It was like the life had been slapped out your body. The color drained from your cheeks and the world grew dark. The sky outside was gray and overcast. The clouds rolling by reflected the twisting of your stomach.
"Are you kidding me?" You whispered as the papers were slid to you. The cold marble under your feet–marble you had run over for years–felt foreign and stiff. Foreign, like the words in front of you. Stiff, like your father's face as he stared blankly through you. You stood, slamming your right hand onto the table, "You promised me."
Your voice was filled with nothing but venom and disgust. The words seeped through your lips and into the air like poison as the man in front of you winced. Old, broken, promises.
"This is for the good of everyone. I've made a deal, honey." Your father gave a lame excuse, his words falling off at the end. He knew he was betraying your trust and he knew the consequences.
"And what deal is that, huh? You sign away my ring finger and then I'll be what? A slave to a master? A woman scorned?" You made a fake gasping sound. "Or did you do it knowing you would get power? Is this all I'm worth?" You held up your left hand, free of a wedding ring. "My hand in marriage?"
"Now, now," Chin Seong, the man you called father, held up his hands as if he were being attacked. "I know you are still hung up on a false promise from six years ago, but we have been able to reason with the Min family."
"The Min...family?" Your blood ran impossibly colder. "No." You slammed your other hand on the desk now. You stared into his eyes, long and hard. "You're serious." And now you knew he had doomed you.
The Min family was known for being relentlessly cruel. They killed whenever they could and left no one alive. Men, women, children. No one was safe. Maybe that's why they were so successful.
"No one can 'reason' with the Min family." You seethed, "I'm not in the business, I don't even want to be involved, but even I know that." You turned around and started for the door, your hands clenching and unclenching.
"You will be allowed to continue your studies, fully paid for by the Min family, and in terms of boundaries, I have trusted their son to decide what is best for your safety."
While the part about your studies had made you halt, the whole idea about 'safety' being decided for you certainly made you turn.
"Right, so you mean that he will decide where I'm allowed to go and with who? That doesn't sound controlling at all." You found yourself laughing at this predicament. This was certainly not normal.
And your father finally showed signs of cracking. The corner of his lip began to twitch and his gaze hardened. When he spoke, his voice was low and rumbling.
"The deal has been done, honey." The tone did have you shaking inside. You had only heard this tone when members of the business were in trouble. "And you really think that you wouldn't be a target if you left this house to live your own life? Perhaps it's my fault for dooming you, but you will never be able to escape the family name."
There was a pit in your stomach and it was sinking deeper. Suddenly, the invisible chains on your life had become all too visible. You walked back over and sat down in the plush leather chair. The seat creaked and you wondered how much blood had been spilled in this office.
Now, you considered yourself somewhat reasonable. You could understand every side to a story and perhaps too much so. Maybe it was just in your nature or maybe you had just learned to settle for far too long.
"I see." You thought over his words. It was making more sense now. You never should have believed that you would be free, but there was still hope. Suddenly, your eyes were opened. The hope lay in a man you didn't even know. They lay in a stroke of a pen and a dream to be free. It wouldn't surprise you that your father would leak your location if you refused. He wasn't the kind to take no for an answer and he would craft a perfectly made revenge scheme. He was a man who hunted his own blood if it made his wallet thicker. You hated him.
You leaned back in the chair. You weren't a small child anymore. You took a deep breath and picked up the pen. "I hate you, and I hope you live to regret this."
But you would play the part, you knew what needed to be done. Reasonable. You were quite reasonable.
Your father was dressed as if he were going to a funeral; all black with a golden rose pin on his jacket. The car rumbled down the road, far from the city, in a neighborhood hidden from eye. It was a neighborhood belonging to the Min family.
The insignia of your family was a golden rose. Its meaning had been taught to you from a young age. The golden rose was a sort of rest in peace, a sayonara, representative of a funeral. It meant a person was worth the effort of a funeral; for two men to sweat and dig a 6 foot hole and for six men to lower the casket into the ground. You think this morbid idea was what made you stray away from the family business. You always had other more creative pursuits, and your mother had encouraged it.
