Vows of Deception

By the morning, Mina woke up feeling empty. Her arms, which had cradled Nayeon all night, were now barren of warmth. She stirred awake reluctantly, her lashes damp and her heart leaden. As her eyes blinked against the light streaming through the curtains, the reason for her emptiness settled heavily on her chest. Nayeon was gone.

A pang tore through Mina’s chest, sharp and unrelenting. She exhaled shakily, staring at the crumpled side of the bed where Nayeon had lain hours before. The sheets still carried her faint scent, and Mina clenched the fabric in her fist as if holding on to a piece of her.

Minutes passed as she stayed frozen in place, her body too weighed down to move. When she finally forced herself to sit up, the hollow ache inside her only grew. With unsteady feet, Mina padded out of the room, her heart sinking as her eyes darted around the apartment. Nayeon was nowhere to be found.

She let herself sink onto the long sofa, her body folding into its cushions as if seeking solace. Laying her head against the armrest, she stared up at the ceiling, the silence of the room swallowing her whole. A single tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another, until her quiet sobs echoed softly in the emptiness.

Meanwhile, Nayeon sat stiffly in the back seat of Jeongyeon’s car, her eyes fixed on the passing streets outside. The city blurred into a gray haze, and her reflection in the window looked just as lifeless as she felt. Jeongyeon sighed from the driver’s seat, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel. She hated this silence, this oppressive weight that hung over Nayeon like a storm cloud.

Jeongyeon had known Nayeon since they were children—had seen her grow from a spirited, determined girl into the stoic, guarded woman she was today. She had been the one constant in Nayeon’s life, a witness to her struggles and triumphs.

When Nayeon met Mina five years ago during a trip to New York, Jeongyeon had been skeptical at first. Nayeon’s walls were nearly impossible to breach, and Jeongyeon had never seen her let anyone in completely. But Mina was different. She had a way of making Nayeon laugh, a way of bringing out a softness in her that Jeongyeon thought had been buried forever.

Over time, Jeongyeon came to admire Mina—not just for the happiness she brought to Nayeon, but for her quiet strength and patience. The love they shared was rare, and Jeongyeon had never doubted its depth. But now, seeing Nayeon retreat back into herself, Jeongyeon feared the toll this marriage was taking on her friend.

The sound of Nayeon unbuckling her seatbelt snapped Jeongyeon out of her thoughts. Before she could say anything, Nayeon had already opened the door and stepped out. Jeongyeon followed quickly, her sigh heavy with resignation.

Staff members lined the entrance to the building, bowing respectfully as Nayeon passed. Another figure joined them, stepping in beside Jeongyeon—Park Jimin. Jeongyeon shot him a glare, and he returned it with equal disdain. Their mutual hatred simmered silently, each step they took marked by subtle shoves and sidelong glares.

When they reached the elevator, Nayeon entered first, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the wall. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she hesitated before pulling it out.

Mina’s name lit up the screen.

Nayeon’s thumb hovered over the notification, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She loved Mina—more than anyone, more than herself. But that love now felt like a dagger, both comforting and excruciating. The memory of Mina’s tear-streaked face from earlier that morning flashed through her mind, and the guilt nearly crushed her.

When she finally opened the message, it was simple yet devastating:
“Have a good day. I’ll see you later. I love you.”

Nayeon’s eyes lingered on those three words: I love you. They should have brought her comfort, but instead, they felt like chains, tightening around her heart. Why did something so pure, so beautiful, now bring her only pain?

She began typing a response:
“You too. I love you too.”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, but before she could press it, the elevator doors dinged open. She turned off her phone and stepped out, followed by Jeongyeon and Jimin, who were still silently bickering.

Nayeon’s office was just ahead. As she pushed open the door, her steps faltered. Standing near her desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, was a figure she recognized immediately.

Her father.

Im Hongjin turned at the sound of the door, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. His presence filled the room with an oppressive weight, and Nayeon felt her composure crack just slightly. She closed the door behind her, squaring her shoulders and bracing herself for whatever was to come.

The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, thick with a tension that seemed to hang in the air, making it harder for Nayeon to breathe. She stood near the door, her fingers lightly brushing the cool metal of the handle, as though it might somehow provide her with an escape. She thought about leaving, stepping away from this place that always felt like a gilded cage, but she knew it was pointless. Her father’s presence alone was enough to anchor her, and she was trapped. Trapped in a life that she never chose, trapped in a marriage she didn’t want, and trapped by expectations that would never loosen their grip on her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. She had to face him. She had to face the truth.

