ah felt calm—almost normal.
They were laughing over an old story her mom told, one that always made Eun-ah snort mid-bite, when an unexpected commotion echoed from the main gate. A sharp buzz of activity, voices raised in confusion, followed by the heavy rhythm of hurried footsteps approaching.
The dining doors opened, and the head guard entered, breathless and wide-eyed, as if he had just seen something otherworldly.
“Ma’am,” he said, bowing slightly, “a delivery… for you.”
Eun-ah blinked. “Me? A delivery?”
The guard nodded, clearly flustered. “From… Sir Jung Hoseok.”
Her hand froze mid-reach for her glass. Hoseok? Her heart jolted uncomfortably in her chest.
Was it her clothes? A formal request to vacate the estate? Did he finally decide she had overstayed her welcome?
“Well, where is it?” her mother asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.
The guard gestured, and an assistant entered carrying an enormous golden box—gilded at the edges, embossed with intricate filigree patterns, and sealed with a wide, silk ribbon. Despite the warm air, the box was still cool to the touch, lined with delicate frost that glistened like morning dew.
A small ivory card was pinned to the ribbon, bordered with a metallic gold foil and printed with an insignia that made Eun-ah’s brows furrow.
Teuscher — Zurich, Switzerland.
Her breath caught. The message was scrawled in a familiar hand:
“In a sea of flowers, your smile is still the prettiest.
xx, Hoseok”
“Teuscher?” her mom whispered in awe. “I read that in a fancy magazine... That’s… the chocolate place. The chocolate place.”
Is he sick? Eun-ah thought, stunned. Or worse—was he being sarcastic? Playing some twisted joke?
With careful fingers, she loosened the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside were two dozen pristine chocolate-covered strawberries, each nestled like a jewel in its own golden cup. The scent of rich Swiss chocolate, cream, and fresh berries wafted up immediately, drawing a gasp from her father.
There was another card tucked beneath the strawberries—this one handwritten, the ink slightly smudged at the edge:
“Whatever you do,
don’t look outside.
xx, Hoseok”
“Don’t look outside?” her mother read aloud. “What in the world does that mean?”
But Eun-ah was already rising, something pounding in her chest. She crossed the dining room in a trance, her bare feet silent on the polished floors, past the grand piano and the oil paintings, toward the double doors that led to the front terrace.
With a sharp pull, she flung them open.
And froze.
The cool summer breeze swept through her silk sleeves as her gaze took in the scene: a sea of flowers blanketed the entire estate lawn. Not dozens. Not even hundreds. Thousands. Roses, peonies, ranunculus, tulips—blush, tangerine, cream and soft pink tones woven into a blooming mosaic, stretching from the iron gate to the marble fountain.
Gasps echoed from behind her.
Floral trucks were still parked on the street, staff dressed in white unloading even more blooms, drawing attention from the neighbors. People stood with phones out, recording what could only be described as a floral invasion .
But it wasn’t over.
Lined down the stone walkway were twelve uniformed staff members , each holding a cake box shaped like a present. Candles were lit atop each one, flickering in the wind—together they spelled:
L E T ’ S G O H O M E <3 <3
Twelve tangerine cakes. From that tiny bakery in Busan she once told Hoseok about—just once, in passing.
She stared, mouth parted. Her hands clutched the sides of the doorframe for support.
It wasn’t just extravagant. It was ridiculous .
Her mom stepped beside her, speechless. “Did you two… fight or get married again without telling us?”
Eun-ah couldn’t even reply. Her chest felt too full, her head spinning between awe and disbelief.
Was this for real? Was this Hoseok?
Or was he… faking it?
And if he was faking, then why did it feel like her throat was closing up, like she might cry?
She didn’t even notice her father stepping back inside to call the guard again.
***
As the last sliver of sun dipped below the skyline as golden hour kissed the flower-filled lawn. A low hum of admiration echoed through the gated neighborhood—neighbors peering out their windows, maids gasping, cameras flashing from discreet balconies.
Then came the screech of brakes.
A sleek black car—elegant, foreign—pulled into the circular driveway of Eun-ah’s family estate. The doors opened smoothly, and out stepped Jung Hoseok.
He was dressed to stun—his shirt crisp, sleeves neatly cuffed, and the soft glint of a luxury watch hugging his wrist. He adjusted his collar with nonchalance, the evening light catching in his eyes as he reached into the backseat and retrieved another bouquet—massive, overflowing with pale orange ranunculus, white garden roses, and sprigs of olive.
Hoseok smiled, casually flashing a peace sign toward one of the neighbors’ lenses before giving a small, charming wave like he was born for press kits. The neighbors melted behind their windowpanes. The staff lined at the doors straightened their postures. Even the guards looked momentarily dazed.
He took one breath, centered himself—and stepped forward.
The grand doors remained open, and there she was. Eun-ah, still barefoot from dinner, standing in the threshold with stunned eyes. Her mother and father were behind her, their faces unreadable.
Hoseok walked straight up the marble path, stopping just in front of her. He gave a slow, respectful bow to her parents.
“I know this is long overdue,” he said, his voice calm but reverent. “But I’m here to take my wife home.”
There was a stillness that settled over the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped. The wind teased the hem of Eun-ah’s dress. She stood frozen, cheeks warm with emotion she couldn’t yet name, lips parted slightly.
Her father arched a brow. Her mother clutched her pearls.
And Hoseok, still holding the giant bouquet in both hands, looked up at Eun-ah with a gaze that teetered on the line between sincerity and something else—something playful, something bold.
“You didn’t really think I’d let someone else win her over, did you?” he added under his breath, low enough only she could hear.
The line made her heart jolt—and she wasn’t sure if it was from confusion, embarrassment… or the beginnings of a very dangerous hope.
Chapter 24: Chapter 24
Notes:
Well this chapter focuses on Kimberly, you can skip this or some of it but the end part as it is important part of the story. :)
Chapter Text
Kimberly swiped through her phone with increasingly tight lips, her perfectly manicured thumb flicking past one over-the-top headline after another. The glare of the screen shimmered against the airplane window beside her, casting little reflections over the champagne flute she hadn’t even touched.
Her Instagram feed looked more like a virtual tabloid than a curated collection of designer bags and runway stills.
“J-Hope Made the Impossible Possible: A Garden of Flowers to Win Back His Wife—See the Magical Photos!”
“‘Light a Flower, Flowerwork… Flower, Flowerwork…’—Looks Like Hobi Took RM’s Lyrics Literally. A Sea of Petals + Twelve Cakes + Chocolate flown from Sweden? = Gentleman of the Century.”
“Fans Cry Over Reconciliation So Romantic, It Could Heal the Earth. Who Can Top Hobi Now?”
Even Twitter was exploding.
“ FUUUUUUUCK Eun-ah GIRL. GO GET IT!!! ”
“ Hobi just became one thousand—NO—one MILLION times hotter. I can’t breathe. ”
“ Eun-ah must’ve saved a starving village in her past life, to deserve this. I mean not just save save, but she hand-fed every villager every day. Jealous AF. ”
Kimberly blinked hard, her jaw subtly tensing as she scrolled past the videos: Hoseok stepping out of a black Maybach, smiling as he held a massive bouquet; Eun-ah standing at the doorway, bathed in candlelight; their silhouettes framed by an actual forest of flowers and glowing cake towers. The garden was breathtaking. The gesture, headline-worthy.
She took a slow sip of her wine, letting the bitter citrus linger on her tongue as her gaze drifted beyond the glass. Outside, the sky was an endless navy blue, tinged with gold, and the clouds beneath her looked soft enough to sink into. The city lights of Eastern Europe had long disappeared, and Korea was just a few hours away now.
A soft scoff escaped her.
"This fool..." she muttered, shaking her head lightly, brushing a strand of caramel hair behind her ear. Her voice was barely above a whisper, edged with something between disbelief and restraint.
“…Has he really fallen this deep?”
The flight attendant passed, offering more wine. Kimberly declined with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers tapped against the phone screen again—this time, not to scroll, but to close the app.
She stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass, and wondered—not whether Eun-ah deserved Hoseok—but whether Hoseok even knew what he was doing anymore. Because if he had really fallen…
He wouldn’t look back.
***
She was met with the usual swarm of reporters as soon as she stepped into the arrivals hall. Flashes burst like fireworks, questions fired from every direction, and microphones nearly collided as they reached for her reaction. Kimberly responded with her signature poised smile and practiced wave—a mask she’d worn so long, it sometimes felt like her real face.
How exhausting.
She wasn’t built for this. Not truly. She’d never dreamed of runways or red carpets, or being plastered across glossy pages. No, Kimberly had wanted something quieter. Something steadier.
She had wanted to be a doctor.
The memory bloomed with a bittersweet ache. It had been a warm afternoon, back when the world still felt like it could be bent in any direction. She and Hoseok had just finished a tutoring session and were lying in the grass of his family’s garden, arms behind their heads, clouds floating lazily above them.
“You really wanted to be a doctor?” Hoseok had asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Mhmm,” she’d hummed, fingers threading through the blades of grass. “I think it’s fascinating. Like... being able to understand what’s going wrong inside someone and fixing it. Helping people feel better.”
They had already been scouted by then—Hoseok under BigHit, Kimberly by Cube Entertainment. Their lives were slowly being decided for them.
“Well how are you going to tell your manager that?” Hoseok asked, chuckling as he lazily swatted at a bug near his face.
“I won’t,” Kimberly said with a small sigh, stretching her legs out over the lawn. “My mom doesn’t want me to pursue it anyway. I think I’ll just be an idol and a model.”
Then she turned toward him, her voice light but edged with something else. “I’d like to be pretty for you.”
Hoseok’s cheeks turned pink. He looked away quickly, muttering, “Shut up.”
But he didn’t mean it.
And that had always been their dynamic—Kimberly, open-hearted and unafraid, and Hoseok, guarded like a house with too many locked doors.
They had been constants in each other’s lives. Introduced early, long before either of them understood what love or heartbreak even meant. From toddlers waddling around during family dinners, to classmates in matching uniforms, Kimberly had always been sure of how she felt. Loud, bright, and unabashed in her affection.
“I think Hoseokie is cute, Mommy,” she had declared once, no older than six, clutching the hem of her mother’s skirt as Hoseok stood awkwardly across the room, cheeks stuffed with tteok and eyes wide like a deer in headlights.
Over the years, her honesty never wavered. Not when she cried in middle school and Hoseok chased off the boys who called her names. Not when he sat with her on the curb after a failed audition, silently offering half his energy drink. Not even in high school, when their lives had already started splitting off into separate futures—he, dancing through the halls of BigHit, and she, learning how to pose and smile, practice songs and dance, like her heart wasn’t breaking a little more each day.
Kimberly thought if she stayed close enough, he’d let her in. That someday, he’d stop pulling away.
But Hoseok was always distant. Always somewhere else behind those eyes.
Like he knew something she didn’t.
Like he was carrying a secret—one too heavy to speak, one that always stood like a wall between her and the version of him she never quite got to hold.
Every time she thought they were finally getting close… He’d slip away. Just out of reach.
And Kimberly, for all her light, could never figure out how to follow him there.
“You cannot marry into that house, Kim.”
Her mother’s voice was soft but firm, like the clink of porcelain against lacquered wood. The dining room was still, filled with the warm aroma of steamed fish and ginseng soup, but Kimberly’s appetite faded all at once.
“Why not?” she asked, her voice measured. Even now, at twenty-one, poised and elegant in her tailored silk blouse, she refused to raise her tone. Years of training had molded her into a woman of grace—never too loud, never too emotional. She had learned to swallow pain like it was water.
But tonight, the ache clawed its way to the surface.
“Why couldn’t you make this happen for me?” she said, setting her chopsticks down with more force than intended. The clatter rang through the table like a crack in her mask. “You’ve made everything else happen. My contracts. My name. Why not this?”
Across the table, her mother sighed. Not unkindly, but like someone who had known the answer long before the question was asked.
“That boy is set to marry another,” she said. “And this is not something we can meddle with.”
Kimberly blinked slowly, lips pressing together to stop the sting behind her eyes. Suddenly, the food smelled less comforting—less like home and more like endings. This is how she found out and all these years, the secret was this.
“We’ve been each other’s constant,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone. “Ever since we were children. How is that not meant to be? Why wasn’t it me who was set to marry him?”
Her mother reached for her hand but didn’t quite touch it.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I know you’ve loved him all your life… but this is not something you can have.”
And just like that, it was decided. Not with a grand explosion, not with shouting or tears—but with quiet finality.
Something inside Kimberly folded in on itself. Silently. Elegantly.
Just like she was taught to.
At twenty-four, two years and some months before Eun-ah would ever enter the picture, Kimberly had made up her mind: tonight, she would finally confess.
The idea had taken root quietly, growing in the shadows of her heart like ivy—slow but persistent. Hoseok had been pulling away steadily for a while now, buried under the weight of his schedule, his obligations, and the mounting pressure of a double life. On one side, the heir in training to a powerful conglomerate. On the other, a rising global star as part of the now-internationally recognized BTS.
And she—she had made a name for herself too. Korea’s reigning “it” girl, Once the idol now gracing billboards and fashion runways, the kind of beauty people stopped to stare at. But none of that seemed to matter when it came to him.
Still, he had said yes to dinner. A rare thing these days. That alone had lit a small, foolish spark of hope inside her.
She chose the restaurant carefully—intimate, understated, with candlelight that warmed the room in gold. She arrived early, dressed in muted elegance, her makeup soft, her lips just a little pinker than usual. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she sat waiting, trying to tame the nerves crawling up her spine.
“You can do this,” she whispered, steadying herself. “He feels the same way. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t.”
The flame from the candle in front of her flickered, casting its glow across her cheek. She breathed in. Held it. Exhaled.
Then he appeared.
With Ye-joon.
Her smile faltered—but only for a fraction of a second. She masked the surprise with practiced poise, lifting her eyes politely toward the man beside Hoseok. Ye-joon gave her a respectful nod, as he always did. He had been around for as long as she could remember—the pale, quiet son of the head maid, taken in by the family after his mother’s death. He used to follow Hoseok around like a shadow when they were children. Now, he walked beside him like a second spine.
It was supposed to be just the two of them.
The waiter pulled out a chair and Hoseok slid in, his tailored suit crisp but slightly rumpled from the day. He didn’t glance at the wine she ordered, nor the candlelit setting, nor even her.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice brisk but not unkind. His eyes flicked briefly to Ye-joon, then past her, as though he couldn’t quite look her in the face. “I can’t stay long—I’ve got to stop by the office after this. Hence, Ye-joon.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, polite and distant, as if to soften the blow.
Kimberly swallowed, throat tight. But she offered a small nod and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the movement slow, graceful—meant to disguise the sting.
“It’s okay,” she said, voice light, even as her heart shrank in her chest. “I understand.”
The waiter came to take their order, and she tried to keep the conversation going, but Hoseok barely lifted his gaze. He spent most of the time staring at his tablet, scrolling through documents and charts, nodding occasionally to Ye-joon who whispered things at his side.
She tried not to fidget. Tried to act unfazed. But the silence wrapped around her like a damp cloth. She had rehearsed the words so many times in her head—how she would tell him, how his eyes might widen just a little, how maybe, just maybe, he'd take her hand.
But he didn’t even look at her.
She set her fork down, quietly.
“So…” she began, voice soft but strained. “Thank you for… making time.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
That was supposed to be her moment. And he had all but erased it.
Hoseok finally looked up, blinking like he had just remembered where he was.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Where are my manners?” He straightened his tie and sat back, clearing his throat. “You look… nice.”
Too late.
Kimberly just nodded, brushing the compliment aside like dust off silk. Kimberly smoothed her hair with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing over the soft waves she had curled just for tonight. She straightened her back and adjusted the silk strap of her dress, practicing the perfect poised smile she had worn since she was twelve. Across from her, Hoseok sat with his arms crossed, attention fixed again on the tablet propped against the water glass, its glow casting faint shadows on his sharp jawline.
The restaurant was warm, dimly lit by crystal chandeliers that shimmered above them like soft constellations. Outside the window, Seoul's twilight bled into deep navy, and the streetlights flickered on one by one. A soft piano melody floated through the air, but it didn’t reach their table. Not really. Not where she needed it to.
She looked at him. Her lips parted.
“I-I have something to tell you,” she said, barely audible.
Hoseok glanced up, brow lifting slightly. “What is it?”
His voice was gentle, but so quick, so automatic, she almost choked. She had expected him to hesitate, maybe smile knowingly—maybe even say me too, take her hand and pull her up into a dizzy, foolish, all-consuming dream.
Instead, he just looked at her.
Kimberly’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, steadying herself.
“I—I...” she stammered, the words tangling. She clutched her napkin on her lap so tightly it crinkled beneath her fingers.
Just then, Ye-joon leaned over, whispering something into Hoseok’s ear. Whatever it was made his expression shift—brows furrowing in quiet concern. Hoseok nodded once, already reaching for the napkin beside his plate.
“I have to go,” he said quickly, wiping his lips with mechanical grace. “I’m sorry, I’ll pay for—”
“I like you,” Kimberly blurted, louder than she meant to.
She didn’t look at him—she stared down at her lap, her voice cracking. “I think we should get married.”
The words hung in the air like smoke—thick, impossible to take back.
Kimberly Wang, heiress of the Wang empire, Once a successful Idol, now Top Model of Korea, the one whose phone rang off the hook with invitations from ambassadors, CEOs, even K-drama leads—and she had just asked a man to marry her.
She looked up, startled by the boldness of her own voice.
Hoseok froze. His eyes searched hers as if she had spoken in a language he hadn’t heard before.
“Kim... what do you mean?” he said softly, his expression folding into something unfamiliar. “We can’t do that.”
Her stomach sank. Shit. Am I too fast? Her mind spun.
“No, no—of course we’ll date first,” she rushed to say, pasting on a fragile smile. “We’ll date, we’ll make memories. We’ll travel, maybe... Paris?” she offered, voice quivering. “And then, I don’t know, maybe when we’re twenty-seven... we’ll get married?”
But Hoseok wasn’t smiling. His brows drew closer in a soft, unreadable frown.
And his eyes—his eyes looked empty.
“We can’t do that,” he said again, slower this time. His hand reached across the table for hers, but she pulled back before he could touch her.
“Kim... we’re friends,” he said, each word slicing through the quiet like a blade. “I don’t see you that way. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
It shattered her.
She flinched back, blinking fast. Her breath caught. Her carefully curated composure unraveled like silk slipping through a ring.
“Why?” she cried, voice rising, echoing faintly against the walls of the elegant restaurant. “Why? Is it because you’re set to marry someone else? Someone you don’t even know?!”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She was unraveling fast, and she didn’t care.
“No,” Hoseok said quietly, shaking his head. His eyes were filled with a guilt he couldn’t fix, a sadness that made it worse. “It’s not that. But how did you kno-”
“Then what?!” she asked, nearly breathless now. “I’ve been here! Beside you! For the longest time! And you with me, every step with me!” Her chest heaved. Her nails dug into her palms. “Why isn’t it me?”
The silence that followed was louder than any cry.
Hoseok leaned forward again, reaching for her with those careful hands—but she was already standing, the chair scraping harshly against the polished marble floor.
Heads turned.
She didn’t care.
Kimberly stormed out, heels clacking against the tile, nearly slipping in her haste. She pushed past the maitre’d, past the entrance hall lined with orchids, and stepped out into the Seoul night.
The cold slapped her skin. Her breath came in shaky gasps as she stepped onto the sidewalk, the breeze teasing at her dress and hair.
She walked. Fast. Further. Away.
Tears blurred the neon lights. Her vision smeared with heartbreak, the kind you can’t hold in because it burns too hot and tastes like shame.
She had never begged for anything.
Not until tonight.
***
Kimberly didn’t go home that night.
She couldn’t.
Not to that neat little apartment where nothing had changed—except her. Where the silence would echo too loud and the couch would still have that damn throw pillow she fluffed up before leaving, like it mattered. Where no one would be waiting.
She didn’t want to see the lipstick she'd retouched with so much hope. Or her own reflection—eyes glassy, heels off, heart cracked open like the buttons she’d nervously undone at her dress, just in case .
No, she wasn’t going back there.
So she drank. Somewhere downtown, maybe. Somewhere loud, with cheap tequila and music that didn’t ask questions.
She lost track of how many shots she threw back or how many pitiful smiles she gave strangers who mistook her makeup smudges for smoky eyeliner. Her hair stuck to the sides of her face, curls falling limp under the weight of sweat and shame. Her heels gave up long before she did—she walked barefoot at one point, skirt stained from when she missed the bathroom and threw up in the alley behind the bar.
By the time she stumbled up the marble steps of her parents’ estate, the sky had already started softening into dawn. Her clutch hung open, contents rattling—lipstick, cards, a crumpled receipt she didn’t remember signing.
She shoved the heavy double doors open and swayed into the foyer like a storm in silk.
“I’m hooome,” she sang out, arms flung wide, nearly slipping on the polished floor. Her voice echoed, rich and hollow, bouncing off the grand staircase and crystal chandelier above.
The scent hit first—vomit and alcohol, clinging to her blouse, her hair, her breath.
“Jesus, Kimberly!” her mother’s voice cut through the silence as she rushed out from the kitchen, silk robe tied too tightly over her nightgown. “What the hell happened to you?”
Kimberly blinked, tried to focus.
Her mother stopped in her tracks and wrinkled her nose. “Did you throw up on yourself?”
Kimberly looked down at the crusted mess on her blouse, giggled. “I did,” she said, half-proud, half-hollow. “Oopsie.”
She tried to twirl, lost her balance, and caught herself against the wall with a sloppy laugh.
“What if someone saw you like that?!” her mother hissed, rushing forward but stopping just short of touching her, like Kimberly’s filth might stain her too. “What would people think, Kimberly? Do you even realize how you look right now?”
There it was—not concern for her well-being, but for the headlines, the family name, the whispers at the next charity event. The image, always the image.
Kimberly barked out a bitter laugh, swaying on her feet as she peeled off her jacket, flinging it somewhere near the stairs.
“Oh, pffft—let them,” she slurred, throwing her hands up. “Let them talk. I don’t care anymore.” Her eyes gleamed, not from defiance but from something cracked beneath it. “Let them see what happens when you love someone your whole damn life and he marries someone else.”
She took a step forward, but her heel caught on the edge of the rug. Her ankle twisted with a sickening snap and she cried out, crashing to her knees with a thud that echoed in the marble foyer.
“Kimberly!” her mother gasped, stepping forward in alarm.
But the pain that bloomed on Kimberly’s face wasn’t in her ankle.
Her breath hitched. And then broke.
Her sobs came like waves—deep, guttural, wrecking. She curled into herself, not caring about the grime on her skirt or the way her hair stuck to her damp cheeks. Her shoulders shook violently as years of silent pining, of being the second choice, of being “just a friend” spilled out in trembling gasps.
Her mother stood there, frozen.
Kimberly clutched her own arms like they might hold her together. “I waited,” she whispered, voice cracked and childlike. “I waited for him. I loved him.”
And in the cavernous stillness of the foyer, with her mascara bleeding and her sobs echoing off chandelier glass, no one dared to correct her.
***
The headline was watered down like a cheap drink:
“Top Model Hospitalized After Drunken Fall — Exhaustion Suspected.”
A quiet blip on the entertainment feed.
No mention of the mascara-streaked breakdown. No photos of her slumped in the hallway of her parents’ house, sobbing into her mother’s expensive carpet, wearing the stench of vomit and heartbreak like perfume.
Her parents moved fast.
Calls were made. Payouts arranged. Reputations salvaged. The cast on her foot was neatly signed and staged—just an unfortunate accident, darling. Burnout. Poor thing. The nation’s sweetheart needed rest.
“You’re flying to New York tomorrow,” her mother had said crisply, standing at the foot of her bed like a CEO handling a crisis. “Stay there until this dies down.”
Kimberly didn’t argue.
She didn’t look up.
Just nodded.
Once.
***
New York welcomed her like it always had—cold and chaotic, but loyal. She didn’t have to rebuild anything. She was still Kimberly Wang. A familiar name in high fashion, a face on billboards, the muse behind more than one couture collection. Her agents secured her steady work before her plane even touched down.
She lived in a glass-walled penthouse in Tribeca, the kind of place with minimalist furniture and a view that screamed invincibility. Photoshoots, runways, magazine covers—she dove back in as if she’d never fallen.
And on the outside, nothing had changed.
But even when she smiled through flashing lights and camera shutters, there were moments—quiet, stupid moments—when she’d reach for her phone, thumb hovering over a number she’d long deleted. Moments where she’d sit on the edge of her bathtub, champagne bottle in hand, and whisper into the steam:
“Why wasn’t it me?”
***
The invitation came on a Wednesday.
It was hidden in a sleek pile of mail—brand contracts, international callsheets, a gala invite from Dior.
Then there it was: thick, cream-colored, trimmed in gold.
Her name was written in korean calligraphy that made her stomach twist.
She didn’t need to open it.
But she did.
Jung Hoseok & Yoo Eun-ah
Request the honor of your presence
At their wedding celebration
To be held atxxx
Signed below by Hoseok and Eun-ah
Her fingers trembled.
She sat down on the cold edge of her kitchen island, sunlight pouring in like it was mocking her.
Her green juice sat sweating beside her. Her bare legs dangled from a leather stool, polished toes tapping against marble floors. The city buzzed below her in its usual, indifferent rhythm.
But all she could hear was her own pulse.
He’s getting married
Not a business meeting. Not a PR stunt.
A wedding. With vows. With rings.
He was really going through with it.
And worse—he had invited her.
Like she was a friend.
Like she was expected to smile and clap while the boy who once watched the moon with her married someone else beneath it.
Her jaw clenched.
Her thumb brushed the edge of the card, its gold lettering catching the light.
Fine .
If they wanted her to come, she’d show up.
In the best dress. With the most expensive smile. And she would not cry this time.
Fast forward to the wedding. She nearly threw up in the car. She’d been here for 30 minutes now, watching people come and disappear into the wedding hall.
The driver kept glancing at her through the rearview mirror, probably wondering if she’d bolt before the ceremony even started. She almost did. Her fingers hovered over the door handle twice.
You don’t have to go.
But her pride said otherwise.
Kimberly stepped out, heels clicking against the marble. Her red dress hugged every curve, bold enough to make a statement, but not loud enough to be pathetic. She fixed her hair with one last swipe of her fingers, then exhaled.
Chin up. Shoulders back. Walk in, you were invited, right? .
The ceremony music had already begun.
Perfect.
She entered just as the couple turned to face the guests. Heads turned.
Of course they did. She kept her expression cool, gave a polite bow, and made her way to a seat near the back.
She didn’t look at him.
But she didn’t have to.
She felt it.
Kimberly crossed her legs and settled in, lips twitching faintly.
She made it.
She showed up.
And that was enough.
Her stomach twisted when she saw them kiss at the altar. Clean. Beautiful. Expected. She didn’t cry. Of course she didn’t. She was Kimberly Wang — New York, Seoul, Paris — she didn’t do jealous energy. Still, she found herself hovering in the hall just outside the reception doors, pretending to scroll her phone while seriously debating if she even needed to attend the afterparty.
And then—
“Kim?”
She turned.
Hoseok stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, white shirt still impossibly crisp, a lazy smile playing at his lips. He looked more like the Hoseok she used to know before boardrooms and wine tastings and fake weddings.
“You’re still here,” he said.
She blinked. “Ah- yeah.”
He laughed and motioned toward the lounge tucked beside the hall. “Want to sit? You look like you’re planning an escape route.”
She raised a brow. “Maybe I was.”
Still, she followed him to the velvet couch. No one else was there yet. They sat, and for a moment, it felt weirdly easy.
“You remember when we crashed that engagement party in Busan?” he asked suddenly.
Kimberly laughed. “You mean when you crashed it and dragged me along because you were bored?”
“You pretended to be an heiress from Macau.”
“And you were my silent, brooding bodyguard.”
They both laughed now, louder than expected. It felt… harmless. Warm.
Hoseok leaned back, grinning. “God, we were so full of shit.”
“We still are,” Kimberly said. “Just better dressed.”
She nudged his arm. He chuckled again. That’s when she felt it. A shift. Someone had entered.
Kimberly glanced up—and saw her.
Eun-ah.
Standing by the doors, still dressed like a dream, her expression unreadable as her eyes landed on them. Hoseok hadn’t noticed yet.
Kimberly’s smile didn’t falter.
She leaned in a little closer to him, barely enough to close the gap, and tapped his arm with a coy smirk—just as Eun-ah stepped fully inside.
Ye-joon followed behind, clearing his throat, sharp and obvious.
Hoseok turned. Froze.
His eyes went straight to Eun-ah.
Kimberly watched him shift away from her without thinking—straightening, the smile on his face dimming slightly as he stood.
Of course.
Kimberly followed suit with practiced elegance. She rose smoothly, the lines of her dress falling perfectly back into place. No awkward tugging. No hesitation.
She caught Eun-ah’s eye, and for the briefest second, something flickered between them.
Kimberly smiled — soft, velvet-sweet. The kind of smile you wear like silk gloves. “Congratulations,” she said, voice light as air.
Then she walked past them both into the reception, chin high, shoulders back.
She didn’t look back. But she knew. She never had to.
Fast forward to the present.
A restaurant tucked away in Cheongdam — upscale but not loud, the kind where orchids bloomed in low vases and the wine list was handwritten in French.
Kimberly sighed, swirling her iced tea with a flick of her straw. Even here, people whispered.
Not about her.
About him.
That damn sea of flowers.
How Jung Hoseok showed up at his wife’s family estate with enough flowers to drown a mountain, even her hairstylist wouldn’t shut up about it.
Romantic, my ass, she thought, waving a hand to get the waiter’s attention.
“Kimberly Wang? No way.”
She turned. Great. Another one. Probably someone looking for a selfie, or worse—a pitch for a collagen line.
She tilted her sunglasses down just enough to look.
The man was tall. Too tall. Hair swept back, a grey suit snug on his frame—just tight enough to show off his chest. But it wasn’t just his build. He had that aura. Cool, quiet authority, like he didn’t need to ask twice for anything.
“Yes,” Kimberly said, voice smooth but slightly guarded. “Do I know you?”
Without waiting for permission, the man dropped into the seat across from her.
Seriously? she thought. A crazy fan in a suit.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “It’s me. Kyu.”
Her brows twitched. “Kyu?”
He smiled.
And suddenly it clicked.
“Kyu-?” she gasped. “As in… Hoseok’s little cousin?”
A beat of silence.
She let out a breathy laugh, eyes widening with amused disbelief. “Oh my god. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I know,” he leaned back casually, undoing the top button of his suit as he settled into the chair. “I think the last time I saw you was right before I flew to New York... what, thirteen years ago?”
“Yes, yes—” she tilted her head, trying to picture the boy he used to be. “You were, what... ten?”
Kyu grinned, a boyish, self-aware smirk that was far too confident for someone she’d once ruffled the hair of. “I came back at the end of last month,” he said, resting one arm across the chair’s back. “Taking over finance—our director was retiring.”
Still processing the change in him, Kimberly signaled the waiter. “What do you want? Noona’s treat,” she teased, though her voice faltered slightly as he leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“I’m just here for a meeting.” His eyes traced her features. “But I’ll take coffee. With you.”
She blinked. Was it the way he said it? Was it the new broadness of his shoulders or the slight rasp in his voice? The sharpness in his jaw, or how unapologetically his gaze lingered?
She wasn’t sure who kissed who first—but the coffee never came.
Her back hit the penthouse hallway wall with a soft thud, his hands already everywhere, hot and unrelenting. The kiss was all teeth and breath and tongues, as if they were trying to erase the years between them by devouring them. She gasped into his mouth when his hand slipped beneath her skirt, fingers running boldly along skin that hadn’t been touched in too long. He didn’t ask permission, and she didn’t need him to.
The next thing she knew, he had lifted her with ease, one arm under her thigh, the other steadying them as they staggered through the door—lips never parting—before she was thrown down onto the couch in a tangled mess of silk and desire. The cushions groaned beneath them as he pressed her down, pulling at her clothes just enough to give him access, not enough to waste time. She moaned when his body pressed into hers, heat meeting heat like a struck match.
He didn’t make love to her. He took her. Quick, unfiltered, and devastatingly efficient.
Her skirt tore at the seam. She didn’t care. His belt clinked to the floor. She didn’t look. There was no script, no slowness, only the wet sound of mouths colliding and the frantic creak of the leather couch as her nails left marks across his back. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him in deeper, closer, harder. It was heat. Raw, reckless, delicious heat. And underneath it all—an itch she didn’t know needed scratching until he filled it.
No sweet words. No tender glances. Just the silence after, as the high gave way to breathlessness and sweat, and she let her head fall back against the cushions, chest heaving, hair a mess, skirt ruined.
He stood first. Adjusted his shirt. Smirked.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened, only that she wanted to blame the coffee. The missing years. The suit. Something. Anything but how good it felt.
Kimberly adjusted the strap of her dress as she eased back onto the couch, legs crossed, silk clinging to her skin like a second thought. Her hair was a tousled mess, lips swollen and streaked from rushed kisses, and a smear of mascara clung beneath one eye like a bruise of indulgence. The cigarette trembled slightly between her fingers as she lit it with a click of her silver lighter.
“So... JuYo?” she asked, exhaling a plume of smoke, feigning nonchalance. “Hobi’s company?”
The way she said it—casual, dry, almost amused—made it sound like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis beneath them. Like they hadn’t just torn through boundaries minutes ago on that very couch.
Kyu smirked as he buttoned up his shirt halfway, walking barefoot toward the open kitchen like he owned the place. He tugged the fridge door open, grabbed a bottle of water, then leaned against the counter with the smugness of someone who knew exactly the kind of mess he left behind.
“Not yet,” he replied, cracking the bottle open. “Not if I can help it.” He tossed her a wink before taking a long drink, throat flexing. “You still in touch with Hyung?”
She took a slow drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a beat longer than necessary. “Haven’t been,” she muttered, tapping ash into the tray beside her. “Not since the wedding.”
“Ah, right. He invited you.” Kyu's tone sharpened. “Bastard didn’t even send me one—and I’m family.”
His eyes swept over her. Her dress had ridden up her thigh, hair wild from his hands, the imprint of their earlier encounter still etched across her flushed skin. He strode back to her, tall and composed, shadow falling over her as he plucked the cigarette from her lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray without asking.
“I hate this crap,” he muttered. Then he sat down beside her, close enough for her perfume to cling to him.
She didn’t respond, just watched the dying ember with a hollow gaze.
“So,” Kyu said, eyes fixed forward. “How was it? The wedding.”
Kimberly paused, a shift in her throat betraying the tightness creeping in. “It was… fine. Extravagant, even.” She tried to scoff, but the laugh didn’t land. “Though that’s putting it lightly.”
But Kyu was watching her face, not her words. Her smile was thin, too polished. Her gaze flickered—only for a second—but he caught it. He always did.
He leaned back and sighed dramatically. “What a jackass. Inviting you, knowing you had feelings for him.”
She flinched. Barely. A subtle stiffening of her shoulders.
“That was a long time ago,” she said, voice clipped, adjusting the hem of her dress with unnecessary care. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Kyu tilted his head toward the ceiling, grinning like a boy who knew better.
“Of course,” he drawled. “Totally ancient history.”
He glanced at her, smirking as he toyed with the now-empty cigarette case. “So… you saw the headlines, right? That ridiculous stunt after their fight—what did they call it? Sea of flowers? Flower bomb?”
Kimberly blinked, too slow to stop herself. “Floral invasion,” she muttered, her voice laced with reluctant familiarity. “Shit.”
“Right,” he laughed, pointing at her. “That’s the one. See? You are keeping tabs.”
“Fine,” she snapped, brushing invisible lint off her thigh. “I was. But that doesn’t change anything. He’s fallen, Kyu. You know what that means. Once Hoseok falls, he’s gone. Fully.”
She stood abruptly, straightening her skirt, smoothing her hair, like tidying her appearance could somehow tidy her thoughts.
But Kyu remained seated, arms draped across the back of the couch, gaze narrowing with quiet calculation.
“Oh, but I’d beg to disagree,” he said smoothly, his voice darkening at the edges. “If you want in, I’ll tell you exactly what we can do.”
She froze. “What?”
“You heard me.” He stood up slowly now, inching toward her. “You help me get Eun-ah, and I’ll help you get Hyung.”
Kimberly blinked, startled for the first time all day. Her lips parted as a sharp laugh escaped her—elegant, mocking.
“Wait… You want his wife ?” She shook her head, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re serious?”
His expression didn’t shift. Cold. Measured. Dangerous.
“I am. Dead serious,” he murmured, stepping into her space. “And you? You’d be the perfect pawn to make all of that come true.”
He stared at her, the game already beginning behind his eyes.
And Kimberly, still drunk on the taste of ruin, didn’t look away.
Chapter 25: Chapter 25
Chapter Text
The car ride back was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of tires against the road. Streetlights streamed past the window, casting long shadows over Eun-ah’s face as she stared blankly outside. Her reflection in the glass looked tired, pensive—maybe even conflicted.
Earlier, at her parents’ house, things had gone about as awkward as she expected.
“Omo, Hoseok,” her mother had said with a surprised lilt, eyeing the petals trailing after them. “What’s all this?”
“Omonim,” Hoseok had bowed, sharp and practiced. “I’m here to take Eun-ah back to our estate.”
Her mother blinked, clearly flustered. But it was her father who stepped forward with arms folded and eyes heavy with skepticism.
“Well,” he said, voice even, “what happened between you two?”
The question made Eun-ah’s spine stiffen. She forced a laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Ah—nothing, really. We just got into a petty fight,” she offered, sidestepping any mention of kisses or jealousy.
But Hoseok stepped forward again and bowed, deeper this time. “It was my fault, Abeonim. I haven’t been taking care of Eun-ah properly.”
Her father arched a brow. “You think this grand gesture will fix everything? You think my daughter will be moved by a stunt like this?”
Eun-ah’s cheeks burned. Appa, please stop.
“No, sir,” Hoseok said solemnly. “I only want her to know that I’m willing to do anything—and everything—to take her home tonight.”
“Omo,” her mom breathed, clearly caught between amusement and disbelief. “Take her. Go on.” She gave Eun-ah a light nudge forward.
“Omma, stop it!” Eun-ah hissed, half-mortified, half-defensive.
“I’ll send your things tomorrow,” her mother giggled, brushing the conflict aside with forced cheerfulness.
Her father remained serious. He looked at Eun-ah with quiet resolve. “Married or not,” he said, “you can always call me. I’ll pick you up—anytime.”
That made Hoseok straighten subtly beside her, jaw tight, shoulders squaring.
Now, as the car glided down the near-empty expressway, Eun-ah began to notice something odd—the scenery didn’t match the route home.
She shifted in her seat. “Where are we going?” she asked carefully, glancing at Hoseok. He was leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed, the passing lights softening the sharp edges of his face.
Without opening his eyes, he replied, “I figured you needed a break after everything. I booked us a place in Jeju.”
Jeju?
Eun-ah blinked at him. “You booked… us a vacation?”
He nodded faintly. “Of course. I told you—I’m trying to make it up to you.”
When he finally opened his eyes to meet hers, they were unreadable. Not cold, but not warm either. Just steady. The kind of gaze that made her chest tighten without warning.
They fell into silence again, but Eun-ah’s thoughts were racing, tangling. Don’t read into it, she told herself. This is probably just to save face. Just damage control. Nothing more.
***
By the time they arrived at the private runway, the sky had darkened into a soft indigo. The jet—sleek, elegant, and all too familiar—waited on the tarmac like a silent promise. It was the same one they had taken to the Maldives, now sparking new memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to revisit.
As they boarded, Eun-ah suddenly stopped. “Oh no—I left all my stuff at my parents’ place,” she said with a groan, pressing her fingers to her temples. It was her second time on this jet, and she was still unprepared. But who could’ve prepared her for this?
“Don’t worry,” Hoseok replied as he gestured toward the plush cabin. “Ye-joon already brought your things. They’re here.”
She looked at him, brow raised, lips parted in disbelief. “Okay, who are you?” she asked, almost to herself. The man before her was familiar—but the sharp edges had softened, dulled into something she couldn’t quite define. He wasn’t distant, but he wasn’t quite warm either. He was somewhere in between. And somehow, that felt even more disarming.
“Please don’t be so dramatic,” Hoseok drawled, eyes flicking toward her with a hint of sarcasm. “I told you—I’m here to atone for my sins.”