The car came to a slow stop outside a mansion with a hilltop view of the neighborhood and the city in the distance. Your father got out and gestured roughly for you to follow. You were dressed in white, although it was no wedding dress. Your father had explained there was no time for a wedding, things were getting tense between his gang and the others nearby.
Faces peaked out of windows to watch the scene. Your mother, ever the silent mouse, sat next to you with her hands placed softly on her lap. You weren't sure who you despised more; the man who sold you, or the woman who let it happen.
Mom! The desperate word echoed through your brain. As you stepped out of the car, your mother went to follow. However, the tall man you called a father held up his hand.
"Stay in the car." He ordered.
"Mom?" Even through all this, you still begged for your mom like a kid searching for safety. You reached out and brushed her fingertips as your father yanked you back by your free hand. You didn't think you'd ever forget her wide eyes. You were sure you were both thinking the same thing.
Will this be the last time I see her?
You approached the door, your heart pounded mercilessly. As much as you tried to halt the pounding in your chest, as much as you tried to stay composed, you found yourself heaving deep breaths. And when your father offered his hand to hold, you held on and didn't let go. You felt small again, standing in front of these tall, menacing, dark oak doors. The doorbell rang a thunderous noise across the neighborhood and stormed through the valley like a battlecry.
"What are you thinking of?" Your father asked. His voice sounded kind, like the few times he'd been a true father to you. You couldn't believe you were clinging to him, but he was the last familiar person you could hold onto. Your mother pounded muffled sobs against the black car door.
"My last words to mother." You stated lamely.
"What were those?"
"The same ones I will give to you."
He hesitated for a moment and then turned to you. Before he could speak, his mouth opening and the words beginning, the door opened. You leaned up to his ear and whispered, "I hope you rot."
Your father always had an unsettling smile. You knew it to be intimidating because of the way people always shifted uncomfortably when he flashed it. Whether it was his genuine smile or a carefully crafted one, you couldn't be too sure. What you did know what that he was no father in your eyes.
The door opened to reveal two men and a servant. The maid had turned the handle to let you in and she gave a brief bow in your direction before leaving in a hurry. Her feet echoed down the marble floors. The stone was a cold gray, just like in your home. Well, what used to be your home. You pressed your mouth into a thin line as you surveyed the two left.
The man in front, supposedly Mr. Min, stepped forward and before greeting you, he gave Mr. Seong a firm handshake. They gripped each other's hands, long and hard, as if in a battle for dominance. Then they parted ways. Mr. Min had an easy smile. It was the kind of smile that was welcoming, and if you were dumber you would have opened up to him. But you weren't stupid. You weren't going to fall for any tricks.
"Mr. Seong, good to see you in such high spirits." Mr. Min flashed you a wink, as if you were in on a joke.
"I'm incredibly happy." Your father managed in the least happy voice he could muster. You couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Ms. Seong." Mr. Min now turned to you.
"Mrs. Min now." Your father interrupted and Mr. Min shot him a pointed glare. You had never seen a man able to quiet your father so fast.
"Ms. Seong, for now." Mr. Min amended, but he eyed Mr. Seong with great caution. "My son," He stepped aside and a man, only slightly shorter than Mr. Min, made his way forward.
His posture was straight and his eyes were intelligently dark. His hands were long and languid, those of a pianist. Those hands grasped yours and he brought them to his lips for a quick kiss. His lips were warm against your skin, unlike the cold chill you had been feeling for days.
"Mr. Min." You placed a gracious smile on your face and dipped your head in recognition. Your father observed you and nodded with approval when you caught his eye.
"Please, call me Yoongi." Mr. Min Jr., Yoongi, stepped back to a respectful distance. He refrained to point out that you were to be wed in just a few hours, your names in official ink. Your past contract simply stated that you would follow the pre-arranged rules. This next document was the one binding you for life.
"Yoongi." You hummed and the name rolled so easily off your tongue. You almost wanted to say it again, it came and went so fast out of your mouth, but you stopped yourself from doing so.
"I believe we have some arrangements to finish?" Mr. Min turned and you took that as the sign to follow. You got the sense that Mr. Min didn't need to tell people to do things, he communicated well enough with his body language.