“Sit,” her father said, his voice low and firm, carrying the weight of command that Nayeon knew all too well. It wasn’t a suggestion—it never was. It was a command, a directive that left no room for defiance, no space for her to make her own decisions.

Nayeon hesitated, her eyes briefly flicking to the chair before her. The weight of his gaze pressed down on her, like an invisible hand pushing her forward. There was no escaping this conversation, no avoiding what he would say next. She crossed the room slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last, until she finally sank into the chair across from him. Her hands found their place in her lap, fingers tightly clasped together in an effort to keep them from trembling. The room felt cold, the silence thick and oppressive.

Im Hongjin studied her with the same calculated precision that he always had. His sharp eyes scanned her face, taking in every detail, every subtle shift in her posture. Nayeon hated it. She hated how his gaze seemed to strip away every layer of her carefully constructed defenses, how he could see past her walls and into the depths of her soul. It was as though nothing she did could hide her true feelings from him.

“You’re late,” he said after a long silence, his voice betraying none of the frustration that Nayeon knew simmered just beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t aware there was a specific time,” Nayeon replied, her voice clipped, sharp with the edge of resentment she could barely hold back. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. Not this time.

Her father raised an eyebrow at her tone, but chose not to address it immediately. Instead, he began to pace slowly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid and unyielding. He walked with the steady confidence of a man who had spent his life building an empire, and Nayeon couldn’t help but feel small in his presence, like a mere cog in a machine that had long since ceased to care about the individuals within it.

“This alliance with the Hirai Clan,” he began, his words measured and precise, “is the most critical decision we’ve made for Imtech in decades. You understand that, don’t you?”

Nayeon nodded stiffly, her jaw tightening as her teeth ground together. Of course, she understood. She had always understood. This marriage, this arrangement, had been planned long before she had any say in the matter. The weight of the Imtech legacy had been placed on her shoulders the moment she was born, and nothing she did would ever change that.

“This isn’t just about you,” he continued, his voice growing colder as he closed the distance between them. “It’s about the company. About our family. The expectations placed upon us are—”

“—unavoidable,” Nayeon cut in, her voice sharper now, her restraint slipping. “I know. You’ve drilled it into me since I was a child.”

Her father stopped pacing, turning to face her fully. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Nayeon wondered if he would scold her for interrupting. But he merely studied her, his gaze cold and calculating. “Watch your tone, Nayeon,” he warned, the subtle shift in his voice betraying a hint of irritation.

Nayeon looked away, her fingers digging into her palms as she tried to control the frustration building within her. She couldn’t do this. Not anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that she agreed with this path, that this life was what she had chosen. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with all the anger and hurt she had been holding inside.

“I want you to stop sulking,” he replied bluntly, his tone devoid of any empathy. “You’ve made your decision for this arrangement clear, but it changes nothing. The wedding has happened, and now it’s time to move forward. You’ll attend the Hirai family dinner tonight with your wife.”

The word “wife” sent a jolt through Nayeon’s chest, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from reacting. The thought of being bound to someone she didn’t even know, to someone she had never chosen, made her feel nauseous. But even worse was the crushing realization that she was powerless to change it. She had never been given a choice.

She rolled her eyes, though her father didn’t notice. It wasn’t my decision, she thought bitterly. It never has been. It’s always been you and Mother and this goddamn company.

“I’m busy tonight,” Nayeon said, her voice defiant as she tried to regain some semblance of control.

Her father’s eyes darkened, and his lips thinned into a tight line. “You’re not,” he replied coldly. “Jeongyeon has already cleared your schedule.”

Nayeon’s eyes flicked to the window, her chest tightening in frustration. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to sit at that dinner, to pretend that everything was fine, to pretend that this was the life she had chosen. “This is my life,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, the words barely escaping her lips before she could stop them.

“No,” her father said, his voice firm and unyielding. “It’s your responsibility.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Nayeon’s hands trembled in her lap, but she kept her expression blank, unwilling to let him see just how deeply his words hurt her.

“Do you have anything else to say?” she asked, her voice hollow, drained of any emotion.