The flight to Jeju was short, and oddly quiet—save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flick of Hoseok’s finger against his tablet screen. He sat beside her, though the jet had more than enough room for him to sprawl elsewhere. Rows of empty seats, leather recliners, and even a sofa further down the cabin were all left untouched. But he chose the one right next to hers. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed hers when he adjusted in his seat.
Eun-ah tried not to fidget. She stole a glance at his screen—graphs, projections, logistics maybe? She couldn’t make sense of them, only that he was back to being… the Hoseok she knew before. Controlled. Quiet. Brilliant. Cold.
But something about him sitting beside her—rather than across or away—sent a small ripple of unease through her. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even affectionate. It was just there. Unspoken. Strange.
Was he doing it to save face again?
She turned to the window, watching clouds melt into the blue, but couldn’t help feeling the weight of his presence beside her. He didn’t speak much. Didn’t glance her way. But his knee accidentally brushed hers once, and instead of pulling back, he didn’t move. Not until she did.
The plane landed with a soft, professional thud. The kind of landing that barely jolts your seat. Through the oval windows, black luxury cars awaited near the runway—impeccable timing, as always.
As the plane taxied to a stop, the pilot made his way down the aisle. He gave Hoseok a firm, respectful handshake before gesturing to the exit. Hoseok nodded politely. Eun-ah, still in her soft loungewear and oversized hoodie, the one her mom shoved at her before setting her off with Hoseok, gave a small awkward bow in return. Her hair was half up, half falling into her face—a far cry from the polished image people expected of someone like her… someone like them.
She glanced at the poised flight attendants standing like dainty statues by the door, hair slicked, smiles permanent. It made her suddenly self-conscious.
“What’s wrong?” Hoseok’s voice came, softer this time. His gaze followed hers toward the attendants before flicking back to her. He didn’t wait for a reply—just reached out, casually taking her hand and tugging her gently toward the stairs.
His fingers slipped between hers so effortlessly, it felt almost rehearsed—like it was second nature to him. As if he’d done it a hundred times before. The flight attendants, still stationed near the door, exchanged quick glances and stifled quiet giggles. One of them clutched her tablet closer to her chest, her eyes sparkling as she whispered to the other, “Ugh, I’m so jealous.”
They looked at the pair like they were watching the final scene of a romantic drama unfold right in front of them.
“I… I look like a mess,” Eun-ah murmured as they stepped toward the open hatch. “What if the press is here? What if they take photos? I look like I just rolled out of bed.”
“No press,” he said, eyes ahead as they reached the top of the stairwell. “I made sure Ye-joon cleared the area. We’re alone. You can relax.”
But if there were no reporters… why was he still holding her hand?
Eun-ah didn’t ask. She didn’t pull away either. Her fingers stayed curled in his, unsure, suspended in the silence between them. It wasn’t warm exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. It was… limbo.
“R-right,” she muttered, swallowing the knot in her throat.
The driver opened the car door without a word, bowing low. Hoseok gave a small nod in return, letting go of her hand only when she was safely inside. She sank into the leather seat, the residual warmth of his touch still tingling on her palm.
Outside, the wind swept across the private tarmac, tousling her hair through the open car door. Hoseok climbed in after her, silent, his gaze forward—but for the briefest second, she caught him looking at her reflection in the tinted window.
And just as quickly, he looked away.
They reached the villa just past twilight.
Nestled on a quiet, private stretch of Jeju’s coast, the cabin-style house stood quietly under the darkening sky. It wasn’t massive like the estate—no marble columns or cold hallways—but it wasn’t modest either. The structure was thoughtfully modernized: clean lines softened by warm wooden beams and glowing amber lights that wrapped around the edges of the roof like a soft halo. It overlooked the beach, the distant crash of waves faintly audible beneath the hush of pine trees.
Hoseok pulled the car door open and stepped out first. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys just as the last suitcase was unloaded by the driver. The staff moved wordlessly, respectful, and efficient. Once the luggage was placed by the door, the black van pulled away with a low hum.
Eun-ah tilted her head slightly. Aren’t they forgetting something? she wondered. But no one returned. No one would—not until it was time to leave.
The front door loomed large, aged wood framed by brushed steel. Hoseok jiggled the key into the lock. It resisted for a second before giving in with a stubborn click.
“Aish, these old doors…” he muttered under his breath, pushing it open with his shoulder. It groaned loudly, as if disturbed from a long slumber.
“Come in, I’ll get our things,” he said casually, stepping aside for her.
Eun-ah lingered at the threshold for a second before stepping in, her house clothes brushing against her legs as she moved. The air inside was cool, faintly scented with cedar and salt. The space wasn’t grand, but it felt… lived in. Welcoming.
The living room was bathed in soft, golden light, a fire crackling lazily in the hearth. Plush couches faced a massive TV on one wall, and a modern white-marble kitchen gleamed just beyond the open dining area. A crystal chandelier hung like stars overhead, catching the light in the high-beamed ceiling. Two rooms peeked from upstairs balconies, while a hallway near the kitchen suggested another room on the main floor.
The sound of wheels broke her focus. Hoseok returned, hauling both their suitcases behind him.
He knelt slightly to unlock the door near the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind. The rooms upstairs are due for renovation, we can’t use them. So…”
He pushed the door open and flicked on the light.
“We’ll be sharing this one.”
Eun-ah blinked. She wasn’t sure what she expected—but it wasn’t this. The room was stunning. Lavish. A king-sized bed sat centered against the far wall, flanked by clean-lined nightstands and warm recessed lighting. A small fireplace flickered on one side, casting shadows across a cozy sitting area. Most striking of all was the tall glass doors leading out to a private balcony, where the inky ocean stretched far beyond the shore.
“It’s beautiful…” she murmured, her voice caught between awe and disbelief. She walked toward the doors and pushed them open, letting the salty wind kiss her cheeks as she stepped onto the balcony for a better look.
Behind her, Hoseok was already dragging the luggage inside, setting it neatly near the couch.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch,” he said matter-of-factly, not waiting for her to argue.
That caught her off guard. Reflexively, she moved to grab her own bag, brushing past him to lift it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, not meeting his eyes as she adjusted the strap on her shoulder.
“It’s a small thing. Stop being dramatic,” he said dryly—but there was no sharpness in his voice. Just tired calm. Maybe even… softness. He didn’t seem to notice the way his hand had grazed hers earlier. Or how close he’d sat beside her on the plane. Maybe he was just going through the motions. Or maybe—like her—he didn’t know what to do with this strange quiet blooming between them.
***
As Hoseok settled into the sofa, legs folded beneath him and his laptop already glowing on his lap, the clack of his keys filled the otherwise quiet space. He looked completely immersed in work, expression tight with focus. Eun-ah’s bags, however, remained untouched near the door. She hadn’t even thought about unpacking.
Instead, drawn by the sound of waves and the glow of moonlight outside, she wandered toward the tall double doors and stepped onto the wooden balcony. There, perched on a curved wooden swing, she tucked her knees up and let the salty breeze brush across her face, pulling her hair gently. The night air was cool, the sea restless under the faint light, each wave rolling in like a sigh. It was peaceful—almost too peaceful.
“Omo!” she suddenly yelped, her voice loud and filled with childlike surprise.
Hoseok’s head snapped up instantly. He was on his feet in a second, abandoning the laptop, already halfway to her with alarm in his voice.
“What? What is it?” he asked, eyes scanning the balcony for danger—half-expecting a snake or some flying insect from the countryside.
“Look! Look!” Eun-ah pointed excitedly down toward the beach. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned over the wooden rail. “He’s proposing!”
Down by the shore, just barely illuminated by the moonlight, two figures stood facing each other. One had dropped to one knee, arm outstretched. The other stood frozen in shock.
“Oh my god, I hope she says yes,” Eun-ah breathed, inching forward with both hands gripping the rail now. Her bare feet dangled just above the swing’s wooden slats.
Hoseok came to stand beside her, brow furrowed more in confusion than awe. “This is private property,” he muttered under his breath, squinting down at the couple. “Why are they even here?”
Just then, the kneeling figure stood and placed a ring on the other’s finger. The two embraced under the stars.
“Ahhh! She said yes!!” Eun-ah gasped, unable to contain her glee. In her excitement, she reached out and instinctively grabbed Hoseok’s wrist, squeezing it. “Omo, that’s so romantic.”
Hoseok stiffened slightly at the sudden touch. His eyes flicked down to where her fingers were wrapped around his arm—but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t say anything either. If anything, the gesture seemed to ground him, make him pause.
Eun-ah beamed, her eyes still trained on the couple below. “Congratulations!!” she shouted into the night air, cupping her hands around her mouth.
The two silhouettes turned, startled, then offered a polite bow up toward the balcony before quickly making their exit from the shore, hand-in-hand.
Eun-ah exhaled a soft laugh, still holding onto Hoseok’s wrist, though she didn’t even realize it. “I can’t believe we witnessed that,” she said, her voice quieter now. “That’s… kind of special, isn’t it?”
Hoseok, still standing beside her, finally looked out to the ocean rather than at her. His voice was low, unreadable. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
And for a moment, everything stilled—
Except the wind, the sea, and the quiet weight of her hand wrapped around his wrist.
She was beaming, eyes wide with awe as she leaned over the balcony, watching the couple below. Her laughter spilled out soft and unguarded, glowing under the moonlight like it belonged to a different version of her—a version Hoseok had never really seen.
Not because she’d hidden it.
But because he’d chosen not to look.
This wasn’t the sharp, guarded Eun-ah he sparred with. This wasn’t the girl who walked through their home in silence, or threw barbed glances when they argued. This was someone gentler. Younger. With cheeks flushed from excitement and wind, and a smile so pure it momentarily stole his breath.
That smile wasn’t for Jungkook.
It wasn’t for Kyu.
It was for him.
The one he used to brush off.
The one he used to ignore on purpose—maybe because deep down, he knew it could undo him.
And now it did.
Because in that tiny, unassuming moment—with her laughter in the air and her hand still on him—he felt it.
The ache of something beginning.
The shift of something breaking open inside him.
And for the first time, although still unsure, maybe, he didn’t want to run from it.
***
Morning light spilled gently through the thin linen curtains, casting soft, gold-tinted shadows across the floor. The sea breeze from the cracked balcony door made the fabric flutter slightly, as if the wind itself were just waking up.
Eun-ah stirred first.
Still tangled in the soft warmth of the duvet, she stretched her limbs, her toes curling into the mattress. Her hand fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. 9:00 AM.
By now, back at the estate, Hoseok would be at the long dining table, sipping freshly brewed tea, going over company memos with a furrowed brow. But here…
Her hand landed on the other side of the bed. Cool sheets. Empty.
Right. He didn’t sleep beside her.
Eun-ah sat up, her hair a little mussed, and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. Her eyes wandered toward the sofa across the room.
There he was.
Hoseok was half-buried under a loosely draped duvet, his long frame curled sideways into the cushions. Only the top of his hair peeked out—a messy halo of brown. His bare feet stuck out from the end of the throw blanket, one ankle twitching slightly in sleep. The soft hum of his laptop filled the silence, its screen still glowing with a half-finished presentation. She padded over quietly.
The bottom corner of the screen read: Slide 89 of 250.
“Two hundred fifty slides?” Eun-ah muttered, blinking. “That’s insane.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Does he even sleep?”
She hovered for a moment, debating whether to nudge him back to bed, but then thought better of it. Instead, she turned and tiptoed toward the kitchen.
The cold wooden floor was a bit of a shock against her bare feet, grounding her. Her fingers grazed the edge of the kitchen island as she passed, the villa quiet except for the sea beyond the balcony and the distant hum of cicadas.
She made her way to the fridge, half-expecting it to be empty or filled with old condiments. But as she opened it, cool air greeted her—and to her surprise, it was fully stocked. Eggs, vegetables, sealed packs of fresh steak, milk, juice, even ready-made meals in neatly stacked containers.
Of course. This was Hoseok, after all.
She pulled out a pack of bacon, then the eggs. Maybe something simple. Bacon, eggs, and toast. And coffee, definitely coffee.
Her gaze shifted toward the coffee machine on the counter. She hovered.
How does he like his coffee?
The thought stopped her for a second.
We’ve been living together for more than a month… and I don’t even know what coffee he drinks.
She frowned softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
They’d shared a house. A bed, sometimes. There were nights when their silence screamed louder than their words—nights after arguments that stemmed from nothing and everything. From jealousy Hoseok wouldn’t admit, from anger Eun-ah couldn’t always explain. Sharp remarks over dinner. Accusations that burned but were never clarified. Apologies that came in gestures, not words.
But never… never a morning routine.
Never quiet moments like this, where one was asleep and the other tiptoed through a kitchen trying to make coffee they weren’t sure the other even liked.
And somehow, it pinched her heart—soft, unexpected.
Because despite all the guarded distance and frustration, he had tried, hadn’t he? Picking her up at her parents estate, offering her this trip even if he’s clearly buried in work. Even if he did it in that maddeningly silent, roundabout Hoseok way.
Maybe…
Maybe he was really trying now.
Maybe she could try, too.
Her gaze drifted back toward the sofa where he lay, half-buried and completely unguarded. His laptop screen still flickered softly, casting bluish light across his jaw.
Maybe it was time they started learning the little things.
Like how he takes his coffee.
Like whether or not he wants someone waiting for him when he wakes up. And maybe, if they got that far, mornings wouldn’t feel so unfamiliar anymore.
A loud clatter jolted Hoseok out of sleep.
He shot up from the couch in a daze, eyes barely open, heart pounding like a false alarm had gone off in his chest. It took a second to register where he was—but the sharp echo of metal on tile had him stumbling toward the source before logic could catch up.
And there she was.
Eun-ah, sitting on the kitchen floor like a child caught red-handed in mischief. Pans were scattered in all directions, one still spinning in place with a metallic whine. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her hands gripping her head, and tears were already brimming in her eyes—half from pain, half from sheer embarrassment.
“What the hell—are you okay?” Hoseok said, rushing to her side. His voice was rough with sleep, but laced with concern as he scanned the chaotic scene.
He followed the trail upward: an open cabinet, a tipped-over chair, flour dusted on the counter like a crime scene. He sighed deeply, running a hand down his face. “You should’ve called me if you couldn’t reach it.”
Eun-ah blinked at him, cheeks flushed as she muttered a quiet, instinctive, “Sorry.”
She began to push herself up, wobbling slightly as she picked up one of the fallen pans. Hoseok hovered for a second, unsure if he should help or give her space, but ultimately just watched her with a shake of his head.
Then he noticed the countertop—two cracked eggs in a bowl, bacon laid out, slices of bread waiting in the toaster.
“Wait… were you making breakfast?” he asked, voice softer now, eyes finally adjusted to the morning light.
Eun-ah didn’t look at him right away. She just gave a small nod, still crouched as she began collecting the mess in quiet frustration.
Something tugged in Hoseok’s chest. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all—her, tiny and stubborn, climbing chairs just to reach a pan. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d tried. Without telling him. Without waiting for anything in return.
He crouched down beside her, carefully plucking up a spoon that had rolled under the table.
“You could’ve just woken me up,” he muttered again, this time less irritated. “I’m taller, you know.”
Eun-ah glanced at him finally, eyes narrowed. “Yes, thank you, I noticed.”
And despite everything—the clatter, the chaos, her near fall—he found himself fighting a smile.
As Eun-ah stood, balancing two pans in one hand and rubbing her sore elbow with the other, Hoseok raised a brow, arms crossing as he leaned lazily against the kitchen counter.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, tone teasing, one corner of his mouth tugging up.
She shot him a look. “Do you even know how to cook?”
He scoffed. “Eh- I could but I’m too lazy.”
“Exactly.” She placed the pans back in the sink with a clatter, brushing flour off her hands. “I grew up poor. Of course I know how to cook.”
That made him pause for half a beat. Not out of pity—but out of the quiet weight in her voice. Still, she wasn’t wallowing. She turned back toward the stove like it was nothing.
He hummed, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. Then, with the cocky air of a man giving the final word, he turned on his heel and strolled back toward the bedroom.
“Just don’t overcook the eggs,” he called over his shoulder. “I like them still runny.”
“And your coffee?” she shot back, voice slightly raised.
“Black,” came his lazy reply, already halfway down the hall. “No sugar. No milk. I like to suffer.”
Eun-ah stared after him, blinking—then broke into a small, unexpected laugh as she shook her head. The vila had felt cold just moments ago, but now the kitchen buzzed with a quiet warmth that hadn’t been there before.
They hadn’t really talked about the fight—not before she left, and not when Hoseok came to bring her back, but things felt lighter, sure—like he was making an effort. Like he wanted to fix what he’d broken.
But this?
This was the first real crack in the ice.
The first moment that felt… warm.
Maybe this was how it started. At least she now knows how he liked his coffee.
Chapter 26: Chapter 26
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The day had broken not with chaos, but with a sort of subdued, sticky warmth—the kind of heat that clung to the skin and lulled the world into stillness. Outside their window, the sky was a soft, bleached blue, and the ocean glimmered beneath it like glass, each gentle wave a lazy exhale against the sand.
Eun-ah sat barefoot on the floor of the bedroom, the air-conditioning humming quietly in the background. Her suitcase lay open beside her, halfway unpacked, clothes spilling onto the wooden floor. She pulled out a few folded pieces, sorting them into neat piles, when something dark and flimsy caught her eye.
A sigh escaped her lips the moment her fingers brushed the fabric.
It was that bikini —the tiny black one Jiwoo gave her in Maldives, the one she loathed. Strappy, barely-there, and annoyingly confident. She stared at it in disbelief, holding it up by the string with two fingers like it might bite.
“Ye-joon,” she muttered under her breath, her mouth twisting into a half-scowl, half-laugh. “Seriously?”
She glanced at the bikini again, and her cheeks warmed—not from the garment itself, but from the thought of Ye-joon being the one who packed it. God, had he actually gone through her swimwear drawer? She had hoped the maid would be the one handling that.
She tossed the bikini onto the bed like it had personally offended her, fingers flicking it away with a little more force than necessary.
From the balcony, the salty breeze teased the sheer curtains, making them dance in the late morning light. The view was picture-perfect: soft white sand, the gentle lull of waves, and the occasional call of gulls drifting in the distance. It was the kind of scenery people dreamt of, and yet, she felt sad. Not being able to enjoy it.
Her eyes flicked to the black bikini again. Guess I’m staying in today, she thought, rubbing her arms absently. Maybe I’ll head to the mall later and find something I actually want to wear.
She straightened, stretching her back. A thought crossed her mind: But how? The drivers are gone she sighed again, louder this time without any intention.
Across the room, on the plush sofa near the balcony doors, Hoseok was already knee-deep in work. His laptop was open, legs folded neatly beneath him, one hand cradling a mug of rapidly cooling coffee while the other flew across the keyboard. His posture was relaxed, but his focus was razor-sharp. He hadn't said much since breakfast—just a few polite questions and brief comments. Still, there was something quieter about him today. Less on edge.
“What’s wrong?” he asked without looking up, his voice calm and even. “Did Ye-joon forget something?”
Eun-ah blinked, surprised he’d noticed anything at all. “No, not really,” she replied, shaking her head and returning to her task. “Everything’s here.”
She closed the cabinet and walked to the foot of the bed, grabbing a towel. “I was thinking of stepping out. Just to the mall. There’s one nearby, right?”
There was a pause in the clacking of keys.
“Sure,” he said smoothly, still focused on his screen. “We can go. Get dressed—I’ll come with you.”
Eun-ah stopped mid-step, towel held awkwardly against her chest. She turned slightly, narrowing her eyes in confusion. “Wait… you’ll come with me?”
He nodded once, not bothering to look her way. “Yeah. Just get ready. I’ll be done in ten.”
Her brows rose slightly. That wasn’t what she expected. Not from him. Not after the week they’d just had.
“You don’t have to,” she offered quickly, the words tumbling out more defensively than she intended. “I know you’re busy. Really. I can grab a cab or—”
He cut her off by finally looking up.
“Do you know your way around?” he asked plainly, tilting his head, eyes sharp but not unkind.
“I—well, no.” She shifted her weight, curling her toes into the soft rug. “But I’m sure I could figure it out.”
“Do you know the island?” he asked again, this time slower.
She opened her mouth, then shut it. Played with the hem of the towel in her hands.
“Thought so,” he said, already returning to his screen. “We’ll leave soon. Just be back by two—I have a meeting.”
And just like that, his attention was back on his laptop, as if the conversation had been a passing breeze.
Eun-ah stood there for another beat, unsure whether she felt grateful or… unsettled.
She slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking quietly behind her. The tiles were cool against her bare feet, the sudden quiet almost echoing. She placed the towel on the rack and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
He’s just offering to drive, she told herself. That’s it. He probably just doesn’t want me getting lost and causing more trouble.
She turned the faucet and let the water run warm before stepping under the spray. And yet, as the water soaked through her hair and the steam clouded the glass, She couldn’t ignore the quiet stir in her chest—subtle, almost imperceptible, like something had tilted just a fraction off center. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just enough to make her pause.
Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself, shutting the thought down before it could wander further. It’s nothing.
After a few minutes, she stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel, still dripping as steam billowed softly behind her. In the midst of her thoughts, she’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes. There was no walk-in closet in this place—unlike her room back in Seoul—so it hadn’t even occurred to her to prepare ahead.
She hesitated at the threshold for a second, then stepped out anyway, damp footprints trailing behind her across the wooden floor.
“I just have one more email to send, and I’m ready,” Hoseok said from the couch, already dressed in his usual effortless style—an oversized black shirt and ripped jeans. His laptop was balanced on his thighs, fingers clicking across the keyboard.
Then he looked up—and visibly stiffened.
His eyes darted toward her, then immediately dropped back to the screen as color flushed up his neck. His lips parted, then pressed into a tight line. Even from across the room, she saw his eyes widen slightly in panic.
“Why are you standing around like that? You’re soaking the floor,” he blurted, voice tight, strained. He didn’t look up again.
“Sorry,” she said casually, like walking around half-naked in a towel didn’t faze her at all. And honestly, it didn’t. Hoseok had seen—and done—far more than this. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes.”
She hurried toward her suitcase in the corner, careful not to drip too much water along the way. “I’ll just mop it later,” she added, crouching to dig through her things quickly, the towel clinging stubbornly to her damp skin.
Behind her, Hoseok shifted on the couch, saying nothing. But she could feel the tension settle in the air between them—thick and silent, like the humidity clinging to her skin.
"Just be quick so we can leave immediately," Hoseok said, eyes still glued to his screen, fingers now typing more hastily than before.
"Alright, give me ten minutes," Eun-ah replied, grabbing a light sundress and her small makeup kit before disappearing back into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
The moment it did, Hoseok let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His shoulders, tense and stiff from the last few minutes, finally dropped as the tightness in his neck began to ease.
What was she thinking, walking around like that?
His jaw clenched slightly as his mind betrayed him—flashing back to that night weeks ago when she was too drunk to stand and he had to help her bathe, her skin flushed and eyes glassy, murmuring nonsense as he carefully poured warm water down her back.
He ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh.
What am I thinking? he scolded himself. I’ve seen more than that. Get a grip.
He shut his laptop with a muted snap and stood, needing space to breathe. The thick air inside wasn’t helping.
Pacing toward the balcony, he stepped outside and leaned his forearms on the rail. The salty breeze hit him immediately, cool and grounding. Below, the stretch of beach reserved for their villa remained pristine—untouched, save for a few staff in white uniforms picking up litter the wind had dragged in.
The waves lapped steadily against the shore, rhythmic and soft, but it did little to quiet the noise in his head.
He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and stared out at the horizon, wondering just how long this trip would keep messing with his balance.
Barely fifteen minutes had passed, and Hoseok was now seated on the wooden swing out on the balcony. The chains creaked gently with each sway, a rhythmic sound that blended with the hush of the breeze. His fingers absentmindedly traced the grain of the armrest as his mind wandered back—back to his childhood summers in this very villa.
He remembered sitting here beside his mother, his legs too short to touch the floor, as she told him bedtime stories under a pink-orange sky. She’d run her fingers through his hair while humming softly, the scent of salt in the air and fresh mangoes from the kitchen lingering in the breeze.
He hadn’t thought about those moments in years. It made his chest ache in a quiet, unexpected way.
That soft nostalgia was interrupted by the click of the door behind him.
“Sorry I took so long—the hair blower was malfunctioning, maybe I can pick up a new one while we are out.” came Eun-ah’s voice.
He turned—and forgot how to breathe.
She stepped out in a sundress, cottony and light, the color of a blushing sky. A bow sat neatly tied at her lower back, the waist cinched just right, the hem short enough that the ocean breeze played with it mercilessly. Jiwoo’s gift—of course. The kind of dress made for getaways, for sunlit afternoons and stolen glances.
His jaw nearly hit the floor.
She was blushing for some reason—maybe from rushing, maybe from seeing his reaction—but all Hoseok could think about was how effortlessly adorable she looked. How the dress clung and fluttered in just the right ways.
He quickly shoved his hands into his pockets to ground himself.
“You look cute,” he said, not even bothering to hide the smirk creeping across his face—mischief and a hint of challenge laced in his voice, he was teasing her .
But Eun-ah didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t scoff or snap back.
Instead, she smiled .
Softly. Sweetly. The kind of smile that slipped past your guard without warning.
“Thank you, Oppa.” she said with ease, then turned around in a gentle twirl, looking for her bag that was on the kitchen counter.
In that moment—
The walls? Shattered.
The ice? Gone without a trace.
Hoseok’s mind, body, and soul? Thoroughly blown.
He hadn’t expected that. That smile—God, that smile—it hit like a wave on bare skin in the dead of winter. Warm in a way that made him ache. It wasn’t calculated or polite. It was comforting. Familiar. Like a quiet hug you didn’t know you were yearning for until it wrapped around you and the way she called her ‘ oppa ’ this was the first time right? But it sent endless shivers.
His heart tripped over itself.
“ Oh no ,” he whispered under his breath, his gaze still fixed on her. “ No… ”
But it was already happening.
That was the same smile that once drove him mad when she gave it to Jungkook without effort. And now he was the one receiving it. And somehow, that was even worse.
Now he understood—why these men stood helpless in front of her.
Kyu. Jungkook.
And now… him .
****
The drive to the nearby mall was short, but the silence made it feel longer. Hoseok kept his eyes firmly on the road, resisting every urge to glance at her. The image of that smile still lingered in his head, next to him, Eun-ah remained blissfully unaware. Her face was turned toward the window, nose nearly pressed to the glass as she took in the passing scenery with childlike wonder, gasping at murals, squinting at signage, or smiling at roadside cafes like she was seeing the world for the first time. Hoseok sighed quietly in relief. At least she was distracted.
They pulled into a covered parking lot, sunlight peeking in through the cracks above like fractured gold. Hoseok shifted into park and checked his watch rather than look at her.
“We’re here,” he said, voice level. “I’ve got about four hours before my meeting. That should be enough time for you to grab what you need.”
Eun-ah gave a small nod, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Okay,” she murmured, already stepping out of the car.
She began to walk ahead, and for a moment Hoseok hesitated—then followed.
Shit. I thought he’d go off and do his own thing. Her steps faltered slightly as a thought struck her. How the hell am I supposed to buy a bikini now?
“Ah, are you going to come with me?” she asked, trying to sound casual as he caught up to her stride.
“Of course I am,” he said, brushing his hand through his hair and falling into step beside her. “What, did you expect me to sit in the hot car like some driver?”
“N-no, of course not,” Eun-ah stammered, face warming. “I just… thought maybe you had somewhere else to be.” She lowered her voice, gaze flicking to the ground. “And I was supposed to buy something... uhm… embarrassing.”
“What was that?” Hoseok leaned in slightly, lowering his head as they entered the relatively quiet mall.
Crap. I can’t drag him into a bikini shop. Absolutely not.
“Maybe we can split up for a bit?” she offered quickly. “You probably have things you need too, right?”
Hoseok slowed, squinting at her as if trying to read between the lines. “You hiding something from me?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
“What? No!” she said too quickly.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” he pressed with a smirk.
“Of course not!” Eun-ah burst out, her voice carrying a little too loudly. A few heads turned. Then more. Gasps began to rise around them as realization set in.
“Wait… is that—?”
“Oh my god, it’s J-Hope!”
Cameras clicked. Phone flashes sparked like fireflies.
Hoseok gave a rueful little chuckle, reaching for her hand. “Well… now it can’t be helped,” he said, intertwining their fingers with ease. “Smile a little, will you?” he whispered to her.
And just like that, they moved forward together—under watchful eyes and flickering lights, their hands bound tightly in public, their hearts still fumbling quietly in private.
They’d been walking for a while now, and the once sparse crowd had grown into a noticeable cluster. People held their phones up not-so-subtly, gasping and snapping photos as they followed behind or flanked them from the sides. Some giggled in disbelief, others whispered “J-Hope? Is that his wife?” Eun-ah could feel the pressure of it building—eyes on her, everywhere.
Her hand was still wrapped in Hoseok’s, his grip steady and warm, like he had no intention of letting go. It grounded her in some way, even as her nerves began to buzz. He, on the other hand, looked unfazed—bored, even. He glanced at passing store windows like they were just another backdrop to his walk, the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint, disinterested smirk.
“We’ve been walking for ten minutes now,” he said finally, glancing down at her with a raised brow. “Where is this shop you’re looking for?”
Eun-ah nearly tripped over her own feet.
She slowed down, nervously avoiding his eyes. “Uhm… it’s not really a shop-shop,” she mumbled.
Hoseok stopped walking, tugging her gently to face him. “What does that mean?” he asked, a trace of amusement already forming in his voice.
She sighed, cheeks beginning to burn. “I came here to… buy a bikini.”
There was a beat of silence.
“…A bikini ?” Hoseok blinked.
“Yes,” she muttered quickly, eyes darting around. “Ye-joon packed the most ridiculous ones. I didn’t want to wear them. They’re too… sultry. And I actually want to enjoy the beach without feeling like I’m filming a commercial.”
A pause—then, loud and unfiltered, Hoseok burst into laughter.
Eun-ah’s face turned crimson.
“You’re embarrassed because of that?” he said between chuckles, pressing a palm to his chest dramatically. “I thought it was going to be something scandalous .”
“It is embarrassing!” she hissed under her breath. “I didn’t want to drag you into a bikini shop, and now everyone’s staring—!”
“Good,” he grinned. “They should stare.” And before she could argue, he turned on his heel and started striding toward a nearby boutique, one hand still locked with hers, the other already gesturing flamboyantly at the staff near the entrance.
The attendants gasped as soon as they saw him—followed by frantic whispers and the sound of shoes scuffling as they rushed over.
“Bring the best,” Hoseok said with a charming smile, tightening his hold on Eun-ah’s hand. “Something classy , something comfortable , something that actually lets my wife enjoy the beach.”
“Oh my god, yes, right away!” one of the stylists nearly squeaked.
He finally released her hand to settle onto one of the plush velvet couches, legs crossed and looking perfectly at home.
“I’ll be right here,” he said, resting his chin on his fist and looking up at her with mock curiosity. “Let’s see what you pick, Mrs. Jung .”
Eun-ah swallowed hard as a dozen swimsuits were already being draped over velvet hangers, it didn't help that he called her Mrs. Jung , it made her heartbeat 10 times crazy.
God help her.
Minutes later, she stepped out of the shop with no less than five glossy paper bags, each one stamped with a high-end swimwear brand. It felt ridiculous—like she had just stocked up for ten summers ahead. But Hoseok had insisted, waving off her protests like they were background noise. According to him, if the staff said a certain color brought out her glow, then she was getting it in every shade they had. And, of course, he bought some for himself too—four or five, to be exact—some of them cheekily matching with hers.
"See? That wasn’t so hard,” Hoseok said, with smug satisfaction in his voice as they made their way back into the mall crowd. His arms were now weighed down by bags, but he carried them effortlessly, drawing even more stares than before.
Eun-ah walked stiffly beside him, cheeks flushed from a mix of exertion and secondhand embarrassment. She could feel every set of eyes lingering on them, whispering, snapping photos, watching the scene unfold like it was their favorite K-drama come to life.
“I can carry some of those,” she said quietly, reaching out, if only to feel a little less like a helpless bystander.
“Nonsense,” Hoseok said without missing a beat. He shifted the bags with one hand and offered her his free arm. “Just hook your arm through mine. What will people think if I let you carry all these yourself?”
She hesitated. It felt like too much. Too public. Too... couple-like. But with the press of onlookers and Hoseok’s steady gaze waiting, she finally slid her arm through his, anchoring herself there.
“There,” he said softly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Perfect.”
They continued walking—Hoseok still radiating calm confidence like he didn’t have the weight of a small wardrobe in his arms—while Eun-ah tried her best not to shrink beneath the curious stares.
“We didn’t even eat lunch,” Hoseok said after a while, glancing down at her. “Come on, let’s grab a bite. It’s still early—I know a place near the beach. I’ve been craving burgers all morning.”
They headed for the exit doors they’d come in through. Hoseok didn’t seem to mind the continued trail of fans discreetly (and not-so-discreetly) following at a distance. He even nodded at a few as they passed.
At the parking lot, he opened the trunk and carefully arranged the bags inside before opening the passenger door for her. Eun-ah climbed in and fastened her seatbelt, the leather cool against the backs of her thighs.
Hoseok slid into the driver’s seat beside her and sighed as he pulled on his sunglasses. The moment the door shut, the car’s tint dulled the outside chaos, and it felt like a private bubble again.
“A lot of people were out today,” he muttered, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Didn’t expect them to follow us that far.”
Eun-ah gave a small, nervous laugh.
“I guess it’s gonna be worse at the beach,” he added, pulling away from the curb, the sunlight flickering through the trees as they drove. “Might have to buy you ten more bikinis just to make it worth it.”
Eun-ah groaned. “Please don’t.” but she couldn’t help but notice how lighter everything is now and how easy it was to talk to him this time.
He smirked and kept driving.
By the time they reached the seaside road, Eun-ah’s stomach was growling. The sunlight reflected gently over the water, the breeze playing with her hair as she stepped out of the car. But when she turned to look at the restaurant Hoseok led her to, she blinked—twice.
It wasn’t the fancy, reservation-only type she’d expected from someone like him. It was… small. Family-run. A squat building with a faded wooden sign and a tiled roof that had seen better decades. Mismatched chairs sat outside in the shade, and the faint scent of frying fish and charcoal clung to the salty air.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Eun-ah asked, trailing after him as he confidently walked through the entrance.
Before he could answer, a loud voice rang out from inside.
“Hoseok-nim!”
A boy—not older than ten—bolted from behind the counter and practically launched himself into Hoseok’s side. But Hoseok just laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“I told you, ‘Hoseok-hyung’ is just fine,” he said with a grin. “Since when did you grow this tall, Ha-yeul?”
“Since you last visited! Are you staying long this time?”
Before he could answer, a group of older women emerged from the back, their faces lighting up the moment they saw him.
“Oh, our Hoseok!” one auntie cried, coming forward and swatting at his shoulder in playful reprimand before pulling him in for a tight hug. “You never call! You never write!”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said, laughing as the others crowded him like he was a returning soldier.
Eun-ah hovered by the door, unsure whether to step in or wait.
The restaurant was quiet—no other customers yet. The walls were filled with photos, not just of food or menu items, but memories. Framed pictures of BTS members, snapshots in candid smiles. One photo stood out: Hoseok, years younger, hugging an elderly woman tightly, flashing that unmistakable dimpled smile.
“Ah, Hoseok!” came a voice from the kitchen.
The woman from the photo had appeared, older now, her frame more fragile. She supported herself with a cane as she approached, her eyes crinkling with joy.
“Halmeoni,” Hoseok greeted, moving forward quickly and wrapping her up in the gentlest hug.
“How have you been?” he asked softly.
“Much better, thanks to you. That medicine you sent last month helped a lot. And Ha-yeul—he’s doing his best in school. You’ve been so kind, supporting him.”
Eun-ah watched from the side, lips parted slightly. Medicine? School support? She didn’t know any of this. It wasn’t the flashy public donation kind either—this was something he quietly did, from his own heart.
Just then, Ha-yeul turned toward Eun-ah, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He took a step closer.
“Hyung-nim… who’s this?” he asked. “Did she follow you inside? Should I pull her out?”
Eun-ah stiffened in shock, but Hoseok just threw his head back in a rare, full-bodied laugh. His eyes crinkled, his shoulders shook a little. It wasn’t the polished kind of chuckle she’d heard in their business dinners or press encounters. This was genuine. Unfiltered. Almost… boyish.
“Will you, huh?” he said, still chuckling. “Be careful, she bites.”
He turned to Eun-ah, that familiar smirk softening just a bit before he said, “This is my wife, Eun-ah”
The room stilled for a beat. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it. There was no hesitation, no explanation. Just calm certainty. Eun-ah’s heart skipped.
She bowed deeply. “H-hello. It’s nice to meet you all.”
The elder woman looked her over with squinting eyes, then smiled. “Ah, yes Eun-ah is it?" the elder examined her "She looks rather young though, hmm? Are you sure she’s legal?”
A ripple of laughter followed, even from the grumbling Ha-yeul, who now seemed slightly less defensive.
“Don’t worry, Halmeoni,” Hoseok said, grinning. “She’s legal. And mean.”
“Yah!” Eun-ah swatted his arm gently, cheeks flushing. She gave him a look, but he only smirked wider.
As they were ushered to a table by the window, Eun-ah caught herself glancing around again. It was warm here, not just the air, but the people. The walls. The way they treated him like someone precious, not because of his fame—but because of who he was.
Her thoughts were paused when Ha-yeul came bounding toward them again, his little sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor.
“Hoseok-nim!” he called out with unfiltered excitement, both hands clutched around a folded piece of cardboard. His cheeks were still flushed from running around, his front tooth slightly missing, giving his grin a charming lisp.
“Since you’re here… my birthday is coming up!” he announced proudly, thrusting the invitation into Hoseok’s hands. “Look! I made this myself!”
It was a homemade invitation, drawn in colored markers with smudged stars and crooked balloons. In the center was a photo of Ha-yeul—grinning wide with a paper crown on his head—and beside it, in bold wobbly letters:
"Join me for my 8th birthday!"
“Here!” he said, bouncing on his heels. “You have to come! Please, I promise I’ll tell everyone not to take pictures of you! No cameras, okay? Just cake and games, please hyung-nim, please!”
Hoseok crouched slightly to meet the boy’s eager gaze, taking the invitation with a soft smile. “Of course I’ll be there,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Ha-yeul beamed, his small hands clapping in delight. “Yay! And unnie, you have to come too!” he said, turning to Eun-ah. “Come with Hoseok-hyung-nim, okay? We’ll play balloon pop and I’ll save you a pink cupcake!”
Before either of them could respond, he spun around and ran back to the kitchen, his laughter echoing like a burst of joy.
“He’s so cute,” Eun-ah murmured, still looking at the hand-drawn invitation now resting on the table.
Hoseok let out a soft sigh, eyes lingering on the photo. “Ah, Ha-yeul…”
He leaned back in his chair, the weight of something heavier tugging at his expression.
“He doesn’t have parents anymore,” he said quietly. “His father was a fisherman… he went out during a storm years ago and never came back. And his mom…” He paused, voice tightening slightly. “She passed away just after giving birth to him. Complications.”
Eun-ah's lips parted slightly, her eyes slowly drifting to the kitchen, where the boy’s giggles could still be heard faintly in the background.
“He’s been raised by his grandmother ever since,” Hoseok continued, glancing toward the elderly woman now bent over the stove, her back slightly hunched, her movements delicate and slow. “She does everything she can. But you can tell—her health’s fading. I help out however I can. Send groceries. Pay for Ha-yeul’s school and medicine… birthdays.”
He paused again, and this time, his voice lowered to a whisper.
“But I can’t take him in. That’s the reality. I just hope—pray, honestly—that halmeoni stays healthy long enough until Ha-yeul can stand on his own feet.”
Eun-ah felt something tighten in her chest. The image of the joyful boy, so full of life, against the quiet burden Hoseok just described—it cracked something in her. Before she could stop herself, a tear slid down her cheek.
She sniffled softly, trying to hide it by dabbing her face with the edge of her sleeve.
Hoseok turned to her, blinking.
“Wait… are you crying?” he asked, half amused, half surprised—his teasing nature already rising to the surface.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, swiping at her face again, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “You told me we were getting burgers.”
