Chapter Text
William swirled the wine in his glass, watching the deep red cling briefly to the crystal before sliding back down. Around him, the conversation continued—lighter now, carefully skirting the edge of disagreement, as if no one wanted to press further once his decision had been laid bare.
But Godfrey's words lingered.
They had struck something uncomfortably close to the truth.
William would never openly disagree with what had been said. He knew it as well as anyone: the quickest way for alliances to rot was when children were pulled into the machinery of adult ambition. Deals involving heirs and daughters rarely ended cleanly. They left fractures—quiet at first, then impossible to ignore.
He took a slow sip, expression composed, even as unease settled in his chest like a weight he refused to acknowledge aloud.
William had watched Jeung's ascent with measured interest. The speed at which the man rose through the ranks was not luck—it was instinct. Jeung had a mind built for business: sharp, opportunistic, relentless. William had wanted him close, not as a rival, but as an asset. A partnership, perhaps. Someone worth cultivating.
When word reached him of Jeung's financial collapse, William had considered intervening immediately. But the corporate did not operate on goodwill alone. Assistance was never offered without leverage. Before extending a hand, William needed to know exactly what kind of man Jeung was when stripped of stability and pride.
So he devised a contingency.
A bind.
Not a plan he intended to execute—but one he was prepared to, should it become necessary. A test disguised as an opportunity.
William had expected resistance. Negotiation. Hesitance. He had expected Jeung to ask questions, to involve his daughters, to treat them as people rather than collateral. Any of those responses would have revealed a limit—a line Jeung would not cross.
Instead, Jeung crossed it without pause.
He offered his daughter without bargaining, without protest, without a moment's consideration. Yoonchae became currency the instant it benefited him. That, more than any balance sheet or quarterly report, told William everything he needed to know.
At that point, the test ceased to matter.
William decided to control the outcome.
If a daughter were to be placed at the center of this arrangement, it would not be one left defenseless. It would be Megan—his daughter, raised within his walls, protected by proximity, watched over by him. Someone closer in age. Someone he could shield, guide, and pull back if the situation turned volatile.
Jeung had proven what he was willing to sacrifice.
William refused to sacrifice blindly.
Or so he told himself.
That evening—after the meeting concluded and Jeung's family disappeared behind polished glass doors—William left the building with his shoulders heavy, the weight unfamiliar yet deserved.
He was no better.
He had made the decision without consulting Megan, without asking for her consent, without offering her the dignity he expected from others. In the corporate world, preemptive moves were praised—decisiveness equated to competence. But this wasn't a merger or an acquisition. This was his daughter's life, placed on a negotiating table he had built himself.
He knew Megan would loathe it. She would resent the implication, the expectation, the quiet coercion disguised as opportunity.
And yet—
Yoonchae's presence lingered with him in a way numbers never did. The girl's restraint, her silence, the way she carried herself like someone already accustomed to being overlooked. It unsettled him. Not because she was weak—but because she wasn't. She endured. She adapted. She survived in an environment that seemed determined to erode her.
William had seen that kind of endurance before. He had lived it.
And somewhere, uncomfortably deep, he wondered if proximity to that quiet resilience might anchor Megan—might temper her recklessness, her tendency to burn too bright, too fast. Not to save her in a dramatic sense, but to steady her. To remind her that strength didn't always announce itself.
It was a rationalization. He knew that.
But in the corporate world, rationalizations were often how decisions were justified—especially the ones that came at a cost.
William exhaled slowly as he stepped into the night, knowing that whatever this arrangement became, there would be no clean hands at the end of it.
~ ~ ~
William hadn't planned on calling Megan home while she was out. Not after the last time—when resentment had lingered longer than the argument itself. But plans, he had learned, rarely survived necessity. So he reached for his phone anyway.
When she answered, his voice was cool, measured—the same tone he used in boardrooms when deals edged toward collapse.
He hadn't intended to have this conversation that night, but circumstances had a way of forcing hands, and once Megan returned home, the opportunity presented itself whether he was ready or not.
"It's not permanent," he began, holding his hands together as if that alone could keep the situation contained. "It's an arrangement. I want you to get to know her—understand her. See whether a partnership, personal or professional, could be mutually beneficial."
Her expression shifted instantly. Guarded. Sharp.
"Dad," she said slowly, her voice dropping. "That sounds like an arranged marriage."
The word landed heavier than he expected.
William inhaled through his nose. He didn't deny it—because he couldn't.
"You would still be in control," he said instead, quieter now. "If it doesn't work, you walk away. No one's forcing anything. But I expect you to try."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You expect a lot of things."
"I expect you to grow."
"What if she doesn't want this?" Megan asked, eyes narrowing.
"That's her choice," William replied.
The lie slipped out cleanly—too cleanly. He hated himself for how easy it was.
Megan studied him for a moment, as if weighing not just words but the gaps between them.
"Good," she said finally. "Because I'm not doing this unless she's free to walk away."
William nodded once.
It was the only thing he could offer—agreement without assurance, control without honesty.
~ ~ ~
William had never intended to force Megan into marriage with the Jeung girl. That was the lie he clung to most tightly. Which was why he framed it the way he did— after eighteen, when they were older, when it would look like choice instead of coercion. A delay disguised as mercy.
By then, he told himself, circumstances would change. Deals would stabilize. Leverage would soften. He would find a way to dismantle the arrangement quietly, cleanly—before it ever reached that point.
At least, that was the plan.
In truth, every party involved had been fed a different version of the story, each tailored to keep them compliant. Jeung believed this was an opportunity. Megan believed she retained autonomy. And Yoonchae—William suspected—had never been given the courtesy of believing anything at all.
William reassured himself with the idea that he was capable of control. That he could steer this carefully, intervene when necessary, pull the plug before real damage was done. It was a comforting thought, one he repeated often enough to almost believe.
Almost.
Because beneath it all, he knew better. He knew how easily intentions curdled into outcomes. How often power disguised itself as protection.
And yet—he let the lie stand.
And that was why—above all—this had to be done right.