Her father regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he said, “No. Be ready by seven.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the door clicking softly behind him. Nayeon remained seated, her body slumping in the chair as if the weight of the conversation had drained her of all her energy. The silence that followed felt deafening, as if the room was pressing down on her from all sides.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the stillness. Nayeon’s hand reached out automatically, her fingers brushing the screen to see a message from Mina. She paused for a moment, her heart aching. She hadn’t replied to the message from earlier, and the thought of typing something felt like an insurmountable task. She hesitated before choosing to delete the unfinished message, the words feeling too much to bear. Instead, she opened the new message from Mina.

“Did you eat? Don’t skip meals, okay?”

Nayeon closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the warmth of Mina’s words to wash over her. She wanted to tell Mina everything, to unload all the pain and confusion she felt, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t drag Mina into this mess. She couldn’t make her suffer too.

She typed a quick response, her fingers trembling slightly as she did. “I will. Don’t worry.”

The lie sat heavily in her chest, a burden she couldn’t shake. As she hit send, she felt a hollow emptiness settle within her. She wasn’t worried about food. She was worried about the rest of her life. And She’s scared about Mina.

Meanwhile, Mina remained on the sofa, her phone resting quietly on the cushion beside her. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, her mind endlessly circling the same dark thoughts. The emptiness inside her chest felt heavier with every passing second, a void that seemed to grow with the silence that surrounded her. Nayeon’s reply from earlier—short, almost mechanical—had left her heart aching. There was no warmth in it, no hint of the affection that had once been so present between them. Just a hollow formality that only seemed to push them further apart.

Mina exhaled shakily, as if trying to expel the weight that had settled over her. She wanted to be strong, to stay composed, but the tears kept threatening to spill over. It had been like this for days, this growing distance between them, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. She knew Nayeon loved her—she had to know, right? She could feel it in the way Nayeon held her, in the softness of her voice when they were alone, in those stolen moments where the world faded away. 

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to suppress the sob that was building in her throat. It felt ridiculous to be crying over a message, over the distance that was only growing between them, but there was nothing she could do to stop the tears, how could she? When she knows that Nayeon got married yesterday.

As she sat there, lost in her own thoughts, the sound of a knock at the door startled her, pulling her away from the spiraling storm inside her head. Her heart leapt in her chest, hope flaring for a brief moment. For a foolish, fleeting second, she thought it might be Nayeon, coming to her, to explain, to make it all better. But when she opened the door, the reality hit her like a cold wave. It wasn’t Nayeon. It was just a deliveryman, standing in the doorway with a small package in his hands.

“Delivery for Myoui Mina,” he said with a polite bow, his voice soft but professional, as if he couldn’t sense the heaviness in the air.

Mina’s shoulders slumped, a quiet disappointment settling in her bones. She took the package from him, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she clutched it. She forced a smile, muttering a thank you, before closing the door with a soft click, the weight of the silence settling back around her.

She walked slowly into the kitchen, setting the package on the counter. The box was simple, unassuming, but there was something about it that made her heart skip a beat. She took a breath, running her fingers along the edges of the box, the anticipation building as she gently opened it. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, was a delicate bracelet—a simple silver band with a tiny charm in the shape of a star. It was understated, elegant, the kind of piece that spoke volumes without needing to shout. But it wasn’t the bracelet itself that made Mina’s chest tighten; it was the card that came with it. She carefully removed the small note, unfolding it with shaking hands.

The words were brief, but they hit her like a punch to the gut:

“To my light, always. –Nayeon”

Mina’s breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, the weight of the message almost too much to bear. The bracelet was beautiful—there was no denying that. But it felt like a hollow gesture, a fragile attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the bracelet, the cool metal somehow cold against the warmth of her skin. The tears that had been threatening to spill now flowed freely down her face, her chest tightening as the sorrow washed over her.

Nayeon was trying—she could feel it in the gift, in the words she had written—but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough ever since Nayeon's engagement.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Nayeon sat in her office, staring blankly through the window wall. For the first time, she resented the beauty of the sunset. Its warmth felt mocking, a stark contrast to the cold, hollow ache that sat heavy in her chest. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her thoughts spiraling into dark, uncharted depths.

