The weight of my grandfather's words pressed down on me like a physical force. They weren't loud. They didn't need to be. Each syllable was sharp, calculated, and heavy—like they had been forged over generations of expectation.
I knew he was right. That was the worst part. I had no choice.
Not really.
I was trapped in a gilded cage of tradition, a prisoner of my own bloodline.
I stood stiffly in the doorway of his office—more like a war room, honestly—lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, oil paintings of grim-faced ancestors, and a sprawling mahogany desk that probably cost more than my entire flat in Paris. The air smelled like old money and old grudges.
"You're late," Grandfather said, his voice a low rumble, his words clipped with disapproval.
My heart pounded in my chest. I could feel it in my ears, loud and uneven, like it was trying to break free of my ribcage. I hated how much power he had over me—how just his presence turned me into that scared, uncertain teenager I thought I'd buried years ago.
"I'm sorry, GrandpaG," I said. My voice barely registered above a whisper. "The flight was delayed."
He nodded slowly, but his eyes gave nothing away. No anger. No forgiveness. Just silence. That was always worse.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him with a flick of his fingers. "We have much to discuss."
I sat down, careful not to grip the armrests too tightly, even though my fingers itched to hold onto something solid. Anything to anchor me.
"What awaits me in Seoul?" I wondered silently. "What kind of life am I walking into?"
He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach like some corporate deity gazing down at a mortal. His gaze was steady, piercing.
"You've been away for too long," he said. "It's time for you to come home."
Home. That word twisted something in my chest. What was home to me anymore? Paris felt more like home than this mansion ever did.
"And it's time for you to take your place in the family business."
There it was. The inevitable.
His words hung between us like smoke—thick, choking, impossible to ignore.
"The Kang family has always been about tradition," he continued, voice soft, but firm. "We are a dynasty. A legacy passed down from generation to generation."
I knew this speech. I'd heard it before, hidden in between lines of every letter, every call, every family holiday gathering. But hearing it in person, seeing the way he looked at me—not as his grandson, but as a future asset—hit differently.
"You are the heir to that legacy," he said. "And it is your responsibility to carry it forward."
The heir. Not the person. Not Yul. Just a role to fill. A throne to sit on, even if it crushed me under its weight.
I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry. I had no words. Just the familiar scream inside me that never seemed to find a voice.
He let the silence stretch until it became unbearable. Then—
"But before you can take over the company," he said slowly, deliberately, "you need to get married."
I blinked. "What?" My voice cracked.
My grandfather's expression didn't change. "You know the family tradition."
"Get married?" I repeated, still not believing my ears. "You're serious?"
His lips curled into something that might have been a smile, but it felt more like a warning.
"You will be marrying into the Sung family. A strategic alliance. Their daughter is suitable. Educated. Proper. This is for the good of the family."
My mind reeled. The words didn't feel real. Marriage? A business alliance? Was I a CEO or a chess piece?
I was supposed to be the heir—not a pawn. Not a groom in some ancient corporate fairytale.
I imagined a cold ceremony, a stranger beside me, my freedom signing away with a flourish of pens and a lifeless kiss. A loveless marriage. A merger masquerading as matrimony.
A gilded cage within a gilded cage.
I wanted to scream. To flip the desk. To run back to the airport and disappear somewhere no Kang could find me.
But I didn't. Because I couldn't.
"Think about it," he said, voice cool and final. "This is for the good of the family."
---
The next morning, I woke up in the mansion I had grown up in. It hadn't changed—marble floors, glass chandeliers, cold silence—but I had. And yet, here I was again. Back in the place I'd sworn I'd never return to.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, golden and warm. It should have felt comforting. Instead, it felt mocking.
I dragged myself out of bed and into a suit. The fabric was crisp, expensive, suffocating. I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger in designer clothing. This was my new life—one of duty, of legacy, of responsibility.
And a forced marriage.
---
That night, I found myself wandering into a small coffee shop tucked between two high-rises. Somewhere my grandfather would never step foot in. It smelled like espresso and freedom.
I needed that.
I ordered an iced Americano, hoping the bitter chill would shock me back into some kind of clarity.
And that's when it happened.
The door burst open with a loud bang, crashing back against the wall. A woman—blurred in motion, face mostly obscured by a black hoodie and wide-brimmed hat—stumbled in like she'd just fled a scene.
Which, apparently, she had.
I didn't even have time to brace myself before she tripped. And landed. On. Me.
Hard.
My iced Americano exploded in mid-air, showering both of us in sticky, icy coffee. Mostly me.
She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with panic, mumbling something that sounded like "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
I blinked up at her, drenched, stunned, oddly amused.
"I—it happens," I said, trying to sound chill even though I was freezing and dripping.
She bolted before I could say anything else, disappearing into the night like a caffeinated storm cloud.
I just stood there, coffee running down my neck, staring after her.
And for the first time in days, I didn't feel trapped.
I felt... curious.
This was my life now. A life of arranged marriages, legacy burdens, and unexpected coffee collisions with mysterious women.
And somehow, I knew—this chaotic, messy moment was the beginning of something bigger.
Something real.
To be continued.