Areum's POV
Morning sunlight slid through the curtains like a quiet promise. It painted the kitchen in gold, soft and tender, the kind of light that makes even silence feel safe.
Joon Ha stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, a man who didn't seem to belong to the chaos of fame or politics. Just him, barefoot, chopping scallions with too much focus, pretending he knew what he was doing.
I leaned against the doorway, watching him ruin the omelet again.
"You're cutting them too thick," I said, trying not to laugh.
He looked up, mock-offended. "I'm experimenting. Every great artist has their process."
I crossed my arms. "Burning eggs isn't a process. It's a crime."
He grinned. "Then arrest me, Detective Areum."
I threw a kitchen towel at him. He caught it mid-air and pulled me closer. I could smell the faint trace of soap and citrus on his skin, the kind of scent that makes time slow down.
"You always look at me like you're memorizing something," he said softly.
"Maybe I am."
His gaze lingered, heavy with something unspoken. "Then promise me one thing."
"What?"
"That you'll remember this morning, just like this, even if everything changes."
I laughed it off, not knowing those words would echo later like a curse.
"Stop being dramatic and stir the eggs before they become history," I said, nudging him away.
He smiled, but I caught the flicker of something behind it, a weight he wasn't ready to share. I didn't push. Love, I believed, meant patience. Maybe I was wrong.
The next day felt strange from the moment it began.
Joon Ha had texted me early: "Don't go anywhere tonight. I have something special planned."
I thought it was just another surprise, maybe a dinner, a quiet confession, something simple. He had been distant lately, and I wanted to believe this was his way of closing the gap.
But by noon, my phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
First, it was his manager calling him frantically while we were still on the phone. Then a flood of notifications, social media exploding like wildfire. I didn't even understand what I was seeing at first, the Kang Corporation's official page, the glossy photo of Joon Ha standing beside a woman i was very familiar with.
"Chairman Kang announces engagement between his son, Kang Joon Ha, known as artist Lee Joon Ha, and Kim Ara, heiress of KM Dynamics."
The world stopped.
For a few seconds, I thought it was a mistake. Some sick joke.
But then the press conference video started auto-playing.
President Kang , the same man I grew up despising, the man whose name sat at the top of the police reports from my brother's death, stood before a sea of microphones, smiling.
Beside him, that woman, graceful, perfect, everything polished, held Joon Ha's arm.
And he… didn't deny it.
I didn't cry. Not immediately.
Shock is colder than grief; it freezes you before it burns.
I just sat there, the TV light flickering against my face, trying to process what it meant.
Joon Ha, my Joon Ha, wasn't just an artist.
He was a Kang.
A son of the empire that ruined my family, my brother, my life.
I felt the laughter of the morning crumble into dust.
Still, I smiled. Not out of forgiveness, but survival.
People like me, the broken ones, we learn to smile when we're bleeding.
I picked up my phone.
No messages from him.
Not one explanation.
That was the moment something inside me shifted, not shattered, not yet, but rearranged itself into something quieter and stronger.
If this was fate's way of mocking me, I'd play along.
For now.
The doorbell rang hours later.
When I opened it, he was standing there, breathless, eyes wild like he'd run from the world to my doorstep.
"Areum please, listen to me."
I crossed my arms, pretending to be calm. "I'm listening."
"It wasn't supposed to happen that way. My father—he—he did it without telling me. The engagement, the announcement—everything."
"Without telling you?" I tilted my head, feigning surprise. "That's odd. You looked pretty calm in those photos."
He flinched. "I didn't know they'd release them. I swear to you, I didn't agree to it."
I forced a small smile. "You didn't think to tell me you were the son of President Kang either, right?"
His silence was louder than any confession.
"I wanted to tell you," he said finally. "But I didn't know how. You hate my family—"
"I don't hate your family," I cut him off. "I just hate what they did."
He stepped closer, eyes glistening. "Areum, please. I'm not like him."
I wanted to believe him. God, I did.
But the truth is, once lies start, even love begins to sound rehearsed.
"I don't even know who you are anymore," I whispered. "Were you going to tell me before or after the wedding announcement?"
He reached out, but I stepped back. The air between us thickened grief, betrayal, love, everything tangled into one painful thread.
"I love you," he said, voice cracking. "That's the only truth I have left."
Maybe it was. But truth without courage is still a kind of lie.
I nodded slowly. "Then prove it, Joon Ha. Not with words, with choices."
And I closed the door before he could answer.
That night, I stood by the window, city lights flickering like distant stars.
"Funny," I whispered to myself. "I fell in love with a man who didn't even exist."
The reflection in the glass looked nothing like the girl from the kitchen that morning. She was gone, replaced by someone colder, sharper. Someone ready to uncover everything that was stolen from her.
Because love wasn't supposed to be a battlefield. But if it was, then I would learn to fight.
Not tonight.
Not yet.
But soon.
And when that time comes, the Kangs will finally understand what it means to lose everything beautiful.