A knock on the door broke through her brooding, dragging her back to the present. She let out a deep sigh, her gaze flicking to the large clock on the wall before turning back to her desk. Her voice was low but carried enough authority to be heard. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, revealing Jeongyeon, tablet tucked under her arm. She entered with her usual professionalism, bowing slightly despite their years of friendship. Jeongyeon had always been like this—strictly business during work hours, a loyal friend only outside of them.

Jeongyeon stopped a few steps from the desk, standing tall and composed. “Miss Im,” she began, her tone formal, “the Hirai dinner will take place in two hours. The Chairperson has requested you to arrive early.”

Nayeon clenched her jaw at the mention of her father. The reminder of her obligations sent a wave of irritation through her. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping, forcing herself to rise gracefully from her chair. Without a word, she brushed past Jeongyeon, her heels echoing sharply against the polished floor.

Jeongyeon followed closely, her stride measured and precise, but there was no mistaking the slight furrow in her brow. She knew better than to speak when Nayeon was in this mood.

When they stepped outside, the sleek black car was already waiting. Jimin stood by the vehicle, leaning casually against the door as if he hadn’t a care in the world. At the sight of them, he straightened, pulling open the backseat door with a theatrical bow.

“Miss Im,” he drawled, his tone walking the fine line between respect and sarcasm.

Nayeon didn’t dignify him with a response, sliding into the backseat without sparing him a glance. Jeongyeon, on the other hand, paused, expecting Jimin to open the front passenger door for her. When he didn’t, she fixed him with a glare.

Jimin smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Shotgun’s all yours,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Jeongyeon scoffed, muttering under her breath as she yanked the passenger door open and climbed in. She slammed it shut with more force than necessary, crossing her arms as she settled into her seat. “You’re insufferable,” she bit out, glaring at Jimin through the corner of her eye.

Jimin chuckled, unbothered. “And yet, here we are.”

The tension in the car was palpable as they pulled out onto the road. Nayeon leaned her head against the cool window, her eyes fixed on the blurred cityscape outside. The muted hum of the engine filled the silence, but it did little to drown out the chaos in her mind.

As the car wove through the city streets, her phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Mina’s name flash across the screen. She hesitated before picking it up, her thumb hovering over the notification.

The message was simple: “Are you going home?”

Nayeon stared at the words, the weight of them pressing down on her. She wanted to reply, to reassure Mina, but the words wouldn’t come. She locked her phone and turned her gaze back to the window, the ache in her chest growing heavier with every passing second.

From the front seat, Jeongyeon stole a glance at her through the rearview mirror. Concern flickered across her features, but she didn’t say anything. She knew better than to pry, especially now.

The car continued its journey, carrying Nayeon closer to the Hirai dinner—and further away from the life she truly wanted.

Upon arrival, the grandeur of the Hirai family estate loomed ahead, the sprawling mansion glowing warmly against the approaching night. Nayeon exhaled sharply as they pulled up, her mind steeling itself for yet another performance. As she stepped out, her eyes briefly caught the figure of the woman she's now bound to—standing at the top of the stairs, her back straight, her expression unreadable.

The dining room was luxurious yet understated, exuding the old-money elegance the Hirai family was known for. A long table stretched down the room, adorned with pristine white tablecloths, crystal glassware, and golden cutlery. Nayeon instinctively gravitated toward a seat far from the center, the young Hirai went across her, the unspoken distance between them palpable.

At the head of the table, Hirai Takashi, a commanding man with salt-and-pepper hair and an air of authority, leaned forward slightly, greeting Im Hongjin with a firm handshake. The two men exchanged pleasantries before sitting opposite one another, the atmosphere between them teeming with subtle power dynamics.

The conversation started light. Business deals, mutual acquaintances, and the weather were exchanged like chess moves, each comment calculated and deliberate. Takashi’s sharp eyes flicked to Nayeon and his daughter at one point, his gaze lingering briefly before returning to Hongjin.

“Your daughter seems… determined,” Takashi noted, the tone of his voice laced with both curiosity and a hint of skepticism.

Hongjin gave a thin smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Determined, yes. But also loyal. She understands the weight of family duty. Don’t you, Nayeon?”

Nayeon’s eyes snapped up, the spotlight suddenly thrust upon her. She met her father’s gaze, her jaw tightening imperceptibly. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady despite the fire burning inside her. “Duty has always been a guiding principle in our household.”