Your father seemed to get the message as well and you both followed Mr. Min down the long hallway from the foyer. The house was grandiose. The main foyer held a chandelier, draping down and encircled by two connecting stairs. To the left and right were dining tables and living rooms in abundance and if you continued straight, like you were now, you entered a long hallway.
The hallway felt cavernous with each echoing footstep. Doors shot out to the left and right, some leading to smaller and darker hallways, before you reached the end. Natural sunlight drifted through the wall of windows. The windows revealed an elaborate garden, with caretakers milling around in the flowerbeds.
Mr. Min took a left and there sat an imposing door. Lacquered, black, wood stood tall, the top edge of the doorframe reaching to the high ceiling. He turned the handle, which was an ornately carved snake head.
Inside the office were walls of cherry wood and bookshelves with intricate designs carved into them. The books were all neatly sorted and the ground underfoot turned to a plush carpet. The carpet was black and that made you shiver. Black always hid blood the best.
"Please, have a seat." Mr. Min said, ever the kind host. You glanced to your father, who was only a couple steps behind you. Next to you was Yoongi and he silently stared into the distance. He didn't seem too happy about this arrangement either.
Once you had all been seated, like school children at the teacher's desk, Mr. Min reached underneath. Your father tensed.
"Calm down, I'm just grabbing the papers." Mr. Min said smoothly and Yoongi's eyes slid to carefully watch Mr. Seong.
The papers. White, pristine with black ink printed to seal your fate. Yoongi picked up the pen; he knew his duty. He so easily signed his name, you would have assumed he was in love if it weren't for the nervous tapping of his foot. Your first instinct was to try and comfort him, but then you remembered the situation and turned away.
You could feel everyone's piercing stares. You picked up the pen, but you couldn't make your hand move any further. Mr. Min's crossed hands on the desk were tensed. This isn't right. Your gut screamed. Do it. Make your father proud of you for once. A small voice whispered.
A firm hand gripped your shoulder as you took in a deep breath. Mr. Seong's voice was deadly, yet his words were those of a loving father.
"You'll be happy here. Safe." He said. You didn't want to be safe. You wanted to be free.
Your hands were shaking. God, why couldn't you just stop shaking? Trembling like a leaf in the wind. Suddenly, you felt a hesitant, but warm, hand on your other shoulder. It counteracted the force of Mr. Seong's. Yoongi's hand on your shoulder was almost caring, comforting.
Suddenly the choice became clear. You could either refuse and feel the full gale force winds of your father, or you could hide in a false sense of security, in a man you just met–who somehow seemed infinitely kinder than your father.
"Okay." You finally breathed. A brush stroke of ink and you were signed away.
You threw a vase across the room. It shattered against the wall with a noise you wish you could scream. Your father had left, not bidding you another word. You supposed your weren't his problem anymore. The room they had given you was generously large and sadly sharing a wall with Yoongi. You heard a knock at the door.
"Hey, if you want to throw things around, no problem, do what you need to do, but, uh, can you do it against the other wall?" His voice was muffled through the door.
"Sorry." You called back and you heard him trudge back towards his room. Maybe you were testing his limits too far already. It was your father's fault. You never promised you wouldn't be a menace in private, just that you would play a part in public.
You stormed towards the bathroom. It was too big for you, honestly. Your makeup barely took up any counter space and the mirror took up a whole wall. Your hands swept the jars and products off the counter. The bathroom felt safe, enclosed, and it didn't share a wall with anyone.
So you let yourself cry out in rage, despair. The products clinked harmlessly onto the ground. Then, you took a deep breath. Closing your eyes, you slowly stood straighter. Everything felt blurry, but when you made eye contact with yourself in the mirror, your vision was sharp. You focused in on the mascara running down your cheeks.
Taking a hand to your face, you swiped your fingertips against the product and stared at it on your hand.
"You've screwed yourself." You whispered, talking to your reflection. You curled your hand into a fist and pushed up against the counter. You leaned in close, your eyes staring with a dead gaze.
"You've really messed up this time." You muttered and you found yourself nodding, as if in agreement.
Slowly, you began to pick up everything. You had to take control of what you could. You grasped the jars and brushes, putting them in their rightful places on the counter. You went to your room and spent hours painstakingly picking each shard of broken ceramic off the ground. You were lucky it smashed into the one marble area in the room; near the fireplace.