Her voice trembled at the end, and she looked away in frustration. It wasn’t like her to cry so easily. But the thought of a boy celebrating birthdays without his parents, clinging to the presence of a man like Hoseok—it undid her completely.
“You’re such a kid,” Hoseok murmured, but his tone was soft. He reached out and gently patted her head, the gesture so casual, so tender, that it made her heart twist even more.
Then, without another word, he stood and made his way to the kitchen, checking on what was being prepared, leaving his handkerchief folded neatly beside her.
Eun-ah sat in stunned silence, clutching the cloth.
The tears slowed, but the warmth in her chest didn’t leave. That simple pat on the head… his voice when he spoke about Ha-yeul… the way he smiled at children, offered help so quietly without ever asking for recognition—
It was disarming.
Candid moments like this made him look so gentle. So human. So far from the cold, distant man she’d been constantly at odds with for the past month.
And maybe for the first time since their wedding, Eun-ah wondered— Who exactly is Jung Hoseok, really? And why does her heart feel dangerously close to wanting to find out?
***
The meal was heartwarming in every way. The table overflowed with cold naengmyeon noodles topped with crunchy slices of pear, tightly rolled gimbap cut into perfect bite-sized pieces, colorful tteok in a rainbow of pastels, and steaming bowls of sundubu jjigae. The cozy chatter and laughter of the small crowd filled the air like music. Eun-ah found herself eating more than she intended, comforted not just by the food but by the warmth of the people around them.
Hoseok had paid in full, slipping several extra bills into the old woman’s hands despite her polite refusals and deep bows of gratitude. “Please, halmeoni,” he had insisted with a smile, “for the party.”
As they walked out, Ha-yeul clung tightly to Hoseok’s leg, his small arms barely wrapping around Hoseok’s thigh. “You’ll come back, right?” the little boy asked, his voice trembling just slightly, wide eyes shimmering with hope. His cheeks were still a little puffed from eating too much tteok.
“I’ll come back,” Hoseok promised, crouching down so they were face to face. He gently ruffled the boy’s hair and handed him the birthday photo card. “I promise, Ha-yeul. I wouldn’t miss your party for anything.”
The boy nodded, smiling despite the tears he was holding back, and ran inside, waving goodbye from the doorway.
The clock was inching toward 1:30 p.m. as they got back into the car. Hoseok checked the time with a slight frown, but said nothing. Eun-ah closed her eyes, feeling the cool rush of the air-conditioning against her face. Her full stomach and the lull of the moving vehicle nearly lulled her to sleep—
Until the car screeched gently to a halt.
Home? Already? That was quick.
Her eyes blinked open.
They weren’t home.
They had stopped in front of a sleek, ultramodern boutique—tinted floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed in black steel. It stood out like a jewel box in the sunlight, pristine and commanding. Inside, red velvet sofas were positioned artfully in corners, and sharply dressed attendants moved with calculated grace.
“I just need to pick something up. I’ll be quick,” Hoseok said as he turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.
Eun-ah sat up straighter, instinctively checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. She discreetly sniffed her hair to ensure it didn’t smell of fried food, then followed after him.
As they entered, a man in a black tuxedo approached them immediately, bowing low. “Mr. Jung, welcome,” he said, then gestured for them to follow. He led them into a private inner salon. The lights were warmer here, gold-hued and soft. Another attendant offered them champagne in slim crystal flutes.
“Your order arrived on time, Mr. Jung,” the man added, pouring the bubbling liquid into their glasses.
“Perfect,” Hoseok said, swirling the drink once before taking a light sip. “Can I see it?”
“Of course. We’ve prepared it just as you requested.”
Five minutes later, a woman emerged. She looked every bit the owner—poised, commanding. She wore a tailored crimson sheath dress that hugged her figure elegantly. Around her neck, ears, and fingers sparkled diamonds—old money, unmistakably.
“J-Hope,” she greeted with a wide smile, leaning in for a knowing embrace. “Always a pleasure.”
Trailing behind her was another woman in uniform, holding a small black velvet box like it was the Holy Grail.
“Is that it?” Hoseok asked, rising slightly from his seat.
“Yes. You have impeccable taste as always,” the boutique owner replied, casting him a subtle, admiring look.
The box was presented and opened with a practiced flourish. Inside lay a delicate rose gold necklace, breathtaking in its design: a series of tiny sculpted blossoms—cherry blossoms, it seemed—clustered along the fine chain. Each petal shimmered, encrusted with tiny diamonds. At the center hung a single, larger flower, its diamond center winking beneath the chandelier light like a secret. It was ethereal, romantic—feminine without being fragile.
“It looks even better in person,” Hoseok murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he reached into the box.
Eun-ah blinked. Her thoughts raced. Was it for Jiwoo? Or maybe his mother? No, this was far too romantic—elegant and intimate.
Before she could speak, Hoseok stood and walked behind her. She stiffened instinctively as his hands moved up.
“Hold still,” he said, almost gently.
The chain settled around her collarbone with a cool, whisper-light touch. His fingers lingered for a second longer as he secured the clasp behind her neck. The cool metal sent a shock of emotion up her spine. Her breath caught.
“My wedding gift to you,” he murmured. “I know it's long overdue but I hope you like it.”
Their eyes met in the reflection of the gilded mirror before them. Eun-ah’s face, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, stared back at him in stunned disbelief.
She didn’t speak right away.
Me? For me? This? And he planned this—he timed the pickup, the boutique, the necklace... all of it.
“I–I...” she stammered, her throat tight. “I don’t know what to say.”
The boutique owner smiled knowingly. “It suits her very well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You made an excellent choice.”
Eun-ah was frozen, fingers lightly touching the pendant on her chest. Her heart was doing somersaults. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given her. And it wasn’t just the gift—it was the way Hoseok had done it. Quiet. Personal. Thoughtful.
Behind her, Hoseok smiled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t need to say anything.”
But Eun-ah thought she just might explode.
Notes:
aahhh! Eun-ah and Hobi truthers, unite! 🤭
The ship sailed. what should we call it? Hona? Euseok?💖
Chapter 27: Chapter 27
Notes:
I'm trying to add pictures to set the scene, this will serve as the first practice chapter.
Chapter Text
The drive home was quiet, but Eun-ah’s mind was anything but. She kept peeking at the rearview mirror—not to check her reflection, but just to look at the pretty necklace around her neck. The rose gold glinted softly in the light, the little diamond flower sitting perfectly against her skin.
And him? He drove like nothing big had even happened. One hand just resting on the steering wheel, the other propping up his chin, eyes straight ahead—as if he wasn't the whole reason she felt like screaming into her purse right now. He looked serious, even a bit moody. Like he was thinking about something way more important than the emotional whirlwind he’d created just ten minutes ago.
Does he always do that? Buy necklaces like he’s just grabbing coffee? she thought, still clutching her bag tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping her from floating away. Am I, like, dying? Or dreaming? Is this what it feels like to be totally confused?
She held the bag tighter, half-expecting angels to start singing if she blinked too long. It wasn’t just the gift—it was how he’d given it. So easy. So normal. Like putting diamonds on her was just another thing on his list for the day.
When they got to the estate, Hoseok parked the car in the garage quickly—no romantic vibe at all, just fast and direct. Still quiet, he unlocked the front door and walked in, pulling out his laptop. In seconds, he was gone into the bedroom, already focused on work, his fingers flying across the keyboard like their fancy shop stop had never even happened.
Meanwhile, Eun-ah shuffled in behind him, arms full of bags, still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster. She tiptoed across the shiny floors like a burglar, crouching low as she reached for her suitcase, careful not to pop into whatever super important video call Hoseok had just started.
From the laptop speaker, a man’s voice echoed, sounding important but also kind of apologetic. “So, Director Jung… We’re really sorry for bothering your vacation. I hope Mrs. Jung isn’t too annoyed with us.”
Mrs. Jung?! Eun-ah froze mid-crawl, half-buried in her luggage as she tried to find a bikini they’d bought for the beach. She almost dropped a sandal in shock.
“Don’t worry,” Hoseok’s voice came, smooth and calm. “My wife is very understanding.”
Excuse me, sir? Could you PLEASE stop saying ‘Wife’?!
She stopped completely, gripping the swimsuit like her life depended on it. He said it so casually. So easily. Like they weren't two strangers forced into a marriage neither of them wanted. Like she made him coffee every morning and kissed his cheek before meetings.
“We truly apologize again,” another voice said.
“There’s really no need,” Hoseok replied. Then came the big one: “Or would you like to hear it from her yourself? Dear , come over here.”
Dear?
Eun-ah’s entire system just stopped. Her brain lagged like a slow internet video. She looked up, totally confused. Did he really just— Her fingers fumbled to fix her hair, her posture, her whole self.
She got up from the floor, moving like a slow-motion queen, stepped into the camera frame behind him, and gave a polite, well-practiced bow to the directors on the screen. “Hello, everyone,” she said sweetly, trying to sound like a perfect hostess.
“Mr. Lee here was worried he might be interrupting our vacation,” Hoseok said without missing a beat, glancing at her like she was part of some perfectly staged show. Like this was normal.
Eun-ah forced a soft laugh. “Oh, no need to worry at all. I know how busy he can get,” she said with a slightly awkward smile, praying she sounded believable.
“There, see?” Hoseok turned back to the screen. “Told you. She’s very understanding.”
She bowed again, still smiling, and then walked—no, escaped —out of the room before he could pull another sudden "husband of the year" stunt.
She shut the bedroom door behind her, leaned against it, her heart pounding. What on earth is up with him today? she wondered. First the necklace. Now all the sweet talk. Was he possessed? Drunk?
She let out a loud sigh, trying to clear her head of the swirling thoughts. Of course he had to play the part, she reasoned, throwing her hands up. What else could he have done? Say no and have them question their whole fake marriage? She shook her head and dropped the subject. No point overthinking it now.
The only thing that mattered was she managed to grab a decent bikini from her bag before making her grand married-lady video call debut. It was red. A one-piece. The one they had just bought.
After a quick shower, Eun-ah slipped into the suit. It was sleek and well-made, cut just right to look good on her but not too revealing—Hoseok had stared at it in the shop, mumbling that it was “classy but bold.” Ugh. Why did that make her feel something now?
She tied a light sarong around her hips, grabbed her big straw sunhat, put on some black-rimmed sunglasses, and twirled in front of the full-length mirror. “Not bad,” she muttered to herself, adjusting the hat. “I look like I belong in a fancy resort magazine. Or at least in a drama about rich wives with revenge plans.”
She padded into the kitchen barefoot, grabbed a cold soda from the fridge, and scooped a small bowl of fresh fruit—dragon fruit slices, some seedless grapes, and cold mango cubes. Then, balancing everything on a tray like a pro, she headed toward the sliding glass doors that opened to the beach.
The moment she stepped outside, the air felt different. A soft, salty breeze brushed her skin, warm and familiar, rustling the edge of her sarong. The sand felt like warm, sinking flour under her toes—each step a soft give as she walked down the short wooden path and onto the open shore.
She passed the side of the house, near the ground-floor balcony. Just above, she caught a glimpse of Hoseok through the tinted glass doors. He was still at his desk, sitting stiffly, talking animatedly into his headset, pointing at his screen.
Not even a tiny glance her way. Just work, work, work.
Good, she told herself. That means I get the beach all to myself.
With her hat tilted just right and the tray in hand, she walked towards the row of lounge chairs neatly set up under white umbrellas, each looking untouched and ready for a magazine photoshoot.
She picked the one closest to the water—just far enough that the tide wouldn’t reach her, but close enough that the waves would be her only background noise. She put her tray on the small wooden side table, kicked off her sandals, and flopped into the lounge chair with the biggest sigh she’d let out in days.
She popped the soda open, the satisfying hiss making her smile. Taking a slow sip, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the sun warmed her cheeks.
For the first time in what felt like weeks—no maids hovering, no Hoseok playing hot-and-cold—she was just… still.
The ocean roared softly in the background. The wind tugged at her hat’s ribbons. A grape rolled off the tray and onto the sand, but she didn’t even flinch.
“Finally,” she muttered, stretching her legs out. “Vacation mode: activated.”
And for a moment—just a moment—Eun-ah let herself believe this whole silly marriage thing didn’t exist. Just her, the sea, and her canned soda.
***
The second Hoseok hit the “Leave Meeting” button, a quiet calm came back to the villa. He stood up with a low groan, stretching his neck side to side until it popped nicely. His muscles ached from sitting too long, and his brain felt totally drained from the hour-long money talk.
He rolled his shoulders, sighed, then looked towards the balcony doors. Through the slightly foggy glass, a bright red spot caught his eye. A small shape—sunhat tipped forward, long legs stretched out, totally still under the umbrella.
She’s really out there, he thought, blinking.
He stepped closer. Yep. That was definitely her. Lounge chair. Hat. Red swimsuit. Not moving at all. Was she… sleeping? In the sun? His mouth twitched.
“This girl… I swear,” he mumbled under his breath, annoyed but also amused.
He turned away, thinking about joining her. The sun was at its brightest, the sky incredibly clear, the waves a perfect rolling rhythm. She was clearly in full vacation mode. And honestly? He deserved a break too.
So he changed.
Black swim shorts, a loose sleeveless hoodie with the zipper half-down, and his big sunglasses that covered half his face. He thought about bringing a towel but figured, Why bother? and headed barefoot towards the beach.
As he stepped onto the sand, he squinted against the glare. Eun-ah was still there, perfectly still—hat over her face, one arm just casually hanging off the lounge chair like she hadn’t moved in ages.
Is she seriously just going to sleep in the sun? No sunscreen? Not even moving her hat? Doesn’t she care about sunburn? He rolled his eyes with a smirk.
But instead of waking her up like a responsible husband—or fake husband—he took a step back, tilted his head thoughtfully, and pulled out his phone.
One quick picture.
He framed it carefully: the ocean, the umbrella, Eun-ah’s red suit glowing in the sunlight, her hat low over her face, the curve of her legs stretched out like a model in a beach photoshoot. The breeze played with her sarong just a little.
[Bangtan GC]
🐿 Hobi: [Sent a beach photo — perfectly framed with Eun-ah lounging in her red swimsuit under the umbrella. Caption:] I guess I won the best view contest. Look at this beach 😎🌊
Jin: Right…. The beach 🙄 ALSO… YOU’RE IN JEJU?? And didn’t invite ME?? 😤 I would’ve packed my fishing rod and aloe mask!! Selfish.
Yoongi: 👍
RM: Hyung’s right. You vanished like a thief. Also… Don’t stress her out again, please. We just got her back 🫠
Jimin: Oooooh fancy 😏 Have fun you two~~ don’t forget sunscreen ☀️
Taehyung: 👙🤭
Jungkook: Tell her she looks cute 🔥🔥🔥
Jin: Yaah! Jungkook-ah!
RM: You’re too bold, Kook.
Yoongi: 💀
Hobi: She’s literally my wife.
Jungkook: Not stopping you from telling her she looks cute tho 👀
Jimin: Okay but why does Kookoosan always stir the pot 💀💀💀
Taehyung: This group chat is unwell. I love it.
Hobi: You can at least try to hide it? 😒🤨
Jungkook: 😩 okay okay hyung sorry. I’ll tell her through Yejoon instead 😌
Hobi: I’m blocking you.
Yoongi: Please do.
Hoseok let out a loud scoff, Jungkook really had no filter.
“Tell her she looks cute.”
So bold. Hoseok could still hear Jungkook’s voice from that night—“If you won’t treat her right, hyung, I will.” It wasn’t even a threat. It was a promise. Said with that same youthful confidence that always got under his skin.
Underneath all the jokes and teasing, Hoseok couldn’t deny the quiet sting of jealousy. Not just because Jungkook could say things so freely, but because he meant them. And somehow, Eun-ah let him. She smiled at his compliments, didn’t get annoyed the way she did with Hoseok’s teasing.
He told her she looked good too—earlier, in that dress—but he’d said it like a joke. Of course he had. Because saying it seriously meant something else. And he wasn’t ready for what that meant yet.
With a quiet sigh, he walked over to where she lay asleep in the sun. Her lounge chair was leaned back just enough, her legs slightly curled, bare under her sarong. He stared for a second too long. Then, without a word, he took off his sleeveless jacket and carefully draped it over her legs—not too tight, just enough to shield her from the breeze coming off the sea.
Why am I doing this?
He scratched the back of his neck and mumbled under his breath, “What the hell are you doing, Jung Hoseok…”
Still, he didn’t move. Instead, he sank onto the empty lounge chair beside hers, elbow on the armrest, chin resting in his palm. The big hat she had on was nearly covering her whole face. Slowly, almost without thinking, he reached over and gently pulled it off.
Eun-ah’s bare face was soft in sleep. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly in the breeze, cheeks faintly pink from the sun. Without makeup, she looked her age. Gentler. Innocent in a way that made something new stir in his chest.
His fingers hovered for a moment—then he picked up his phone and leaned in. The photo he took wasn’t far away. Framed just close enough to capture the curve of her neck, the soft line of her lips, the delicate eyelashes, and that hint of a sun-kissed blush on her cheeks. It was… cute.
Hot, even.
But he wouldn’t admit that.
Instead, he sent the photo straight to the Bangtan group chat, adding:
Hoseok: She fell asleep right after your compliment. 📸 [photo attached] Guess it bored her to death, Jungkook.
Jungkook: ❤️❤️❤️ even sleeping beauty needs rest 😌 she looks soft here tho…
Jimin: she always looks soft to you 😭 what’s up with this whipped energy lately lol
Taehyung: ngl that photo’s kinda 🔥 hyung you’re getting good at this, aesthetic angle and all
Yoongi: careful, hobi’s about to start a photobook of his wife. Okay Lover boy, pause.
Jungkook: you should, i’d preorder
Hoseok: Don’t worry. You won’t need to.
Namjoon: why does this chat feel like a showdown in slow motion
Jin: a duel but with emojis and passive-aggressive captions
Taehyung: WAIT is that her pink water bottle on the side, the one I gifted?? tell me she packed the mini fan too
Jimin: lol tae’s obsessed with her like she’s a cozy anime wife
Jungkook: 🧃🥄🍓🥰 just sayin… cute girls deserve cute things
Hoseok: 🙃
Hoseok let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer before he finally tossed his phone onto the nearby table. It landed face-down with a soft clack—the conversation still buzzing, but he didn’t care to check it anymore.
He leaned back in the lounge chair, his body heavy with thoughts, his gaze slipping past the edge of the umbrella to the wide, open sea.
Waves rolled in a calm rhythm, glittering under the afternoon sun, their softness a sharp contrast to the confusion twisting in his chest. The photo, Jungkook’s words, Eun-ah’s face in peaceful sleep—all of it bothered him quietly.
What the hell am I even doing?
He turned slightly, glancing at her again—her lips faintly parted, his jacket still draped over her legs, rising and falling with each breath. A breeze lifted strands of her hair across her cheek. He almost reached out to fix it, but stopped halfway, his hand curling into a loose fist on his thigh.
Am I really… ready to try this?
Or am I just jealous because someone else saw what I’ve been ignoring?
He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, as if trying to push the confusion away. But the questions stayed, coiling under his skin like a heat he couldn’t shake.
With a small sigh, he sank deeper into the lounge chair, his shoulders finally relaxing as he let the wind carry his thoughts. His eyelids fluttered shut, giving in to the breeze, to the gentle sound of waves, and to the woman asleep beside him—the one he wasn’t supposed to want.
And yet, here he was. Not walking away… Not anymore…
Just… staying.
***
Hoseok was woken from his light sleep by a warmth that wasn’t the sun. It was a hand—soft, shaking a little—resting on his shoulder, followed by the lightest touch, like someone trying not to shake him too hard. A familiar voice followed, quiet but urgent.
“Oppa… Oppa, wake up.”
His eyebrows furrowed before his eyes even opened. The bright afternoon sun was still there when his eyelashes fluttered apart, and for a moment, he was disoriented—caught between the salty breeze, the rhythmic crash of the waves, and the heaviness of sleep clinging to his limbs. But when he finally focused, he saw Eun-ah crouched beside him, her face pale, eyes wide and strained.
Then he saw Ha-yeul standing just behind her, clutching the edge of her bikini with both hands. The boy’s face was a mess—cheeks streaked with dried tears, eyes red and glistening, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“Ha-yeul?” Hoseok sat straight up, the lounge chair creaking under him. His voice sharpened with alarm. “What are you doing here? Who are you with?”
Ha-yeul opened his mouth, but no words came out at first—just a choked breath, then another. His shoulders shook as he tried to speak, but whatever he was trying to say got tangled in the fear blocking his throat. Eun-ah placed a steadying hand on his back, murmuring softly, but the boy stepped forward on shaky feet.
“Hyung-nim…” His voice cracked. “Halmeoni….”
It hit him like a punch to the chest.
“What about her?” Hoseok asked, already getting up, the weight of panic starting to press against his ribs. The sun’s heat no longer mattered on his skin. “Ha-yeul, what happened?”
“She slipped…” the boy managed, and this time the words came out in a rush, jumbled and soaked in tears. “She slipped and hit her head—there was blood—she wasn’t waking up at first, I didn’t know what to do…”
His voice broke completely then, and Eun-ah knelt, pulling Ha-yeul into her arms. The boy didn’t fight it. He buried his face against her chest, sobbing into the fabric of her bikini top as her arms wrapped around him protectively.
“He’s with some people from the nearby shops,” Eun-ah said quietly, brushing the boy’s sweaty, matted hair back. Her voice was steady, but Hoseok noticed her fingers shaking against Ha-yeul’s scalp. “They called for help and rushed her to the hospital. They came to the beach to find us.”
Hoseok turned his head, scanning the vila. A group of older men stood by a parked multicab near the sand, its engine still running, their faces tense. But Hoseok wasn’t interested in the multicab—or the men, or the explanations.
His jaw was already tight, eyes burning, focused on the villa ahead. “Get dressed. We’re taking the car.”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Spinning on his heel, he marched across the sand with quick, determined steps, grabbing his hoodie from the lounger and pulling it over his head without slowing down. Each step sent adrenaline spiking through him, making his hands clench into fists at his sides.
Behind him, he could hear Eun-ah hurrying after him, her voice gently telling Ha-yeul to come with her. There was no time for small talk, no space for comfort—only the sound of flip-flops slapping against tile as they re-entered the villa.
Inside, the air-conditioning blasted over their sun-warmed skin, but Hoseok barely noticed. He ripped off his hoodie and tossed it aside as he headed towards the bedroom. Wet sand clung to his calves, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his bag as he pulled on a clean black shirt and loose pants. His heart was thundering now, images flashing through his mind—the blood Ha-yeul mentioned, the stillness, the “she wasn’t waking up”—playing on repeat, making his stomach twist.
Eun-ah dressed quickly, too, changing her swimsuit for a loose cotton dress. She wiped Ha-yeul’s head with a dry towel and cleaned his face of tears. No one said a word. The silence was thick, tight with urgency.
When they came out of the villa, the sky had dimmed a little, clouds starting to roll in over the coast. Hoseok opened the passenger door, gesturing for Eun-ah and Ha-yeul to get in first before he slammed his door shut behind him. The engine roared to life, and gravel sprayed beneath the tires as he sped out of the driveway, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.
He didn’t speak, not even when Eun-ah reached over to squeeze his knee—just once, gently—as if to keep him grounded.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
Just hang in there, Halmeoni. We’re coming.
***
The automatic glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the strong smell of antiseptic hit them right away—clean, cold, and a bit metallic. The hospital lobby hummed with quiet tension: nurses briskly moving around, slippers squeaking on shiny tile floors, the faint sound of a child crying somewhere deeper inside.
Hoseok didn’t stop.
With Ha-yeul clinging to Eun-ah’s hand, the three of them walked straight to the reception desk, the boy’s steps quick and uneven. His other hand held tightly onto the edge of Hoseok’s shirt, as if afraid that if he let go, he’d fall apart all over again.
“She was brought in maybe thirty minutes ago,” Eun-ah explained quickly, her voice calm but strained. “Older woman, restaurant owner—slipped and hit her head.”
The nurse behind the desk nodded right away. “Yes, she’s in the emergency ward. Conscious, stable. The bleeding was minor—she’s just being monitored.”
“Can we see her?” Hoseok asked, his voice low but firm.
The nurse checked the chart again before nodding. “ER Room 3. Down the hallway, second left.”
He didn’t thank her—didn’t even think to, ignored all the whispers about ‘is that J-Hope’ or ‘omg Jung Hoseok’—he just turned and moved, fast. His long strides echoed in the hallway, arms swinging stiffly at his sides, the fluorescent lights overhead humming faintly with each step they took.
Ha-yeul stayed close, his lips pressed together, eyes flickering nervously between the numbered doors. Eun-ah wrapped an arm around his shoulders, steadying him as they turned the corner.
Then there she was.
Through the open door of Room 3, they saw her—Halmeoni—propped up against the white hospital pillows, a soft bandage wrapped around her forehead, an IV line in her hand. Her color looked better than he’d expected. She looked tired, but aware. Awake.
“Halmeoni,” Ha-yeul breathed.
The old woman turned her head at the voice, and when her eyes landed on the little boy, they softened instantly.
“Ha-yeul-ah…” she said with a gentle smile. “Aigoo, there you are… look at you crying. You’ll flood the floor.”
Ha-yeul didn’t wait. He rushed forward, throwing himself at the side of her bed and grabbing her hand in both of his. His small body trembled as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks—this time not from panic, but relief.
“I thought… I thought something bad really happened,” he sobbed.
Halmeoni chuckled softly, brushing his hair with her wrinkled fingers. “I just slipped, you silly thing. My bones are still stronger than I look.”
Behind them, Hoseok let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tightness in his chest finally easing.
He stepped inside, closer to the bed, his tone quieter now.
“You’re really okay?”
The old woman gave him a look. “Do I look like I’m dying, you punk?”
That made Eun-ah laugh softly, standing by the doorway, watching the sweet chaos unfold. Hoseok shook his head with a crooked smile—small, tired, but real.
“You scared the hell out of all of us.”
“Good. Keeps the heart strong.” She gave a playful wave of her hand, though her voice was softer now. “Honestly, I only blacked out for a second. I was more annoyed about spilling my special soy sauce than anything.”
“I’m buying you ten gallons of it,” Hoseok muttered, rubbing his face with both hands, the leftover adrenaline still crashing inside him.
Ha-yeul had calmed down now, still holding Halmeoni’s hand like a lifeline, sniffling quietly as she gently wiped his tears with the edge of her blanket.
“I told him to get help,” she said, glancing at Hoseok. “He ran like the wind, that one. Found the men by the beach and everything.”
Hoseok looked down at the boy—eyes swollen, nose red, but chin lifted slightly in pride—and ruffled his hair.
“You did good, kid. Real good.”
Eun-ah finally stepped closer, her expression soft as she placed a bottle of water on the side table.
“Is there anything you need?” she asked.
“Just maybe someone to bring me something edible,” Halmeoni sighed dramatically. “Hospital porridge tastes like wet cardboard.”
“I’ll sneak something in,” Hoseok said immediately. “You want rice cakes or soup?”
“Both.”
Eun-ah chuckled again, shaking her head. “You’re definitely fine.”
Halmeoni smiled as she leaned back against the pillows, her fingers still loosely twined with Ha-yeul’s.
For a moment, the room settled into quiet—the peaceful kind, not tense, not afraid. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, and the distant beep of machines filtered through the walls. But in here, in this small space, things felt normal again. Safe.
And as Hoseok looked around—Eun-ah by the window, Ha-yeul by the bed, and the stubborn old woman playfully scolding the boy while patting his cheek—something in him loosened. Like he’d been holding too much all at once.
“I’m glad she’s fine,” Eun-ah whispered as she stepped beside him. He nodded. Relief washed over him.
***
The room Hoseok had arranged for Halmeoni was way too big for what they actually needed—super white walls, big windows letting in the warm glow of the setting sun, and a quiet stillness only broken by the occasional soft beep of the monitor next to her bed. It was a private executive ward, too clean, too perfect—too Hoseok. Over-the-top in the way he always was when he didn’t know how else to show he cared. Halmeoni, of course, tried to say no but eventually gave in.
Eun-ah was slumped on the couch tucked near the corner of the room, her head resting sideways against the backrest, lips slightly parted in exhaustion. Her damp hair stuck gently to her temple, and her skin was still warm from the sun. On her lap, curled up and already fast asleep, was little Ha-yeul. His face was buried into her loose dress, small fingers loosely gripping the hem like he was afraid she’d disappear. After everything that had happened—the panic, the rush, the fear—he had finally cried himself to sleep.
Across the room, Halmeoni shifted slowly in her bed. Her fingers twitched against the blanket before her eyes fluttered open again. Her gaze drifted to the man still standing quietly by the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, but his focus entirely on the woman and boy across the room. There was something in his expression—soft, unreadable, and far too still.
She cleared her throat—once, then again, a little louder. “You’re really smitten, child.”
Hoseok blinked, startled, then turned toward her. “What?”
Halmeoni gave him a knowing look as she adjusted the pillows behind her, the white bandage wrapped across her forehead tugging slightly as she moved. “I read about your wedding after your birthday,” she said with a slow breath. “Didn’t want to believe it at first. I remember what you told me before—about how you didn’t want it, about how unfair it all was. But how you didn’t have a choice.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but she raised a frail hand to stop him.
“Don’t worry. I know I’m just a restaurant ajumma —not your mom, not anyone important. But still, I worried. I didn’t want you to get stuck in something cold, something that would make your heart smaller over time.”
Her voice was soft, but steady. Warm, like soup on a rainy day. She looked over again at Eun-ah and Ha-yeul.
“But it seems to me…” she let her voice trail off into a quiet chuckle. “That it’s working out pretty well for you.”
“I’m not…” Hoseok shifted awkwardly. “I’m not into her.”
“Please,” Halmeoni scoffed with a grin. “You think I can’t tell? I might be old, but I’m not blind.”
He stepped closer to her bedside, clearly trying not to smile—but failing.
“Halmeoni, it’s not like that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
She reached out and poked him square in the chest. “But it is like that. You just don’t see it yet.” Her voice dropped, more tender now. “Or maybe you do… and you’re just scared.”
“I’m not—”
“Child,” she cut him off again, shaking her head as she gestured weakly for him to remove a few of the propped pillows so she could lie down more comfortably. “It’s not me you’re fighting. It’s yourself.” Her voice was getting quieter, the exhaustion starting to weigh on her.
He gently helped her settle back against the bed, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, careful not to disturb the fresh wound.
“I think I’ll go back to sleep," she said, already starting to drift off. “Please… I know it’s a bit much to ask, but stay here for a while? The aunties are still on their way, and I’d rather not be alone.”
“You don’t even need to ask,” Hoseok murmured with a small smile, brushing a hand over her blanket to smooth it out.
“Remember,” she whispered, her eyes already closing, “stop fighting it.” She let out a quiet breath—a small, playful wink—and just like that, sleep pulled her under.
Hoseok let out a long sigh and sat down quietly on the second couch, just beside the one where Eun-ah and Ha-yeul were fast asleep. He leaned back, letting his head fall against the cushion, tilting just slightly toward her.
His eyes drifted back to her face—the slight gap in her lips, the way her brows were still faintly furrowed in sleep, her hand loosely curled on her thigh. She had done so much today. She had helped him without question, moved with him through the chaos, and carried more weight than he could have asked her to.
He leaned forward just a little, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
What are you doing to me?
The thought crept in uninvited, pushing into his chest with a strange ache. He didn’t want to name it. Not yet.
The blanket had started to slip off Ha-yeul’s side. Hoseok stood carefully, lifting the boy first—light in his arms, so small—and carried him to the empty hospital bed beside Halmeoni’s. Ha-yeul stirred only a little, making a sleepy sound as Hoseok tucked him in gently, adjusting the blanket under his chin.
Next came Eun-ah.
He hesitated. For a moment, he simply stood above her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then, he bent down and slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back.
She didn’t wake.
He lifted her slowly, carefully, holding her close to his chest. She felt warmer than he expected, soft and light, and for a second, his breath caught in his throat. He took slow steps toward the bed and bent down to settle her onto the mattress.
But as he leaned forward, his foot slipped slightly on the smooth floor—the rubber of his shoes squeaking. He stumbled—not far, but enough to pitch forward, catching himself with both hands on the bed, inches from her body.
A soft grunt escaped her lips as the motion jostled her, but she didn’t wake. Hoseok was now braced above her, his face so close he could see the flutter of her lashes, the soft curve of her cheek.
His heart thundered in his chest.
For one terrifying second, he thought he’d kiss her—not because he meant to, but because the memory of that kiss days ago came back in full force, stealing the air from his lungs.
That was close… too close.
He swallowed, eyes still fixed on her, before slowly pulling away and standing upright.
His hands were shaking.
And still, she slept—unaware that he had nearly collapsed into a moment he might not have been able to take back.
***
Eun-ah leaned her tired arm against the cool car window. Outside, darkness had settled, a quiet blanket over everything as they finally drove away from the bright, busy hospital. The ahjummas, a comforting group with their motherly energy, had just taken over, staying to watch Halmeoni. Hoseok drove quietly, the tension from the hospital dash slowly easing out of him. His hands, which had gripped the steering wheel so tight, were now relaxed, his eyes steady on the road ahead.
One of the ahjummas, her face showing thanks and relief, bowed deeply from the hospital doorway as they got ready to leave. Her voice carried, full of feeling. “Thank you very much for all that you do,”
“Please, stop thanking me,” Hoseok said, giving a gentle wave of his hand to dismiss their heartfelt thanks. Ha-yeul was still a small, innocent lump of sleep on the hospital bed, his face finally peaceful. Eun-ah, meanwhile, was in the bathroom, trying to get herself together after the busy day. He’d gently woken her up after the ahjummas arrived, their presence a quiet comfort.
Stepping back into Halmeoni’s room for a final goodbye, Hoseok’s voice was warm, a soft sound. “Halmeoni, I’ll be visiting your shop again,” he promised, giving a gentle wave goodbye from the door. “The doctors said you’ll get completely better in a few days. Don’t be too stubborn. I’ve taken care of everything so don’t worry.”
A small, playful snort came from the old woman. “Aish, you,” Halmeoni laughed, a warm, raspy sound. “I’m not the stubborn one here,” she added, her eyes twinkling with a knowing look as she gave him a small wink.
Hoseok’s lips curved into a soft, real smile as he quietly closed the room door. Eun-ah came out of the bathroom right behind him, moving smoothly as she straightened her dress, which had gotten wrinkled from sleeping. Her forehead wrinkled with curiosity. “What was that about?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Ah… nothing,” Hoseok answered, a quick, almost shy smile on his face as they walked through the quiet hospital hallway.
The car moved smoothly through the night, a quiet space for their thoughts. They made a sharp, familiar turn at the villa’s big gates, the tall iron structures shining under the bright moon. The moon, a bright pearl, hung high above, casting a soft glow that sparkled like scattered diamonds across the wide sea. Hoseok guided the car into the silent garage, the only sound breaking the night's stillness was the soft hum of the engine.
As the car stopped, Eun-ah pushed open her door, stepping out first. She took a deep, clearing breath as the cool night air wrapped around her, bringing the faint, clean smell of salt and distant flowers. Hoseok, too, got out of the driver's side, his movements unhurried, looking calm now.
“Thank you,” Hoseok finally managed to say, the words a soft breath into the quiet night. He’d thought about how he’d say those two simple words many times earlier, trying to get them just right.
Eun-ah looked surprised but genuinely confused. “For what?” she asked, looking at him, the car between them. Eun-ah’s cheeks felt warm, as Hoseok’s gaze felt heavy on her. He’d always had this intense look, but somehow, it felt different now.
“For helping me today,” he said, his voice gentle, a soft smile spreading across his face. “It means a lot,” he added, and this time, his smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. It wasn't cold, not fake, not far away. Instead, it was tender, wrapping around her like the quiet warmth of a hand held gently. It felt like the very first, soft rays of morning sun touching her skin after a long, cold night, chasing away every shadow. A feeling so pure, it made her entire world settle, as if she was finally where she was meant to be, entirely seen. A slight blush touched his cheeks as he awkwardly tapped the hood of the car, then walked towards the villa entrance.
Eun-ah’s heart did a fierce, startling flip in her chest, a dizzying, delightful rush of feeling that stole her breath.
“Oh, no,” she whispered to herself, the words barely audible against the quiet hum of the night. A fresh wave of warmth bloomed on her cheeks, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “No…” This wasn't just a fleeting moment; it was something bigger, something unsettlingly sweet.
Little did she know, this deep, confusing feeling had begun long ago, a quiet seed planted in a forgotten moment. Now, under the watchful gaze of the bright moon, it was pushing through the surface, blooming stronger and more undeniable than ever.
Chapter 28: Chapter 28
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The quiet of the villa felt different now. In the big bedroom, Eun-ah was a restless storm under the covers. Hoseok was already quiet and asleep on the long sofa, a dim outline in the soft, moonlit room. But sleep was miles away for her.
Her mind was a broken record, replaying that smile over and over again. His lips, shaped like a heart, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the warmth that seemed to spread from him like a soft light. It was all she could see, all she could feel. She tossed, then turned, the mattress letting out a low, drawn-out whine under her every shift. She tried closing her eyes tighter, willing the image away, but it was glued behind her eyelids, brighter than ever.
A soft groan finally cut through the silence from the sofa.
“Seriously, Eun-ah, go to sleep,” Hoseok grumbled, his voice thick with sleep, as he pulled a pillow over his head, trying to block out the rhythmic creaking of the bed. She didn't realized that he was awake. She wondered if he, too, was troubled by the same thoughts as her.
“Sorry,” she muttered, the word a soft puff of air in the quiet room. With a heavy sigh, Eun-ah swung her legs over the side of the bed, the mattress groaned under her weight. Maybe a late-night meal could help sort through the dizzying mess of thoughts tumbling in her head, she hoped.
She padded barefoot across the cool, smooth floor, making her way towards the soft glow of the kitchen light. From the cupboard, she pulled down two packets of instant ramen, the crinkle of the plastic loud in the still house. Grabbing a small saucepan, she moved with practiced motions, filling it with water at the sink before placing it on the stove. The gas burner clicked to life with a soft hiss, casting a faint blue glow on her pajamas as she emptied the dried noodles and seasoning packets into the cold water.
But her mind wasn't really on the cooking. She couldn’t shake the image of his smile from earlier, replaying it over and over. She found herself just staring, eyes unfocused, lost in the memory as the water slowly began to warm. She stood there, still in her jammies, a quiet statue beside the stove.
Suddenly, a violent bubbling sound tore through her thoughts. “Oh, crap!” she blurted out, a little too loudly, scrambling forward. The ramen soup was now boiling wildly, spilling over the pan’s edge and sizzling onto the hot stovetop. “Oh, no!” she gasped, grabbing a kitchen rag from the sink. She tried to wipe the quickly spreading mess, but her fingers brushed against the hot burner.
“Ouch!” she yelped, pulling her hand back instantly.
The yelp was enough. The bedroom door just off the kitchen clicked open, and Hoseok appeared, looking like he’d been dragged out of a tornado. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction from tossing around, but his eyes, though a little heavy, didn't look like they’d seen much sleep either.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough with concern as he quickly moved toward her. His gaze immediately fixed on the bright red ramen sauce staining her fingers. “What happened? Did you burn your hand?” He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her over to the sink, where he carefully held her injured hand under the rush of cold water.
Eun-ah’s heart went wild, doing a million tiny flutters a second. She was sure her face was flaming red. They were standing so close, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, and he was… shirtless. His broad shoulders looked even wider in the dim light.
“You’re too clumsy,” he managed to scoff, the words barely a whisper under his breath, a lame attempt to hide his fluster. He quickly added, trying to sound annoyed, “And what are you doing cooking at this hour?”
This easygoing manner of his, even half-asleep and shirtless, made her heart hammer against her ribs more. It beat so loud, so fast, she was sure it would just jump out of her at any second.
“I-er,” she stammered, her voice thin. “I got hungry,” she finally whispered, feeling the cold water on her hands. But her wrist, where his fingers still gently held her, felt warm. Even warmer than the water that had just burned her.
“Seriously, two ramens?” Hoseok ribbed, his voice a low rumble, his eyes fixing on the packets of noodles with a mock-serious gaze. He shook his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Sit down before you burn this house down.” With a gentle but firm grip on her wrist, he tugged her towards the high barstools by the kitchen island, then smoothly took over the bubbling pot.