The youngest Hirai daughter shifted slightly in her seat, her hands clasped neatly on her lap. Her lips parted briefly as though she might speak, but she thought better of it and remained silent.

Takashi took a sip of his wine, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s fortunate, then, that both families are aligned in their values. With the recent headlines about the wedding, there’s already great interest from the public.”

Hongjin leaned back slightly, his posture exuding confidence. “The publicity is an opportunity to solidify the partnership. But of course, appearances must be maintained. It would seem… disingenuous for the couple to live apart under these circumstances.”

Takashi gave a single nod of agreement. “Precisely. They’ll need to present a united front, especially in the coming months.”

Nayeon’s heart sank, her expression remaining neutral even as dread bubbled within her. She knew where this was headed.

“Starting tomorrow,” Takashi continued, his gaze shifting to his daughter and then to Nayeon, “the two of you will live together. It’s what the public expects, and frankly, it’s what both families need to ensure a smooth transition. The house has already been prepared.”

Nayeon’s fists tightened beneath the table, but she didn’t argue. What would be the point? She could feel the woman across her took gaze on her for the briefest moment before it turned away, the tension between them as tangible as the wineglass in her hand.

As the conversation drifted back to business, the silence between Nayeon and the young Hirai grew heavier. Both women avoided looking at each other, their gazes fixed on their plates or the opulent surroundings of the room. Despite the forced proximity, they felt miles apart, two strangers bound by chains neither of them had forged.

For what felt like an eternity, Hirai Takashi excused himself and his daughter, leaving Nayeon alone with her father. The air was thick with tension, the silence punctuated by the soft clink of wine glasses as Im Hongjin took another measured sip.

“Stop sulking,” he began, his voice cutting through the quiet like a whip. “You should be grateful the Hirais are willing to help us. This is an opportunity—not just for Imtech but for your future.”

Nayeon bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. Her future? What part of this charade resembled anything remotely close to her future? She thought of Mina and the quiet promises they once shared, the life they dreamed of building together. Her chest tightened with bitterness.

“Marrying one of his daughters was a logical choice,” Im Hongjin continued, his tone dripping with cold pragmatism. “If they had a son, that would’ve been preferable, but we adapt. The Hirais are leagues above any other family. You’d do well to remember that.”

Nayeon’s teeth clenched as she swallowed the urge to retort. Her silence, though born of restraint, felt like a small betrayal to herself.

Before the conversation could escalate, Hirai Takashi returned, this time without his youngest daughter. Instead, he was accompanied by another figure—one Nayeon recognized instantly.

“Apologies for the wait,” Takashi said smoothly, gesturing toward the empty chair beside him. “I thought Momo would be better suited to join us for now.”

Nayeon’s frown deepened, her gaze drifting toward the glass doors that led out to the garden. Her heart skipped when her mind briefly conjured the image of her arranged wife, the woman she was bound to in a contract she didn’t want. She looked for her, though she didn’t care. It wasn’t that she wanted to find her—she couldn’t care less about the stranger who shared her last name. Still, the absence of the woman, her “wife,” unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite place.

Takashi's voice broke through her thoughts, casual and almost too knowing. “If you’re wondering about your wife,” he said with a smile that barely touched his eyes, “she’s outside in the garden. She enjoys the solitude.”

Nayeon blinked in confusion, unsure why Takashi felt the need to mention it. She chose silence, unwilling to dignify the comment with a response. Instead, her gaze shifted, focusing on the new arrival—the eldest daughter of the Hirai family, Hirai Momo.

Momo was exactly as Nayeon remembered her from their fleeting, charged interaction at the wedding: calm, controlled, and wearing an air of confidence that felt like a trap—one that Nayeon had learned to recognize over the years, a predatory ease.

“This is my eldest, Hirai Momo,” Takashi announced proudly, his voice warm but carrying an edge of finality, as though there could be no argument.

Momo inclined her head, offering a polite but unnervingly sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nayeon-ssi, it’s good to see you again,” she said smoothly, her voice dripping with a subtle edge that made it clear this wasn’t the first time she had sized Nayeon up—and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Likewise,” Nayeon replied stiffly, forcing the words past the knot of irritation twisting in her chest. Her voice was steady, cold, hiding the unease roiling beneath the surface.