"Ow." You hissed. The last piece had taken you by surprise and sliced into your palm. It wasn't deep by any means, but it was enough to draw a thin line of blood. You carefully closed your hand around the wound and deposited the piece in the trash.
When you left your room, you took a glance at Yoongi's door. It was closed. You assumed he was in there, after all, you never heard him leave.
Stumbling down the stairs, you entered the kitchen. There was no one in sight, but when you started rummaging through the cabinets you heard an achem. Turning, you were met with the sight of Yoongi, your husband, staring blankly at you fumbling around the kitchen. It almost made you jump. You had to admit he was handsome, with a strong jaw and hair that fell just right. Before you gawked any more, you shook your head.
"What?" You countered his noise.
"What are you looking for?" He had changed. There was something less welcoming about his presence now. He stood tall and intimidating, walking over to you and prying open your fingertips.
"Are you clumsy or stupid?" He asked seriously and opened the one drawer you hadn't looked at yet.
Inside, you saw a roll of bandages and a stack of bandaids. He took a cotton swap and dipped it in an ointment. You hissed a little as he pressed it into your skin, but his rough hands were gentle.
"I like to say a mixture of both." You chuckled and Yoongi cracked a smile. After that, his face remained stoic until he had properly applied a Dora the Explorer bandaid.
"There." He patted your hand and turned away. You felt like you were being dismissed.
"Wait!" You said quickly and it seemed you surprised him, because he turned around with haste.
"Yes? Do you need something?"
"Well, my father mentioned something about you deciding the boundaries for my 'safety' and I wanted to request that I have no boundaries."
His eyes gave away nothing. "Hm, an interesting proposition. Sadly, I don't think it would be wise for you to have free rein all over the city, but I think we can certainly come to an agreement. Let's talk more about this at a later date. I'm sure you're tired."
You watched him walked back up the stairs. When he reached the top, you called out one last time. "Sorry about the broken vase."
He eyed you. "Don't worry about it. I did my own breaking of vases when I first found out about our arrangement."
Disgust. But not with Yoongi, no, the man had an intimidating aura but little to show for it. He treated you gently, in the few moments you had interacted since you moved in. The man was a recluse. He hid away in his office and popped in to have meetings with his father every now and then. You rarely saw him.
So you had taken to wandering around the grounds. A guard always had a watchful eye on you. Yoongi hadn't touched you or 'bed' you as the guards would tease when they didn't think you could hear.
You didn't know if you wanted Yoongi near you, but it did get lonely sometimes. You had cut all contact with your parents and the man called a husband was never around. You saw him, but that didn't mean much. Painting, piano–they had a lovely grand piano–and preparing for your upcoming school year–which had been sadly restricted to online only by the Mins–kept you busy.
You rubbed the skin between your eyes with dismay. It had been a month and you still couldn't get the word 'husband' through your brain, much less say it out loud. You really needed some company, but you were at a lack of options. There was 'husband', a seemingly emotionless block of wood, and then there were the guards, who refused to look at you.
"What's your name?" You turned to look at the guard on your balcony. He was staring out into the garden.
Your balcony was just high enough to peek over the floral fencing to the twinkling city in the distance.It was sunset and the dripping sun washed a golden hue over your room. You preferred natural light and a light breeze, so all the windows and doors were open. Your bed sat across from your desk, pressed against the wall and draped in satin. It was luxurious and you were well aware that Yoongi went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable. But you weren't entirely sure if it was Yoongi or his father.
"Can you answer me?" You inquired and the guard stared stoically into the distance. You scooted back from your chair and walked over to the balcony. Casually, you leaned against the stone railing near the guard and heaved a huge sigh. The man was handsome, with a cutting jawline and lips set in a line.
"We are not permitted to keep conversation with you, Mrs. Min."
"Call me Ms. Seong." You waved your hand nonchalantly. You didn't realize how easily the name came out. Seong. It was supposed to be forgotten, gone from your mind.
You were a Min, but you didn't feel like a Min, and Yoongi certainly didn't try and make you welcome. You were sure he saw other women, and for some reason that bugged you. Sure, you weren't romantically, or even in a friendly way, involved, but you still felt contractually obligated to be faithful.