“I-I wasn’t gonna,” she mumbled, her words losing all conviction as she found herself sinking onto the cool leather of the barstool. Her wrist still hummed with the warmth of his touch, a soft tingle that spread up her arm.
From her seat, Eun-ah’s eyes drifted to his bare back as he leaned over the stove, a fluid dance of muscle and movement as he stirred the pot. The soft kitchen light caught the slight sheen on his skin.
“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” she asked, trying to peek around his shoulder, her voice laced with genuine concern even as the dull throb in her hand reminded her of her own clumsiness.
“Shush,” he said, his focus entirely on the simmering noodles, not even bothering to turn and look at her.
Just a few short minutes later, the rich aroma of ramen filled the kitchen. Hoseok lifted the pan from the stove and placed it carefully on the cool island counter. He moved with a quiet efficiency, fishing out two ceramic bowls from the overhead cabinet. With a quick scoop, he filled one and handed it to Eun-ah, then filled another for himself. This caught her completely off guard. He never, ever joined her for a meal so casually, not willingly. But thinking about the restaurant by the bay earlier, and now this unexpected midnight snack, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, something real had truly shifted between them.
“Thank you,” Eun-ah said, a genuine smile lighting her face as she reached for the bowl and immediately dug in. The soft silence of the kitchen was quickly replaced by contented slurping and small puffs of steam rising from the hot soup. “Wow, this is really great, and it’s just ramen,” Eun-ah declared, surprised by how comforting the simple meal was. “You cooked it just right, Oppa.”
A noticeable warmth crept up Hoseok’s neck, a faint flush spreading across his skin. He was definitely blushing. He didn’t understand why her calling him ‘Oppa’ had such a strong effect on him, sending a strange flutter through his chest.
“It’s just ramen,” he scoffed lightly, though the warmth in his face remained.
After they finished the meal, Eun-ah thanked him again and offered to clean the dishes. “You go ahead,” she said, gathering the bowls. “You should rest, you have work tomorrow.” With a nod and a soft, lingering gaze, Hoseok quietly disappeared into their shared bedroom.
***
The next day started with a soft, sleepy hum. Sunlight, gentle and warm, spilled through the bedroom curtains, painting stripes across the duvet. Eun-ah was slowly pulled from her dreams not by an alarm, but by the low, familiar sound of Hoseok’s voice – he was in a meeting again. She lay still for a moment, listening, a quiet worry bubbling up. I really hope I wasn’t snoring too loud , she thought to herself, a flush creeping up her neck.
“I didn’t realize you were in Jeju too,” a booming, older voice chuckled from the laptop screen, followed by a hearty, loud laugh that seemed to echo slightly in the quiet room.
“Ah yes, Director,” Hoseok replied smoothly, his tone polite and professional, yet with a subtle warmth. “I am here with my wife, we arrived two days ago.”
“Ah, I hope I’m not disrupting your vacation,” the Director said, his voice laced with polite concern.
Oh, no, not this again. Eun-ah thought, her eyes widening in silent panic. Please, I hope he doesn't call on me again. I look like a total mess. Now she cursed why this place didn’t have a private study for Hoseok to work in.
Hoseok chuckled softly from the bedroom sofa. “I assure you, you are not,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
“Well, you’re lucky that she’s very supportive of you,” the Director’s voice boomed again. “In our line of job, even if we like it or not, work is the priority , and sometimes, it leads to a very unhappy marriage. Specially something like this one very early into it.”
Hoseok’s gaze subtly flickered towards the bed, as if trying to sense if Eun-ah was awake, his side profile impeccable as always. But she was quick, burying herself deeper under the soft duvet, her body stiff with feigned sleep. She didn’t want to show herself, just in case he suddenly decided to call her name.
He let out a light chuckle, a small, knowing sound that seemed to hold a hint of amusement.
“Ah, those things don’t exist anymore, Director,” Hoseok said politely, his voice gaining a quiet confidence. “Now that everything has advanced, priorities have shifted. Like what we’re doing now, having a meeting online, but still spending time with family. That’s the shift. It has balance now.”
“You’re right,” the Director laughed again, a hearty, booming sound that made the room vibrate slightly. “Well, since you’re in Jeju, you now must attend my party later. It’s my 60th birthday! If you refuse, I’ll tell the Chairman!” he teased.
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” Hoseok replied, a polite smile in his voice.
The meeting dragged on for almost an hour, a low-volume soundtrack to Eun-ah's forced stillness. She tried hard not to shift an inch on the bed, still buried deep in the duvet and pretending to be asleep, afraid she'd be called in again like a student in a classroom recitation.
She closed her eyes tight, listening intently. She heard shuffling sounds from Hoseok’s side of the room, footsteps, and then a soft click . Did he finally leave? Had she made it through without being noticed?
She let out a quiet breath of relief and slowly opened her eyes. And there he was.
He was shivering slightly, a silent, dark figure bent over the side of the bed, his face so close to hers. Eun-ah let out a tiny gasp of shock, her heart leaping into her throat. He was just inches away, his features softened and warmed by the morning sun streaming through the window behind him. His hair was a little messy, a few strands falling toward her face, and his eyelashes seemed impossibly long. She couldn’t help but notice his tall, pointed nose and the faint smirk playing on his lips.
“I know you were awake,” he said, his voice a low tease. “Scared to be called out again on camera?”
Eun-ah reacted instantly. She rolled over to the other side, a quick blur of motion, and shoved a pillow right into his face.
"What the hell!" she blurted out, her voice a rush of surprise and annoyance. "Don't scare me like that!"
He just peeled the pillow off his face with an unbothered smirk. "Get dressed," he said, his tone flat and simple. "There's going to be a lot of people coming in soon."
"Huh?" Eun-ah said, her confusion winning over her irritation. She sat up in bed now, the duvet sliding down her chest.
And like on cue, ten minutes later, the villa’s quiet morning was shattered by the arrival of a small army of people. They bustled in with racks of clothes, rolling in countless designer dresses, while others carried garment bags filled with tuxedos. Eun-ah stood frozen in the middle of the living room, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. What the hell? she thought, her eyes wide as she took it all in. Hoseok, meanwhile, sat calmly on one of the large leather sofas, looking completely unbothered. He was sipping his morning coffee and typing away on his phone as if the sudden fashion show was a regular morning event.
"What's all this?" Eun-ah finally asked, looking at him with a mix of shock and total confusion.
He glanced up from his phone for just a second, his expression a smooth mask. "Well, we're attending a party later," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "We have to look our best. We are both the heir to the corporation, after all in a way we are representing both legacies, we have to look our best." He took another sip of his coffee before adding the final detail that made her head spin. "Theme is masquerade."
"Dress her in red," Hoseok said to one of the stylists passing by, his voice flat and direct, a quiet command. "She looks best in that color."
Did he just say I look good in red? Eun-ah felt a quiet blush creep onto her cheeks, a warm flush that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Is he openly complimenting me now?
He stood up from the sofa and made his way towards the bedroom, pulling his phone out as he went. As soon as he pressed the green button, she heard him snap, "Ye-joon."
The parade of people buzzed around Eun-ah, a whirlwind of fabrics and whispered suggestions. They started with the red dresses, completely discarding any other color. The first one was a beautiful corset-style gown with delicate black lace trims, but the tight boning squeezed her ribs and made it hard to breathe. It was stunning, but not her. The second was a glittery, long princess dress that fanned out dramatically at the waist. She couldn’t help but make a face as she looked at herself in the mirror—it was too much, too big, like something out of a fairytale she didn't want to be in.
Then came the third dress. This one was a figure-hugging number, a sleek, deep red that clung to every curve of her body. The fabric was soft and moved with her like a second skin, highlighting the line of her waist and the gentle curve of her hips. The back was cut low, a surprising dip that showed just enough skin, and the slit on the side went a little too high, but it looked perfect on her. She felt elegant, confident, and a little dangerous.
Just as she was adjusting the hem, a quiet footstep made her look up. Hoseok had walked back into the living room, his phone call finished. He stopped completely in his tracks, his gaze sweeping from her face all the way down to the hem. His mouth, usually set in a firm line, parted just a little. For a split second, she saw something flicker in his eyes, a flicker of surprise, of pure awe, before his face snapped back into its usual smooth mask. He cleared his throat, not saying a word, and simply gave the stylist a quick, decisive thumbs-up.
***
The clock ticked on, and countless adjustments and fittings later, the frantic energy of the stylists slowly settled into a quiet hum of satisfaction. Then came the hair and makeup, a final, meticulous process that polished everything to perfection. When it was all done, Eun-ah finally looked at herself in the full-length mirror, and gasped. She was again transformed into a version of herself she barely recognized, a stranger in her own skin.
Her eyeliner was a perfectly sharp wing, a confident stroke that made her eyes look bigger and bolder than she'd ever seen them. Her hair was styled into soft, elegant curls—some pinned up to show off the curve of her neck, others falling delicately to frame her face. Her lips, which usually only wore a natural gloss, were now a deep, almost scandalous shade of crimson, a bold choice that made her feel dangerous. The cherry blossom necklace Hoseok had given her glinted softly on her collarbones, a delicate spark of light against the deep red of the dress. The dress itself was a work of art, a figure-hugging marvel that clung to her in all the right places, making her feel sexy and sophisticated. Even the stylists, usually a tough crowd, looked genuinely pleased, nodding to each other with smiles.
Minutes later, Hoseok emerged from the bedroom. He had been in a meeting the whole day, not even stopping for lunch, but he looked completely refreshed. He was in a crisp black tuxedo, a perfect contrast to the deep red undershirt that matched Eun-ah's dress. The sharp lines of the suit hugged his broad shoulders, and his hair was brushed up, some strands falling just enough to soften his face. His whole look was effortlessly gorgeous, a polished version of the man she'd seen in pajamas just that morning.
Eun-ah's breath caught in her throat. She almost forgot to breathe, a sudden, dizzying rush of feeling washing over her.
And in that same moment, Hoseok’s eyes landed on her in the mirror. He stopped completely in his tracks, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. His face, usually so cool and unreadable, held a flash of something she couldn’t name, a flicker of pure awe. He almost forgot to breathe too. The feeling was mutual on the other side, and Hoseok held on to his breath as if breathing in would make this moment go away. The silence in the room stretched, a moment held suspended in time.
Hoseok broke the spell first. He cleared his throat, a soft, dry sound that cut through the silence. “Come on,” he said, his voice a little gruff as he straightened the lapel of his tuxedo. “We’ll be late.” With that, he turned and walked towards the front door. Eun-ah let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and followed, her heart still doing a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
A sleek black limousine was waiting outside, its polished surface gleaming under the setting sun. The driver, a man in a sharp black suit, was already holding the passenger door open. As Eun-ah struggled to walk down the soft, sandy path, her high heels kept sinking into the loose grains. She almost stumbled, the heel of her shoe catching on a rogue shell, but just before she could lose her balance, a strong, warm hand caught her arm, steadying her. It was Hoseok, now supporting her.
“Careful,” he said, his voice low and close, a rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t let go, instead gently guiding her toward the open door of the limousine. His touch was a stark contrast to her wobbly steps, an anchor of solid ground in the shifting sand.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice small and sheepish, almost embarrassed by her sudden lack of elegance. “It’s difficult to walk in these, and the dress suddenly got too tight.” The last part was a whisper, a ridiculous excuse for her own giddy nerves.
He didn’t say anything in response, just guided her safely into the car. She settled into the plush leather seat, her heart still kicking like crazy, and Hoseok slid in beside her, the scent of his cologne filling the small space. The drive was, of course, silent. Eun-ah stared out the tinted window at the passing city lights, which were just beginning to twinkle to life. She could feel his presence beside her, a warm, solid weight. Hoseok, meanwhile, was still glued to his phone, his fingers typing away as if his life depended on it, the glow of the screen reflecting in his focused eyes.
The limousine glided to a stop in front of a sleek, modern hotel, its glass facade glowing with warm light. The driver, with a silent professionalism, was already at Eun-ah’s door, opening it with a soft click. Hoseok exited first, his movements fluid and sure, and then, a gentlemanly smile gracing his face, he extended his hand to Eun-ah.
Ah, of course. She instantly understood. There was a crowd here, maybe even press. He had to play his part, the doting husband. The moment she stepped out, camera flashes boomed, a barrage of blinding light greeting them as if this were some red-carpet event. He wasn’t just a rich heir here; he was still J-Hope of BTS. He gave his practiced smiles and waves to everyone, a seasoned professional, as the press frantically shouted from every corner.
“J-Hope, over here!”
“Hoseok-ssi! Smile please!”
“J-Hope, look here!”
The paparazzi went nuts, a frantic, shouting mob. Bodyguards somehow appeared out of nowhere, creating a protective bubble and moving the crowd away so that Eun-ah and Hoseok could make their way to the hotel steps. As they reached the entrance, Eun-ah could already see the guests, all elegantly dressed and moving like shadows in their masks. The air was buzzing with the quiet chatter of the rich and powerful, their faces hidden behind beautiful, elaborate disguises.
“Oh, no, we forgot our masks,” Eun-ah said, her voice a hushed panic as she looked around at the sea of masked faces.
“Nonsense,” Hoseok said, his hand still intertwined with Eun-ah’s. He didn’t even look at her, instead gesturing subtly at someone from behind. A moment later, a figure appeared with a small, sleek black suitcase. Hoseok opened it with a quiet click. “Of course, Ye-joon prepared for us.”
Inside, two masks lay nestled in dark velvet. The first was Hoseok's, a sharp, angular black mask that will cover the top half of his face, its texture like smooth obsidian, with subtle lines etched in silver that looked like fine spiderwebs. A single, sleek black feather, tipped with a hint of crimson, jutted from the side, a bold and striking detail. The second, meant for Eun-ah, was also black, but its shape was softer, more elegant, with a delicate wing-like curve at the temple. It was adorned with the same fine, silver webbing etched into the side, and a matching black feather, also tipped with crimson, rested on the opposite side. Tiny red crystals were embedded along the edge, catching the light and echoing the deep crimson of her dress. They weren't identical, but their shared motifs of the feather, the webbed pattern, and the touch of crimson clearly indicated they were a pair.
Hoseok took Eun-ah’s mask from the case. His fingers, deft and gentle, moved to tie the silken ribbon behind her head. The light touch of his hands and the unexpected intimacy of the moment made her heart flutter wildly again. He lingered for a second, his gaze soft as he made sure the fit was just right. She had to remember to make herself calm. This is part of the show, people are watching.
Eun-ah let out a small "Thanks," her voice a soft murmur as she adjusted the silken ribbons of her mask. Her eyes fell to the open suitcase, where Hoseok's mask still lay nestled in the velvet. Then, a quick thought sparked. She decided to return the gesture.
Before Hoseok could even reach for his own mask, she took it from the case with a smooth, decisive movement. She went up on her tippy-toes, even in her heels, her face now inches from his, and began to gently and softly tie the ribbons behind his head. The unexpected move caught Hoseok completely off guard; she saw a flash of surprise in his eyes as he stood completely still, letting her work.
“There, it looks great,” Eun-ah smiled, her voice a little breathless from the closeness. She met his gaze, a shy, happy feeling blooming in her chest.
Hoseok’s eyes flickered, just for a second, to the side, a flash of something unreadable there before it was gone. “Thank you” he said, voice laced with honey. Then, his hand reached out, taking hers gently and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand, a soft, deliberate press that sent a jolt right up her arm. As he did, he looked up at her from under the mask, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face.
Is he fucking crazy? Eun-ah’s mind screamed, but her composure didn't waver, at least not outwardly. Was this really necessary? A fierce heat started to creep up her neck, her ears, and across her cheeks. If she wasn’t wearing this mask, he would have been able to see how completely red she was. He didn't let go of her hand, hovering in the moment and holding her gaze with an intense, unwavering eye contact. It was like he was a completely different person in this mask. Like hiding his face finally left him free to not hide anything else?
“Uhm—” Eun-ah muttered, the word almost a gasp. She felt like she might implode at any moment from the pressure of his presence.
“Ah, look at these lovebirds,” a familiar, booming voice said, cutting through the moment. Eun-ah instantly recognized it as the Director from Hoseok’s morning meeting. Ah, so this is why, she thought, a cold pang of disappointment blooming in her chest.
This is all for the cameras. All for show. Wait, why am I disappointed?
She quickly pushed the thought away, sighing softly as she subtly adjusted her mask, the delicate weight of it grounding her. Of course, all of this is for show.
“Director,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth, polite tone. He gently guided her hand to her back, his warm palm a sudden, solid presence against her cold skin. He ushered her forward with the lightest pressure as they both bowed deeply for the old man.
“Ah, no need for formalities,” the Director chuckled, waving a dismissive hand.
“I believe you haven’t met my wife yet,” Hoseok said, his hand still resting on her back, a possessive, grounding weight. He gestured to her with a subtle shift of his body. “This is Yoo, Eun-ah. The granddaughter of Vice President Yoo.”
Eun-ah gave another small, polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Director,” she said, her voice composed and steady, a practiced tone of respect. It was a small miracle, she thought, that she managed to sound so calm, considering his hand on her back was making her scream internally.
“Of course, of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you too,” the Director smiled, reaching for Eun-ah’s hand and shaking it warmly, his grip firm and a little too long. His gaze lingered on her, a knowing twinkle in his eyes that made her feel seen and a little uncomfortable.
“Well, everyone is starting to gather inside,” he said, gesturing towards the grand ballroom doors with a flourish. The doors, made of carved mahogany and gleaming with intricate designs, were already ajar, letting a soft glow and the murmur of conversation spill out. “Make yourselves comfortable, and the party will start very, very soon.” He gave a final, hearty chuckle and then hurried along to greet other guests in the bustling lobby, his voice booming over the quiet chatter.
“Shall we?” Hoseok said, his voice a low, polite murmur as he looked ahead towards the grand ballroom doors. He extended his arm, the black cuff of his tuxedo crisp and inviting, a silent signal for her to loop hers around it.
“Alright,” Eun-ah said, her voice a little breathless as she carefully slipped her arm through his. The warmth of his arm was a surprise, a steady heat that grounded her.
As they made their way into the open ballroom, a low murmur of conversation and soft music greeted them. People of all ages, dressed in lavish gowns and sharp tuxedos, turned to greet Hoseok. He was one of the most important guests after all, being the heir to the corporation that a good half of the people here worked for. He greeted them back with a practiced ease, his smile polite and his eyes sharp. He made polite small talks, shaking hands and acknowledging each and every one of them with a calm professionalism. This was “Business Hoseok,” a man Eun-ah had only seen glimpses of before—polished, professional, and a stark contrast to the cold one she had first met, and the unpredictable, warm one he had become in the past few days.
An usherette, elegant in a simple black dress, guided them to a plush, velvet-covered seat at the front of the room, seating them in front of the stage at the very center of the action. Hoseok, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair for Eun-ah and gently guided her down.
“Thank you,” she muttered again, the words almost lost in the din of the room. As soon as they were settled, a waiter appeared as if from nowhere, placing a small tray of delicate appetizers and two flutes of champagne on their table. Hoseok took a sip of his and then, with a subtle movement, glanced down at his expensive watch. The night was just beginning.
Eun-ah felt a little out of place, a fish in a glamorous pond, but Hoseok’s steady presence next to her was a quiet anchor. His hand was no longer on her back, but she could still feel the phantom warmth of it. He took a sip of his champagne, his eyes scanning the room with a practiced, almost detached air.
The soft jazz music playing in the background was a constant, soothing hum, but it was just a backdrop to the quiet power dynamics playing out around them. Eun-ah watched a few people approach their table, their masks hiding their true expressions but not their intentions. They were all colleagues, rivals, and business partners of Hoseok’s. They offered polite greetings and subtle compliments, admiring her dress and the way she and Hoseok looked together. She gave them her most composed smile, and Hoseok handled the rest, his “business Hoseok” persona on full display—calm, professional, and a little bit unreadable.
After a few of these interactions, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, and the band on stage transitioned from soft jazz to a more dramatic, upbeat tune. After a few of these interactions, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, and a spotlight hit a handsome man in a sleek tuxedo and a feathered mask. He was the Master of Ceremonies for the night.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced, his voice smooth and clear. "Welcome to the Director's 60th birthday masquerade! To kick off the night, we have a very special performance from his beautiful granddaughter, singing his favorite song!"
A hush fell over the crowd as a young woman in a sparkly blue dress came out on stage, her mask a delicate butterfly. She had a beautiful, clear voice, and as she sang a heartfelt ballad, the whole room fell silent, mesmerized by her performance.
After her song, the music swelled, and two dancers in glittering, harlequin-style masks took to the stage, performing a daring and intricate acrobatic routine. They twisted and turned in mid-air, a flash of bright costumes and polished movements that had the guests gasping in awe. A little while later, a group of acrobats, dressed as circus performers, came out and performed a series of daredevil stunts that left the audience clapping and cheering.
Finally, after the last thrilling act, the MC came back on stage, a broad smile on his face. "What a night, everyone! And now, for a very special toast from a few of the Director's closest friends and colleagues. First, we have..."
A few people came up to the stage, one after the other, giving heartfelt speeches and raising their glasses in toast to the Director. Finally, the MC turned to Hoseok's table. "And to cap it all off, we have the JuYo Corp’s upcoming President, also a member of one of the Biggest band in the world, BTS, let us give an applause for Mr. Jung Hoseok"
A spotlight immediately swung to Hoseok and Eun-ah's table. Hoseok stood up gracefully, a polite smile on his face, and walked to the stage to give his toast.
He stood behind the podium, adjusted the microphone, and looked out at the sea of masked faces.
“Thank you,” he said to the MC, “It’s truly an honor to be a guest at such a monumental occasion with all of you.” his voice clear and even, filling the large ballroom.
He paused, his gaze finding the Director in the front row. “The Director is more than just a leader of this company; he is its foundation. His vision and dedication have helped built this corporation into the powerhouse it is today. He has been a mentor, a guide, and a relentless force of innovation for us at JuYo Corporation.”
Hoseok’s voice softened slightly, a more personal note entering his tone. “I’ve had the privilege of knowing the Director since I was a child. He was there to watch me grow, to help guide me, and to teach me the importance of hard work and integrity. He is a person of great character, and a man I am deeply proud to call my friend.”
He then raised his glass, his smile returning. “So let’s all raise a glass to a man who has given so much to this company and to us all. To the Director, and to many more years of health and happiness. Cheers!”
Hoseok was greeted with a thunderous wave of applause. He gave a polite, practiced bow to the crowd and stepped off the stage, making his way directly to the Director’s table. The Director was already standing, a wide smile on his face, ready to offer a firm handshake. Instead, the older man threw his arms open and pulled Hoseok into a warm, fatherly hug, patting him on the back. It was a genuine show of affection that broke through the formal facade of the night.
Just as they pulled apart, the MC's voice boomed over the speakers again. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for happy hour! The bar will be open until midnight, and our dance floor is officially ready to go!” The band on stage shifted from the upbeat anthem to a softer jazz tune, and the room’s energy immediately loosened.
Hoseok, however, was quickly cornered. People swarmed him, engaging him in serious, low-toned conversations about stocks, business, and corporate matters. Eun-ah was left at the table, quietly observing the new scene. She watched him from a distance, seeing the way he nodded, his face a mask of polite focus. She took a sip of her champagne, feeling like a quiet island in the middle of a bustling sea.
“Mind if I sit with you?” a voice said, low and smooth, cutting through the din.
Eun-ah looked up to see a tall man standing beside her. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a simple black mask, no intricate designs or feathers, just a clean, sharp shape that somehow gave him an unmistakable aura of quiet confidence.
“Sure—you can go ahead,” Eun-ah replied, her voice a little hushed. She squinted her eyes slightly, a playful, questioning look on her face. It might have been the champagne or the mask, but his face looked familiar. Was this...?
The figure took a seat beside her, the plush velvet of the chair sinking under his weight.
“Kyu?” she asked, a soft hesitation in her voice.
In the corner where Hoseok was standing, his polite demeanor instantly cracked. His conversation came to an abrupt halt, his head turning to stare intently at the table where Eun-ah was now sitting with a stranger.
“You got me,” Kyu said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “And here I thought I could keep the mystery going for a little while.”
Eun-ah’s nervousness instantly faded, replaced by a wave of relief and the familiar comfort of a friendly face.
"I never thought I’d bump into you here,” Eun-ah said, her voice a little hushed. Her gaze flickered over to where Hoseok was standing, his back to her as he was now deep in conversation with a group of older men. He was still the perfect businessman, but he was also very far away.
“Well, I always seem to find you when it matters,” Kyu said, his voice a low, smooth murmur. He gestured to a passing waiter, who placed a fresh drink in front of him.
Eun-ah let out a soft laugh, a small, quiet sound that didn't quite reach her eyes. “What do you mean by that?” she said, taking another sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose.
“Well,” Kyu leaned in just a little, his eyes behind the mask holding a knowing glint. “You’re here, again… alone.” He gestured vaguely with his hand towards the bustling room. “Just like at the bar, that one time. Alone and hurt. And now… alone, and cast aside for the kind of politeness that always seems to come first.” His words were gentle, but the meaning hit her like a punch to the gut.
It didn't actually hurt her to be alone; not in the way Kyu seemed to think. It was just a reality of the situation. Hoseok was just being his polite self. This was, after all, the heir to the company, the man who would soon be its president. She was just playing her part, and so was he.
"Don't be like that," Eun-ah said, her voice softer than she intended. She pushed the last cherry on her plate around with her fork, the small, circular motion a nervous habit. "He's the upcoming president; he's got to do those things." She said the words with a tone of quiet certainty, almost believing what she was saying herself.
"So you're saying..." Kyu said, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips as he took a slow sip of his whiskey. The dark liquid in the glass glinted under the ballroom lights. "That if he didn't have the need to talk to a lot of people tonight, he would be sitting here with you having a conversation?" He let out a low chuckle, a sound filled with bitter amusement. "In what universe would Jung Hoseok be like that?"
“In this universe,” Hoseok’s voice cut in, sharp and low, a clear sound that sliced through the noisy ballroom and landed squarely between them. He was standing right behind Eun-ah’s chair, his posture rigid and his tuxedo looking even crisper than before.
He moved to stand beside her, his gaze falling coolly on Kyu. “I see you found my wife, yet again.” The words were polite on the surface, but the underlying tone was a direct challenge.
Kyu, ever the picture of grace, stood up to offer a handshake. “Ah, hyung,” he began, a charming smile on his face.
But Hoseok didn’t even look at the offered hand. Instead, his gaze was fixed solely on Eun-ah. He reached down and took her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers in a grip that was firm and possessive, a stark contrast to the soft touch he’d given her moments earlier.
“Let’s go. We’re leaving.” His voice was cold, a command that left no room for argument. Eun-ah’s breath hitched in her throat. Kyu’s smile faltered, a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he watched the scene unfold.
Just as Hoseok took a step to leave, Kyu spoke up, his voice a low, sly whisper that was barely audible over the music. “Now don’t make a scene here,” he said, a smug smile playing on his lips. “What will people think of you, Mr. President?”
Hoseok stopped cold, his posture straightening completely. He slowly turned to face Kyu, his features softening just enough to look calm, but his eyes were like chips of ice. “I don’t think you’re even worth the time to be making a scene for,” he said, his voice a quiet, chilling calm that was more menacing than any shout.
“Oppa,” Eun-ah said softly, a small, worried sound that was meant only for him. She tugged gently on his arm, a silent plea for him to let it go. She knew he was calm, but she also knew he wasn't having it.
“Ouch,” Kyu said, a wider smile spreading across his face as his dimples showed. He seemed to be enjoying the entire exchange. “You’re getting good at your comebacks, hyung.”
Hoseok didn’t say anything. He was a hard, unmoving wall of muscle and silent rage.
“Oppa, let’s go,” Eun-ah said again, her voice a soft, urgent whisper that only he could hear. She tugged on his hand, her fingers pressing into his, but his grip was unmoving, hard as granite. He was an immovable object, and she was stuck in the middle, caught between his cold fury and Kyu’s playful cruelty.
“What, cat got your tongue, hyung?” Kyu said, still smiling, the dimples in his cheeks a sharp contrast to the venom in his voice. “And here I thought you were getting smarter”. On the outside, they looked like two long-lost cousins catching up, a casual chat in the middle of a high-class party. But on the inside, Eun-ah knew Hoseok was a hair’s breadth from losing control, from busting Kyu’s face open right there.
“Stay away from my wife,” Hoseok finally said, his voice low and tight, a cold steel that sliced through the air. The words weren't a request; they were a command, delivered without a single flicker of emotion on his face.
“Well, then keep her in your sight, hyung,” Kyu said, his eyes a sharp, challenging glint behind his mask. He then leaned back and took a casual seat again, a gesture of pure arrogance. “You always seem to cast her aside, don't you? right, Eun-ah?”
The blood drained from Eun-ah’s face. “I never said anything like that,” she said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it a whisper. What is he doing? Why is he trying to start a fight? The polite mask on her face felt like it was about to crack.
Hoseok’s grip on Eun-ah’s hand tightened, his anger a quiet force that made her wince a bit. She felt a flash of pain, but she didn’t pull away, her other hand now gently tapping on his arm.
“Stop stirring the pot,” Hoseok said, his voice dangerously calm. “You’re not taking my wife from me.”
“Well, that’s not something you get to decide on,” Kyu said, his gaze now landing on Eun-ah, a direct and unnerving challenge to her.
“Okay, we’ll go now,” Eun-ah said, her voice now back to a soft, calming whisper. She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on, Oppa. Let's not do it here,” she pleaded, her voice a subtle mix of fear and desperation, her hands working to pull him away from the conflict.
"My, this is painful to watch," Kyu said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. He then pulled out his phone, a smirk on his face as he feigned a sudden lack of interest. "By all means, feel free to go. Do you need me to dismiss you?"
Instead of leaving, Hoseok just smiled. He leaned in just a bit, his body a silent, imposing wall in front of Kyu. His face, still set in that polite smile, was a sharp contrast to the cold fury in his eyes.
"Let this be your final warning," he said, his voice dangerously low, a promise and a threat all in one. Eun-ah felt a shiver run down her spine. The smile on his face didn’t match the malice in his voice, and it was that contradiction that was truly terrifying. "Never approach my wife again, or else..." He trailed off, the implicit threat hanging in the air. A few nearby guests were starting to turn, their curiosity piqued by the hushed tension.
"Or else what?" Kyu challenged, his smile growing. He looked directly at Hoseok, his gaze unwavering. "I'll take her from you, even if that's the last thing I do."
"As if I would let you," Hoseok said, his own smile now looking just as dangerous as his words. He straightened his tux, his movements sharp and controlled, and with a swift motion, he spun and pulled Eun-ah with him, his grip on her hand now a firm reassurance. He moved with a practiced elegance, as if the tense confrontation had never happened.
But before they could take a second step, a loud, cheerful voice cut through the air.
"Oh, but be on the lookout , Director Jung! The plan is already in motion!" Kyu shouted from across the room.
Hoseok froze mid-step, his body going rigid. The smile on his face didn't waver, but his eyes were now a burning fire. He slowly turned his head to look at Kyu, a silent challenge in his eyes.
"Thank you for the heads up, Director," Hoseok said, his voice cold and even as he used the same title against Kyu. “As they say, don’t let them know your next move” He then turned back to Eun-ah, his composure completely restored, and walked out of the ballroom.
***
The cold weather outside was a sharp contrast to the furious heat inside the ballroom. Eun-ah shivered as they stepped out into the night air, which felt a little too sharp against her bare skin. The limousine was waiting up front, its polished surface gleaming in the dark. The driver opened the door, and Eun-ah climbed in first, her heart hammering against her ribs, and Hoseok followed, the door shutting with a heavy finality.
"Drive," Hoseok said, his voice a low, hard command that held no room for argument. The anger radiating from him was a tangible force, a suffocating heat in the small, confined space. Eun-ah knew this was going to be a long, painful conversation when they finally got home.
The drive was a long, excruciatingly awkward and tension-filled ride. Hoseok didn't speak a single word. His hands were clenched on his knees, his knuckles white, and he just rested his back on the cold leather of the car. His head was turned, his gaze fixed on the city lights that blurred past them, but Eun-ah knew he wasn't really seeing them. Eun-ah, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting in her seat. She had long taken off her mask, but she wished she hadn’t, as worry was etched all over her face.
As the limousine finally stopped at their villa, the moment the car was in park, Hoseok stormed out first. Eun-ah scrambled to follow. "Wait, Oppa!" she shouted, the words barely escaping her lips before she was out of the car. She let the door shut with a loud click behind her as she followed quickly behind. Hoseok didn't stop. He made his way from the foyer to their bedroom, his footsteps heavy and furious. Inside the room, he threw his jacket to the floor, flipped the small coffee table with a violent sweep of his arm, and trashed the bed, the pillows flying everywhere.
“Fuck!” he shouted, the sound of his rage echoing in the silent house. He stopped, his shoulders heaving, and sat heavily at the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.
Eun-ah winced with every violent movement, her body flinching instinctively. She stood frozen at the door of the bedroom, a mix of fear and concern swirling inside her. “Oppa,” she said, her voice small and tentative as she took a tentative step toward him. She reached out, trying to touch his shoulder.
“Don’t,” Hoseok said, his voice muffled by his hands. He raised his head slightly, and his eyes, dark and full of a terrible pain, met hers. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.
“Oppa, I—” Eun-ah began, but he cut her off, standing up and closing the distance between them in a flash.
“So that’s what you think? That I cast you aside? Is that it, huh?” he said, his voice almost a whisper now, not in anger, but in something far more devastating. There was a hurt in his eyes that made her breath catch.
“I didn’t say any of those things,” Eun-ah whispered, shaking her head.
“Of course you didn't,” Hoseok said, his voice now rising as he moved toward her, pinning her to the wall with his hands on grabbing her wrist. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Of course you wouldn’t!” he scowled, his eyes dark with a wild, possessive intensity.
“I didn't say those, I wouldn’t say those!” Eun-ah shouted back, her own fear turning to a hot, defensive anger. The familiar fear of this volatile, cold side of him came rushing back. This is why she left in the first place. “Oppa, you’re hurting me!” she cried out, her voice cracking as she winced from the bruising grip he had on her wrist.
It happened in an instant, but it felt like time cracked open.
Her voice. Her flinch. The way her brows drew together not in anger but in hurt.
As if someone had dumped cold water over him, Hoseok snapped back to himself. His entire expression shifted, gone was the burning fury etched in every tense line of his face. What replaced it was raw and immediate: regret. It flooded his features all at once, draining the color from his cheeks, softening the hard set of his jaw. His breath caught, eyes widening like he was only just realizing what he’d done.
He looked down at his hand, still wrapped around her wrist, and his fingers unclenched as if they suddenly belonged to a stranger. He released her instantly. The warmth of his grip still clung to her skin, though the pain had begun to fade. She didn’t pull away, but the weight of what had just occurred hung in the space between them like a storm that had passed but left everything broken.
Hoseok’s hands dropped to his sides, but not carelessly, they hovered for a moment in midair, trembling slightly before settling uselessly against his thighs. His shoulders sagged, barely, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he were struggling to keep himself from falling apart entirely.
But he didn’t turn away. He didn’t retreat.
He stood rooted in front of her, eyes locked onto hers, the fire in them dimmed but not gone—replaced instead by something more vulnerable, almost childlike. His gaze searched her face with desperate precision, as though trying to read a language he’d forgotten. There was a silent plea in his eyes: Tell me you don’t think of those things. Tell me i’m not making you feel lonely. As if these things matter to him now. As if her feelings have some effect on him now.
She took a shaky step toward him.
“Oppa,” she murmured, her voice so soft it barely registered against the silence, yet it hit him harder than a slap. Her hand lifted, slow, deliberate, and she touched his cheek—hesitant at first, fingers grazing lightly over the skin, before her palm settled fully against him.
His eyes fluttered closed for just a second, his breath shuddering out of him. He leaned into her touch, nuzzling his face into the warmth of her hand like a man starved for comfort. Her skin was warm, and his felt cool against it—as if he’d been standing in the cold and hadn’t even realized.
Then he looked down, eyes cast toward the floor, no longer able to hold her gaze. His pride unraveled. Every inch of him screamed restraint, but underneath it was a man on the edge.
“I would never say that,” she whispered, voice cracking under the emotion caught in her throat. “Do you believe me?”
His response was subtle, just a small nod. Barely a movement. But it carried weight.
“Good,” she breathed, swallowing thickly. “Good.”
The air between them shifted again… still heavy, but now humming with something else entirely. Something electric and charged. His head lifted slowly, and when their eyes met, something passed between them. An understanding. A question. A need.
His gaze dropped, not quickly, but with intent, lingering on her mouth, watching the way her lips parted slightly as she exhaled. He looked back into her eyes, asking for something he couldn’t say aloud.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was careful—so careful. A tender press of lips that trembled at the edges, full of apology and longing. But even that gentle contact unraveled something inside both of them.
Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, fists tightening as if trying to ground herself, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies. The kiss deepened, urgency threading into it, desire blooming like wildfire under their skin. He groaned softly into her mouth, and that sound undid her.
His fingers slid down her back, finding the zipper of her dress, and with one slow tug, he began peeling it away from her shoulders. She gasped softly as the fabric slipped down, the cool air kissing her skin just before his hands replaced it with warmth.
Her fingers fumbled at his buttons, frantic, impatient. They weren’t thinking anymore. They were feeling. Moving. Consumed.
His shirt came off, her dress fell away, and then, without a word, he lifted her into his arms. She clung to him instinctively, legs wrapping around his waist, her cheek brushing his shoulder as he carried her toward the bed. Each step felt like a heartbeat, steady and full of anticipation.
He laid her down with reverence, eyes drinking in every inch of her like she was something sacred. His lips followed, pressing softly against her neck, down the slope of her collarbone, across the swell of her chest. Each kiss was a question, each gasp from her lips an answer.
Her back arched with every touch, body quivering beneath his, her breath catching in her throat again and again. His hands explored with maddening slowness, memorizing the curve of her hips, the softness of her thighs, the shape of her ribs beneath his palms. She reached for him, tracing her fingers down his back, nails grazing lightly along his spine, and he shuddered under the contact.
His hips pressed into hers, and even through the barrier of clothes, the friction sent sparks dancing across her nerves. She felt him, hard, needing, trembling just like she was.
Then his hand slid lower, past her waistband, parting her gently. Her breath hitched, her entire body stilling as his fingers found her heat, he found how wet she was for him. He found out what she was holding back.
She bit his lip to keep from crying out.
He played her like he knew exactly how, fingers teasing, stroking, coaxing moans from her lips that made his own breath grow ragged. Then, slowly, cautiously, he pushed a finger in.
She gasped.
Her whole body tensed, and his eyes snapped to hers. “It’s…” he whispered, pulling back just slightly. “Is it your first time?”
Eun-ah hesitated for only a second, then gave a shy nod, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and want.
His expression softened instantly. He leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. Low, almost a growl. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
And somehow, those words made her want him even more.
He moved slowly, carefully, his touch reverent. He treated her like something precious, his every motion guided by instinct and restraint. One finger became two. Gentle turned into rhythm. Her head tipped back against the pillow, her hands clawing at the sheets, trying to stay grounded. But she was slipping—drowning in a sea of heat and friction and unbearable closeness.
His mouth found hers again, and she kissed him back with everything she had, hips tilting upward to meet his every motion, chasing the feeling that kept pulling her further under.
Ring, ring.
The sound shattered the silence.
Hoseok froze, breath caught between kisses, hand still working her slowly. Her nails dug into his back.
“Don’t… don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice thick and pleading.
He hesitated, torn between instinct and responsibility. But the way she pleaded made him feral, he completely ignored a call. Something he never does. Until…
Ring, ring.
Only one person would call twice like that.
With a frustrated growl, he reached for his phone. “Ye-joon, this better be urgent,” he said, his voice strained, one hand still teasing her, making her buck under him.
He mouthed the words ‘ be quiet’ , but it was already too late—her body was trembling, on the edge of something she couldn’t name.
Then his voice changed.
“What?” Hoseok asked, his hand going still.
Eun-ah opened her eyes. His entire face had shifted, passion replaced by something sharp and serious. Fear.
“What is it?” she asked quickly, sitting up, covering herself with the blanket, the air suddenly cold.
He didn’t answer right away. He just nodded into the phone, and when he hung up, his face was unreadable.
“What is it?” she repeated, her voice rising this time.
Hoseok raked a hand through his hair, chest heaving. “Get dressed,” he said, voice low and heavy.
