Chapter 4
The dining room was almost ready.
Soyeon moved quietly around the long oak table, adjusting cutlery and folding napkins into careful fans. The silverware gleamed, and the chandelier overhead cast a warm, polished light across the polished surface. She was halfway through placing the china plates when she heard the sound of footsteps—heels clicking crisply on the floor.
She froze.
Yuqi’s parents entered the room like they owned not just the estate, but the air itself. Her mother, tall and sharp in posture, scanned the room like a hawk. Her father followed close behind, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his expression unreadable.
Soyeon dropped her gaze immediately and moved to step aside, careful not to get in the way.
But in her nervous rush, her foot caught on the edge of the rug.
The plate in her hands slipped, hit the floor, and shattered.
The sound echoed, sharp and final.
Soyeon went still, breath caught in her throat. Her hands hovered mid-air, useless.
Yuqi’s mother turned.
Her voice was cool, not raised—but that made it worse. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“I—I’m sorry,” Soyeon stammered, already crouching to gather the broken pieces. “It was an accident—”
“Of course it was,” Yuqi’s father said dryly. “Clumsy hands, clumsy blood.”
Soyeon’s heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t look up.
Yuqi’s mother stepped closer, heels clicking across the floor. “Do you have any idea how much that plate cost?”
“I’ll be more careful,” Soyeon whispered.
“I don’t want you to be more careful. I want you not to be a liability in my house.”
It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the coldness of them. The measured tone, like Soyeon wasn’t even a person. Just a presence to be managed. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the shards, a small cut forming on the tip of her thumb from the porcelain edge.
And then the door creaked again.
Yuqi walked in.
Her expression was blank, not an ounce of the warmth that had felt so natural in the past couple days evident. Her eyes scanned the room quickly—her parents, the broken plate, Soyeon crouched on the floor. For a moment, Soyeon thought she saw something flicker across her face. Like she was going to say something.
Yuqi’s mother spoke before she could. “This girl is more trouble than she’s worth.”
Yuqi stepped forward, smooth as ever. “I’ll handle it.”
Her voice was light, distant, the way she always sounded around them. She didn’t even glance directly at Soyeon, not in a way that would be noticed. But Soyeon could feel the tension coming off her in waves.
Yuqi’s mother gave her a look of approval. “Good, make sure you punish her adequately, she should know her place.”
Yuqi didn’t reply. She waited until ther parents turned and left the room before walking over to Soyeon.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Yuqi knelt slowly and reached out, taking the last of the shards from Soyeon’s hand. Her fingers brushed hers, and Soyeon finally looked up.
Yuqi’s expression didn’t match her voice. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes—
Her eyes were furious. Not at her. For her.
Soyeon blinked hard and looked away.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly.
Yuqi didn’t say anything. She just stood, took the broken pieces, and walked out with them.
The fire in Yuqi’s bedroom had been reduced to glowing embers. The warmth was gentle now, flickering shadows against the stone walls. Soyeon moved quietly through the room, folding the day’s robes and setting out the silk sleepwear Yuqi liked. Her hands were steady, but the air between them felt... off.
They hadn’t spoken since the incident in the dining room and Yuqi was making no moves to punish her like her mother had said.
Yuqi sat at the vanity, hair unpinned, brushing it out in long, smooth strokes. Her eyes were fixed on her reflection, but she wasn’t really looking.
Soyeon stepped forward and gently took the brush from her hand to finish the job, as she did most nights. The silence dragged.
“I’m sorry,” Soyeon said finally, softly. “For earlier. I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t mean to—”
“No.”
Yuqi’s voice cut through, quiet but firm.
Soyeon paused, brush halfway through a section of her hair.
“You don’t need to apologise,” Yuqi said, still not looking at her. “That wasn’t your fault.”
There was a beat. Then she exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“I hate them,” she said. Her voice was low. “My parents. This house. The way everything is about status and appearances and bloodlines. I’ve hated it since I was a child.”
Soyeon stayed silent, the brush stilled in her hand.
“I used to think I could be different,” Yuqi continued. “That if I just waited long enough, I could break away and live how I wanted. But they don’t let people like me leave. Not really. You play the role, or they make sure that you do.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was something brittle underneath.
“So I act like them. I let them think I care about the same things. I let them think I agree. Because if I don’t, it won’t just be me who pays for it.”
Soyeon’s throat tightened, but she didn’t speak.
Yuqi finally turned, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“I didn’t want to treat you like that,” she said. “I don’t want to be that kind of person. But if they knew...” Her voice trailed off, leaving all the possibilities of what the Song family could do to Soyeon hanging open in the air. “I have to be careful. Always.”
Soyeon set the brush down gently.
Yuqi’s reflection was still watching her. Her eyes looked tired—not in the usual, aristocratic way, but in the real, human way. Like someone holding too much for too long.
“I know it doesn’t make it better,” Yuqi said. “But... I need you to know that it’s not real. The way I am around them. It’s not real.”
Soyeon nodded, slowly. “I figured. But hearing it still matters.”
Yuqi gave her a small, tired smile. It was the most genuine thing Soyeon had seen from her all day.
“Thanks for staying,” Yuqi murmured.