Chapter Text
The sun climbed lazily across the sky, spilling warm light through the half-closed blinds. Stripes of gold stretched across the room, and somewhere outside, birds stitched their songs through the quiet morning air.
“Yoonchae! Time for school!” her sister’s voice called from the hallway.
A low groan escaped Yoonchae’s lips as she stirred beneath the covers, squinting against the sunlight that slanted into the room. For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the warmth settle on her skin — the only warmth she ever seemed to feel in that house.
She couldn’t remember the last time her father had actually been home. Her mother’s voice was the one that filled the house now — sharp, commanding, relentless. If she were honest, Yoonchae had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be loved.
Eunchae, her sister, was the golden child — spoiled, adored, the family’s pride. A flicker of envy stirred in Yoonchae, but Eunchae had always been gentle. In a house that felt cold and unfeeling, she was the only warmth Yoonchae could count on.
Yoonchae inhaled sharply and stepped into the bathroom, a towel draped loosely over her shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she caught her parents talking in hushed tones in the living room. They stopped the moment they saw her. A shiver of unease ran down her spine, but she didn’t ask. She had learned long ago that questions only earned her silence.
St. Celestine Academy towered ahead of them later that morning — an elegant sprawl of brick and marble built for the city’s brightest and wealthiest. Both Yoonchae and Eunchae attended on scholarship, though only one of them ever seemed to feel the weight of that fact.
Most of their classmates kept to themselves, too busy maintaining their own images to care about others.
Except...
Megan.
Yoonchae couldn’t explain it, but Megan rarely spoke and hardly ever looked at anyone. Her silence said enough. Her friends, though, were always ready to find a target — laughing, whispering, tearing others down just to see them flinch.
And somehow, Yoonchae had ended up at the top of that list.
She was always the one they picked on. Always the one at the receiving end of quiet insults and cruel jokes. Megan never joined in — and that was the worst part.
She never said a word.
Not to Yoonchae, not even to her friends. Her gaze stayed impassive, bored, as if nothing and no one at St. Celestine could possibly interest her. Sometimes, she’d glance at Yoonchae with that same detached look — unimpressed, unreadable.
But Yoonchae had noticed something: when Megan was around, her friends’ cruelty seemed to dull. The laughter wasn’t as loud, the comments not as sharp. It was as if Megan’s silence carried a weight that kept them in check — though never enough to save Yoonchae completely.
After showering and slipping into her uniform, Yoonchae left home with Eunchae.
“What were they talking about earlier?” she asked, unable to keep the curiosity — or the unease — from her voice.
Eunchae adjusted the strap of her bag. “Something about M&T Corp’s CEO reaching out with a solution to our bankruptcy. They didn’t say what it was, but... they looked pretty shaken.”
“M&T?” Yoonchae frowned. “I’ve never even heard of that company before.”
“Same,” Eunchae said with a careless shrug, “but they seemed to be considering it.”
The rest of the walk to school passed in silence. Eunchae hummed softly beside her, and for a brief moment, it almost felt peaceful. But Yoonchae’s thoughts refused to rest.
Inevitably, they drifted back to Megan and her friends.
Megan had never said anything cruel to her — not once — and yet Yoonchae couldn’t stand her. Maybe it was the way her friends acted, or maybe it was because Megan seemed untouchable. Cold. Perfect. Unreachable.
What made it worse was that Eunchae adored her.
Yoonchae didn’t understand the appeal — what everyone else saw in Megan’s impassive stares and sharp-edged beauty. Sure, she was objectively attractive, but to Yoonchae, Megan was a blank canvas: pretty, but empty.
Still, she hoped Eunchae would eventually move on. Their parents would never understand. Even the smallest hint of difference was enough to earn their scorn.
She had tried to warn her sister once — and it had ended in tears, accusations, and their mother’s fury echoing through the house.
Yoonchae had been beaten for daring to suggest that their parents might hurt Eunchae if they found out. But the moment Eunchae cried, everything shifted. Their mother’s “motherly instincts” flickered to life — and somehow, Yoonchae became the villain.