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s Grandpa,” he said, jaw tight. “He’s been hospitalized.”
Notes:
👀🤭
Chapter 29: Chapter 29
Chapter Text
Eun-ah scrambled for the first hoodie she could grab, pulling it on over her bare skin. It was Hoseok’s, thick and heavy, smelling faintly of his cologne and the salt of the sea. They ignored the clothes they’d arrived in—the beautiful, ruined gown and the tuxedo that lay in a heap on the floor—and only took what they needed, rushing out of the bedroom and toward the door. Hoseok was already at the wheel, starting the engine of his car before he could even settle fully in the driver's seat. Eun-ah, just as fast, yanked her seatbelt across her body, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at her muscles. The subtle soreness was a sharp, physical reminder of the heat and passion they’d shared just moments before, a jarring contrast to the cold fear now gripping her.
“Did he say why?” Eun-ah said, her voice tight, gripping her seatbelt as Hoseok peeled away from the villa’s curb, tires squealing in protest. The serene night-time streets of Jeju were a blur of colors.
“He didn't. He got called in the middle of our conversation,” Hoseok said, his eyes focused and sharp, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle in his cheek twitched. “I could hear faint shouting in the background. I think it was Noona.” The words seemed to catch in his throat, and his face became grim, a cold mask of dread.
Eun-ah’s mind raced. Should she text Jiwoo now to find out what was happening? Should she call? The thoughts were a frantic jumble in her head. She hadn't even begun to process what had happened in the bedroom, but here they were, rushing to the airport at record speed, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin as a stark reminder of the world they had been in just before this one came crashing down.
Hoseok almost drifted on the runway, the lone jet waiting for them like a silent, metal predator. He hopped off, the car's engine still running, and tossed the key to one of the personnel waiting for them there.
“Do you have news?” he demanded, his voice a sharp command as he hurried up the jet's stairs, Eun-ah trailing right after him, her feet pounding on the metal steps.
“Not yet, sir. We haven’t been able to contact Ye-joon,” one of the guards said, his face shadowed with concern. Hoseok’s face darkened again, the last shred of his composure slipping away.
“Should we call someone else?” Eun-ah asked, her voice small, pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie.
Hoseok shook his head. “I don’t think anyone else would be of help right now. If Ye-joon is unreachable, that means something is seriously wrong.” He slipped into one of the plush seats in the private plane, the leather cool against his skin. Eun-ah instinctively sat beside him, the silent gesture of solidarity the only comfort she could offer.
“I’m sure everything is okay,” Eun-ah said, her hand reaching out to caress his arm. It stiffened at her touch, but he didn't pull away, a silent acceptance of her support.
“I hope so,” he whispered, his eyes closing for a brief moment as the weight of the world settled on his shoulders.
On the airplane, time stretched into an endless, agonizing hour. Hoseok never stopped checking his phone, his thumb a blur as he kept dialing Ye-joon's number, only to be met with the sterile chime of a busy line. On the other side of the small, private cabin, Eun-ah was doing the same, her call to Jiwoo going unanswered. Both of them were alone in their worry, their usual support systems overseas and unreachable. The air was thick with their shared anxiety, a palpable silence that made every minute feel like ten.
When the plane finally touched down, the landing was barely a bump. Hoseok peeled out of his seat the moment the wheels hit the tarmac, almost dashing to the jet doors. Below, a driver was already waiting. They hurried inside the car, and the engine roared to life, a frantic soundtrack to their fears as they sped toward the hospital.
They reached the hospital in record time. As they burst into the sterile, brightly lit emergency room, they saw Jiwoo slumped in one of the waiting chairs, her posture radiating exhaustion and terror. When she looked up and saw Hoseok, her face crumpled, and she launched herself into a bone-crushing hug.
"What happened? Where's Grandpa?" Hoseok asked, his voice tight, looking at his older sister. There were dried tears streaking her face, and her body was trembling against him.
"He's in there," she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder. "He complained of chest pains, and the maids found him collapsed on the bathroom floor after being missing for a few minutes. Ye-joon is still trying to contact his doctor, who's in Zurich." The horror in her eyes was vivid, unfiltered.
Eun-ah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, worry etched on her face. "Unnie, oh no," she said, reaching for Jiwoo to pull her into a gentle, comforting hug.
"Jung?" a doctor's voice called out from the emergency room.
Hoseok's head snapped up. He shot up and walked toward the doctor, Jiwoo still trembling in Eun-ah's arms. "That's us. How is my grandfather?"
The doctor, a man with a kind smile and a slightly rumpled white coat, swung the curtain aside to reveal the chairman of the Jung corporation. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a blanket over his legs, looking away like he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Everything is perfectly fine," the doctor said, looking back at his chart with a casual air. "He just had a severe indigestion, hence why he thought he was having chest pains. Everything's on a normal level; heart is functioning well. Although," the doctor looked back and winked at the chairman, who pointedly refused to make eye contact, "he needs to watch his cholesterol."
Hoseok's mouth fell open, his eyes twitching. "I'm sorry, what? An indigestion?" he blurted out, the question a mix of disbelief and utter bewilderment. Jiwoo and Eun-ah's mouths dropped in unison, their horror-struck expressions instantly replaced by shock.
"Yes. I believe he told me he had one too many of those spicy mandus," the doctor explained, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Hoseok’s eyes visibly twitched again. He ran a hand over his face, a slow, deliberate motion that was a mixture of utter disbelief and mounting fury. "Thank you, doctor," he managed to choke out, and with that, the doctor left, leaving them to deal with his grandfather, who was now expertly avoiding their gaze.
"Ya!" Jiwoo shrieked, her voice echoing in the small curtained area. All the fear of the last hour turned to pure, unadulterated rage. "You told me you were dying!" she said, stomping her foot like a petulant child.
Hoseok, his hands now running through his hair in exasperation, just shook his head. "You seriously had us fly back from Jeju... for... this?" he said, his voice a low, strangled gasp.
The old man finally grumbled, his voice a stubborn, raspy tone. He adjusted the blanket over his legs, still refusing to make eye contact with any of them. “I wasn’t kidding, I thought I was dying! My chest felt like it was going to explode. You think I’d go through all this trouble just for a little stomach ache?” He finally looked up at them, his eyes narrowed into a defiant glare. “And look at you, acting like such ungrateful brats. You should be happy I’m okay! You’re acting like I interrupted something important.”
A wave of heat rushed to Eun-ah's cheeks. She instinctively took a step back, her gaze falling to the sterile hospital floor. The memory of Hoseok's hands on her waist, the urgent pleading in her voice—it all came rushing back in vivid, embarrassing detail. She could feel a blush spreading across her face, hot and undeniable.
Hoseok just stood there, speechless. His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand over his hair again, a gesture of pure, unadulterated exasperation.
Jiwoo, however, was not speechless. "Something important?!" she shrieked, her voice high with disbelief. "Do you have any idea what I’ve been through tonight?! You called me in a panic, and I've been waiting here for two hours thinking you were dying!"
The old man simply huffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Is anything more important than your grandfather’s health? Now, can you get me a proper meal? They only have bland porridge here. It's a disgrace!”
Eun-ah, despite her embarrassment, couldn't help but let out a soft, little chuckle. The sound was quiet, almost lost in the sterile room, but it was enough to break the suffocating tension. It was so silly. The chaos, the panic, the absurd reason for it all—it was a farce. And seeing the three of them, the heir, the director of PR, and the formidable chairman of the JuYo Corporation, arguing over spicy mandus and misplaced pride, felt incredibly, wonderfully normal.
She hadn't realized how much she had needed this. The family she had been brought into had always felt like an impenetrable fortress of power and secrets. But in this moment, they were just a family, flawed and dramatic and utterly human.
Hoseok and Jiwoo both turned to look at her, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. The righteous fury in Jiwoo's eyes softened, and Hoseok's tense shoulders relaxed just a fraction. For a moment, her quiet laughter was all that filled the room, a gentle reminder that for all their power and wealth, they were still just people.
***
"Sorry to drag you into that silly mess," Hoseok said, his voice low and tired, as he turned a corner leading into the quieter, residential area of their Seoul estate. His hands gripped the steering wheel, and he didn't take his eyes off the road, but the apology in his tone was clear. "Grandpa can be dramatic, but of course, with his age, we have to take it seriously, always."
"No, no," Eun-ah said softly, her head resting against the cool window. She watched the early morning light filter through the city's waking streets, the gentle hum of the car engine a comforting sound. "I find it very adorable, actually." She let out a little chuckle, a quiet, warm sound in the car. "He's just like a normal grandpa."
“What do you mean? He is a normal grandpa. Very stubborn” Hoseok almost chuckled.
“Well he always had this fierce aura surrounding him… but now he’s just, you know, a silly old man” Eun-ah giggled and hugged her knees, still resting her head on the cold window of the car.
Hoseok glanced at her for a brief second, a small, unreadable expression on his face before he turned his attention back to the road. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. After the frantic, silent ride to the hospital, this slow drive home felt like a gentle exhale, a chance to breathe again. Her words, so simple and sincere, were a quiet balm on his frayed nerves.
Hoseok pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel near the front steps of the sprawling house. It had been two weeks since she’d been home in this house, and Eun-ah felt a deep, embarrassing flush creep up her neck. She had run away, left them behind, and now she had to face the staff who had been there for her. Her hands trembled slightly, hovering over the door handle, unable to bring herself to open it.
“What are you doing?” Hoseok’s low voice broke her thoughts. He was towering behind her, his warmth a familiar presence. “Let’s go in. It’s cold.”
“Right,” she whispered, twisting the heavy knob of the double doors. She’d forgotten just how heavy they were. She struggled for a moment before Hoseok placed his hand over hers, pushing with her. His warmth was a comforting weight on her back, guiding her forward.
As soon as they stepped inside, the foyer, with its high ceilings and polished floors, felt like a comforting embrace. The warm light and the familiar, faint scent of wood and flowers made her feel a little calmer.
“Ms. Eun-ah?” It was Chun-hei who saw her first. The older woman's face broke into a wide, relieved smile it was almost morning but everyone was still awake, maybe from the news of Hoseok’s grandfather in the hospital. “Omo, welcome back!” she gushed, hurrying over to them.
Then Ms. Jang popped into view as well, her usual composed demeanor gone, replaced by a genuine sense of relief. “Ms. Eun-ah,” she said, her old self walking toward her and taking her hand gently. “I was so scared you would not come back.”
“I’m sorry if I made you worry,” Eun-ah said softly, her heart aching at their sincerity. “I’m home now. I won’t be running away again.” She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. The embarrassment she had been feeling evaporated completely as every assistant in the house came out to greet her. This was her house, too, and she realized she didn’t have to be embarrassed at all.
Hoseok, meanwhile, had dragged himself upstairs, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Two hospital scares, two frantic events, and two weeks of high-strung drama. The weight of it all was finally settling on him.
Eun-ah followed him with her gaze, watching him disappear up the grand staircase, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. As her eyes returned to the foyer, Ms. Jang was standing there, a warm, knowing smile on her face. She reached out and gently squeezed Eun-ah's hand, a silent gesture of welcome and understanding.
“I’m so glad you two had time to work it out,” Ms. Jang said, her voice soft and full of relief. She leaned in conspiratorially, her smile widening as if she already knew something had shifted between them in Jeju. “He drank every night, the entire time you were away. Refused to sleep in the bedroom and was only using the guest rooms.” Ms. Jang giggled like a giddy teenager, the sound a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor.
A quiet shock settled over Eun-ah. He was that affected? Her initial thought was that it was more with his pride, his ego bruised by her leaving, than with the fear of losing her. But now, hearing this, she felt her heart flutter.
“I’m glad too,” Eun-ah replied, her smile soft and sincere. She said her goodbyes to the staff, offering a small, grateful bow before following Hoseok’s path upstairs to the bedroom.
The room was quiet, but the air was humid and smelled of steam and expensive soap. The bathroom door was ajar, and she could hear the steady sound of running water. He was taking a shower. Right, she thought, a flush of heat rising on her neck. I need a shower too and a change of clothes. My body still feels like it’s humming.
She sat at the edge of the bed, staring down at her bare legs. Hoseok’s hoodie was so big it hung on her like a dress, and she fidgeted nervously with the hem. Just earlier, Hoseok’s body had been between these legs, and her own had been wrapped around his. She shooed the thought away, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. This is not the right time for this, she scolded herself. The embarrassment crept down her neck, settling into her chest.
A memory flashed in her mind—her own voice, thick and desperate, pleading with him not to stop. Oh my god, why did I say that? She buried her face in her palms, the humiliation almost physically painful.
“You idiot,” Eun-ah mumbled to herself, her voice muffled by her hands.
“Who’s the idiot?” a low, amused voice answered.
Eun-ah’s hands flew off her face, revealing Hoseok standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He was just a towel on his hips, and she could see a faint outline of his hardened state poking through the fabric. He was drying his hair with another towel, a soft, white cotton that contrasted with his tan, muscular body.
“What the hell!” she gasped, her eyes immediately darting away. “Why are you naked?!”
“What are you talking about?” he said, his voice completely deadpan as he walked to the other side of the room as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As his back was turned away from her he was parting the blinds, like inspecting the grounds for something suspicious, Eun-ah snuck a peek and saw them—small, angry red marks on his bare back. Small crescent nail marks, some long, some just faint bruises from where she had held on too tight. She felt her face heat up, a deep, scarlet blush that stained her cheeks, so she stood up and hurried into the shower.
“What the fuck,” she muttered again as she heard the bathroom door click shut, her heart fluttered uncontrollably in her chest. She stood in front of the mirror, mascara still a bit runny, her eyeliner almost completely off. She pulled the hoodie off, and in the harsh light of the bathroom, she saw them—red marks all over her collarbones and around her chest. The evidence of where he had kissed her earlier. He’d marked her, just like she’d marked him. The steam from the shower was now beginning to fog the glass, Eun-ah traced the faint red marks with her fingertips. A slow, pleasant ache throbbed beneath her skin—a phantom echo of the passion they hadn't finished.
The question, both a longing and a whisper of uncertainty, swirled in her mind:
Would it happen again?
The thought of it, of the heat and the hunger and the tenderness, was overwhelming. She turned to the shower, the hot water washing over her, but it did little to cool the blush that had settled on her face.
***
She stepped out of the bathroom and into their shared room, the towel still wrapped around her body. The air was soft with the scent of steam and soap. He was already asleep, his body sprawled across the bed, a peaceful expression on his face in the gentle glow of the lampshade beside him. His earlier tension was completely gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability. It must have been an exhausting and stressful week for him, and a wave of guilt washed over Eun-ah that she had contributed to it by running away.
She felt a new understanding of him settle in her heart. She now understood just how intense of a person Hoseok was. And this was why he was like this—so reserved, with a temper that could flare so hot, so guarded. He was protecting himself from hurt. And now she wondered, recalling the broken look on his face earlier, and the desperate way he had kissed her, was this really the start of something? Or was just getting ahead of his intensity again?
She moved closer to the bed and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. He stirred at her touch, his hand shooting up to grab hers. He didn’t open his eyes, but instead, he tucked her hand under his cheek, nuzzling it gently. He held her there, a quiet, possessive gesture that was both reassuring and completely disarming.
How cute, Eun-ah thought to herself, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips.
She pulled her hand free from his grip. "I have to get dressed," she whispered, a quiet smile playing on her lips. Hoseok's brow knitted for a moment, a brief protest in his sleep, before he fell back into a deep slumber.
Eun-ah sighed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She felt like she was now truly seeing him for who he was—not the cold businessman/idol, but a man who was afraid of being alone. She pulled the covers up to his neck, her touch gentle, and then walked to the closet, pulling on a pair of soft pajamas.
She made her way back to the bed and tucked herself in beside him, burrowing deep into the heavy duvet. The cool air in the room was comforting, and the way the tension between them had completely vanished made her heart feel calm and safe. She snuggled under the covers and grabbed the RJ plushie from the floor, tucking it close to her chest. It smelled faintly of him now, a familiar, comforting scent that lulled her to sleep.
***
Eun-ah was awoken by a faint, gentle voice in the quiet corner of the room. A soft, early morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the floor. Hoseok stood by the window, his hair a tousled mess from sleep, holding his phone to his cheek. His posture was relaxed, a quiet vulnerability in the slump of his shoulders that felt entirely new to her.
"I know I promised to be there. I'm sorry," Hoseok said gently, his voice soft with a genuine remorse that was at odds with his usual commanding tone. He paused, the silence on his end a clear sign of Ha-yeul’s small, muffled protests.
"Hyung will make it up to you. He will visit you again soon," Hoseok continued, his tone reassuring and full of a love Eun-ah hadn't often heard. "I know, don't cry. Halmeoni will get worried. I will visit soon... yes... yes, I will bring her too."
Eun-ah blinked her eyes slowly, the haze of sleep still clouding her mind. She shifted under the covers, snuggling closer to the RJ plushie that was now tucked beside her. She felt herself drift back toward sleep, her mind hazily wondering who he was talking to with such tenderness.
"Did you receive Unnie and I’s gift? It's nice, right?" He let out a low chuckle, a deep, warm sound that made her chest feel soft. "I bet you're the coolest kid in school now."
"Alright, I'll call again. Happy birthday, enjoy your party."
He clicked the phone off, and the silence that followed felt heavy with his guilt. Eun-ah sat up from the bed, still heavy with sleep. She was now sure that it was Ha-yeul.
"How is he taking it?" she asked, her voice raspy. She smoothed down the hair from her face, one eye still closed, trying to shake herself awake enough to form a proper conversation.
"Well, he's been sobbing," Hoseok said, shaking his head with a small, fond chuckle. "He's really upset with me."
"Oh, no," Eun-ah murmured, burying herself back in the covers.
"You don't have to wake up to talk to me. It's still early. Go back to sleep," Hoseok said, giving her a playful pat on her head. The casual, affectionate touch was a far cry from the cold man she'd met weeks ago.
Eun-ah just nodded, her head already sinking into the pillows again. He watched as her features softened, her jammies shifting from her sleep, her hair fanning out on the pillows. He moved to stand by the bed, just watching her. He liked how peaceful it was now. The hissing back and forth of their early days, the cold silence of their recent fight—it was all gone. They weren't just co-existing, but actually living together.
He thought back to the past days. He had seen sides of her he didn't know—He had seen the fighter she was, but also the gentle person hiding beneath. He felt his heart almost warm, a slow, unfamiliar heat spreading through his chest, a feeling that was foreign and yet completely right.
Was this what it felt like? Was this real? He didn't know. All he knew was that the walls he'd built around his heart to protect himself were crumbling, and he no longer felt the need to rebuild them. He didn't want to run away from it anymore. He wanted to see where this led, and he hoped, with a quiet, desperate fear, that she felt the same.
***
“Alright. Approved,” Hoseok said at last, his tone flat and measured as his thumb slid across the tablet screen. He leaned back into the leather chair, the springs giving a soft groan under his weight, and rested his chin lightly against his knuckles.
The room stilled.
“Sir, if you would just listen pleas-” The lead staff member froze mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. “Wait… approved?”
He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, purple shadows under his eyes, the rough scrape of unshaven stubble on his jaw. His hand dragged through his thinning hair in sheer disbelief. “A-are you sure?” His voice cracked as he glanced sideways at his two teammates, who were equally stunned, mouths parted in silent shock.
For six long months, they’d been pushing for this. Every meeting, every revision, every desperate attempt, it had always ended in rejection. And now? Just like that…
“Yes.” Hoseok’s answer came with a single, precise nod. He extended his hand without hesitation, a silent demand for the paperwork.
The man blinked hard, then scrambled to his feet. His fingers fumbled at the folder, nearly dropping it in his rush to hand it over. “I-I’m sorry, sir, we weren’t… prepared for this,” he stammered, still reeling. “We honestly thought this would go the other way.”
From his place at the side of the office, Ye-joon stayed silent, eyes flicking between his boss and the staff, his expression unreadable.
With hurried bows and murmured thanks, the three staff members all but stumbled toward the door. In the hallway beyond, the muted sound of their relief carried back into the office, quiet laughter, hands clapping shoulders, voices low but giddy, like they’d just walked out of a battlefield alive.
“So… approved , huh?” Ye-joon drawled, sauntering up to Hoseok’s desk like a detective about to crack a case. “For six whole months, you terrorized that department, rejecting, revising, shredding their hopes and dreams, only to approve it now?”
He began circling Hoseok’s desk slowly, eyes narrowed, studying him like a rare zoo exhibit. There was something… different about him today. A suspicious pep in his step. A glow that had no business being on someone who just spent the morning in back-to-back meetings.
Ye-joon stopped mid-step and tilted his head. “I’m guessing something good happened in Jeju.”
“Stop assuming things,” Hoseok replied coolly. “They finally did what I wanted. End of story. Don’t make it a drama.” He went back to scrolling through his tablet as if the conversation were beneath him.
“Oh, I see. No drama,” Ye-joon said with a knowing smirk, pulling out his phone. “Then… explain this .”
He flashed the screen, a photo of the master bedroom in Jeju.
Hoseok raised a brow. “What about it? It looks… normal. Maybe a little messy, like someone scrambled to leave because people were being overly dramatic.”
“Oh, you really don’t see it?” Ye-joon chuckled. “Right there on the floor, Eun-ah’s clothes, in a neat little heap… right in front of your clothes. Also in a heap. Almost like they were, oh I don’t know, hurriedly removed .” He wiggled his brows like an overexcited gossip auntie.
Hoseok froze for half a second, then went back to scrolling like nothing happened. “You’re reading into it too much. And stop sticking your nose into people’s private lives.”
“Private?” Ye-joon scoffed, sliding his phone back into his tux. “I’ve known you since we were seven. I. Know. Every. Inch. Of. You.”
“Stop being a creep,” Hoseok muttered, shooing him away. “Go find something useful to do before I give you actual work.”
“Fine,” Ye-joon said, smug as ever, already halfway out. “But I’m taking this as a yes .” He pulled the door shut behind him with the slow, deliberate finality of someone who thought they’d just dropped a bomb.
Hoseok rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. What nonsense. Me? Flustered? Please.
He gave a sharp, dismissive click of his tongue and spun his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, posture oozing “completely unbothered Director.”
For a glorious two seconds, the view distracted him. Seoul stretched out before him, the light bouncing off glass towers, the slow hum of the city far below. He could almost breathe.
And then…
“Don’t… don’t stop.”
The memory slammed into him like a rogue wave, her voice so clear, so breathless, he almost whipped around to check if she was standing behind him.
“Seriously?!” he hissed under his breath, snapping his eyes shut. “Now? In the middle of the day? With reports waiting?”
He gripped the armrests, trying to anchor himself to reality. Okay. Not a big deal. It’s just a memory. Totally normal. I’m an adult. I can handle this.
…
Except now his mind was filling in the rest—her hand curling into his back, the soft catch of her breath, the heat in her gaze…
“Oh, for crying out loud!” he muttered, whipping his chair back toward the desk like spinning away could physically fling the memory out of his skull.
He grabbed his tablet with the desperation of a drowning man clutching a life preserver. “Work,” he said to himself. “Focus on work. Numbers. Spreadsheets. The quarterly financial summary, yes, perfect. Completely unsexy.”
He scrolled furiously, nodding at meaningless graphs, pretending to absorb them.
…
Still there.
And it’s growing .
Hoseok froze, eyes narrowing at the tablet in front of him like it had just personally betrayed him. No. Absolutely not. We are NOT doing this right now.
He sat up straighter, adjusted his tie, even cleared his throat as if sheer professionalism could smother the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Okay… okay. Calm. Focus.”
But of course, his brain, ever the sadistic little gremlin, replayed the memory again, except closer this time. The way her voice cracked on the last word. The arch of her back. The way his name had rolled off her lips like it belonged there.
“Seriously?!” he barked at no one, slamming the tablet down. “This is harassment. I’m harassing myself.”
He pushed back from his desk, pacing behind the chair like movement could physically shake the thought loose. He even tried thinking of random unsexy things, tax audits, moldy bread, his uncle’s old fishing stories, but nope, the image stubbornly clung to him like static.
He stopped mid-stride, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. Fantastic. Now I’m that guy, standing in my office, thinking about last night like a hormonal teenager.”
His phone buzzed on the desk, making him jump. He eyed it warily, half expecting Ye‑joon’s smug face to pop up again. Because if that man called right now, he’d know instantly. And Hoseok… well, Hoseok might actually commit a crime.
***
By 3 P.M., Hoseok was done . The four walls of his office had felt like a sauna all day—not because of the heating, but because certain memories refused to pack up and leave. They’d clung to him from morning meetings to lunch breaks, suffocating every sane thought he tried to have.
It was practice time now. Perfect. He’d missed most of it while in Jeju—trying, in his own clumsy way, to make amends with his wife. Nothing like a good ol’ sweat session to burn off the… heat .
He stepped into the practice room, grateful for the loud music and familiar scent of the place.
“Hobi hyung!” Jimin’s voice rang out as he bounded over, wrapping him in a hug that was entirely too warm for Hoseok’s current state. “I missed you!”
But then Jimin froze, pulled back just enough to scan Hoseok’s face, and grinned like a man who’d just smelled gossip. “Ooooh… someone’s happy to see me.”
“It’s just cold,” Hoseok deadpanned, shoving him away with a little too much urgency.
From the sofa in the corner, Taehyung’s head popped up like a meerkat. “Who’s happy to see who?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity and mischief.
“This hyung right here,” Jimin announced like a news anchor breaking a scandal, “has a hard-on .” He wiggled his eyebrows so much it was a miracle they didn’t fly off his face. “What? Were you watching porn? Is that why you were late?”
Hoseok’s head snapped toward him. “What are you, five?” he shot back, swatting him away like an irritating little brother.
Completely unbothered, Jimin just grinned wider.
Hoseok rolled his eyes, slung his bag onto the table with a loud thud , and strode over to the chair near the TV. He busied himself with the stack of practice CDs, flipping through the ones labeled “practice” like they were his only lifeline in this cursed conversation.
But he could feel it, the weight of Jimin’s smug stare, the quiet rustling of Taehyung turning over on the sofa just to watch the drama unfold.
“Alright, where are the others? Practice in five,” Hoseok called out, scanning the room as if the members might magically appear from behind the speakers. But the space stayed stubbornly empty.
“Oh, they went to grab a few water bottles,” Jimin replied casually, leaning back on his hands. “They should’ve been back by now.”
Then, with that sly, cat‑like smile that always meant trouble, he added, “But seriously, hyung… something good happen in Jeju?”
Hoseok stiffened, fumbling with the remote in his hand.
“Come on,” Jimin pressed, his tone now pure mischief. “Tell us all about your little beach escape with Eun‑ah. God, I miss her.”
From the sofa, Taehyung propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes lighting with interest. “Oh yeah,” he chimed in innocently, “I saw a lot of nice pictures on Eun‑ah’s SNS.”
He let the sentence hang there for maximum effect, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “She looked… happy.”
Jimin’s head whipped toward Hoseok, already smelling blood in the water. “Ohhh, hyung. Do tell.”
“You can ask her yourselves,” Hoseok said, dropping the conversation like a hot potato as he started warming up. The familiar stretch of his muscles was oddly soothing—every pull and bend working like sandpaper on the irritation buzzing in his head. Honestly, the annoyance was helping.
And right on cue, the door swung open.
“Hoba!” Jin called the moment he stepped inside, his voice carrying like a megaphone. “Did you bring me souvenirs?” He patted Hoseok’s back with a grin that said he expected at least three.
“Hyung, you’re already stretching?” RM asked, setting the water bottles and a bag of snacks down on the table.
Jungkook walked in with Yoongi behind him, flashing a smile so bright it could blind. Hoseok’s shoulders went stiff instantly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He hadn’t seen Jungkook since that night , the night the kid had stood there, bold as brass, and confessed he liked Eun‑ah.
“Hyung!” Jungkook crossed the room with zero hesitation, closing the distance like they were best friends and not romantic rivals. “You’re finally home. I thought you were gonna be there for a week.”
“Yeah…” Hoseok replied, forcing his tone to stay light as he stretched his legs in front of the mirror, eyes locked on his own reflection rather than Jungkook. “We had a medical scare with the chairman. He’s okay, but…” He huffed, shaking his head. “Such a pain he made us fly back because of that.”
He shifted deeper into the stretch, pretending to focus on form, while in reality, every muscle in his body was working double-time to stay casual.
And just like that practice was in full session, Hoseok missed this, dancing, breaking a sweat. He was made for this.
“Good job, guys,” Hoseok said, clapping his hands together and letting the last notes of the music fade into the background. “We actually look nice. A little more polishing and we’ll be all set.”
The members groaned and stretched, sweat dripping down their temples.
“We practiced hard without you,” Jimin said with a grin, his shirt already sticking to his skin. He peeled it off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto his bag before fishing out a fresh one. The air conditioning made goosebumps rise on his arms.
One by one, the others followed suit—shirts off, towels in hand, reaching for water bottles.
Hoseok tugged at the hem of his own damp shirt and pulled it over his head without thinking twice, grateful to finally feel the cool air hit his skin. He turned toward his bag, intent on grabbing a towel
But then he felt it. The sudden shift in the room. That telltale silence that wasn’t silence at all, but a collective pause before chaos.
“Hyung… your back…”
It was Taehyung’s voice—low, curious, but already carrying the seeds of trouble.
Shit.
Hoseok froze mid‑stride. It hit him like a brick: of course. Of course there’d be marks. The deep, unmistakable crescents from her nails, scattered across his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. The kind you couldn’t mistake for a scratch from a doorframe.
In one quick motion, he snatched his towel from the bench and swung it over his shoulders, the terrycloth hiding the evidence. “It’s nothing,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Ohhh, no, no, no,” Jimin’s voice rang out like an alarm bell. He stepped closer, squinting like he was studying a piece of art. “Hyuuuuung…” His mouth curled into a slow, knowing grin. “You did that ? With Eun‑ah?”
A collective gasp and muffled laughter erupted.
“Wow,” Taehyung said, standing up from where he’d been sitting, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “So that’s why you were glowing when you came back from Jeju. And here I thought it was the sea breeze. Guess it was… a different kind of air.”
Jin, already tugging on a fresh shirt, smirked. “And here I was blaming it on a new skincare routine. Should’ve known better.”
Namjoon gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Those marks are… pretty artistic. Either she was really mad at you… or really not mad at you.”
Even Yoongi, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, allowed himself a tiny smirk. “Looks like the trip worked out for you after all.”
Hoseok waved a dismissive hand, his ears burning. “You guys are ridiculous. Mind your own business.”
But as the teasing rolled on, he caught it… Jungkook’s expression. The maknae had been grinning when he first walked in, but now his smile had thinned, his brows pulling together just slightly. He blinked, almost like he was trying to process something, and then looked away.
Hoseok’s stomach twisted, a flicker of tension threading through the easy banter. He bent to grab his bag, focusing on the zipper like it required all his concentration.
Jimin was still wiggling his eyebrows at him. “So… when’s the next ‘business trip’ to Jeju, hyung?”
“Go home, all of you,” Hoseok said, grabbing his towel tighter around his shoulders and heading toward the lockers. His voice was firm, but it didn’t hide the faint curl of a smile tugging at his lips, equal parts embarrassment and… maybe a little pride.
Chapter 30: Chapter 30
Notes:
Wow… we finally made it here.
We’ve finally made it to Chapter 30… and honestly, this one feels huge. This is where everything that’s been building , all the tension, all the little moments, finally crashes together. It’s messy, it’s emotional, and for the first time, none of them can hide behind excuses anymore.If you’ve been here from the start, thank you for sticking with me through every slow burn, every cliffhanger, every “WHAT JUST HAPPENED” moment. You’re the reason I keep going.
Deep breath before you read this one. After this… things are never going to be the same.
And yes, I was holding my breath while writing this. I hope you do too while reading. 😉💖 Eunseok for the win.
Chapter Text
Hoseok practically exploded through the front door of the estate, breath catching somewhere between his chest and throat.
The night clung to his skin, cool and quiet, yet inside, something was burning. That stubborn heat he thought he’d shaken off during practice had come surging back with a vengeance the moment he’d seen her name light up on his phone.
Eun-ah:“Don’t stay out too late, and take care today, Oppa.”
Ten words. No heart emojis. No punctuation. Just plain, simple concern. But to him, it hit like a goddamn meteor.
They never texted. Not really. Maybe the occasional dry exchange: okay , I’ll be late , noted . Cold logistics shared between two people who shared a house but not much else. But this?
This was soft.
Unexpected.
It sounded like… her .
He had stared at that message like it held ancient secrets, reading it once, twice, then again, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining the warmth tucked between the lines.
He hadn’t known that on her end, Eun-ah sat curled on the bed for nearly fifteen minutes, typing and deleting that message, wondering if “ Oppa ” would come off too familiar… too intimate. She hadn’t known why her fingers trembled before she hit send, only that once it went through, she’d buried her face in the RJ plushie, heart racing, already regretting everything.
But he… he hadn’t regretted a damn thing.
Now here he was, striding through the front foyer like a man possessed, barely registering the startled voices around him.
“Mr. Jung—” one of the maids looked up from dusting the bookshelf, startled by his sudden appearance and the sheer speed at which he passed.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down.
He was already heading for the stairs, two steps at a time like he was chasing something.
Maybe he was.
At the top of the stairs, he finally paused, standing before their bedroom door. His chest heaved with barely-contained breath, heart knocking against his ribs like it was trying to climb out of him. One hand hovered mid-air, fingers twitching above the doorknob.
He ran the other hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, then cursed under his breath and did it again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered, eyes narrowing as if he could glare the nerves away. “It’s a text. People send texts. Be normal.”
But his body refused to obey. Heat pulsed under his skin, every nerve sparking like live wire. His palms were damp, his heartbeat a war drum in his chest. Muscles coiled and ready, he felt like he might burst apart, whether from stepping onto a battlefield, a stage,
or straight into her.
Finally, he straightened his shirt, pressing his palm flat against the door, steadying himself for reasons he couldn’t quite name, and turned the knob.
The room greeted him with quiet. No music. No TV. Just the soft rustle of blankets and the muted glow of her phone casting a faint halo in the dark.
She was curled on the bed, knees drawn beneath her, hair tumbling in loose waves over one shoulder. The RJ plushie was tucked against her side, its fabric nearly disappearing under the covers. The lamplight traced over her like it had been designed for her alone, highlighting the delicate slope of her cheekbones and the gentle curve of her nose.
She was so.. beautiful. Had she always been like this? Hoseok Thought. So effortless, so… real.
Something twisted low in his stomach. His pulse thudded against his throat, quick and hot, and for the life of him, he couldn’t explain it. It was like his body knew something his mind was still trying to deny, that she was magnetic, that she was suddenly impossible to look away from.
Her gaze lifted as if she’d felt him watching, her eyes finding his without hesitation. They softened instantly, a quiet warmth spreading through them, and then, slowly, her lips curved into a sleepy smile.
“Oh… oppa? You’re home early,” she said, her voice still husky from whatever she’d been doing—half-yawn, half-smile, the kind of sound that lingered in the air like heat. “Are you tired?”
That was all it took.
That smile: soft at the edges, but dangerous in the middle.
That voice: low and warm, brushing against his ribs like a secret.
That single word ‘
Oppa
’ falling from her mouth like it belonged there, like she’d been saying it all her life.
Something detonated inside him.
He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to . He only knew that his body had already decided for him. His chest tightened, his palms itched, and it was as if every cell was suddenly aware of her. The air between them felt charged, restless, like the second before a storm breaks.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t even breathe right.
He just moved .
Two strides and he was there, the floor silent beneath his feet. He dropped to his knees in front of her like it wasn’t a choice at all, like something had pulled him down. His hands rose without permission, framing her face with a care that felt almost reverent. His thumbs skimmed the curve of her cheeks, brushing the warmth there, the delicate flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips.
Her eyes widened, but not in fear. It was more like surprise, the kind that roots you in place. She didn’t pull back. Didn’t even blink.
And then he kissed her .
Not cautiously, not testing. It was full, deep, and desperate, heat that had been simmering in his chest for weeks, maybe months, exploding all at once. A kiss that said, I’m here. I want this. I can’t stop.
Her phone slipped from her fingers, landing with a soft thud in the blankets. Then her hands were in his hair, tangling, pulling, holding on like she’d been waiting for this just as long.
She kissed him back with equal force, wild and certain in her uncertainty, matching his hunger beat for beat. Every shift of her mouth, every sharp inhale when he teased the seam of her lips, fed the fire until there was no telling where he ended and she began.
His hands slid down, cupping her waist, gripping tight like he needed to anchor himself to the fact that she was here, she was real . The warmth of her, the faint scent of her shampoo, the quickened beat of her heart, he memorized them all in the space between one breath and the next.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t planned.
It was something raw and uncontainable, crashing into them both.
They finally had time… time to pick up where they’d left off in Jeju, to let everything they’d held back come tearing loose.
Hoseok pulled her onto his lap, his hands firm on her hips, and she came willingly, straddling him as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Their mouths found each other again in a frenzy, urgent and unrelenting. Tongues collided, tangled, tasting and taking in a rhythm that was theirs alone, hungry, messy, real.
Her breath caught when his hands slid beneath the hem of her nightgown, the thin fabric whispering up her skin before he tugged it over her head. The sheer slip had been no defense anyway; it clung to her curves, doing little to hide the tight peaks of her nipples now bared to the cool air.
He didn’t linger on the sight for long, he was already leaning in, mouth finding the slope of her neck, retracing the constellation of marks he’d left there the night before. Each press of his lips was slow, deliberate, and she felt it like sparks in her veins. Her head tipped back, a soft sound escaping her, heat radiating from every inch of her.
She wanted this as much as he did, he could feel it in the way her fingers tangled in his hair, in the restless shift of her hips over his lap. The hard swell beneath his basketball shorts pressed against her in a way that made both of them shudder.
His lips trailed lower, brushing over the swell of her breasts before finally taking one into his mouth. He teased mercilessly, tongue circling, sucking, tasting, until her breath fractured into a shaky curse. Her hips rolled against him, chasing friction, and he groaned into her skin, the sound low and rough.
When he sensed her mounting need, Hoseok gathered her into his arms and laid her gently on the bed, as if she might shatter under his touch. His shirt came off in one swift, almost careless motion, baring the rise and fall of his chest.
She sank into the mattress, hair spilling across her shoulders like ink on silk, her breaths shallow and quick. Hoseok knelt between her legs, and the slow, deliberate curve of his smile made her pulse stutter.
Her lace-clad hips shifted instinctively, the thin fabric doing little to shield her from the weight of his gaze. She trembled when his fingers skimmed along the sensitive line of her inner thighs, a touch that seemed to linger far longer than it should. Gently, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, holding her as though there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
The air between them seemed to thicken, every movement charged, every heartbeat a little louder.
He leaned down, his breath skimming her skin before his lips found it, soft, reverent, and maddeningly slow. Each kiss was a promise, a question, a challenge. His tongue traced a path upward, lingering in places that made her thighs tense around him, dangerously close to where she burned for him.
“Wait,” Eun-ah breathed, cheeks flushed, voice trembling between embarrassment and anticipation. “Not there…”
But the quick, shallow rhythm of her breathing betrayed her.
“Shhh,” he murmured, low and coaxing, the heat of his words soaking through the thin lace between them. “I told you… we’re picking up where we left off.”
With aching patience, he eased the barrier aside, his gaze flicking up to catch hers, dark, locked, unblinking, before his mouth finally met the place that had haunted him since Jeju.
Her gasp broke the quiet, sharp and unguarded, and her fingers flew to his hair, gripping hard. He chuckled against her, the sound deep and warm. “You have no idea…” his voice dropped to a growl, “how much I’ve thought about this all day.”
Then his mouth moved with a confidence that both startled and undid her, every stroke and flick coaxing sound after sound from her lips. Her moans rose in pitch, small at first, then growing, spilling into the air like something neither of them could control.
“Louder,” he urged, his voice low and insistent as his finger slid inside her in perfect time with his tongue. “Louder, baby.”
She tried to twist away from the overwhelming sensation, but his hands pinned her hips firmly, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. “Stay still,” he whispered, almost like a command, almost like a plea, his pace quickening, fingers stroking deeper, tongue working her like he’d been born knowing how.
The pressure built and built, cresting into something sharp and unbearable, something she didn’t know she’d been craving until now. She didn’t want it to end, but she couldn’t stop it either, her hips bucked instinctively, grinding into him in desperation, as if trying to draw every last drop to him.