Momo’s gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, her sharp eyes calculating every flicker of discomfort Nayeon might have let slip. The eldest Hirai daughter settled into her seat with a grace that was practiced, deliberate—like every movement was part of some invisible choreography. She folded her hands neatly on the table, the faintest glimmer of amusement dancing in her gaze as if she could already see the storm brewing beneath Nayeon’s calm façade. Momo had always been the type to relish the power of knowing things others were too proud to admit. She didn’t need to say anything—her eyes spoke for her.

The conversation at the table continued, the words flowing between Takashi and Momo, but Nayeon found herself slipping away from their world. With barely a sound, she stood, excusing herself from the banter that felt like a suffocating weight. Her steps were quiet, but each one seemed to echo in her mind as she moved toward the garden.

As soon as she stepped outside, the cool evening breeze greeted her like an old friend, brushing past her face and momentarily easing the tension gnawing at her. She exhaled sharply, the sharpness of the air feeling almost like a release. The garden stretched out before her, the vibrant colors of the flowers casting soft shadows in the dimming light.

Her eyes, drawn by the delicate flutter of petals, found the figure she was seeking. There, in the midst of the blooms, sat the woman she was now bound to. The woman was crouched down, her fingers gently caressing the petals of a tulip. Her smile was bright, innocent even, as if the world had stopped turning and she was the only one allowed to bask in its beauty.

It was the first time Nayeon had seen her smile like that, and for a moment, she was taken aback. When they first met, when her father had announced their engagement, Nayeon had expected nothing more than cold politeness from this woman. She was another piece in her father’s grand game, a tool to ensure the survival of the family business. But now, as Nayeon watched her, that coldness seemed to have melted away, replaced with something raw, something human.

Without thinking, Nayeon found herself walking toward her, her feet moving on their own accord, guided by a strange pull she didn’t understand. But the moment she stepped closer, the young Hirai seemed to sense her presence. The smile faded from her face, her posture stiffening as she rose and turned to face Nayeon.

Nayeon stopped in her tracks, their eyes briefly locking before the young Hirai sat back down, pulling her knees up to her chest, her body still. Then, without waiting for a response, she scoffed, her voice carrying the bitterness Nayeon knew all too well.

“The supposed dinner was a disaster, wasn’t it?” she muttered, clicking her tongue, her gaze returning to the flowers she had been admiring moments before.

Nayeon, standing there, felt the familiar rush of resentment bubbling to the surface. She had expected this, somehow—this casual dismissal, the thinly veiled sarcasm. And yet, hearing it from the woman who was supposed to be her wife, the one who had been as much a pawn in this arrangement as she was, sent a jolt of anger through her.

But before she could speak, the young Hirai's voice interrupted her again.

“You don’t know my name, do you?” The words were spoken with a lightness, but there was a sharpness underneath that made Nayeon stiffen. “I believe we haven’t had the chance to speak until now.”

Nayeon’s chest tightened. She already regretted approaching this woman. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, feeling the urge to turn away, to walk back into the warmth of the house and forget this moment altogether. But instead, she forced herself to remain rooted in place, her back slightly turned to show her disinterest.

“I get it, anyway.” the Japanese voice softened, and Nayeon heard the subtle movement of the woman standing behind her. The gentle rustle of fabric breaking the stillness was the only sound as the young Hirai began to walk away. She paused briefly, her words lingering in the cool air like a fleeting whisper.

“Hirai Sana, that's the name” she said, her tone calm but resolute. “Forget it, or not. Whatever you decide. Take care, then.”

Without another glance, Sana disappeared into the night, her footsteps fading into the garden’s quiet hum.

Nayeon remained where she stood, the once-refreshing chill of the breeze now cutting through her, leaving her with an unfamiliar emptiness. Her hand instinctively reached for her pocket, pulling out her phone. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for—perhaps a distraction, an anchor—but the notifications waiting on her screen caught her attention.

Three unread messages. From Mina.

Her thumb hesitated over the screen before it moved on its own, opening the thread.

“I made your favorite pasta. I’ll wait for you so we can eat together,” read the first message, sent two hours ago.

“Are you busy? It’s okay, take your time. I’ll just play Mario. I’ll wait for you. Take care,” followed an hour later.

And the last one, simple but piercing—a heart emoji, sent twenty-five minutes ago.