She loved Eunchae with everything she had. But her sister was naive. She truly believed their parents would understand — that they would see her for who she was.
Yoonchae knew better. Her parents didn’t know how to love unconditionally. They judged. They demanded. They wanted perfection — nothing less.
And Yoonchae was envious. Not because Eunchae was loved more, but because she was allowed to be loved.
She had done everything right — obedient, quiet, perfect. More servant than daughter. She fulfilled every duty asked of her, yet most of her rights had been quietly taken away. While Eunchae was free to play and laugh, Yoonchae was sent to study. Even the toys their grandparents had given them ended up in Eunchae’s hands — though she already had plenty of her own.
By the time they reached St. Celestine’s gates, the sun had climbed high. The air buzzed with chatter and the sharp click of polished shoes against the pavement. Yoonchae’s stomach tightened. She prayed she wouldn’t run into any of her bullies.
Especially Megan.
The mere thought of Megan Skiendiel made her grimace. Even her name tasted bitter on Yoonchae’s tongue — funny how, for Eunchae, it tasted like sugar.
Their walk to class passed without a single sight of Megan or her sidekicks. Outwardly, Yoonchae looked calm, but inside she was almost giddy with relief. Maybe, just maybe, today wouldn’t start with whispered insults and mocking laughter.
But peace never lasted long — not in the Jeung household.
Her father had once trusted one of his company’s directors completely — a man who knew every corner of the business. That trust became his downfall. The director had fallen deep into gambling, and when he ran out of his own money, he turned to Yoonchae’s father, promising to repay him with interest. He never did.
What her father didn’t realize was that the man had already been siphoning company funds to feed his addiction. By the time the truth came out, it was too late. The losses were catastrophic.
Desperate to repair the damage, her father spent countless nights at the office, sleeping under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, trying to salvage what little was left. But no matter how many reports he pored over or meetings he called, the numbers refused to make sense. The company slipped quietly into bankruptcy — and for now, the public had no idea.
But for how long?
One thing about Yoonchae’s parents: they could endure living in rags, but never being seen that way. Their reputation was everything. The idea of being looked down upon — of losing their place among the city’s elite — was unthinkable.
Her father had poured his blood, sweat, and years into that company. It was his pride, his proof of worth. To see it collapse before him was unbearable. He would rather die than live in disgrace — or worse, live poor.
The first few periods before lunch passed in a blur. Teachers came and went, lectures repeated themselves, and Yoonchae listened dutifully. It was boring, predictable, but she absorbed it all. She had always been the top student—a product of years of pressure, high expectations, and constant comparisons. Her parents didn't care about her achievements, but she had learned early on to perform anyway, to seek approval where none would come.
The lunch bell rang, and Yoonchae made her way to the quiet corner of the gym, her usual refuge from the chatter and chaos. Eunchae, despite being kind, was always surrounded by her own set of friends, and Yoonchae didn't feel like interrupting that bubble. Besides, with her pitiful social life and lack of social skills, it was easier to stay invisible. In her own eyes, she was the antisocial final boss.
Settling into a quiet corner of the gym, far from anyone who might notice her, Yoonchae unwrapped the sandwich she'd picked up on her way to school and reached for the packet of juice. She was just taking a bite when a familiar, sharp voice echoed across the space—one of Megan's friends.
"Dude. Where is she? She doesn't even text us if she is coming to school or not..." one spoke.
"I don't know, maybe something came up? It sucks, anyway, though."
"Yeah... It's weird. Megan never just disappears like this," another said, frowning. "She's usually on time, sitting there like she owns the place, ignoring everyone."
"She seems off nowadays," the first girl added, a note of concern creeping into her voice. "I don’t know… It’s like she’s not herself."
"Yeah," the other agreed, shrugging. "I’ve been noticing it too. Maybe something’s going on at home or… whatever."
There was a pause, the faint clatter of trays and shoes filling the quiet space between them. None of them spoke Megan’s name again, but the worry lingered, subtle and unspoken.