And then she shattered, her body trembling violently under his grip, her voice breaking into a breathless cry. He held her through it, steady and unyielding, his mouth never leaving her, his tongue drawing out every wave until she was limp beneath him.
When she finally collapsed back into the sheets, chest heaving, he lifted his head just enough to look at her, hair damp with sweat, lips parted, eyes glazed in a way that nearly undid him.
He smiled then, slow and dangerous, like he’d just uncovered a secret neither of them could ever bury again.
And then, when she thought it was over, his lips found hers again, urgent, unrelenting, stealing the very breath from her lungs. The taste of her still clung to him, turning the kiss into something almost primal. He pressed forward until she was flat beneath him, his weight a firm, undeniable presence between her thighs.
Her legs were still trembling from the waves he’d just dragged her through, but they opened for him instinctively, welcoming him in.
With one hand braced beside her head, the other slid down her side in a deliberate sweep, claiming her all over again. He shoved his shorts down just far enough to free himself, the movement impatient, almost frustrated, like clothes were an offense keeping him from what he needed.
“Spread them a little more,” he murmured, his voice rough with hunger and control that was barely holding.
She obeyed without a word, her gaze locking on his like there was nothing else in the room; no history, no grudges, no weeks of silence. Just him. Just them. The air between them felt heavy, thick with everything they’d never said, everything they’d fought against until now.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered against her ear, his breath hot, the words threading straight down her spine.
She nodded, shy and small beneath him, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.
With careful, deliberate control, he eased into her, slow enough to feel every flutter, every inch of her giving way to him. She gasped, the sound sharp but soft, her fingers clutching instinctively at his back. Nails scraped against his skin, dragging a groan from him that sounded half like restraint, half like surrender.
“You okay?” he asked, watching her face as though the wrong answer might undo him completely.
She nodded again, pleasure already flickering in her expression.
He didn’t move. “No,” he said, voice lower, rougher now. “Use your words.”
“Y-yes…” The reply slipped out on a breath, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, as though speaking was harder than breathing.
His mouth curved faintly. “Good girl.”
He pushed the rest of the way in, filling her completely, and Eun-ah’s head fell back with a sharp inhale, lips parting in soundless shock. Hoseok held himself there, savoring the feel of her around him before drawing back, then pressing forward again, measured, controlled thrusts that made his breathing hitch and hers stutter.
Her eyes fluttered closed, a tremor running through her with every movement, her breaths turning uneven, caught between the pleasure and the sheer newness of it all.
“Does it hurt?” Hoseok asked, voice ragged now, breath hot against her cheek.
She shook her head quickly, unable to find her voice, too swept up in the rush between them.
He stilled, hands tightening at her hips, holding her in place. “Look at me.”
Her lashes lifted slowly, eyes hazy and wide, catching the dim shimmer of moonlight spilling across his face.
“Tell me.” His tone carried no room for hesitation, an order wrapped in heat.
“I-It feels good,” she whispered, the words trembling out of her like a secret she wasn’t ready to confess.
That was all it took.
Something inside him broke open, the fragile tether of restraint snapping like it had never been there at all. Maybe it was the way her voice quivered. Maybe it was the flush on her cheeks. Or maybe it was just her, every part of her, pulling him under.
His hips surged forward, faster now, deeper, until the rhythm shook the bed beneath them. She clung to his shoulders, matching him breath for breath, moan for moan, the sound of their bodies filling the room, skin meeting skin, the mattress creaking under the strain.
He bent to kiss the corner of her jaw, his lips trailing down the line of her neck, murmuring her name like both a prayer and a curse. She arched into him, her own cries slipping free, raw and unguarded.
The tension built between them, hot, unbearable, inevitable, until she shuddered beneath him, her body tightening as pleasure claimed her. Her cry was muffled against his shoulder, but he felt every trembling wave of it.
Hoseok held her through it, driving forward until his own release tore through him with a sharp exhale, his body pressing deep into hers one last time. For a moment, there was nothing but the thundering of their hearts, the heat of skin against skin, and the unspoken truth neither dared name.
***
The room was thick with the scent of sex and summer heat, quiet except for the low whir of the air conditioner and the faint, restless creak of the sheets beneath them.
Hoseok lay flat on his back, one hand over his stomach, the other thrown across his eyes as if darkness could erase what had just happened. But the weight of it lingered: hot, heavy, impossible to ignore.
He could still feel her.
The soft give of her hips beneath his hands.
The breathy moans she tried and failed to swallow.
The sharp rake of her nails down his back as she broke apart around him.
The sting still tingled along his skin like an aftershock.
His heart hadn’t slowed, each beat knocking against his ribs. His throat felt tight.
What the fuck just happened?
This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to come home, greet her, and go to bed. That was it. Not… this. Not sweaty, desperate, can’t-get-enough-of-you sex that left his head spinning.
Now she lay beside him, still and silent.
Eun-ah had already turned her back, awkwardness eating her, she curled slightly toward the edge of the bed. Her breathing was too even, fake sleep or a stubborn retreat into herself, he couldn’t tell. The sheet barely covered her waist, still naked, clothes forgotten at the floor, revealing the smooth slope of her back… and the angry red claw marks striping it.
His gaze stuck there.
Proof of how she’d held onto him like she’d drown without him.
Proof of how she’d come apart under his mouth, under his hands.
Proof of how he’d murmured her name like he couldn’t stop himself.
He swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. His jaw locked tight.
What the hell were they doing?
His body still burned from her touch, every nerve humming, but his mind was already tumbling into chaos. Regret? No. Not exactly. But confusion, sharp and relentless.
He looked at her again. She hadn’t moved. Not a twitch.
He almost said something—anything—to break the suffocating quiet.
“Sorry”?
“That wasn’t supposed to happen”?
“Why did you let me touch you like that”?
“Why did I like it so fucking much”?
No. Nothing would come out right. And she looked like she’d splinter if he pushed.
So he stayed silent.
Two people lying inches apart, pretending to be strangers, pretending the last hour hadn’t stripped them bare.
A knock at the door shattered the silence: brisk, almost urgent.
Hoseok exhaled through his nose, his jaw flexing. Because of course. As if the past few days hadn’t already been a constant tightrope walk.
“Yes?” he called, his voice low but steady.
At the sound, he caught it, just a flicker. A twitch from Eun-ah beneath the sheets. A flinch she didn’t mean to give away.
She was awake.
“It’s me,” came Ye-joon’s voice from the other side. “Someone’s asking for you downstairs.”
“Who? This better be important,” Hoseok said, already reaching for the shirt crumpled on the floor. As he pulled it over his head, his gaze returned, almost involuntarily, to the bed.
Eun-ah lay curled on her side, her bare back to him. Without a word, he tugged the covers up, letting the soft fabric drape over her shoulder, shielding her from view. It wasn’t planned, this small act of care never was. It slipped through in moments like this, quiet and unguarded, before he could stop it.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept her face pressed into the pillow, her silence as complete as the space between them.
Hoseok lingered a second longer before crossing to the door. He cracked it open to find Ye-joon waiting, posture tense, eyes flicking past him into the darkened room before settling back on his face.
“Is Eun-ah sleeping?” Ye-joon asked, his voice lowered, deliberate. Then, after a beat: “You might want to see this.”
Something in his tone landed wrong: hesitant, almost guarded. Hoseok’s brows drew together. With one last glance toward the bed, he stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
The walk to the stairs was quiet, their footsteps muffled against the carpet. The house had sunk into that late-night stillness, the kind that made every sound sharper, every shadow seem heavier. Lamps cast soft pools of light along the walls; the rest lay in pockets of shadow.
They reached the landing. Hoseok’s hand brushed the banister as he followed Ye-joon down.
When they rounded the corner into the foyer, he froze.
Kim stood by the door.
And for a heartbeat, his mind split in two, half still upstairs, where the scent of Eun-ah clung to his skin, her nails had just raked down his back; half here, staring at a woman who looked like she’d been fighting a storm alone.
Her eyes were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the last traces of mascara. She clutched her bag with both hands like a lifeline, another suitcase propped at her side. Stray strands of hair clung to her cheeks, her whole posture pitched forward as though she’d been holding herself together for far too long.
Guilt and shock crashed into him at once, jagged and uninvited.
His voice came out low, weighted. “Kim?”
She flinched at the sound.
“What are you doing here?”
But she didn’t answer. She just looked at him, helpless, hollow, scared in a way that made her seem smaller than he’d ever seen her.
“Come in,” Hoseok said after a beat, pushing the door open wider. His voice stayed steady, but his mind was already spinning, colliding with the memory of Eun-ah’s breath on his skin.
Kim stepped inside, shoulders drawn tight, wiping at her tears with the back of her sleeve. The warmth of the estate folded around her, but she still looked like she was freezing from the inside out.
“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” she said, her voice cracking in the middle. “A stalker… he got in. Got into my apartment. My front door was… kicked in, and there were pictures of me, ripped up. Everywhere. Even in the bathroom.”
Hoseok stiffened, jaw tightening.
Kim’s arms locked around herself, trembling. “I-I filed a report, but they said it might take days before they catch whoever it was. I couldn’t stay there. I was scared, and I didn’t want to check into a hotel alone and just… wait.” Her breath caught. “My parents already moved to the US, and everyone I know is in New York, I… I didn’t know where else to go.”
Hoseok ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t answer right away. Her face was pale, her jaw set in a fragile effort to stay composed. This wasn’t the polished, untouchable Kim he remembered. This was someone unraveling at the edges.
He motioned toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get you something warm.”
She nodded and folded onto the cushions, fingers hovering over her suitcase as if she couldn’t decide whether to unpack or run.
On his way to the kitchen, his eyes flicked up to the second floor. The bedroom door was still closed. Eun-ah’s flushed face flashed in his mind, the softness in her gaze, the heat of her body pressed to his. His chest tightened.
Now Kim is here. With nowhere else to go. Perfect.
When he came back with a steaming mug of tea, Kim was curled forward, stifling her sobs like she didn’t want anyone to hear them anymore.
He held the cup out. She took it with both hands, still trembling.
Hoseok sank into the armchair across from her, leaning back slowly. “So… what do you want from me, Kim?”
She looked up at him, eyes glassy and raw. “I know this is too much to ask. I know that. But… Can I stay here? Just until it’s safe again?”
Hoseok didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked silently as he leaned back into the couch, the leather sighing under his weight. One hand raked through his hair, slow, deliberate, before he exhaled hard through his nose, like the air itself carried the weight of what he was about to say.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said finally. The words landed like a blade between them.
Kim broke.
Not loudly, not with a wail, but with that small, devastating collapse of her face, the kind that comes when the last bit of hope slips out from under you. Another sob clawed up her throat. Her hand twitched toward him, fingertips brushing against his before she recoiled, as if even touching him might hurt more than it helped.
“I have nowhere else,” she whispered. Her voice was splintered wood, fragile and raw. “You’re all I have left.”
Before Hoseok could find the right words, if any even existed, the house betrayed them with a sound.
A soft creak from upstairs.
Footsteps. Bare. Unhurried.
Then, the slow descent of someone down the stairs.
Eun-ah appeared, slipping into view beneath the warm chandelier glow. Her hair was a tousled halo, her skin faintly flushed in a way that still carried the heat of the upstairs bedroom. One of Hoseok’s oversized black shirts draped over her frame, sliding off one shoulder and brushing the tops of her bare thighs. She looked both fragile and certain, like she belonged—to this place, and to him.
“Who was it?” she mumbled sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand.
She hadn’t looked up yet. She was still halfway down.
Then she reached the bottom step.
And she saw.
Her gaze landed first on Kim, the tear-streaked cheeks, the suitcase by her feet, the steaming mug clutched between trembling hands. Then her eyes flicked to Hoseok.
And finally… down at herself.
The shirt.
The fresh bruises blooming along her neck, barely hidden by loose strands of hair.
Her breath hitched, small, sharp, but enough to fracture the air.
The room went silent.
Kim rose slowly from the couch, eyes wide, glassy. She stared at the younger woman standing there barefoot in the hallway, frozen like a deer caught between flight and fight.
Eun-ah didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
This was her house.
Her husband.
And to Kim, whatever story she had been telling herself, whatever comfortable lie she’d been clinging to, whatever she told herself, that this was just a fake marriage, no love, just paper, it wasn’t a shadow anymore, it doesn't seem fake anymore. It was standing in front of her, wearing his shirt, smelling of his skin, real and undeniable.
Kim’s lungs refused to cooperate. She stood there, staring, each heartbeat louder than the last.
No one spoke. Not Eun-ah, whose bare feet pressed against the hardwood. Not Hoseok, whose eyes hadn’t left hers since she appeared.
The silence should have ended it.
But Kim wouldn’t let it.
She dragged in a breath through her nose, blinking fast as if she could wash away the sting in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse, splintered from crying, yet she tried to thread it with something steady. Something casual. Something that would make this seem like less than what it was.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said, each word trembling despite her effort. “I just– I was scared. I still am.”
Her gaze skated toward Eun-ah, then away again like the sight burned her retinas.
She lifted her chin a fraction, straightening her grip on her bag. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just… needed somewhere safe.”
The words tasted bitter, pleading, stripped of pride, but she forced them out anyway.
Because no matter what this was, no matter what she had just walked into… She wasn’t ready to walk away from him.
Not yet.
Chapter 31: Chapter 31
Chapter Text
Eun-ah held her gaze, unflinching. Kim’s eyes were hollow, her fingers trembling in a way that made them seem almost fragile. It was the kind of fear that stripped a person bare, peeling away pride and leaving only the raw, human need to feel safe.
But could she really let her stay here? In her house?
Kim wasn’t just any frightened guest. She was a shadow from the life before Eun-ah, before her ring was on Hoseok’s hand, before her name belonged in this place. A figure from the past who had been close enough to matter, and whose story with him had never reached an ending… only an interruption. Eun-ah’s interruption.
She wasn’t spiteful, she had no interest in turning someone’s fear into a weapon, she wasn’t that kind of person, but comfort was a luxury she refused to extend at the expense of her own boundaries. And the thought of Kim under the same roof, breathing the same quiet spaces that belonged to her and Hoseok… no. That she could not abide.
She understood desperation, truly , she did. If she were scared and alone, she’d run to someone too. But this was different. This was her home. Her space . The one place she had fought to claim for herself.
Eun-ah didn’t sigh. She didn’t waver.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her bare feet quiet against the wood, the hem of Hoseok’s shirt brushing her thighs. Her eyes passed over Kim: small, trembling, clutching her bag like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart, then slid to Hoseok. He still hadn’t looked at her, his gaze fixed somewhere between the floor and the past. This made her decision iron clad.
Her head snapped toward Ye-joon. He was standing off to the side, posture stiff, his expression caught somewhere between discomfort and the desperate wish that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
“Ye-joon,” she said, calm, even, but edged with steel.
He straightened instantly. Eun-ah never called for him. Not once . Not when they first met months ago, not in all the time since .
“Please find her a hotel to stay at tonight ,” Eun-ah said, her voice precise, every syllable measured. “ Or as long as she likes. ”
Kim’s shoulders stiffened, the subtle recoil of someone who knew exactly what was being said beneath the words.
“Give her as many guards as she wants,” Eun-ah continued, her gaze never wavering. “Surround the whole hotel if you must. Whatever it takes to make her feel safe.” She paused only long enough to make sure Kim heard every word.
“ Send me the bill. ”
She turned, ready to ascend the stairs.
Hoseok sat frozen, as if the air had been punched out of him. He hadn’t planned on letting Kim stay either, he would’ve found another way to help her, to protect her , she was a dear friend after all. But this… this was different. This was Eun-ah taking the reins in a way he hadn’t seen before.
“ Wait… ”
The word cracked out of Kim before she could stop it.
Eun-ah paused mid-step, the faint sway of her hair settling over her bare shoulder.
“…Please.” Kim’s voice was hoarse, each syllable scraped raw. “Just until it feels safe.” The words tasted like ash, the admission that she was begging, something she’d never done before, burning her throat.
Eun-ah turned back slowly, as if granting the moment time to breathe. Her eyes locked onto Kim’s, unblinking.
“I don’t think that will be a good idea,” she said, her tone firm; unshakable. Then her gaze slid to Hoseok, deliberate. “ Right? ”
He blinked, like she’d just asked him to pick a side in a war. “I—yeah,” he muttered, the sound small in the charged air.
“ See? ” Eun-ah’s lips curved into a faint smile. It was polite, almost gentle, but there was a coolness beneath it that Kim felt in her bones.
“I’m truly sorry you have to go through this,” she continued, stepping forward. The oversized shirt she wore slid from one shoulder, baring her collarbone, but it didn’t diminish the quiet elegance in her posture. If anything, it made her presence sharper, more intimate, more undeniable.
“And I understand,” she said softly, “that you and my… husband … are long-standing friends.”
The word husband seemed to hang in the air a beat too long, its weight settling between them. Kim swallowed hard, her knuckles whitening around the handle of her bag.
“But this ,” Eun-ah finished, her voice dipping low, “is something I won’t be comfortable with. So I’m arranging something for you, something that will keep you safe , and make everyone here… happy .”
Her eyes slid to Hoseok. “Unless… my husband had other plans.”
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Hoseok’s jaw flexed, his gaze darting between them. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
Eun-ah’s lips curved, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Right. That’s settled then.” She stepped closer to him, reaching out her hand. “Won’t you come back to bed, oppa? ”
He hesitated only a second before taking her hand.
As she turned, Eun-ah’s gaze flicked back to Kim, who looked smaller now, her suitcase at her feet, eyes glassy and fixed on the floor. “Don’t worry,” Eun-ah said gently, almost sweetly. “Ye-joon will take care of you.” she meant it, she was not being petty.
The words hung in the air like silk… or a noose.
***
Ye-joon pulled up to the hotel without a word, the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. He did exactly as Eun-ah instructed: booked a top-floor suite, ensured the guards were stationed at every possible entry point: two at her door, two in the lobby, more outside. Nothing left to chance.
When it was done, he gave her a short, polite nod before leaving. He wasn’t about to test what it meant to ignore one of Eun-ah’s rare, direct orders .
Inside the suite, Kimberly stood frozen in the doorway for a heartbeat… and then her knees buckled. She crumpled onto the carpet, her fists striking the floor once, twice, the sound sharp in the expensive quiet. It was the kind of frustrated, helpless cry that stripped away all dignity, like a child denied something they were sure they deserved.
Her breath hitched, ragged. She grabbed her phone, fingers trembling, and scrolled until she found the number. Pressed call.
It picked up on the second ring.
“Yeah… it’s me,” Kim said, voice low, grim. A pause, then, “I’m in.”
***
“So, where’d you take her?” Hoseok’s voice was even, but his eyes never left the tablet balanced on his knee as the car slid through the slow churn of morning traffic. His calendar was stacked edge to edge with meetings, an unbroken wall of obligations, but his concentration kept slipping.
Images from last night invaded without warning: Eun-ah’s body, soft and warm beneath him; Kim’s voice cracking, begging; the flash of steel in Eun-ah’s tone when she took control… and the way she’d looked doing it—jaw set, eyes burning—so intoxicating it made his chest feel too tight.
“Do you really want to know?” Ye-joon asked from the passenger seat, gaze steady on the road ahead. “Or are you even allowed to know?”
Hoseok’s eyes flicked up, one brow lifting, just for a second. “I just want to make sure she’s not… going to cause trouble.” His fingers adjusted his tie, though it didn’t need adjusting, more a habit than a choice.
“It’s Kim,” Ye-joon said with a half-laugh, the sound short and dry. “That woman’s carved from elegance. She doesn’t ‘ act out. ’”
Hoseok stayed silent, but that unease, sharp and persistent, sat heavy in his chest. He knew what he’d seen in Kim’s eyes last night: raw, cornered desperation. And desperation had nothing to do with elegance. Desperation went hunting for an opening.
“Do you remember the last time she heard no?” His voice cut the quiet, low and measured. “And the things she did after?” The memory was still vivid, the restaurant’s low light, the way her confession hung in the air, his refusal, and the instant shift that followed. The chaos. The mess. The way her mother’s name had to be thrown like a shield against the press. “If she didn’t have money and influence propping her up, she’d be a nobody by now after all that.”
“Right…” Ye-joon leaned back, the seat creaking faintly. “I remember her mom calling you—practically begging—to help contain the story.”
“Exactly,” Hoseok said, his gaze narrowing on the traffic ahead. “That’s the storm I’m avoiding this time.”
Ye-joon’s mouth curved, a hint of something between amusement and curiosity. “But why bother? She can blow up her own life for all you care… unless?”
“It’s not like that,” Hoseok said, the words clipped but steady. “When it was just me, I could handle whatever she threw at me. I’ve been through enough media storms to know how to spin the story and walk out clean.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “But Eun-ah… she’s not built for that circus. She never wanted to be. And I’m not about to let her get dragged into it just because Kim can’t take a hit.”
“I guess…” Ye-joon murmured, the thought settling. Then, after a beat, “Siri, remind me to talk to media training coaches for Eun-ah.”
“I have taken note of that,” Siri’s neutral voice broke through, almost jarring against the quiet weight that followed.
Across the city, in the quieter south end of Seoul, Eun-ah sat opposite Jiwoo in a small brunch café. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly two weeks—not since Eun-ah had bolted that night—and between Jeju and the hospital scare, there hadn’t been a real chance to talk. Now, they were finally catching up over coffee and too much background jazz, the air thick with the smell of butter and fresh pastries.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jiwoo said, pressing her fingertips to her temples. Her iced coffee sat forgotten, the cubes long melted into pale swirls. “You’re telling me… you almost slept together in Jeju, but had to stop because of Grandpa?”
Eun-ah gave a small, almost sheepish nod.
Jiwoo didn’t miss a beat. “Then last night, you finally went through with it… and right after, Kim showed up at your door asking to stay over?”
Another nod.
Jiwoo leaned back, blinking. “Wow. That’s… that’s a whole drama series right there.” She smirked. “Okay, forget Kim for a minute. Tell me, how was it? Better than your last, or just right?”
Eun-ah’s gaze dropped to the rim of her coffee cup. “It was my first time, Unnie.”
Jiwoo’s mouth fell open. “Omo!” She slapped a hand to her chest, eyes sparkling. “Your first time? My baby finally popped her cherry!” She giggled, leaning in to nudge Eun-ah’s arm.
“Stop it,” Eun-ah muttered, cheeks glowing red.
“Come on,” Jiwoo coaxed, lowering her voice like they were conspiring. “Was it magical? Awkward? Weird? What?”
Eun-ah hesitated, lips curling into a shy smile. “It was… um… amazing, actually.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and took a sip of coffee to hide her face. “I didn’t know it could feel like that…” The memory of Hoseok’s mouth on her made the heat rise all over again.
Jiwoo groaned and swatted her arm. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m getting details about my brother’s sex life. That is, ugh, so weird. And gross. No offense to you, though.” She winked.
Eun-ah laughed softly, shaking her head.
Jiwoo refocused, tilting her head. “Alright, back to Kim. She just… shows up, asking for a place to stay? Why your place, of all people?”
“I don’t know. According to her, he’s all she’s got,” Eun-ah murmured, her voice barely carrying over the lazy trumpet drifting from the café speakers. She traced the rim of her coffee cup, eyes fixed on the swirling crema like it might give her an answer.
Jiwoo’s brows arched. “What did you do?” She leaned forward, forearms braced against the table, then gasped, her voice shooting up a note. “Don’t tell me you agreed ?”
“No, of course not, Unnie.” Eun-ah took a slow sip, letting the bitter warmth linger on her tongue before setting the cup down with a soft clink. “I… Well, I told Ye-joon to take her to a hotel. Give her guards. I don’t know…” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, but her gaze stayed low. “I kind of feel bad about it.”
The guilt was there, nagging at the edges of her thoughts. But so was something else, something she didn’t want to name. The fear of Kim’s shadow creeping into the space she and Hoseok had built. And yes, jealousy, sharp, ugly, and hard to admit even to herself.
“No, you did the right thing,” Jiwoo said, brushing buttery flakes from her fingertips. She broke off another piece of croissant and ate it in a quick bite, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t let someone who once had a thing with my husband stay under my roof. Even for a so-called good cause. That’s just asking for trouble. ”
Her words landed heavy, and Eun-ah’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Then Jiwoo’s expression shifted, her lips parted, eyes widening in instant regret. “Oh no. Don’t tell Hoseokie I told you that, he’ll kill me.”
Eun-ah sat up straighter, tension prickling along her spine. “So you knew she had a thing with him?” Her voice was quiet but edged. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Jiwoo’s face softened with guilt. “It wasn’t my place to say.” A beat passed, and then she sighed. “But fine, since we’re here, and I already let it slip… I’ll tell you-”
Her phone buzzed violently against the table, breaking the moment. She snatched it up. “Hello, oppa? … Huh? You’re getting something delivered? … Okay… aren’t the maids there? … Mhm. Alright, I’ll go home. I’ll take Eun-ah with me… Okay. See you. Love you.”
She dropped the phone into her bag with a decisive snap of the clasp. “We’ll talk at home. More private,” she said, eyes glinting.
The air between them carried a new weight as Jiwoo waved down the waiter for the check. Outside, sunlight poured through the café’s wide windows, painting gold over the steam of their untouched coffees. Eun-ah adjusted her bag on her shoulder, following Jiwoo through the low murmur of other customers.
The door swung open, and the city hit them in full, muggy warmth, the scent of roasting chestnuts from a street cart, the sound of distant traffic tangled with a busker’s guitar. Jiwoo’s heels clicked a sharp rhythm on the pavement, Eun-ah a step behind, still turning over the unanswered questions in her mind.
Jiwoo didn’t look back, but her tone was light, too light, as she said, “Come on, car’s parked here, let’s get you somewhere we can really talk.”
And just like that, the café’s warmth was behind them, but the tension followed them out into the sun.
***
They pulled up to Jiwoo’s estate, and for a moment Eun-ah forgot to breathe. She’d imagined Jiwoo’s house before, sleek, modern, maybe a little showy, but this… this was something else entirely. The sprawling property was framed by manicured hedges and an impossibly green lawn, so wide you could host a wedding and still have room for a tennis court. The tall facade gleamed with glass windows that stretched from wall to wall, catching the late afternoon light so they shimmered like water. Every angle was clean and deliberate, the colors a careful palette of ivory, soft beige, and warm wood. Even the wind seemed quieter here, as if the whole estate existed in its own controlled world.
“It’s your first time here, right?” Jiwoo asked, stepping out of the car without waiting for an answer.
Inside, the foyer opened up into a cathedral-high space where marble walls met towering chandeliers. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, pooling over the polished floor until it almost looked too pristine to walk on. Eun-ah tilted her head back, her inner architecture student taking over.
“It’s so elegant…” she breathed, turning slowly to take in the details, the gold trim along the staircase, the way the high ceiling seemed to float above them. “It’s… majestic.”
Jiwoo laughed, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Oh please. Come on, we can talk in my study.” She was already halfway up the staircase, her heels clicking sharply against marble. Eun-ah followed, still half-distracted by the space around her.
Jiwoo led her to a white door with a gold doorknob. When she pushed it open, Eun-ah stepped into what could’ve been a spread in a high-end lifestyle magazine, plush white sofas that looked softer than clouds, a wide white desk positioned perfectly under a modern chandelier, four mannequins dressed in half-finished garments, and clothing racks of cream, silk, and gold neatly aligned. On the opposite wall, two towering bookshelves overflowed with books, their spines organized in an aesthetic gradient.
“Sit,” Jiwoo said, tossing her bag onto the glass coffee table and settling into the couch with a sly smile. “Alright. Now for the tea.”
Eun-ah sank into the cushions and promptly sank even further, the softness threatening to swallow her whole.
“So,” Jiwoo began, crossing her legs, “to start, she grew up with us.”
Eun-ah frowned, unsure where this was going.
“Oh, I think I still have that photobook here.” Jiwoo popped back up, gliding toward the bookshelves. She trailed her fingers along the spines, muttering to herself before plucking out a few. She handed Eun-ah two, one red, one blue, while keeping a brown one for herself.
She opened the blue one first. The label read: Jiwoo 8, Hoseok 4 .
Page after page, Eun-ah saw snapshots of their childhood: Jiwoo with a bright ribbon in her hair, Hoseok clinging to her like a shadow; Hoseok with frosting smeared across his cheeks, mid-cry over a half-eaten cake; Hoseok leaning against a grand staircase, hands shoved in his pockets, already carrying himself like someone older than his years.
Eun-ah’s lips curved unconsciously. Even back then, he had the same heart-shaped mouth, the same quiet intensity in his eyes.
Jiwoo stilled her fingers on a page and tapped it. “Here she is. Beady-eyed Kimberly.”
A little girl, smaller than Hoseok, clutched a doll to her chest. Her other hand was firmly clasped in Hoseok’s, the two standing as if they’d been posed that way a hundred times.
“They literally grew up together,” Jiwoo said, switching the book in Eun-ah’s hands for the red one labeled Jiwoo 14, Hoseok 10 . This one was filled with painfully awkward photos of Jiwoo, braces, thick glasses, bad hair days immortalized in print. She groaned at her own teenage self before stopping on a particular image.
Kim and Hoseok lay on a patch of grass, bathed in golden sunset light, their heads almost touching. Hoseok was pointing at something in the sky, and Kim was looking exactly where he pointed, her expression intent and trusting.
Then came more, always the three of them, but with Hoseok and Kim subtly closer in each frame. Same uniforms. Same smiles. The kind of quiet, constant companionship you couldn’t fake.
“Hoseok was always protective of her,” Jiwoo said softly. “At some point, I thought he liked her. Or maybe he did. But Hoseok… he’d already been told by my parents long ago that he was set to marry someone else. They trained him for it. It was already in his head.” Jiwoo’s gaze flicked briefly to Eun-ah. “And that someone, of course, was you.”
She flipped another page, smoothing the paper with her palm, the faint crinkle sounding loud in the still room.
“So fast forward, everything Hoseok did left a mark on Kim. The way he cared, the way he was always there… she thought it meant something more. One night-” Jiwoo exhaled, her tone shifting. “This is Ye-joon’s version, so I don’t know her exact side. But apparently, Kim invited Hoseok to dinner. There were urgent matters at the office, but he still agreed, only to set things straight. Because Hoseok, being who he is, already knew she had feelings for him. You could see it in the way she smiled when rumors spread, in how she blushed when reporters hinted they might be together.”
Jiwoo’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “That night, the plan was to tell her there was nothing between them. But instead, Kim… confessed. Not just confessed, she asked him to marry her.”
The air between them went still. Eun-ah blinked, finally understanding the edge in Kim’s voice when they met.
“And he shot her down,” Jiwoo continued. “But she didn’t get it. She thought it was a not now situation, not a never . Hoseok had to tell her again, bluntly, and that’s when it all blew up. Messy doesn’t even begin to cover it. Parents got involved. The press caught wind. Money changed hands. Bribes were paid. She was shipped off to New York to make the whole thing disappear. It was actually a shock for us, cause it was Kim, and Kim was elegant, she was the IT girl, never breaking composure. And from what I hear…” Jiwoo’s eyes locked on Eun-ah’s, “…she only came back for your wedding.”
Eun-ah exhaled slowly, the puzzle clicking together in her mind. Now she understood, all of it. The way Kimberly had looked at her with that strange mix of disbelief and wounded pride when she’d been rejected. Maybe Kimberly had thought Hoseok would step in, like he always had. That he would catch her before she fell, like he always did.
“And this-” Jiwoo reached for the last book and held it out like a gift, “-this one’s for you.” The brown leather cover was worn, the gold embossing reading: Hoseok, 15 to 19 .
“That’s his awkward teenage phase,” Jiwoo grinned. “You can tease him about it later.”
But the weight pressing on Eun-ah’s chest didn’t lift, even as the afternoon wore on. They laughed together anyway, soft, warm giggles that bounced off the pristine white walls. Jiwoo told her childhood stories about Hoseok, from tantrums over ice cream flavors to his strange habit of organizing his toy soldiers in military precision. Eun-ah answered in kind, telling Jiwoo about her own childhood, how she’d grown up far from luxury, in a small house where her mother’s voice and the smell of broth filled the evenings. She spoke of her billionaire grandfather like he was a character from someone else’s life, someone distant and untouchable.
By 7 p.m., the sky outside had turned a deep violet, streaked with the last blush of sunset. A soft knock broke through their shared laughter.
“Ms. Jiwoo,” came the muffled voice of a maid from behind the study door. “Someone is here for Ms. Eun-ah.”
“Me?” Eun-ah mouthed, eyebrows lifting.
“It’s your brother, Ms. Jiwoo,” the maid clarified.
“Ah, let him in!” Jiwoo called, rising just as the double doors of the study swung open.
Hoseok stepped inside first, still in his morning suit, the crisp lines of the suit unmarred by the hours he’d worn it. His presence filled the space instantly, calm but commanding. Behind him trailed Ye-joon, eyes glued to his phone, fingers moving in a rapid rhythm as if the world outside his screen barely existed.
“What brings you here?” Jiwoo asked with a grin, pulling Hoseok into a hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Well,” Hoseok said, his gaze sweeping over the coffee table littered with scattered childhood photos, “I’m here to get my wife. I was on the way back and thought I’d just fetch her.” His voice was casual, almost lazy, but there was something proprietary in the way his eyes lingered on her.
“Then stay for dinner,” Jiwoo said, her eyes bright with mischief. “I made the maids cook because I thought Eun-ah was sleeping over here.” She shot Eun-ah a playful wink. “But it looks like your husband can’t lose you from his sight.”
“Unnie, stop it,” Eun-ah muttered, nudging her with a flushed smile, but her pulse quickened all the same.
They moved from the plush white study to the dining room, where the long, glossy mahogany table stretched under the glow of a crystal chandelier. The faint aroma of rosemary and seared beef mingled with the richer scent of wine breathing in crystal glasses.
Ye-joon, still glued to his phone, excused himself almost immediately. “I’ve got errands,” he murmured to Hoseok, giving Eun-ah a polite nod before stepping out. “Driver will pick you two up later.”
Once he left, the room felt more intimate, quieter, but charged. The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the silence until Jiwoo, ever the instigator, cut through it with a sly smile.
“So,” she began, slicing into her steak with leisurely precision, “tell me about Jeju.” Her tone was casual, but there was a glint in her eyes, like she already knew the question would make them squirm.
Hoseok’s face remained unreadable, as if the question rolled right off him. Eun-ah, however, felt the heat creep up her neck until her cheeks were a deep shade of red.
“It was fine,” Hoseok replied evenly, cutting his steak in neat, measured strokes. “But renovations need to get done quickly. That house will fall apart on its own if they don’t hurry.”
“Ah, right,” Jiwoo mused, twirling her fork as if she were only half-focused on her meal. “I do wonder what’s been holding them back from finishing…” Her gaze slid between the two of them, lingering just long enough to make Eun-ah shift in her seat.
Then, without warning, she tilted her head and asked, “But tell me, since when did you start picking Eun-ah up from things?” The mischief in her voice was unmistakable.
Hoseok didn’t flinch. “What do you mean?” His tone was light but guarded.
“I mean,” Jiwoo leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling, “you’re not exactly the chauffeur type.”
“I told you,” Hoseok said, not missing a beat, “I was on the way back, and she mentioned earlier she’d be here. So I dropped by to pick her up.” He stabbed another piece of steak and added dryly, “Saves on gas, if you ask me.”
Eun-ah lowered her gaze, focusing on her plate, but the corners of her lips twitched upward despite herself. Jiwoo smirked knowingly, sensing more in the space between them than either would admit aloud.
Jiwoo smirked. “Saves on gas, huh? You know, Eun-ah, when we were kids, Hoseokie once spent an entire afternoon siphoning gas out of our dad’s lawn mower because he thought he could build his own go-kart.”
Eun-ah’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Hoseok gave Jiwoo a flat look. “It would’ve worked if you hadn’t tattled.”
“You were Eight !” Jiwoo laughed. “And the only thing you built was a very angry lecture from Dad.”
Eun-ah covered her mouth to hide a laugh, glancing at Hoseok. “I can’t picture you doing that.”
He raised a brow. “What, breaking rules?”
“Playing with lawn mower gas,” she corrected, giggling.
“That was just the start,” Jiwoo chimed in, leaning forward. “You should’ve seen him the summer he decided he was going to be a beekeeper,”
“Okay, we don’t need to share everything over dinner,” Hoseok cut in, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Why? Embarrassed?” Eun-ah teased.
He met her eyes across the table, expression calm but voice low enough to feel pointed. “Not really. I just prefer some things… stay between people who were there.”
Eun-ah blinked, unsure if it was a challenge or just a comment, and Jiwoo grinned like she’d just witnessed a small victory.
Dinner passed in a haze of laughter, clinking cutlery, and Jiwoo’s endless supply of childhood stories. By the time dessert plates were cleared, Eun-ah’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Hoseok didn’t contribute much to the storytelling, but she caught the subtle smirks and small shakes of his head whenever Jiwoo exaggerated a detail.
When they finally rose from the table, Jiwoo walked them toward the foyer, her heels clicking against the marble. “Ah,” she sighed dramatically, “we should do this more often. This house gets too quiet sometimes, too big for just me and hubby”
Eun-ah smiled politely. “Well… I wouldn’t mind.”
“Good.” Jiwoo reached out and squeezed her hand. “Next time, I’ll bring out the really embarrassing stories.”
Hoseok groaned under his breath, already pulling his coat on.
As the driver pulled up to the entrance, Jiwoo suddenly stopped. “Oh! Wait, before you go-” She hurried across the foyer, disappearing into her study. A moment later, she reappeared holding a brown paper bag, the kind sturdy enough to carry wine bottles or heavy books.
“This is for you,” Jiwoo said, thrusting it into Eun-ah’s hands.
Eun-ah nearly staggered under the weight. “What is,”
“Open it at home,” Jiwoo interrupted with a conspiratorial wink.
That only made Eun-ah more curious, but before she could press further, Hoseok was already at the door, telling her the car was waiting.
As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Eun-ah glanced down at the bag again. Whatever it was, it was heavy, and Jiwoo’s playful smile lingered in her mind.
The drive home settled into a heavy, comfortable silence. The city lights passed in streaks of gold against the car’s tinted windows, casting fleeting shapes over Hoseok’s face. His eyes were closed, lashes resting against the faint shadows under them, his arms folded loosely across his chest like he was holding the weight of his day in place. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air between them, making it harder for Eun-ah not to keep glancing his way.
She wanted to ask, so badly, why he’d shown up out of nowhere to pick her up. Was it really just coincidence, like he said, passing by? Or… had he meant to? The question stayed on her tongue, unspoken. Maybe it was better not to know yet. Some things felt sweeter in the guessing.
They turned into the long driveway just past nine. The house’s soft, amber lights spilled over the clean lines of the stone path, making the night look almost gentle. The car rolled to a stop before the tall double doors. Eun-ah’s gaze drifted to Hoseok again, his head had tipped to the side, his jaw relaxed in sleep. In that moment, he didn’t look like the sharp, unshakable man everyone else saw. He looked… tired. Human. And the thought that he’d still come for her despite that exhaustion sent a small, involuntary spike of warmth through her chest.
She reached out and touched his arm lightly. “Oppa, we’re here,” she said, her voice soft enough to be mistaken for the hush of the night outside.
Hoseok’s eyes fluttered open, slow and reluctant, catching hers for the briefest moment before slipping away.
He was the first to step out, the cool night air brushing between them as the door clicked shut. Eun-ah followed, her heels crunching faintly against the stone. The warm yellow of the entryway lights poured over them as the front doors opened. The maids greeted them with practiced warmth; she bowed in return, her own voice bright and polite.
Then it was upstairs, where the echo of their footsteps thinned, and the house seemed to close in around them.
The stillness of their shared space was almost too vivid after the memory of last night. She could still feel the echo of it, shifting sheets, the creak of the bedframe, the low, ragged breaths they’d exchanged. She shook the thought away like water clinging to her skin.
Setting the brown paper bag on the bed, Eun-ah perched on the edge. Behind her, Hoseok pulled his tie free with one hand, his movements unhurried. Then, without warning, he let himself fall face-first onto the mattress beside her.
“Oooff… I’m so tired,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the fabric. It was such a casual thing to say, so unlike the man who had once been all edges and silence, that it almost startled her. “I’m gonna resign,” he added, deadpan, like someone confessing a secret to the sheets.