Nayeon stared at the screen, her chest tightening. She wanted to reply, to tell Mina why she hadn’t seen the messages, to apologize for her silence. But instead, the weight of the evening pressed harder against her, suffocating her resolve. She remembered the earlier message she’d ignored before coming to the Hirai dinner, remembered how many times Mina had waited for her.

Her fingers moved slowly, typing out the words she knew would cut deeper than her silence ever could.

“I’m not going home. Don’t wait for me anymore.”

The message was sent in an instant. She didn’t linger, didn’t give herself the chance to hesitate or take it back. Instead, she turned off her phone, shutting out the inevitable reply she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to read. Whatever Mina would say next—it would break her.

Sliding the phone back into her pocket, Nayeon exhaled sharply, forcing herself to move. She decided against texting Jeongyeon or Jimin, her only thought now to leave the suffocating air of the Hirai estate. As she walked toward the car parked just beyond the gates, she ruffled her hair in frustration, the cold biting against her skin as she let out a deep sigh.

From the distance, she could see Jimin leaning casually against the car door, a cigarette perched between his fingers. Jeongyeon was seated inside, her gaze flickering toward Nayeon as she approached. When Jimin noticed her nearing, he took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground, snuffing out the ember with a practiced motion.

He moved quickly to open the backseat door, and Nayeon slid inside without a word or even a glance in his direction. Jimin didn’t press her, simply shutting the door and slipping into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the night.

“Where to, Miss Im?” he asked, his tone professional, though his eyes flickered with subtle curiosity.

“The penthouse,” Nayeon replied casually, her voice devoid of emotion.

Jeongyeon’s brow furrowed slightly as she glanced at Nayeon through the rearview mirror. The unspoken question lingered on her lips—why the penthouse, and not the apartment she shared with Mina? But Jeongyeon knew better than to ask. Instead, she exchanged a brief look with Jimin and chose to remain silent.

Few knew of the apartment Nayeon shared with Mina, and even fewer knew of the relationship itself. Only Jeongyeon was privy to the truth. The penthouse, on the other hand, was Nayeon’s personal escape. A private sanctuary she never spoke of, not even to Mina. Jeongyeon had never seen the inside of that room, nor did she want to; Nayeon had made it clear it was off-limits. Sometimes, Jeongyeon wondered if the secrecy hid something darker, perhaps indulgences Nayeon didn’t want to admit to. But deep down, she dismissed the idea—Nayeon wasn’t the type.

Leaning back against the plush seat, Nayeon closed her eyes, trying to will her thoughts into silence. But it didn’t work. Mina’s face appeared in her mind, unbidden, the warmth of her smile haunting her even in the darkness behind her eyelids.

And then, the thought hit her like a blow: Tomorrow, she would be moving into the same house as Hirai Sana. A house where the walls would remind her daily of the vows she had made, the life she had promised, and the love she had betrayed.

Mina woke up to the shrill ring of her phone. She groaned, lifting her head from where it had been resting on the sofa's edge, her body slumped awkwardly on the floor. Her arms ached, her neck stiff from the uncomfortable position she'd fallen asleep in. With a sigh, she forced herself upright, wincing as she stretched her sore limbs. She reached for her phone, the screen glowing in the dim light, and saw the time—10:00 PM. Her eyes darted around the empty apartment. Nayeon was nowhere to be found.

Unlocking her phone, Mina’s heart sank as she read the message: “I’m not going home. Don’t wait for me anymore."

The words felt heavier than they should, settling like a weight in her chest. It wasn’t the first time Mina had received a message like this, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t just the arranged marriage or Nayeon's endless responsibilities that hurt—it was the lack of freedom. Nayeon was trapped in a life dictated by duty, and Mina, though never openly acknowledged, bore the weight of that cage alongside her.

Even so, Mina stayed. She always would, as long as Nayeon wanted her there. Because, despite everything, she loved her. And in her quiet moments of doubt, Mina still felt Nayeon’s love too. It wasn’t loud or bold, but it was there—in the stolen moments, in the way Nayeon reached for her hand when no one was looking, in the soft goodbyes when she left for another exhausting day.

Her gaze drifted to the simple bracelet on her wrist, a small token from Nayeon earlier ago. Running her fingers over it, Mina took a deep breath and got to her feet. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten while waiting. She moved to the kitchen and prepared a simple meal, setting it on the table.