Yoonchae drew a sharp breath, sinking lower into her corner of the gym. They sat in a circle, still completely unaware of her presence. How am I going to get out of this mess? Quick, Yoonchae, think quick! Panic surged through her brain, short-circuiting every rational thought.
"Funny how we didn't see that nerd anywhere either!" one of them barked a laugh.
Shit.
"Weird," another said, smirking. "We'd run into her at least three to five times a day. Guess the girl's having a lucky day."
Yoonchae's heart pounded. She pressed herself against the wall, silently willing herself to disappear entirely.
Until the bell rang and they all filed out of the gym, Yoonchae stayed pressed into her corner, neither sipping nor eating to avoid making a sound. Once the coast was clear, she finally allowed herself to take the rest of her sandwich and juice, eating quickly before tossing the wrappers into the nearest bin.
The remaining hours passed in a quiet blur. Yoonchae felt as if the day were a fever dream—she hadn't been insulted once, hadn't run into Megan, and hadn't even crossed paths with her friends. For once, it had been... a good day.
However, a good day can't really last forever, can it?
After school, Yoonchae met Eunchae at the gates, as they did most days.
"Mom and Dad told us to come to the company," Eunchae said, her voice light, though a hint of confusion lingered beneath it.
"Did they tell you why?" Yoonchae asked, her brows furrowing.
"No, but they said we had to get there as soon as possible," Eunchae replied, a hint of unease in her tone.
The walk to the company felt like pure hell for both Eunchae and Yoonchae. With their father unable to pay the employees, there were no chauffeurs to drive them—just two girls trudging along the streets. Yoonchae was secretly glad for all the sports she'd done over the years; it at least made the effort bearable.
By the time they neared the company, Yoonchae was practically dragging Eunchae along. Her sister complained constantly, whining about how her legs were giving out, but Yoonchae ignored it. She had learned long ago that whining never got anyone anywhere—especially not in their family. Somehow, though, Eunchae always did.
They rode the lift up to their father's office floor, where his assistant informed them that everyone was waiting in the boardroom.
As they approached, Eunchae reached for the door handle, ready to barge in, but Yoonchae held her back and knocked lightly first.
At the muffled "come in," they stepped inside.
A tall, slender man sat opposite their parents, his expression calm and unreadable, as if nothing in the room could rattle him.
"Girls! Meet Mr. William, the CEO of M&T Corp," their father announced.
Yoonchae froze, struck by how polite and composed her father sounded—almost... pleasant. It was a tone she rarely heard, and it made her uneasy.
Mr. William stood and extended his hand toward Yoonchae, who was standing closest to his seat, and then to Eunchae, who was beside her.
"Nice to meet you, girls!" he said, his tone even and composed.
"Nice to meet you, too, sir," Yoonchae replied politely, while Eunchae simply nodded, still a little overwhelmed.
"Take a seat," their father said after William sat down. Both girls obeyed without a word.
"Why we wanted you both here," their father continued, his voice wavering slightly under William's intense, unreadable gaze, "is because Mr. William has suggested a solution for our company's situation..."
"A bind," William said, his tone calm but firm, letting the weight of his words hang in the room.
Their father's brows furrowed. "A bind...? What exactly do you mean by that, William?"
William leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. "Your company is in a precarious position. The solution I suggest... involved a union between families. A contractual marriage, if you will. It would stabilize finances, consolidate influence, and preserve your family's reputation."
Yoonchae's stomach dropped. She felt as if the floor had tilted beneath her. A marriage contract?
Her father's jaw tightened. "A marriage? Are you saying... between my daughters and...?"
William nodded smoothly. "Precisely. It's the most efficient way to secure the company's future. Time is critical."
Eunchae's mouth fell open slightly, but Yoonchae barely registered her sister. Her mind was racing—fear, disbelief, and a stubborn flicker of anger all at once.