Eun-ah laughed, the sound breaking the quiet. “Don’t be silly, Oppa.” He looked so far from the stern, untouchable figure she’d first met months ago. He was softer now, still not open, but not closed off either.
“You’re the heir for a reason,” she teased, fingers already tugging at the paper bag Jiwoo had pressed into her hands earlier. “I wonder what’s inside…”
Before she could tear the tape, Hoseok sat up, shrugging off his coat with a fluid motion. “You’re an heir too,” he said, not looking back at her as he headed toward the bathroom. His shoulders filled the frame of the doorway before he disappeared. “Better figure that out.”
The bathroom door shut, and moments later the sound of running water filled the room.
Right, she thought, her smile fading. I’m an heir too. But the thought felt too heavy to hold tonight. She’d set it down, save it for another time.
She used her nails to work the tape loose. The bag opened with a papery sigh, revealing the edge of a book. In the low light, the cover gleamed a deep red, with white and gold accents curling into ornate patterns. It was thick, heavy for its size. Curious, she pulled it out, brushing away a stray strip of tape.
“Kama Sutra,” she read aloud under her breath. The cover illustration showed an Indian man and woman seated together, her body angled over his in a way that made her brows lift. Some kind of romance novel? she wondered, tracing the gold print with her thumb.
She flipped the book open at random—
—and froze. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught. Then, unable to help herself, she let out a sharp, startled gasp that bounced off the walls.
The shower cut off instantly. A moment later, the bathroom door cracked open and Hoseok’s head appeared, damp hair sticking to his temples. His expression was alert, almost worried. “What is it?!”
Eun-ah snapped the book shut and shoved it back into the bag in one motion. “Ah, there was a spider in the bag. From Unnie. I chased it away. Don’t worry.”
Her voice was too quick, too bright. She prayed the sound of her heartbeat wasn’t loud enough for him to hear over the pipes.
“I—I’ll put this in my study,” Eun-ah blurted, hugging the brown paper bag to her chest like a schoolgirl hiding contraband. Her voice was thin, almost squeaky, betraying the nerves curling in her stomach.
She turned on her heel and made for the door. Hoseok hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet, but she could feel him, not moving, just watching. It was the kind of awareness that prickled at the back of her neck, as if his gaze had weight. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder.
Her footsteps quickened, heels padded across the polished floor in sharp, guilty little beats until she reached her study. She shut the door behind her and leaned on it for a second, letting her breath slip out in a slow, measured stream.
The bag still felt heavy in her arms. Solid. Warm, maybe only from her own grip. She carried it to her desk and dropped into the chair, the paper making a soft crinkle as it met the polished wood. Her fingers reached for her phone almost automatically.
What the hell, Unnie… what the hell is this?
The reply came so fast she could picture Jiwoo grinning at her screen, like a cat waiting for a mouse to look up.
What—? That’s help for you. Go ahead and try page 88, it will change both of your lives, I promise.
You might even name your first child after me 😉
“Ugh, she’s impossible,” Eun-ah muttered to herself, feeling the heat creep across her cheeks.
Unnie, stop it.
Even as she typed, her hand slid toward the bag. The top was still torn open from earlier. The cover caught the lamplight. The texture under her fingertips was faintly ridged, paperbound but sturdy.
She hesitated… then slipped a thumb between the pages, letting them fan open until... page 88.
Her eyes widened instantly.
The illustration was graceful but unashamed. The woman’s back arched slightly, her head tilted forward, hair spilling over one shoulder. The man sat back on his calves, his hands resting at her hips. Their bodies fit together in a way that made something low in her chest tighten.
She gasped, too loudly.
The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, and she snapped the book shut as if the act could erase what she’d just seen.
Unnie, what if Oppa sees this omg!
Her fingers trembled slightly as she shoved it into the drawer, pushing it as far back as possible. She slid the drawer shut, wood thudding softly, just as her phone began to ring.
Jiwoo. Of course.
Eun-ah swiped to answer, voice already pitched in accusation. “Unnie! Why this?” Her cheeks were hot enough to burn, and she was glad Jiwoo couldn’t see her. She put her on speaker phone and placed the phone on her desk, letting her chair swing around.
“Relax,” Jiwoo’s voice came light and teasing. “That’s something for you, since you don’t know much.” A giggle, bright and unbothered, spilled through the speaker. “But seriously, did you see page 88?”
“I did… what was that?” Eun-ah said, her voice thinner than she intended, because the image hadn’t left her mind. “How do you even get to… that? Eun-ah paused.
“You better try it out. That’s life-changing,” Jiwoo said, savoring the words, as if she’d just handed down a royal decree.
Eun-ah spun the chair so she was facing the window. Outside, the garden was washed in silver moonlight. She pressed her toes into the carpet, trying to ground herself. “You say that like we do it all the time. It was the first time… and I don’t think there’ll be a next time.”
She expected her voice to sound firm, but instead it wavered, tinged with something that felt dangerously close to… longing.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She hadn’t meant for that part to slip through, not even to herself.
Was she actually… disappointed?
“Trust me, there’s a second, and a third, and a fourth.” Jiwoo’s voice was smug and lazy, like she was sipping wine while counting off her fingers. “I just know it.”
“Unnie, no ,” Eun-ah whined, but the giggle that slipped out betrayed her. She could already feel her cheeks heating, and it wasn’t from the heater humming in the corner of her study.
“I’m going to bed now,” Jiwoo sang, “good luck with your… adventures . And remember PAGE 88!” she basically shouted, her voice echoing in the study from the small speaker of Eun-ah’s phone. A deliberate pause, then the line went dead.
Eun-ah rolled her eyes, shoving her phone into her pocket, but there was still a smile tugging at her lips. She smoothed her hair, turned to open the door—
—and froze.
Hoseok was standing there.
The dim light from the hallway framed him in muted gold, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft mess of his hair, he was wearing a plain white muscle tee and grey sweatpants that left nothing to imagination. His arms were crossed, his posture casual, but there was something in his gaze, calm on the surface, but so fixed on her it made her stomach flutter.
“So,” he said, voice smooth and deceptively neutral, “what were you talking about?”
She blinked rapidly, fumbling for words. “Ah—er… nothing. Girl talk.”
One brow arched, skeptical. “Girl talk, huh…” His tone suggested he didn’t believe her for a second.
Before she could block him, he stepped past her, smell of shampoo following in a faint, warm wave. He strolled toward her desk, every movement deliberate, almost predatory.
“Oppa, wait, it’s messy in here,”
He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the sliver of brown paper peeking from the half-closed drawer. Without hesitation, he slid it open and pulled the book free.
Red cover. Gold lettering.
Eun-ah’s stomach dropped.
His eyes scanned the title, and then, that smirk. Slow. Dangerous. Beautiful. “Kama Sutra?”
Her face went crimson. “Give that back!”
But he was already thumbing through the pages, his eyes glinting with something that made her toes curl. “Hmm… What's this? You wanna try it?”
“Oppa!” she squeaked, lunging for the book. He just laughed under his breath, lifting it higher, well out of her reach. “It’s not mine! It’s Unnie's!”
She jumped, fingertips brushing the edge once, twice. Her heart pounded, her laugh half-nervous, half-determined. “Stop! Give it-”
Her foot caught on the edge of the rug.
The world tilted for a split second. “Ah—!”
Before she could hit the floor, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The book stayed in his other hand, held effortlessly above them, but the strength in the arm around her was unshakable.
Her palms pressed against the firmness of his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. His breath fanned across her face, warm and laced with the faintest trace of mint and something deeper.
His eyes searched hers, his teasing gone. “Are you okay? Did you hit something?” His voice was softer now, concerned.
Eun-ah shook her head quickly, but her pulse was all over the place, and not because she had almost fallen.
That smirk returned, slower this time, like he knew exactly what was going through her mind. “Good,” he murmured, leaning just enough to hand her the book. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt… before we even get to page eighty-eight.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oppa!”
He chuckled, stepping back toward the door with that maddening calm, leaving her clutching the book to her chest, equal parts mortified and curious.
Chapter 32: Chapter 32
Notes:
A lot has happened with life lately, sorry for the late update.
Chapter Text
It was nearing seven on a Friday, the kind of evening where the world seemed to exhale. The sun had sunk low, spilling gold through the wide living room windows, painting long shadows across the carpet where Eun-ah sat cross-legged, nearly buried in a sea of glossy pamphlets and thick catalogues. They were everywhere, sprawled across the floor like a paper mosaic, all with the same blinding smiles and painfully optimistic slogans.
"Shaping tomorrow’s leaders, today."
"Where excellence meets opportunity."
She chewed absently on the end of her pen, nose scrunching as she flipped one over and tossed it aside, unimpressed. The cheerful slogans only made the decision feel heavier. With a small groan, she let herself collapse backward onto the carpet, flinging her arms over her face like a child hiding from the world.
“How am I supposed to choose from these?” she mumbled into her palms.
“Choose from what?”
The voice startled her. She shot upright so fast her hair fell into her face. There he was, Hoseok, standing in the doorway, his tie loosened, blazer draped casually over one arm, looking maddeningly at ease. He didn’t look like someone who had just gotten home from hours of meetings. He looked like someone who belonged there, filling up the large space without even trying.
Her pulse tripped over itself. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, scrambling to sit straighter, as though tidying herself might erase the fact she’d just been caught drowning in glossy paper and indecision. She started gathering pamphlets into a neater pile, but Hoseok was already stepping closer.
He bent at the waist, plucking one off the carpet with easy fingers. His brow furrowed as he read aloud, voice dipped with exaggerated gravitas. “Unlocking potential, igniting futures.”
When he looked up, the smirk tugging at his lips was impossible to miss. “Sounds… revolutionary.”
Eun-ah gave him a flat stare, cheeks heating despite herself. “Don’t mock me. These are important.”
“Schools?” he asked, flipping the pamphlet between his fingers like it was a deck of cards.
She nodded. “Mm. Ye-joon said it might be better if I transferred somewhere more… exclusive.” She sighed, picking up another brochure, softer now. “Less chance of anyone bothering me, now that I’ve been… launched as your wife.” The word wife slipped out heavier than she meant, and she looked away, tracing a meaningless line along the edge of a catalogue. “But they all look the same.”
“Expensive fonts and fake smiles,” Hoseok said, crouching beside her now, so close she caught the faint scent of his cologne: clean, warm, unsettlingly familiar. “I hated these when I was a trainee. They always promised the world.”
He reached for another, flipped it open with mock drama, then read aloud in a grand, announcer’s voice:
“Empowering visionaries for a brighter future.”
The way he looked at her then, eyebrows lifted, eyes glittering with mischief, nearly made her laugh before she could stop herself.
“That’s not even a thing,” she said, lips twitching.
“Sure it is.” He leaned back, one arm braced behind him, the other gesturing toward her. “Look at you. Future visionary.”
Her face heated. She swatted him with a pamphlet, which he caught easily against his chest, laughing. The sound was warm, unguarded, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe properly.
“You’re not helping,” she muttered, hiding behind another brochure.
“Maybe not.” Hoseok let himself drop fully onto the floor beside her, stretching his long legs out like he had every intention of staying. “But if you’re transferring, I get a vote too, don’t I?”
She peeked at him from behind the paper. “You? Why?”
“Because,” he said smoothly, leaning back on his palms again, eyes glinting like he knew exactly what effect he had on her, “if I have to drop you off at campus sometimes, it better not be across the city. That’s just inconvenient.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “Huh?”
“What?” His lips curved into that maddening grin. “Pick the one closest to the office. Efficiency is key.”
Eun-ah blinked at him, pulse tripping all over again. Drop me off? Since when was that a given? Why did the thought of him waiting outside campus gates, of him being the one to pick her up, send her thoughts scattering?
She swallowed. “Wait, why would you even need to drive me at all? Isn’t that… unnecessary? ”
Hoseok shrugged, so casual it almost felt deliberate. “Saves on gas if we have the same schedule.”
Saves on gas… The exact same excuse. Her mind flicked immediately to Jiwoo’s house, to Jiwoo’s teasing suspicion, to the way Hoseok had deadpanned that very line like it was the most logical thing in the world. Saves on gas. Back then, she thought nothing of it. Now…
Her heart drummed a little too hard as she watched him smirk at her over the edge of the brochure.
Hoseok leaned back fully on his palms, gaze drifting to the ornate chandelier above them. His tone was casual, but it carried that quiet finality she was beginning to recognize. “Come to think of it… why don’t I come with you to see these schools? That way, we’ll know if they really fit you. When are we going?”
Eun-ah blinked. We? “Uh… tomorrow, I think? Ye-joon scheduled a tour for like… ten schools.” Just saying the number made her shoulders sag.
“Perfect.” Hoseok pushed himself up in one smooth motion, dusting his palms on his trousers. “My schedule’s clear tomorrow. We’ll leave in the morning, and cover as many as possible.” He was already moving toward the door.
“Wait-you don’t have to-” Eun-ah called after him.
But he was gone, swallowed up by the corner of the hallway, leaving her unfinished protest hanging in the air.
“…come,” she muttered, her voice flat with defeat. She slumped deeper into the couch, pressing a hand over her face.
Great. As if this whole thing wasn’t exhausting enough, now he’s going to make it ten times more complicated.
***
The next morning crept in with a pale wash of gold through the curtains, soft but insistent against the edges of the room. Eun-ah was bundled in her silk blanket cocoon, a lump on the mattress, her hair a messy halo over the pillow.
"Wake up, Eun-ah" Hoseok said, hovering beside the bed, arms crossed on his chest.
“It’s seven a.m., oppa,” she groaned, voice muffled as she yanked the blanket higher, cocooning tighter. “No school is even open this early.”
Hoseok, already showered and dressed, loose designer pants hanging effortlessly off his hips, a crisp LV shirt draped over him, hair still damp and styled back, looked anything but sympathetic. With one sharp tug, he peeled the blanket away, ripping her shield of warmth clean off.
“Yah!” Eun-ah gasped, curling instinctively, one arm shooting out to cover herself, the other hugging her RJ plush over her face. Her pajama shirt had ridden up in her sleep, baring the delicate slope of her waist and the dangerous line beneath her chest. Her shorts weren’t helping, leaving far too much skin in the open morning light.
Hoseok froze mid-motion. His throat bobbed hard as heat shot up the back of his neck and down to where he really didn’t want it. He dragged his eyes away, too late, the image already burned. This is going to kill me all day, he thought, jaw clenching as he struggled to reset his face into indifference.
“What’s the big idea?” she whined from under RJ, voice petulant, eyes resolutely closed.
“Get up, Eun-ah.” His voice came out firmer than he expected, though the crack of strain was there. “We need to be presentable. Schools aren’t just going to adjust to you, we need to show them what’s coming.”
He crouched, fingers finding her ankle, tugging gently, testing. The contact made his pulse spike. He’d never reached for her this openly before, always accidental brushes, stolen sparks, and that night. His hand lingered a fraction too long, as if he couldn’t quite let go.
“Ughhh, what does that even mean, I’m just Eun-ah!,” she groaned, rolling onto her stomach, burying her face deeper. “We’re not even expected until ten! Just let me sleep.” Her legs kicked half-heartedly, oblivious to how the movement only made his restraint thinner, thinner still.
Hoseok exhaled sharply through his nose. " Enough" . In one smooth motion, he hoisted her up, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of rice.
“Oppa! No!- what the heck, let me down!” Eun-ah yelped, flailing against his back, tiny fists pounding weakly at him.
He didn’t slow, striding for the bathroom. “Since you don’t want to wake up, I’ll give you a reason to.”
The door swung open, and before she could twist free, he deposited her on the cold shower floor. She gasped as the chill seeped instantly through her thin pajamas, silk darkening where dampness spread.
“Oppa!” she squeaked, scrambling upright, hugging herself.
“I’ll give you a shower if you don’t want to,” Hoseok said low, crouching close, hands daringly at her blouse. Fingers slid against the first button.
“Wait—wait—WAIT!” she squealed, panic flashing. Instinct kicked in and she shoved him, harder than she thought she could.
He stumbled back, colliding against the glass wall of the shower with a stunned thud.
“Did… did you just push me? ” Hoseok’s eyes widened, disbelief softening his sharp edges.
“Well why the hell were you unbuttoning me?!” she shot back, cheeks burning as she clutched her shirt closed.
“Because you don’t get up when I tell you!”
“It’s too early!!”
“It is not!”
Their voices tangled, heated and messy, bouncing off tile and glass until-
“What the hell are you two on about?”
Both froze.
Ye-joon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, brows raised. “I swear, it sounded like someone was being murdered in here.” His gaze flicked between Hoseok, still pressed against the glass, wide-eyed, and Eun-ah, huddled on the wet floor, hands hugging herself.
“Bo-ra is here,” Ye-joon added flatly.
The makeup artist peeked in behind him, hesitant but smiling, hand lifting in a small wave.
Silence snapped like a whip. Hoseok straightened at once, brushing himself down, voice sharp to cover the burn creeping up his throat.
“I told you, we need to look presentable. Schools need to show their capacity. And no more sleeping NOT in the shower-” His eyes cut back to her, tone firm but deliberately louder. “Or I’ll come in and bathe you myself. ”
“Oppa!!” Eun-ah exploded, mortification blazing red across her face. Ye-joon coughed into his fist to hide a laugh. Bo-ra, just as red, ducked her head quickly.
Steam still clung faintly to Eun-ah’s skin when she padded into the walk-in closet, hair damp and cheeks fresh from the shower. The familiar sight of Bo-ra already had the vanity lit, rows of products neatly lined, brushes fanned out like instruments waiting for a concert.
Eun-ah sank into the chair with a sigh that seemed to come from her bones. “Do we really have to fuss this much? It’s just… picking out a school.” Her eyelids fluttered shut obediently as Bo-ra tilted her chin, already working foundation across her skin.
“Mm, not just picking a school,” Bo-ra murmured, her tone matter-of-fact as her hands moved with quick precision. “You’re representing something. And you need to look like it.” Her brush swept across Eun-ah’s face, cool and soft, grounding.
Eun-ah’s brows pinched slightly, though her eyes stayed closed. Until now, she’d thought of this tour as her decision alone, about what she wanted, where she’d be comfortable. She hadn’t stopped to remember that her choice carried weight, that she wasn’t simply a girl looking for a classroom, but the wife of someone untouchable, tied to a name far bigger than herself.
“…I see what you mean,” Eun-ah admitted softly, the realization dropping heavier than she expected. “But-” she cracked one eye open with a pout “why is he wearing just jeans and a shirt? I thought we needed to be presentable .”
Bo-ra let out a low laugh, already reaching for a palette. “Girl, did you forget? He’s the BTS J-Hope. That is his presentable. That’s his persona. Honestly? His J-Hope identity is bigger than the whole chaebol heir image.” She smirked knowingly, brushing shimmer across Eun-ah’s lids.
“No offense to Ju-yo,” she added with a giggle.
Eun-ah sighed again, shoulders slumping slightly. “Why can’t it all just be… normal?”
“It’s been what, five months-ish?” Bo-ra said, moving on to Eun-ah’s hair, the soft glide of the brush soothing across her scalp. “And you’re still not used to it?”
The hour that followed passed in strokes and swipes, powders and pins. By the time Bo-ra finally stepped back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes, Eun-ah barely recognized the girl in the mirror Bo-ra done this countless times but it always takes her breath away.
No, she wasn’t matching Hoseok’s casual designer swagger, not at all. Bo-ra had dressed her in a white dress that clung in all the places Eun-ah wished it didn’t, the fabric sculpted and severe, screaming wealth and elegance. At her throat glittered layers: the delicate cherry blossom necklace Hoseok had given her in Jeju, nestled against a diamond choker, with another long chain and a white flower pendant falling gracefully down her chest. Pearl earrings brushed her neck, her hair curled in soft waves and thickened with extensions that cascaded down her back like a glossy curtain. It was… too much, maybe. And yet, when she tilted her head, she had to admit, it suited her.
Her red heels clicked against the marble staircase as she descended, each step echoing like a countdown.
“Well,” she called, stepping into the dining room where Hoseok sat at the head of the table, coffee steaming at his elbow, newspaper in hand. He’d changed out of his damp clothes, now in clean ripped jeans and a fresh shirt, crisp but still effortlessly casual. He glanced up, eyes catching her fully.
His paper lowered a fraction. A pause. His eyes widened, just barely, before he folded the news neatly, setting it aside. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on laced fingers like a man about to enjoy a private show.
“Well, well,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, a teasing forming already in his tongue. “Why don’t you give me a twirl?”
The comment landed heavier than it should have. Eun-ah rolled her eyes, trying for disdain, but the heat creeping across her cheeks betrayed her. She didn’t miss how relaxed he looked, how much more playful he’d become in the last weeks, unguarded, teasing in ways that knocked at her defenses, maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted to believe.
“Well, let’s get into it, shall we?” Hoseok said, brushing invisible lint from his LV shirt as he pushed himself off the chair. His voice was calm, casual almost, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise. Eun-ah walked quickly after him, catching the coat Ye-joon handed her and draping it across her shoulders as she followed him toward the foyer.
***
The drive to the first school stretched on for an hour, winding through wide streets until they finally pulled up to an imposing set of tall iron gates. The driveway curved like a stage entrance, framed by perfectly clipped hedges and towering trees that shadowed the path ahead.
They weren’t even halfway to the main building when the car was met with chaos.
Hundreds of students swarmed the front lawn, a sea of uniforms and homemade banners flapping wildly in the air. The chanting started low at first “J-Hope! J-Hope!”but by the time the car slowed, it had erupted into deafening screams.
Eun-ah shifted in her seat, her stomach tightening. “Already? Did they… announce this?”
Hoseok’s jaw tightened, the flicker of disappointment almost imperceptible before he smoothed it away. “Looks like it,” he muttered under his breath, exhaling a sharp sigh through his nose. But by the time the driver pulled the door open, his expression had already shifted, sunshine smile snapping back into place, shoulders loose, aura bright as if nothing had happened. To anyone else, he was the perfect J-Hope again.
The second he stepped out, the shrieks nearly rattled the windows. Phones shot up in unison. Some students broke formation, pressing past the weak barricades of staff. Eun-ah reached for the door handle, but Hoseok’s arm shot out, barring her way, his body angled like a shield. For a split second, his idol mask cracked, eyes sharp, jaw tight, protective.
Only when security surged forward at the last possible moment did he glance back at her, extend his hand.
“It’s okay now.” His voice softened. “Let’s go.”
His fingers slid against hers, firm and warm, and before she knew it, Eun-ah was out of the car, practically tethered to him as the crowd pressed closer. He kept their hands locked, his thumb brushing steady reassurance against her skin while his other hand waved brightly at the screaming kids.
Eun-ah clung to him, trying not to stumble as the security staff strained against the tide of students. Her heart pounded, every shove, every push of the mob felt like a danger. What if someone fell? What if someone got hurt? What if they did?
By the time they slipped into the safety of the main office, Eun-ah’s legs were trembling. Hoseok pulled out a chair for her, his movements clipped, controlled, before taking the seat beside her. The meeting table stretched long and polished, with an older gentleman seated at its head, sweat already beading his brow.
“We’re very excited to welcome you, Mr. Jung,” the man began, voice booming but uneven. “Our staff practically exploded with joy when we received your assistant’s call. They say you were inquiring about-”
“My wife,” Hoseok cut in smoothly, his tone polite but unyielding. “She’s the one inquiring for college.”
Eun-ah flinched slightly at the weight of the correction. The old man stumbled over his words, stuttering, “R-right, of course, Ms…” His eyes darted to Eun-ah, who suddenly wished she could sink into her chair. She felt small, swallowed up by the shadow of Hoseok’s celebrity. Just Eun-ah, sitting beside J-Hope.
Sensing her retreat, Hoseok shifted. Under the table, his hand found hers and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze. The tiniest touch, but it melted the tightness in her chest. She turned her head, catching the faintest curve of his mouth.
“Eun-ah,” Hoseok continued for her, voice calm but cool. Then he leaned back in his chair, arms folding as his smile faded into something sharper. “Though I see your school wasn’t prepared. We can always come back another day.”
The elder man blanched, scrambling. “N-no, please! Forgive me, it’s my age, slipping memory, you see. I apologize, Ms. Eun-ah.” He gave her a nervous smile. “I hear you’re interested in our Architectural Program. Our school is known for its design track, its focus on creativity. I’m certain you’d love it here.”
Eun-ah opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Hoseok cut in again, this time leaning forward. His elbows rested on the table, his aura shifting darker, more pressing.
“How prepared is your school when it comes to security?” His tone was deceptively light, but the weight behind it pressed down like lead. “What I saw earlier…” he gave a humorless chuckle, “let’s call it unfortunate.”
The old man swallowed visibly. “We-I assure you, Mr. Jung, we-”
“My wife .” Hoseok’s voice landed sharper this time. “Can you accommodate her? Can you guarantee her safety?”
“Yes, of course, we have-excellent security protocols in place-”
“Really?” Hoseok’s eyes sharpened as he tilted his head. “Because I only spotted a few CCTV cameras, by the gate. Old. Dusty.” He didn’t blink. “Do they even work?”
“They-yes, they still function, I assure you-”
“Good. Then you can show me the footage of our arrival.” His voice was low, steady, impossible to deflect.
The man froze mid-reach for his water glass. “I… well, that will take a moment to call for-”
“Oppa,” Eun-ah whispered, shooting Hoseok a pleading look, tugging gently at his sleeve. “This isn’t necessary…”
He turned to her, expression softening only for her. “Of course it is. It’s your safety.”
Then, back to the elder gentleman, his tone snapped back to steel. “Call for it. I’ll wait.”
The old man fumbled for his phone, voice shaking as he dialed. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, one arm casually draped over Eun-ah’s seat as though he had all the time in the world, his hum low and dangerous.
“Hmm.”
***
“Well… that was unfortunate,” Hoseok muttered, his voice flat but edged with irritation as his thumb danced across his phone screen. The glow of the device lit his sharp features while the car jostled through late afternoon traffic. His knee bounced restlessly against the leather seat. “How disappointing,” he added under his breath, almost spitting the words out.
From the passenger seat, Ye-joon’s head whipped around so fast his seatbelt strained. His brows drew together, suspicion already lacing his voice. “That bad?”
Eun-ah groaned softly, pressing her palms into her face as though she could erase the memory. “Oppa… you were too much. It was humiliating.” Her voice cracked with embarrassment, and she slid lower into her seat as if wanting to disappear.
“Why? What the hell happened in there?” Ye-joon pressed, his gaze darting between the two. “Is that why the manager looked like he’d seen a ghost?”
“No time for that,” Hoseok cut in, his tone clipped. He leaned forward, pointing out the tinted window. “Next school’s here.”
The car curved toward towering white gates, their polished iron bars gleaming in the sunlight. Draped across them was a massive banner in bold crimson letters: Welcome J-Hope and Ms. Eun-ah. The street, strangely, was hushed, no cheering students, no chaotic crowd, only silence broken by the hum of the engine.
A woman in crisp slacks and a pristine white blouse awaited them at the entrance, her polite smile perfectly rehearsed. With a graceful bow, she ushered them inside.
The hall they entered made Eun-ah nearly stumble. Her eyes widened as her breath caught. Spread before them was not just a welcome, it was a spectacle. A banquet table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, groaning under the weight of endless dishes: steaming soups, towers of fruit carved into elaborate shapes, glistening meats, platters of delicate desserts. Uniformed servers stood like sentinels at the edges, their hands folded neatly in front of them, waiting for a cue. It was absurdly lavish, almost theatrical.
At the far end of the table, a woman in a striking red dress and matching coat sat with perfect posture, a picture of authority and wealth. As soon as their footsteps echoed against the polished floors, she rose, her movements deliberate and commanding.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Jung,” the older woman greeted, her voice smooth but carrying weight. “Welcome. We have been waiting.”
Hoseok cleared his throat, the sound strained. He slid into the nearest chair, his eyes darting over the mountain of plates before him. The abundance was so overwhelming that the hostess at the edge of the table seemed almost obscured, lost behind the fortress of food.
“Thank you,” Hoseok said slowly, forcing a polite smile. “You really… shouldn’t have prepared a-” he paused, gesturing vaguely at the endless spread “a feast.”
Eun-ah’s discomfort mirrored his; her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.
“Nonsense!” the woman declared with a dramatic wave of her jeweled hand. “A feast fit for a king… and queen.” Her lips curled knowingly as she gestured toward the couple.
“So,” she continued, folding her hands together with practiced grace, “your assistant mentioned you were looking to transfer for your architectural program. Our university boasts an award-winning department, recognized with the 대한민국 건축 교육 대상 (Korea Architectural Education Award). We nurture only the best.”
“Oh, that is wonderful !” Eun-ah said, her tone bright but carefully measured, as though she were balancing on a tightrope of courtesy. She leaned forward in her seat, hands folded neatly over the glossy brochure, her knuckles betraying the faintest tremor. Still, her voice steadied as she pressed on. “Ah, may I ask… in your architectural program, do you offer interdisciplinary collaborations with urban design and environmental sustainability modules?”
The woman, smiled with a confidence that came from a practiced routine. “But of course, Ms. Eun-ah. Our program not only integrates urban design and sustainability, we also run partnered research with the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, and Transport. Last year, for example, one of our cohorts presented a live project to the Seoul city council on zero-waste housing solutions.” Her tone was polished, each word rounded and gleaming like it had been rehearsed a hundred times.
Eun-ah gave a small, respectful nod, lowering her eyes to the brochure once again. The crisp paper gave off a faint chemical tang, but it was the warm, yeasty fragrance of freshly baked pastries drifting from the tray on the table that tugged at her senses. She caught sight of golden rolls, steam still curling faintly off their crusts. The spread looked almost too inviting, like it had been placed there to soften the sharp edges of this interview.
Hoseok, however, leaned back in his chair, elbow propped against the armrest, fingers absently rubbing at his jaw. His gaze swept the room, lingering not on the bread or the glossy pamphlets, but on the woman’s carefully arranged expression. After a beat, his lips quirked, the faintest trace of amusement ghosting over his face.
“And tell me,” he said suddenly, his tone deceptively casual as he shifted his weight and tilted his head, “how many of those award-winning projects actually made it beyond the presentation stage?”
The question landed with quiet precision, cutting neatly through the polished script.
The woman blinked, her lips parting for half a second too long. The necklace at her throat shifted as she drew in a breath. It wasn’t the sort of question she had prepared for, this was no brochure copy, no memorized line. Her eyes flicked briefly to Eun-ah, then back to Hoseok, caught in the crossfire between their different energies.
Eun-ah’s fingers tightened around the brochure, her stomach clenching. Hoseok’s voice had been calm, almost lazy, but his gaze, steady and sharp, had stripped the polish right off the conversation.
The woman blinked, her practiced smile faltering for the first time. Her hands, neatly folded over the brochure, twitched before she clasped them tighter. “Ah… well-of course, we… ah, yes, we… we plan to integrate such programs in the near future.” Her voice pitched higher, brittle under the weight of Hoseok’s steady gaze. “At present, our focus is primarily on-ah-building fundamentals, but naturally we’re considering collaborations… with, um… external institutes-”
Hoseok tilted his head, expression calm yet razor-sharp. “Hmm. I see.” The simple phrase, coupled with the faint curve of his lips, carried more weight than any outright critique. He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once on the polished table as though marking an invisible tally.
Eun-ah felt her throat tighten. She lowered her eyes to the glossy page before her, feigning interest in the architectural renderings hoping to avoid the awkwardness.
Moments later, the visit wrapped up with polite farewells. The staff member was all bows and overly bright smiles again, but the edge of unease lingered in her eyes.
***
The car door shut with a soft thunk , sealing them in. The city hummed faintly beyond the tinted glass.
Eun-ah twisted toward him, her brows knitting. “Oppa, you shouldn’t have asked that,” she murmured, her voice sharper than intended. “You put her on the spot-”
Hoseok only looked ahead, lips pressed together in that infuriatingly unreadable line.
From the passenger seat, Ye-joon turned around, baffled. “Again? What is happening? Why is no one telling me anything?” His voice climbed, exasperation coating every syllable. He looked between them like a referee dropped into a game with no rulebook.
Eun-ah didn’t answer, biting her lip. Hoseok finally let out a quiet hum, not quite amusement, not quite frustration, and rested his chin on his hand, gaze flicking to the passing skyline.
***
The third school felt different the moment they stepped onto the grounds. No long lines of students waiting, no elaborate displays of food to distract them. The front office was quiet, orderly, the faint scent of polished wood and fresh flowers replacing the chaos of the last two visits. The atmosphere felt lived-in but calm, almost as if the building itself exhaled patience.
An elderly man, short and balding with round glasses perched at the tip of his nose, greeted them with a crinkled smile that immediately reached his eyes. “Welcome, Ms. Eun-ah,” he said warmly, shaking her hand with both of his. His grip was firm but kind, the sort that grounded her in an instant. “We’ve prepared some information tailored to your interests.”
Before she could respond, he gestured toward a sunlit sitting room with neatly arranged brochures spread across a polished oak table. He pulled a folder from the stack, its edges marked with color-coded tabs. “Here, you’ll find not only our standard curriculum but also our specialized tracks. I’ve highlighted programs in the arts, sciences, and languages, since I understand you value flexibility and well-rounded growth.”
Eun-ah blinked, pleasantly surprised. For the first time today, someone was presenting her with options rather than forcing her to dig for answers. She leaned forward, scanning the crisp pages, the neat highlights guiding her eyes. A faint hum of relief threaded through her chest; she hadn’t realized how tense she had been until now.
Beside her, Hoseok crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, silently observing. His sharp eyes scanned every detail , the cleanliness of the hallways, the confidence of the staff, even the subtle way students passed by without gawking or whispering. It was exactly what he wanted to see: a place that treated Eun-ah not as an extension of him but as herself. Still, his brow remained slightly furrowed, as though withholding judgment until every test was satisfied.
The principal continued, his voice calm and steady. “We also have a dedicated security team trained to handle high-profile families. Discretion and safety are our highest priorities. Our grounds are monitored at all times, but we also value freedom, students are never made to feel as though they live under surveillance.”
At that, Hoseok finally pushed away from the doorframe and spoke. “How discreet, exactly?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried the weight of someone used to probing for weakness.
The principal didn’t flinch. “Our staff are vetted thoroughly, and our policies are designed to ensure no unnecessary exposure. Privacy is non-negotiable here, Mr. Jung.”
Eun-ah glanced at him, her lips curving just slightly. She could see that flicker in his eyes, approval, though he’d never say it aloud. Hoseok had been insistent about testing these schools, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. He wanted her to feel secure, yes, but she knew he also wanted to prove to himself that no detail had been overlooked. It was his way of caring, even when it felt like an interrogation.
They spent the next hour walking through the campus. The classrooms were bright, sunlight spilling over polished desks, the hum of quiet conversations lingering in the halls. Students greeted teachers politely, but without stiffness, their ease suggesting genuine respect rather than fear. Eun-ah found herself smiling when one group waved at her before continuing their work, unbothered, but warm.
Hoseok trailed half a step behind, his gaze flicking everywhere, checking fire exits, noticing where the security cameras were placed, even testing the locks on the windows when the guide wasn’t looking. At one point, he asked a teacher what protocols were in place for emergencies, his tone calm but his expression unreadable. Eun-ah couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the way the teacher nervously scrambled for details, only to be gently rescued by the principal, who had the answers memorized word for word.
By the time they returned to the sitting room, Eun-ah felt lighter. The air here wasn’t heavy with formality. It felt… breathable. She sank into the cushioned chair, flipping through the folder again, her fingertips brushing over the highlighted notes. Hoseok sat beside her at last, still alert but quieter now, his hand tapping against his knee in thought.
“This is the first place that feels like it’s not trying too hard,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Hoseok turned his head, studying her profile, the soft curve of her smile. He didn’t say anything right away. But his fingers stilled, and after a long pause, he leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself a small exhale.
***
“Finally… a good school.” Eun-ah let out a long breath, sinking into the cold leather of the car seat. Her body relaxed for the first time all afternoon, muscles unclenching after hours of walking across polished floors, smiling at overly eager administrators, and enduring endless tours. She pressed her head against the headrest, closing her eyes briefly, as if savoring the moment of decision. For once, she didn’t want to overthink-this one felt right.
Beside her, Hoseok was still flipping through the glossy pages of the school's brochure, his thumb running over every page like he was searching for some hidden flaw she’d overlooked. Papers rustled in his lap as he skimmed through fine print, his brows drawn low in concentration. Eun-ah had already made up her mind, her heart was set, but he seemed determined to push for one more layer of certainty.
“It’s fine,” Hoseok finally said, his tone careful and noncommittal. “Not groundbreaking, but I like how professional they are.” He tapped his finger against the brochure, thoughtful. “We can still look at a couple more schools-”
“No, Oppa.” Eun-ah cut him off before he could build his case. She turned to him, her voice firm but gentle, her hands clutching the edge of her seat. “The third one is my school. I already love it.” There was something unwavering in her tone, something that said she wasn’t budging this time.
Hoseok sighed through his nose and leaned back into the seat, the leather creaking beneath him. “Fine,” he conceded after a pause, snapping the brochure shut with a soft thud. His gaze flicked to her, softer than his words. “It’s accessible anyway, easy to get to. If you want it, then… it’s yours.”
Before she could answer, a sharp buzz vibrated against the quiet interior of the car. Hoseok fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand, glancing briefly at the caller ID. His voice changed instantly, calm, brisk, professional. “Namjoonie,” he greeted, pressing the phone to his ear. “A meeting? … Right now? … Okay, I’ll be there.” He ended the call with a decisive click and slipped the phone back into his pocket, his shoulders already tightening with the weight of responsibility.
“We need to make a stop by HYBE,” he said, turning slightly toward her. “There’s an emergency meeting. It’ll be short.”
Eun-ah tilted her head, offering him an easy smile that made her look softer than she realized. “It’s fine, Oppa, I don’t mind. Do I need to come in?”
Hoseok’s lips tugged at the corner in the ghost of a smile. “Well of course. I won’t leave you waiting in the car. Plus, it’s just BTS, you already know all of them, practica-” His words caught mid-stride as an unwelcome thought brushed through his head like static. Jungkook. No.. They would be seeing each other . And Eun-ah… Eun-ah looked fucking good today , how her hair fell just right on her waist, the subtle curve of her hips, the way the sunlight through the window lit her skin in warm gold.
Wait. Did I really just think that? Hoseok blinked, his jaw tightening. He turned his gaze sharply toward the window, hoping the shift would shake off the thought, but the aftertaste of it lingered in his chest, unsettling.
“On second thought,” he said more quickly than he intended, his voice firmer now, “you can wait in my studio. I don’t want to bore you with details.” He didn’t trust himself, not in that room, not with the sudden unease curling in his chest.
Eun-ah, oblivious to the storm flickering behind his steady expression, simply nodded. “Alright, Oppa.” She adjusted the hem of her dress over her knees, settling back into her seat, content with his decision.
The drive turned out to be shorter than they expected. Despite the school’s seemingly endless driveway lined with manicured hedges and tall gates, it was barely five minutes from HYBE. Hoseok, sitting beside her with his tablet balanced on one knee, did his own quiet math. If it’s five minutes from HYBE… then that makes it ten minutes from my office. The thought lingered in his head as he imagined the route, how easily he could drop Eun-ah off in the morning, pick her up in the evening. It almost felt… convenient. Too convenient. He caught himself midway and blinked hard. Wait. Why the hell am I even thinking like this? His jaw flexed, and with a small shake of his head, he forced the thought away as if brushing invisible dust from his shoulder.
The car rolled to a gentle stop beside the underground parking elevator. Ye-joon was the first to slide out, quick and practiced in his movements, before circling back to open Eun-ah’s door with his usual courtesy. Hoseok followed after, tugging his coat into place, expression unreadable but eyes sharp. The three of them stepped into the mirrored elevator, its chrome walls reflecting their figures back at them. Eun-ah adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her gaze darting between the lit floor numbers as the elevator ascended. Hoseok kept one hand buried in his pocket, the other tapping against his thigh, a restless rhythm that betrayed his impatience.
When the soft chime finally announced the fifteenth floor, the doors slid open to the familiar hum of BIGHIT's headquarters. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and strong coffee, a blend of productivity and polish. Staff members bustled in and out of glass-walled offices, their arms full of files, phones pressed to their ears. And then, in a domino effect, heads began to turn. First one, then another, then a handful of others. Their greetings for Hoseok were respectful but tinged with curiosity, their eyes inevitably sliding toward the woman at his side. Eun-ah. She was a new presence here, and one look at her was enough to spark whispers in hushed corners.