As she sat, she mindlessly scrolled through Naver to distract herself, until a headline caught her eye:

"The Heir of Imtech Marries the Youngest Daughter of the Hirai Clan."

Her thumb hovered over the article, hesitation tugging at her. She didn’t want to read it, didn’t want to know, but her curiosity won out. She clicked on the link.

The article was straightforward at first:

"On April 16, the Chairperson of Imtech and the patriarch of the Hirai Clan officially united their families in a private ceremony. The heir of Imtech, Im Nayeon, is now married to Hirai Sana, the youngest daughter of the Hirai Clan."

Mina skimmed the beginning, her chest tightening, and scrolled down until the details of Hirai Sana’s reputation stopped her: " Hirai Sana is widely regarded as a remarkable individual. Known for her intelligence and sharp precision, she graduated at the top of her class from Kyoto University with a double major in business management and political science. Beyond her academic achievements, Sana is highly respected within her family, often seen as her father’s most trusted advisor.

Her kindness and humility extend beyond the walls of her family estate. Sana is actively involved in philanthropic work, leading initiatives for rural education and disaster relief efforts across Japan. Her ability to navigate both the high-pressure world of business and the emotional intricacies of her humanitarian work has earned her admiration from many. Those close to her describe her as approachable, empathetic, and fiercely loyal to those she loves."

Mina’s eyes lingered on the words. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the familiar ache in her chest growing sharper. This woman—Hirai Sana—seemed perfect in every way. Intelligent, respected, kind. It wasn’t difficult to see why the public loved the idea of her and Nayeon together.

Mina set her phone down, staring blankly at her food. Her appetite vanished, replaced by a gnawing sense of inadequacy. She loved Nayeon, but how could she compete with someone like Sana? Someone who wasn’t just bound to Nayeon by duty, but who the world already seemed to adore?

And yet, Mina refused to leave. No matter how much it hurt, she would stay, because Nayeon was her heart. And if being in the shadows was the only way she could keep her, then Mina would bear it.

The penthouse suite exuded a quiet elegance, every detail curated to perfection. The muted gold accents of the décor caught the dim light of the chandelier above, while the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Seoul skyline, glowing softly against the night.

Nayeon sat in the center of it all, an island of stillness in the lap of luxury. Draped in a silk robe provided by the hotel, she cradled a crystal tumbler filled with amber whiskey, the glass sweating against her palm. This place wasn’t just a room; it was her sanctuary—a space no one else knew about, not even Jeongyeon or Mina.

The suite was reserved exclusively for her, hidden under an alias. It had been her retreat ever since she started working for Imtech, a place where the pressure of her family name and her personal struggles couldn’t reach her.

Tonight, though, the quiet felt heavier than usual.

She stepped onto the balcony, letting the cool breeze cut through the warmth of her drink. The city sprawled below her, alive and pulsating with energy, but Nayeon felt detached, as though she were watching it all from a different world.

The memory of Sana’s smile in the garden resurfaced, unbidden. It was disarming, almost too sincere, and it unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite place. Who was this woman her father had bound her to? And why did the thought of her linger in the corners of Nayeon’s mind?

A soft chime pulled her attention back to the suite. Her phone, lying face down on the marble side table, vibrated with a message. She hesitated, knowing who it might be.

Mina.

Her chest tightened as she picked up the phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. The earlier message she had sent—“I’m not going home, don’t wait for me anymore”—had been curt, perhaps too cruel.

The screen lit up with Mina’s reply:

“Okay. Be safe.”

Simple. Forgiving. Yet the weight of those three words pressed down on Nayeon’s chest like a vice. Mina had always been understanding, too much so, and that made everything worse.

Nayeon tossed the phone back onto the table with a frustrated sigh, running her hands through her hair. She didn’t deserve Mina’s kindness, not when she was trapped in a life where she couldn’t offer the same in return.

The thought of Mina was too much, so Nayeon retreated deeper into the suite, collapsing onto the pristine bed. The silk sheets felt cool against her skin, but no amount of luxury could dull the chaos in her mind. Tomorrow, she would move into the house that has been settled for both of her and Sana. Tomorrow, she would face Sana again.

And tomorrow, she would step further away from the woman who truly held her heart