You had an image in your head, of Yoongi's perfect woman. It wasn't you. She looked nothing like you, in fact. She was classically beautiful; full lips and a thin waist. You were jealous of this woman–whom you had delusionally made up. While thinking of all this, you found yourself eyeing the rose garden. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the yard in an eerie dusk shadow, you darted from the balcony. The guard noticed you then.
"Where are you going?" He asked, He had been bugging you for a while, being personally assigned to you by Yoongi.
"The rose garden." You stated.
"It's not safe to be out and about once the sun has set, even in your own yard." He warned.
With a grin, you patted his shoulder. "That's why I have you, friend." You thought a moment. "I'm going to call you Josh."
You wandered down the stairs, all the way to the entrance to the yard, when you realized you forgot your shoes. Oh well, a little dirt never hurt anyone. Hesitantly, you stepped onto the dirt path, half expecting a bullet to shoot straight through your head. That's how everyone had made it seem. Well, you didn't really know if that was how it was done. However, the fear of that happening from a gang who participated in murders like it certainly didn't help you sleep at night.
You walked softly and slowly into the garden. You had just reached the crimson red roses when you heard a footstep behind you.
"Josh, you are so creepy following me around without saying a word." You groaned and turned around. You were met face to face with Yoongi.
The man still wore a suit of black with a green snake pinned to the collar. Your eyes darted to the entrance to the house and saw Josh standing watching guard.
"Who's Josh?" Yoongi asked, confusion in his voice.
"The guard." You sighed and turned back to the roses. You wanted to admire how beautifully cultivated the color of the roses were, not deal with your husband-not-husband.
He seemed unamused by your Josh comment and you'd let it slide. The name wasn't for everyone.
"Are you dissatisfied with the guard? I could find you a perhaps more...talkative one?" Yoongi stated, but when you turned back to look at him, there was a twinkle in his eye.
This man either trusted you far too much or was playing an awful prank on you. It had been forever since you'd had anyone want to tend to your needs. And it had been forever since you had been wanted.
"No, no." You waved a hand dismissively and from the raised eyebrow you could see that not many people spoke to him like this. Like...a human. "I like Josh's stoic nature, it's really mind blowing."
"He's good at his job." The corner of his lips quirked upwards.
"And what about you? Are you good at your job?" Stupid. You were stupid for bringing up work and you could tell by the way the light left his eyes. But what else was there to talk about? The man always seemed to be working.
He let out a breath and rocked back on his heels.
"I'm far too good at what I do." He glanced down at your feet. "Where are your shoes?"
"A little dirt never hurt me." You kicked the ground to prove your point.
He had definitely married an odd one. Seriously, what did he expect out of an arranged marriage? He had always considered your father of a strange temperament and could he expect anything less of you? Seeing you dressed in a white night gown, completely a coincidence, his next question stuck at the tip of his tongue.
Now, Yoongi was a man of few words, but he did pride himself on being observant. Before his mother had vanished, leaving him with his father, he was often told about the happiest day of her life. She would go on and on about marrying his father, how romantic and sweet he was. Yoongi couldn't imagine a wedding. Hell, he hadn't even thought about getting married until the papers were put in front of him.
He felt like a school kid, so he pushed the feeling away and took on a less timid stance.
"I never did ask if you wanted a wedding." He said lowly.
His words made you stop in your viewing of the roses and you looked out past him, towards the moon.
"I suppose there was no time and we were never and will never be in love. What does it matter?" You muttered. This new information seemed to truly throw Yoongi off guard, confusion painting his expression before being smoothed over.
"If it matters to you, then we should." He stated simply.
Yoongi never thought he'd get married, but he did care for others. Now you were a part of the family and he was determined to treat you as such. If only it didn't feel like, on some level, you were scared of him. Maybe it was the natural way you stood or played with your hair. Maybe it was natural for you to rock nervously on your heels. He wasn't one to know. Maybe if he had met you at a different time in a different place with a different situation, he might have fallen in love.
"I had always imagined it to be with someone I love, Yoongi." You said coldly. And if you ever loved Yoongi? Well, you would be admitting defeat. Your father would have been right and you hated him being right more than you could ever love Yoongi.