“Your workplace looks nice,” Eun-ah murmured, her voice light but tinged with awe. Her gaze wandered across the artwork adorning the walls, sleek yet soulful pieces that added vibrancy to the otherwise clean, efficient atmosphere. She took in the rows of desks where employees worked with brisk precision, each person fitting into the rhythm of the place like parts of a well-oiled machine. Her lips curled into a small, appreciative smile.
Hoseok, however, was far less interested in her admiration. His stride lengthened, sharp and purposeful, as he guided her toward the far hallway. He wanted to tuck her away before curious eyes lingered too long, especially one pair of eyes. The idea of Jungkook catching even a glimpse of her tightened something unpleasant in his chest. Not now. Not like this, he thought, his hand twitching as if to reach for her wrist, to hurry her along.
And then it happened.
“Eun-ah?”
The voice came from behind, warm, familiar, and unmistakable. Hoseok froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening as though he’d just been doused with cold water. He nearly jumped out of his own skin, his carefully composed exterior cracking for just a beat. This, this was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Eun-ah’s head turned instantly at the sound, her face lighting up as recognition flared in her eyes. “Oppa!” she exclaimed, her voice lifting with genuine joy. For a split second, she hesitated. She could already feel Hoseok’s eyes burning into the back of her head, and could almost hear his silent disapproval. Still, the friendship between her and Jungkook won out. She leaned in, giving him a warm hug, though not as tight as she might have before.
Jungkook returned it with equal enthusiasm, his grin boyish and wide. “It’s been so long!” he said, pulling back just enough to take her in. His eyes roamed over her face, her outfit, the subtle way she carried herself now. “You look great.” His gaze lingered longer than it should have, admiration slipping past the boundaries of casual politeness.
Behind them, Hoseok’s jaw tightened, the faintest muscle ticking along his cheek as his eyes narrowed at the sight before him. He stayed where he was, deliberately rooted in place, but the scene clawed at him all the same, Jungkook’s easy smile, Eun-ah’s hesitant warmth, the subtle weight of her lingering in someone else’s arms even if only for a second. It was harmless, he told himself, but the word did nothing to ease the pulse that beat sharper in his chest, and this was Jungkook .
He stepped forward and cleared his throat, the sound louder than necessary, as though to slice through the atmosphere. With a sudden motion, Hoseok hooked an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, tugging him into a brotherly embrace. It looked casual from the outside, but the grip was tighter than intended, his palm firm against the younger man’s back. He dipped his head closer, voice low and almost playful, almost. “Watch it,” he murmured against Jungkook’s ear. The warning was quiet, threaded with a teasing lilt that only partly disguised the edge beneath it. Jungkook let out a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck as Hoseok finally released him.
Trying to smooth over the moment, Jungkook redirected his focus, his grin returning as he asked, “So what brings you here?” His tone was light, but his eyes flicked between the two of them, picking up threads he couldn’t quite ignore.
“Well, we were looking at schools,” Eun-ah answered quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice carried a brightness, though her hand betrayed her, fingers brushing lightly against Hoseok’s arm in a gesture so natural it didn’t seem thought out. “And oppa here had to drop by for a meeting.” The word slipped out easily, affectionate and familiar, and her touch lingered just long enough to draw Jungkook’s gaze.
Jungkook’s throat tightened with an involuntary swallow. The last time he’d seen her, Eun-ah was storming about Hoseok, their fight still raw in her voice. But now… now there was an ease between them, an unspoken closeness that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t part of their day-to-day, yet even from the outside he could see it, the small shifts, the way she touched his arm so naturally, the rhythm they’d fallen into. It was different. Too different. And Jungkook didn’t need anyone to explain why it unsettled him.
“Eun-ah?”
The sudden voice cut through the thick air, breaking the tension that had been coiling between Hoseok and Jungkook. All heads turned just as Jimin appeared from the hallway, Taehyung strolling at his side. Jimin’s eyes lit up the second he spotted her.
In quick, eager steps, he closed the distance, practically bouncing as he threw his arms around her. “It’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, squeezing her tightly.
Eun-ah laughed softly, her smile blooming as she returned the hug. “It’s nice to see you too!” she said warmly, barely releasing Jimin before Taehyung swooped in for his own embrace. His hug was slower, steadier, like an old friend anchoring her in place.
Hoseok, however, wasn’t laughing. His jaw flexed as he watched the scene unfold, his wife suddenly surrounded by familiar arms. He wanted nothing more than to grab her hand, whisk her away, and lock her safely in his studio before things escalated. But fate seemed determined to test his patience.
“Eun-ah?”
This time it was Jin, stepping out of the elevator with an easy wave, his face breaking into a broad smile at the sight of her. Hoseok nearly groaned aloud. Great. More of them.
Within moments, Namjoon and Yoongi followed, their voices joining the chorus of greetings. And just like that, the seven were complete. One by one, they each took their turn embracing her, each offering soft words, how long it had been, how good she looked, how much they’d missed her.
The circle around her tightened, the air alive with laughter and questions. “How was Jeju?” “What are you doing here today?” “It’s been forever!” They surrounded her like brothers welcoming back a sister, warmth radiating from every corner of the room.
And though Hoseok’s protectiveness bristled, he couldn’t deny the pang of warmth in his chest. She fit so easily with them, like she’d always belonged. That part of him was… grateful.
But then his gaze drifted to Jungkook, lingering quietly at the edge of the group. Unlike the others, he didn’t push forward for another hug. He just watched her, too intently. His dark eyes traced her smile, flicking to her eyes, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, as though she were some long-lost miracle standing in front of him. His expression wasn’t brotherly. It wasn’t casual. It was the look of a man seeing someone he couldn’t have.
And that- that pinched Hoseok in a way that set his teeth on edge.
“Alright, alright,” Hoseok cut in sharply, clapping his hands as though to break a spell. His tone was firm, colder than he intended. “Stop suffocating her.” He shot a glance toward Ye-joon. “Take her to my studio. I’ll call when the meeting’s over.”
Eun-ah offered polite goodbyes, slipping from the circle as Ye-joon guided her down the hall. Hoseok exhaled, finally letting his brothers distract him with talk of the meeting.
***
The studio door clicked open, and Eun-ah stepped inside. Her eyes widened almost instantly.
It wasn’t what she expected at all. Gone was the sleek, dark, all-black aesthetic of his home studio, the place where Hoseok buried himself in shadows and beats. This room was softer, warmer. A plush brown sofa hugged the wall, its cushions inviting. Brightly colored stuffed toys lounged lazily across it, a mismatched little army that added comfort to the space. Wooden shelves lined with books and tiny trinkets softened the edges, making it feel lived in, loved.
Eun-ah’s lips curled into a small, disbelieving smile. “Wow… it’s so cute. It’s almost like… not him,” she teased, giggling under her breath.
“Oh, but it is him,” Ye-joon corrected from beside her, a small smile tugging his lips. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down, his brows knitting together at the text he read. “Hang on, I’ll fetch you later. Hoseok’s asking me to grab something from the car he forgot.”
“Alright,” Eun-ah nodded, bowing slightly as Ye-joon slipped out of the room.
Silence fell. She turned slowly, letting her eyes wander, drinking in every detail she could. Her gaze landed on the desk first. A neat stack of papers, a few scattered pens, and tucked in between, photographs.
She leaned closer. The first was a framed picture of BTS, younger, standing shoulder to shoulder with wide smiles and unlined faces, years before the world knew their names. Next to it, another, more recent, the same faces, matured, their bond still palpable.
Her breath caught as her gaze landed further across the desk. Neatly tucked in one corner, a glint of silver caught the light. She froze.
A frame.
Her chest tightened, a trembling breath lodged in her throat as her eyes registered the image inside. Their wedding photo.
She blinked once, twice, as though her vision was playing tricks on her. He… kept this? Here? In this space, his private retreat, his sanctuary no one else was allowed to touch? A photo they didn’t even bother to display at home.
Her fingers moved before she realized, drawn to it, hesitant yet aching. Slowly, almost reverently, she reached out, cradling the frame as though it were fragile. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, an unfamiliar warmth twisting deep inside her.
And then, something shifted. A faint slip, a whisper of paper sliding free. From behind the frame, a hidden corner loosened, fluttering softly onto the desk.
A photograph.
She froze, then carefully picked it up. It was faded slightly, the edges softened with time. Hoseok stood in the middle, a cake in front of him with bright numbers ‘21’. Around him, BTS crowded with balloons, goofy grins plastered across their faces. But her eyes snagged on the figure beside him. A girl. Kim. Holding the cake with Hoseok, smiling as though she belonged in the picture as much as the others.
Eun-ah’s lips parted. The picture had a story, she could feel it. Her fingers turned it over almost against her will.
Scrawled on the back, in neat handwriting:
02.18.2015 – You told me not to surprise you, but I couldn’t help it. With your brothers’ help, I made it happen, and seeing your smile made it all worth it. My Hoseokie, on your birthday I wish you endless happiness, good health, and every success you dream of. No matter where life takes you, I’ll always be right here, for you <3 – Kimmie
Her stomach twisted, guilt pressing down on her chest. She shouldn’t be going through his things, shouldn’t even be holding this piece of him so carefully guarded. And yet her eyes wouldn’t let go of the words etched onto the page, the ink heavy with affection that didn’t belong to her. The weight of it pressed into her palms, a reminder that no matter what fragile happiness they had begun to carve out now, there had always been someone before her. Someone whose shadow still stayed quietly behind them, like how this picture was tucked away behind their wedding picture, the shadow was patient, persistent, lingering and immovable.
Chapter 33: Chapter 33
Chapter Text
The ride back from the campus visits and HYBE meeting was unusually quiet. The sun had already dipped low, staining the skyline in slow, burning streaks of orange and pink. Eun-ah sat in the passenger seat, her face turned toward the window though her eyes weren’t really seeing the blur of buildings and neon signs passing by. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but her thumb kept worrying at her fingernail, a small, restless fidget that betrayed the stillness of her body.
Hoseok drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console, Ye-joon and the driver left hours ago, leaving him the duty of taking them home. The day should have felt satisfying; they’d toured bright classrooms, chatted with professors, walked across campuses buzzing with students. He had teased her for looking more like a nervous parent than a potential student herself. She had laughed then, but now… she couldn’t summon even a shadow of that smile.
The words on that old birthday note kept echoing in her head. I’ll always be right here, for you <3 – Kimmie. A sweetness written years ago, tucked away but not gone. She wasn’t angry, she told herself that over and over. Hoseok had lived a whole life before her, had friends and history and moments she’d never been a part of. That was normal. But the ache still spread quietly through her chest, that subtle but sharp reminder that no matter how close she and Hoseok grew, there would always be traces of someone else who once had his light.
When they reached the estate, Hoseok stretched, shaking off the stiffness from driving, and gave her a brief smile. “You’re quiet. Tired?”
She nodded, the word catching in her throat. Tired, yes, but not of the day. Just of the heaviness pressing on her ribs. She excused herself quickly, disappearing into their shared room before he could ask more.
The silence lingered through dinner, through the hours after, even as the house settled into its nightly stillness. By the time they were both in bed, it had turned into something almost unbearable. Eun-ah lay on her side, back turned to him, staring into the dark. Hoseok, behind her, shifted now and then, but neither of them said a word. Both awake. Both pretending.
The quiet wasn’t peaceful; it was charged. Her chest tightened with every second that ticked by, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down until she could hardly breathe. She wanted to move, to say something, anything, but her body felt trapped between pride and fear.
Finally, Hoseok broke. His voice was low, rough in the dark. “What’s wrong? You’ve been… off since we got home.”
Eun-ah froze. He didn’t usually press, that was what startled her most. Hoseok, who so often let silences be, was choosing to reach for her now.
She swallowed hard, then suddenly sat up, sheets slipping down her shoulders. Hoseok jerked upright too, caught off guard. She got out of bed, crossing the room to her bag, and rifled through it until her fingers closed around the photo. Without a word, she returned and tossed it onto his chest. Not hard, but enough to make him catch it instinctively.
Hoseok blinked down at the picture, then up at her. And to her shock, he chuckled. “Are you… jealous?” His tone was half-teasing, but there was warmth in it too, like he found her reaction unexpectedly endearing.
“Why do you still keep this?” Eun-ah demanded, her voice quiet but trembling. “Behind our wedding photo, of all things.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then let out another small laugh, softer this time. “You are jealous.” Setting the photo aside, he sat up fully, leaning forward on the edge of the bed to face her. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a picture. I even forgot I had it.”
“Liar,” she whispered, eyes burning. “You don’t keep something like this by accident. Not in your studio, not where you practically live.”
Hoseok smirked faintly, tilting his head as if studying her. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Oh, but you are.” His voice dropped low, teasing but edged with something deeper. Before she could step back, his hand shot out, fingers closing gently but firmly around her wrist. With one tug, he pulled her onto his lap, locking her in his embrace.
She froze, palms braced against his chest, but he didn’t let go. His arms only tightened, his face pressed into her shoulder like he needed the closeness more than he cared to admit. His breath came uneven, warm against her skin. “Don’t think too much,” he murmured, almost as if coaxing himself as much as her. “Just… stay.”
Her pulse tripped, scattering wildly. “Oppa, that-” she faltered, caught between laughter and nerves, “that tickles,” when he lingered at her neck, the barest brush of his lips feather-light against her.
“I’ll stop…” his voice dipped lower, softer, brushing against her collarbone, “if you stop sulking.”
“I’m not sulking,” she breathed, though the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Oh, but you are.” His tone wasn’t sharp, not tonight. It was quieter, frayed at the edges, carrying something she’d never been able to name in him before. When he finally lifted his head, their faces hovered inches apart. The hardness in his eyes seemed to falter, shadows thinning into something unguarded. And before she could find a reply, his mouth claimed hers, hesitant at first, as though fighting against himself, then deeper, a slip of the walls he’d built so carefully around his heart.
The kiss was unhurried, deliberate, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid: his reassurance, her fear, their fragile now. His hands anchored her to him, as though he needed her close, closer, closest.
When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers. “I told you,” he whispered, breathless, “nothing is more important than now.”
It was suddenly unbearably hot, though the air conditioning hummed in the background. Eun-ah’s breaths came out shallow, her chest rising and falling as she stared at him with the same intensity mirrored in his gaze. Her pulse hammered, the weight of the moment pressing down until it was too much, she surged forward, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss.
The suddenness of it startled him, but Hoseok didn’t resist. His lips moved against hers with equal fervor, opening for her when her tongue sought his. The kiss deepened, messy and desperate, their tongues tangling, tasting, claiming.
A groan rumbled in his chest as his hand slipped to her waist, guiding her with steady insistence until she straddled him fully. The thin fabric of her dress bunched higher as his fingers traced her curves, traveling upward before sliding under the fabric, his palm cupping her breast. The cold air hit her now-bare thighs, making her shiver, but the heat between them burned hotter than anything else.
She gasped into his mouth, her moan muffled as his thumb teased her nipple through delicate lace. Instinct overtook hesitation, her hips rolled against him, grinding down on the hard outline pressing into her. His answering growl only spurred her on.
His hand left her chest, traveling lower, skimming her stomach until it slipped under the waistband of her underwear. He never broke the kiss, not even as his fingers found the slick heat waiting for him. His thumb pressed against her clit, stroking slow, deliberate circles.
Her reaction was immediate, her breath hitched, her body tensed, and she bit down on his bottom lip with a needy whimper.
“Ow,” Hoseok hissed, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips were swollen, his eyes glazed, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed how much he liked it. “That hurts,” he murmured, voice hoarse, though his gaze burned. Then, without hesitation, he closed the gap again, devouring her mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
In one swift motion, his strong arms lifted her, just enough for him to shove his shorts down with a rough tug. The pressure between them shifted as he freed himself, throbbing and ready. With practiced ease, he hooked a finger into the side of her underwear, pulling the fabric aside, his other hand guiding her hips down slowly onto him.
The moment he slid into her, Eun-ah’s body clenched, her lips tearing from his as a moan escaped her throat. Her walls stretched around him, tight and hot, drawing a guttural groan from Hoseok. His fingers dug into her waist, grounding himself in the delicious torture of finally being buried inside her.
“Fuck…” he groaned against her shoulder, voice strained, deep and low. He pressed his forehead to her skin, inhaling her scent like it might steady him. “That’s it… that’s perfect. Move for me, baby,” he whispered into her ear, his breath warm and shivery.
Her brows knitted, lips parted as she stammered, “H-how… I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” The confession was small, almost embarrassed, her gaze dropping to avoid his.
Something primal twisted in his chest at her words—a feral heat mixed with tenderness. He loved that innocence, the way she was giving herself over to him completely.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, coaxing. His hand rested firmly on her thigh, thumb stroking comfort into her skin. Slowly, Eun-ah lifted her gaze, shy and uncertain, but meeting his eyes all the same.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips curling at the edges. He didn’t tease or ridicule her, he guided. His hands found her waist again, moving her gently, demonstrating. “You roll it… like this.” He shifted her hips in a slow circle, groaning at the sensation, his teeth catching on his lip as the movement sent sparks through him.
Eun-ah mimicked his motion, tentative at first, then bolder when she saw the way his jaw clenched and his breath faltered. Her hips rolled, her body grinding down on him with growing confidence.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice breathless but tinged with wonder, moving freely now.
His eyes fluttered shut, his head tilting back as he braced his weight on his palms, letting her take control. His voice came out low, strained with pleasure. “Yes… fuck, yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Every roll of her hips dragged him deeper, pulling ragged sounds from his throat. The sight of her above him, moving for him, flushed and trembling yet still holding his gaze, it unraveled him piece by piece.
His hands fisted the sheets, knuckles whitening, unable to contain the wave of desire crashing through him. Every drag of her body along his length sent fire racing down his spine. Every roll of her hips made his breath stutter, each stroke a dangerous edge he was close to tumbling over.
Eun-ah wasn’t immune either, her body quivered with every movement, her chest rising and falling, small whimpers spilling from her lips as heat coiled tight in her belly. She could feel it coming, that dizzying crest of release building higher and higher. She chased it, moving faster, desperate for the breaking point.
But Hoseok knew. He felt the tremor in her thighs, the way her rhythm faltered in urgency. Just as her body tensed around him, he slipped out, chest heaving.
Eun-ah froze, blinking down at him in shock. “W-why?” Her voice cracked, breathless, frustrated, ready to push herself back onto him.
Hoseok’s lips curved in a sly smirk as he sat up, brushing the hair from her flushed face. His eyes glinted with hunger. “Not yet. I want you to do something for me.” His voice was low, almost a growl.
Her breath hitched. “W-what?” she asked, unsure but unable to deny him, her body thrumming with need.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted her carefully off his lap, guiding her down to kneel before him. The shift made her dizzy, but the sight of him, aroused, glistening, thick and hard, made her breath catch in her throat. It was the first time she’d seen him up close like this. Bigger than she imagined, intimidating almost, and yet… she already knew what he wanted. A memory from those pages in the gifted Kama Sutra, flickered in her mind, a private knowledge she now had to put into practice.
“You’re close, right?” Hoseok’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He stroked himself slowly, his gaze locked on hers. “I’m not and I want us to finish together.”
Her lips parted in a soundless breath, cheeks burning.
“Put it in your mouth.”
His command was soft, but it sent a shiver through her. Eun-ah nodded, hands trembling slightly as she wrapped her fingers around his length. Remember… no teeth, lots of tongue, she reminded herself, like a student clutching at notes before a test. She leaned forward and dragged her tongue across the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum, circling him just like the book had said.
“F-fuck,” Hoseok hissed, his head falling back, eyes squeezing shut. His hand hovered in her hair but didn’t push, letting her find her rhythm. “That’s it, baby. That’s so good…”
Encouraged, she glanced up at him through her lashes. His gaze met hers, burning, and the way his breath stuttered almost made her laugh, if she wasn’t so consumed by the heat between her thighs. Holding his stare, she opened her lips wider and took him in, slowly, carefully, until he filled her mouth.
Hoseok groaned, the sound guttural, his hips jerking once in reflex. “God—Eun-ah…” The sight of her, his wife, delicate and soft, on her knees with his cock between her lips , almost undid him.
She bobbed her head, hesitant at first, then quicker when she felt him twitch, her tongue stroking along the underside. Hoseok’s hand finally tangled in her hair, guiding her gently, though his restraint was fraying fast.
After a moment, his control snapped. He pulled her up, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. His hands spun her around, pressing her over the edge of the bed. The suddenness stole her breath, her palms braced against the sheets, knees sinking into the mattress.
Then he was inside her again in one powerful thrust. She cried out, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs. Hoseok groaned, the sound feral, his hips snapping forward in sharp, relentless strokes.
Moans spilled from her lips, muffled against the pillow, as the bed creaked beneath their bodies. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her, faster, harder, chasing the heat that coiled tighter and tighter between them both.
Their rhythm grew frantic, desperate, until it was all they could hear, skin meeting skin, ragged breaths, broken pleas. The fire built and built until it finally tore through them, consuming, unstoppable.
With one final thrust, Hoseok groaned low against her ear before collapsing forward, his chest pressed to the curve of her spine. His body trembled with the effort, skin slick with sweat, but his lips softened as they brushed the damp line of her neck. He kissed her there, slow, almost reverent, so unlike the rough rhythm of just moments ago. Eun-ah’s legs quivered beneath her, her breath caught on every shuddering aftershock, her heart hammering so wildly she thought it might echo in the silence of the room.
“You still didn’t answer me,” she whispered between panting breaths, her cheek pressed into the sheets. “Why did you still have that picture?”
Hoseok let out a breathless laugh, the sound warm against her skin as he rolled to the side. He pulled her with him, refusing to let her slip away, his arm hooking around her waist with an easy possessiveness. “You’re impossible,” he said, his tone light, teasing, determined not to let the heaviness of questions sour the quiet that lingered between them. He remembered the first time, how everything had felt sharp and awkward after, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.
“You’re getting too comfortable around me, oppa,” Eun-ah murmured, her voice laced with a hesitant laugh as she stretched her arms backward, her fingers brushing along the length of his until they found his palms. For a heartbeat she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It was better this way, warmth without labels, closeness without a name to ruin it.
“What do you mean?” Hoseok’s voice was low, curious rather than defensive. His hand shifted, closing gently over her fingers. He gave them a small squeeze, then loosened, then squeezed again, a rhythm that felt almost absent-minded, yet tethering.
“Nothing,” she whispered, trying to dismiss it, though her chest was still tight. Her gaze lingered on the darkness ahead of her, as if the question she couldn’t let go hung there too. “But why still keep that picture?” she pressed again, her tone soft but unyielding. Tonight, with Hoseok’s walls cracked open and his touch unusually tender, she knew she wouldn’t get another chance like this. She wasn’t going to let him wriggle away without an answer.
“Well, I was about to throw it away,” Hoseok said finally, his voice calm but edged with a kind of quiet finality. “But I thought… it’s still memories, so I kept it.” He exhaled, his hand resting heavy but warm against her hip. “That’s all there is to it, memories.”
“Sure,” Eun-ah muttered, unconvinced, her voice flat as she turned her face deeper into the pillow. “Memories.” The word tasted sour on her tongue, and no matter how lightly she tried to say it, the bite was there.
Hoseok chuckled, the sound vibrating against her back as he pulled her closer. “Wow, you’re insufferable when you’re jealous,” he teased, his tone carrying more amusement than annoyance. “I’m telling you the truth, Eun-ah.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though she didn’t answer right away, her fingers still tangled with his, refusing to let go.
***
Eun-ah stirred awake, her body cocooned in warmth that wasn’t just her own. Hoseok’s arm was heavy around her waist, his breath fanning steady against the back of her neck. They had fallen asleep tangled together after a night that was anything but gentle, their rough, frantic touches softening into the silence of slumber. And now—waking like this, still pressed close—it struck her how unusual it all felt. Not the sex, not the heat, but the after. The comfort. The lingering closeness neither of them seemed in a hurry to escape.
For so long their marriage had been defined by distance, an agreement built on cold walls and polite indifference. But now… this. Him, softening, not just in fleeting moments, but in ways that stayed, even bled into mornings like this one.
She shifted slightly, turning onto her side to face him. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, his face slack with sleep, boyish almost. A small bruise stained the curve of his lower lip where she’d bitten him hours before. His hair was a mess, dark strands fallen across his forehead, and without thinking, she reached to brush them back. Her fingertip traced the slope of his nose, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the mole at the corner of his mouth she’d never let herself look at too long.
Who would have thought? The world knew him as J-Hope, a force of endless energy, but she had only known him as the man she married, the one who kept her at arm’s length, who made their house feel more like a contract than a home. Yet here he was, the same man who had once seemed made of ice, now the very warmth wrapping around her, steady, grounding, hers.
Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles as she studied him, memorizing every softened edge. For the first time, Eun-ah felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest, not hesitation, not fear. Ease.
She let her gaze linger on him a little longer, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint mark of her teeth on his lip, the way he seemed so unguarded in sleep. His words from the night before echoed in her mind, “It’s just memories, that’s all.” For a while, she had wrestled with doubt, with the idea of Kimberly still existing somewhere between them. But looking at him now, softened, open in ways he had never allowed before, Eun-ah decided she would believe him. Kim was a distant memory, nothing more. Just like he said.
And for once, she chose to trust that honesty.
Breathing out slowly, she nestled back into the circle of his arms, her body molding into his as if it had always belonged there. The last thing she felt before sleep pulled her under again was the steady beat of his heart against her spine—a rhythm that, for the first time, no longer felt like a stranger’s.
***
The next time Eun-ah stirred awake, it wasn’t to silence but to the low murmur of a voice beside her. She blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment, only to realize she was still wrapped in Hoseok’s arms. His hold hadn’t loosened, if anything, it felt like he hadn’t dared to move even after waking, careful not to disturb her.
But he was awake, and speaking softly, his words vibrating through his chest against her back.
“A charity event? Why so sudden…” A pause. “I know, I’ll make it quick. Just in and out—will that be okay?”
Eun-ah kept her eyes closed, listening, her breath steady so he wouldn’t know she was awake. His voice dropped again. “Mmm. We have dinner at Grandpa’s later. I need to attend that too.” Another pause, quieter this time. “Alright… what time is this charity? … Seven? Okay. I’ll make a quick appearance and run back to Grandpa’s estate. No need to bring Eun-ah… You can go ahead and take her to Grandpa’s I’m sure Noona will be there to entertain her”
She felt the rumble of his sigh against her spine before the bed shifted slightly as he adjusted his arm, still draped around her middle. He was speaking to Ye-joon, that much was clear, his tone calm—nothing like the sharp, dismissive voice he usually reserved for business. It was strangely gentle, almost considerate.
You’re awake,” Hoseok murmured, his voice still husky as he nuzzled his nose against the back of her head. His arm never moved from around her waist, as though letting go wasn’t an option.
“I’ll have to go to a charity event later… I hope you’ll be fine on your own at Grandpa’s. I’ll be quick.”
He almost sounded apologetic, like leaving her alone was a crime.
“It’s okay, oppa. I’ll be fine,” Eun-ah said softly, and she meant it. She knew his life was filled with responsibilities, and for the first time she didn’t feel left behind by them, only a quiet pride that he carried so much with such steady shoulders.
***
The evening rolled in quietly. Eun-ah dressed for dinner, sliding delicate earrings into place as she sat on the edge of the bed. Hoseok stood nearby, straightening his tuxedo in the mirror one last time. He looked sharp, every line precise, but she could still see the faint softness in his reflection, the man who only this morning held her like she was the only thing anchoring him.
“Take care there, oppa,” she said with a small smile.
“I will. And I’ll be back before anyone notices,” he replied, giving himself one final check before turning to her. For the briefest moment, his eyes lingered as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he lifted a hand in farewell and slipped out into the night.
The ride to the venue was quiet, and Hoseok welcomed it. Silence had always been easier to carry than conversation. He tugged at his cufflinks, adjusting the black tie Ye-joon had practically shoved into his hands earlier. When the car slowed in front of the grand hotel entrance, the flash of cameras was already there waiting, merciless, hungry. Another charity event. Another mask he had to wear.
He stepped out, shoulders squared, letting J-Hope slip over him like a second skin. A handshake. A bow. A polite smile. It all came automatic now. The crowd blurred together: businessmen, donors, celebrities, each one orbiting the same desire. A photo, a handshake, proximity to him, the illusion of mattering.
Inside, the ballroom shimmered. Crystal chandeliers fractured the light into gold, scattering it across polished marble floors and mirrored walls. Champagne flutes clinked against the low hum of laughter, the air thick with perfume, cigars, and money. Hoseok glanced at his watch—6:58 p.m. He’d be gone by 8:30. In and out, no more than an appearance. A few conversations, a handshake with the charity chair, and back to his grandfather’s dinner.
He was on his third nod to someone he didn’t care to remember when he saw her.
Kimberly.
The dress hit him first. Scarlet satin, the kind that stole light, poured over her like liquid flame. It slipped low down her back, clinging, daring. One bare shoulder caught the chandelier glow as if it had been placed there solely for him to notice. Her dark hair fell sleek and deliberate, and she laughed at some older donor’s joke, her fingers curling lightly around his arm. That tilt of her head, it was practiced, dangerous. Once upon a time, it had been enough to unravel him completely.
And then she turned.
Her eyes locked onto him with ease, cutting through the crowd like they’d been looking for him all night. A small smile curved her lips, slow, deliberate. He looked away first, letting the cool stem of his champagne glass anchor him.
But moments later, she was at his side. The faintest trace of her perfume, floral with a sharp citrus edge, threaded through the fizz of champagne and noise, tugging at memory.
“No Eun-ah tonight?” she asked, voice light, the innocence in it too carefully placed.
“She had other plans,” Hoseok replied, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone else, anything else.
Her smile faltered. “Shame. I would’ve loved to meet the woman who thinks she can tell me where I can and can’t spend the night.”
His jaw tightened. “Kim—”
“I begged her, Hoseok.” The lilt was gone now, her voice dropping, low and sharp, meant only for him. “Do you know how many people I’ve ever begged? None. Not one. But I stood there and pleaded, and she looked at me like I was dirt. Like I was disposable.”
He finally turned to her then, his expression stone. “She’s my wife,” he said. Final. Unshaken.
A humorless laugh slipped from Kimberly’s lips, sharp and brittle as though it had splintered on its way out.
“You weren’t so quick to throw that word around before.”
She tipped back the rest of her champagne in one swallow, the delicate crystal clinking faintly as she set it down with more force than necessary. Before Hoseok could move to stop her, she snapped her fingers at a passing waiter for another glass, her painted nails clicking in irritation.
Hoseok’s jaw tightened. He could already see the familiar downward spiral, the glassy sheen creeping into her eyes, the way her shoulders loosened as though unraveling beneath the weight of liquor and something unsaid. It wasn’t the first time he’d watched her self-destruct in silk and diamonds, but tonight, for some reason, it scraped harder against his nerves.
Twenty minutes later, the sharp precision of her words had dulled into uneven slurs, her wit unraveling into brittle laughter. The sound was too loud, carrying over the glittering hum of the gala, bouncing against chandeliers and polished walls until it grated like static in Hoseok’s ears. The people around them pretended not to notice, eyes sliding away, polite smiles fixed, but he felt their sidelong glances like pinpricks against his back.
By then, his patience had worn thin.
“I’m getting you a cab,” he muttered under his breath, setting a firm hand at her elbow and steering her toward the exit before she could protest further.
“Please,” she scoffed, wobbling as her heel slid against the smooth marble. “Do you think I’ve never been drunk before? I’m perfectly fine.”
Her words had barely left her lips before her ankle twisted, the thin heel of her shoe catching against the polished floor. She pitched forward, and Hoseok reacted on instinct, catching her arm before she could tumble face-first.
“Careful,” he said, voice clipped but steady as he righted her.
Kimberly tipped her head up to him, eyes swimming, lips curving into a mocking smile that didn’t quite reach.
“You’ve changed. You don’t rescue me anymore. What happened to the man I knew?”
Hoseok didn’t bother to answer. He had no intention of indulging that question, it wasn’t meant for an answer anyway.
At the curb, the valet shook his head apologetically. No cabs. Not tonight. Hoseok exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound more irritation than breath.
“You’re coming with me,” he decided without room for argument, tightening his hold on her arm and guiding her to his car.
Kimberly didn’t resist, though her steps dragged, uneven and clumsy. Her perfume clung too sharply in the confined space of his car, and Hoseok kept his grip steady, his gaze fixed forward, jaw set in silent resolve.
The ride to her hotel passed in weighted quiet. She slumped against the window, the cool glass pressed to her cheek, mumbling half-formed words that dissolved into hiccups of drunken laughter. Her perfume mixed with the faint tang of alcohol, saturating the enclosed car until it pressed heavily against his senses. Hoseok gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale beneath the strain. His jaw ached from how tightly he held it, his only concession a muted tap of his finger against the leather wheel, small, measured motions to keep from giving in to the frustration simmering in his chest.
By the time they pulled into the circular drive of the hotel, she was nearly asleep, head lolling slightly against the window as the car slowed to a stop. Hoseok got out quickly, rounding the car before the valet could even react, and opened her door. She blinked awake at the movement, a faint frown creasing her forehead before she reached for him.
Her grip on his arm was startlingly strong for someone so unsteady, forcing him to bear her weight as they crossed the gleaming lobby. The click of her heels stuttered against the polished floor, echoing too loudly in the cavernous space as though announcing their passage to everyone within earshot. Hoseok ignored the curious glances cast their way, focusing instead on keeping her upright as the elevator doors slid shut behind them.
The ride up stretched in silence, broken only by the soft hum of cables and the faint rustle of fabric when she leaned heavily into him. The red silk of her dress brushed against his sleeve with every sway, her head threatening to tip against his shoulder before she caught herself only to drift again. Hoseok stood rigid, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors, counting each floor with a patience he didn’t feel.
By the time they reached her suite, her steps were uneven, her weight nearly collapsing against him with each attempt to walk straight. Hoseok swiped the keycard she fumbled from her clutch, holding her steady as the lock clicked open.
Inside, the suite was dark save for the muted glow of city lights spilling through wide windows. Hoseok guided her in carefully, aiming for the bed. But the moment he tried to ease her down, Kimberly clutched his sleeve with surprising strength, pulling him off balance as her heel twisted beneath her.
“Hoseok—” she breathed, her voice hazy and dragging his name into something almost tender.
They tumbled onto the mattress together, his body catching hers as gravity pulled them down. His palm landed against the sheets, braced beside her head to keep from crushing her, but it left his face far too close to hers. Kimberly’s hair spilled like ink across the pillows, framing her flushed cheeks, while the crimson hem of her dress rode high against her thigh, catching the light in sharp contrast to the pale skin it revealed.
The air between them tightened, saturated with the faintest trace of alcohol, silk, and something unspoken that pressed heavily in the narrow space where his breath mingled with hers.
***
At the estate, candlelight shimmered across polished crystal, scattering into fractured rainbows over the length of the dining table. Silver gleamed beneath the glow, porcelain plates aligned with precise elegance, every detail reflecting the care poured into the evening.
Eun-ah sat with her hands folded lightly in her lap, posture straight yet unforced, her smile as even and serene as the flicker of the flames. She moved with quiet grace, listening intently as Hoseok’s grandfather spoke, his voice carrying the low, steady timbre of authority softened by age. He was recounting the earliest days of the company, nights of uncertainty, risks that had nearly cost him everything, and the stubborn resolve that had built the empire standing now. Around him, the guests leaned closer, drawn in, their admiration evident in every polite nod and hum of agreement.
Eun-ah’s gaze, however, drifted once, subtle and brief, to the ornate grandfather clock settled in the far corner of the room. Its hands marked the hour precisely. Nine o’clock. Hoseok had promised, only a “brief” appearance at the gala before returning. She let her eyes linger for a second longer before lowering them again, smoothing an invisible crease along the hem of her dress.
Her hand reached instinctively for her wine glass, slender fingers brushing the cool stem, but she did not raise it. Instead, she allowed it to rest again on the linen, choosing composure over distraction.
One of the older guests, a man with a kindly face lined by years of experience, turned to her with a smile.
“Your husband must be working late,” he observed gently, tone carrying more sympathy than judgment.
Eun-ah met his eyes without faltering, her lips curving into a soft, unwavering smile.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady, the edges wrapped in polite warmth. “He’s very dedicated.”
A small ripple of approving murmurs followed, admiration settling not only for Hoseok but for the woman who bore his absence with such quiet strength. Eun-ah inclined her head lightly, accepting their regard with grace.
***
In the suite bathroom, harsh retching echoed against the porcelain and tile, each sound ricocheting off the pristine walls. The air was sharp with the acidic tang of wine and stomach bile. Hoseok crouched beside Kimberly, his dress shirt sleeves rolled back hastily, one hand bracing her shoulder while the other swept her hair away from her clammy face.
“You’re a mess,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as he steadied her.
Kimberly gave a weak, breathless laugh, the sound brittle as glass. She dabbed at her mouth with a trembling hand, trying, and failing, to summon back some of her usual poise.
“Still better than your wife, I bet,” she slurred, a crooked smile tugging at her lips.
Hoseok’s brow furrowed, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he turned toward the sink. He twisted the faucet, the gush of water filling the silence, and soaked a towel under the stream before wringing it out and pressing it firmly into her palm.
“Rinse your mouth,” he said, voice low and even. “You’ll feel better.”
She tried, but her coordination faltered. The towel missed its mark, water streaking down her wrist and dripping to the tiles before she managed to drag the cloth roughly across her face. Her movements were clumsy, ungraceful, stripped of the image she worked so hard to uphold.
“Don’t act so cold,” she rasped, gaze lifting to find his, bleary yet stubborn. “I know you. You don’t leave people behind. You never left me behind.”
Hoseok leaned back against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. He studied her for a long moment, her smeared lipstick, her uneven breaths, the way her desperation trembled in every syllable. The words landed heavier than he’d expected, not because they carried truth, but because of how fiercely she clung to them.
“You’re drunk, Kimberly,” he said at last, tone flat, controlled. “Get some sleep. I’ll have the staff bring you water.”
He pushed off the frame, turning to leave, but she lurched forward, hand darting out to catch his wrist. Her grip was unsteady, more plea than demand.
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” she whispered, her voice cracking at the edges. “Don’t pretend I didn’t matter.”
For a moment, Hoseok stilled, the silence between them thick, humming with words better left unspoken. Her eyes glistened, glassy and wet, not with allure but with something far smaller, far sadder: humiliation. She looked fragile, hollowed out, a stark contrast to the sharp, confident woman who had walked into the gala earlier, head high, smile dazzling.
Hoseok slowly pried her fingers from his wrist and set them gently back against her lap.
“You mattered,” he said quietly, the honesty weighted in each syllable. Then, with no hesitation, he added, “But you’re not the one I chose.”
The words landed like a strike. Kimberly’s face crumpled, her shoulders folding inward as though she were trying to shield herself from a storm no one else could see. Her hands twisted together in her lap, knuckles whitening as she trembled, pride slipping through her fingers one thread at a time.
“You’ll come running back…” she murmured, staring down at her palms as though the answer might be written there. Her voice wavered, brittle with desperation. “You will. I just know it.”
Hoseok drew in a slow breath through his nose, steadying himself. For a beat, he lingered, his gaze catching on the fragile figure she’d become, so far from the confident woman who had once stood beside him. Then, with quiet finality, he turned.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, leaving her in the vast hush of the suite, with nothing but the hollow echo of her own words and the weight of what she had lost.
***
“Yes, it’s me,” Kyu said to the mysterious caller, sinking into his office chair and spinning it to face the city lights. A slow smile tugged at his lips.
“I have some interesting pictures I’d like to… donate.”
His hand brushed over a thick envelope on the desk, the edges worn from too many times being opened and closed.
….
Chapter 34: Author Update
Chapter Text
Hello everyone,
It’s been a while since my last update. A lot has happened recently, I lost a loved one, and in my culture, funerals and wakes can last several days, so my family and I have been focused on that. After the burial, I also fell sick and am still in the process of recovering.
I do have a chapter draft, but I don’t think I’ll be able to finish it for at least another week. I know this may not seem important, but I wanted to keep you all updated, especially for those patiently waiting.
Thank you so much for your understanding and patience.
~Vyxen
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KorraSasukeNotBanksy on Chapter 18 Mon 23 Jun 2025 02:59PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 23 Jun 2025 08:25PM UTC
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