William's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "I should clarify—my son is out of the question. He's already in a relationship and, well, he's... committed." He paused, as if gauging their reactions. "But my daughter... she is single, and of comparable age to your daughters. A future engagement could be arranged."
Their father's brows knitted tightly, jaw tightening as he struggled to reconcile his pride with the suggestion. "A same-sex arrangement?" His voice was clipped, low, tinged with disapproval.
"Yes," William said evenly. "It may not be traditional, but in terms of protecting both families' interests—finances, influence, reputation—it is the most practical solution. The arrangement would be formalized when the girls are older, but planning can begin now."
Yoonchae's chest tightened. Her parents' rigid faces, the weight of their social expectations, made her stomach knot.
Her father's hand flexed into a fist on the table. "I... It's not ideal. It's... improper, but... if it secures the company and preserves our standing... then it must be considered."
Her mother's gaze flicked to Yoonchae and Eunchae, as if measuring which daughter would better preserve the family image.
William's tone remained calm. "The final decision must come from you. Speak with your daughters, and ensure they understand the gravity of the situation. This is about family, reputation, and legacy."
There was a long pause. Yoonchae could feel every look in the room burning into her.
Finally, her father exhaled, jaw still tight. "Eunchae... she is the picture of virtue, flawless in the public eye. Such an arrangement with her... would invite scrutiny we cannot afford. Yoonchae, however... obedient, quiet... You are the safer choice. The family's image remains intact."
Yoonchae's stomach sank. She had always known obedience had its uses, but to be chosen like this—as if her life were a business asset—made her blood run cold.
William nodded once, decisive. "Then it is settled in principle. Speak with your daughters. Ensure they grasp the seriousness of what is being discussed. Time is of the essence."
Yoonchae's hands curled into fists in her lap, her heart hammering. She could barely breathe. The room felt impossibly small, and the weight of inevitability pressed down on her chest.
Soon, William took his leave, his composed aura lingering like a shadow even after he stepped out of the room.
"The arrangement... between the same sex is unacceptable!" her father roared, slamming a fist on the table. His face was flushed, brows furrowed, jaw tight—every inch of him radiated outrage.
Her mother sat stiffly beside him, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to mask her own unease. "I... I understand your frustration," she said carefully, her voice quieter, but there was a tremor of worry underneath.
Yoonchae stayed silent, heart hammering, hands clenched tightly in her lap. She knew better than to speak—her parents' anger was directed at the idea, not her. Yet every word cut like a knife, a reminder that her life was being bartered as if she were property.
Yoonchae spared a glance at Eunchae, who also had her hands balled into fists in her lap. She felt a deep, aching sorrow for her sister—her closeted pansexuality a secret only Yoonchae had known, and one she had quietly tried to protect.
She had warned her before, pleaded with her to be cautious. And yet... Eunchae still clung to the hope that their parents would choose their child over their irrational hatred for what was less common. Yoonchae knew better. She had seen firsthand that love and acceptance rarely factored into her parents' calculations.
By nightfall, Yoonchae was summoned to the living room.
"We want you to pack your things. You won't be going to school tomorrow," her father said, his voice detached, each word slipping out as if it tasted bitter in his own mouth.
"William mentioned that his daughter and you should live under the same roof, to... bond before the contract is signed," he continued, letting out a sigh. "I expect you to behave properly," he added, his tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.
Yoonchae felt her chest tighten, a cold knot of panic twisting in her stomach. Live under the same roof... with her... The words echoed in her mind, each repetition making the reality sink deeper.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Anger bubbled under the fear—anger at her parents for treating her like a commodity, anger at William for orchestrating this, anger at the unfairness of it all.
She glanced toward the door, imagining the path ahead: the meetings, the forced smiles, the carefully measured words she'd have to speak around strangers. And then... the stranger she was supposed to live under the same roof with.
The thought made her stomach churn. Great. Just Great. My life just went from unbearable to impossible.
Yoonchae drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to stand straighter. There was no arguing. No pleading. Obedience had always been her armor. She would survive this—she always did.
But deep down, a stubborn flame of resentment ignited. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.