Joon stood there, still clutching the crumpled lunch money as if it were the last thing anchoring him.
The whispers swirled around him, sharp and endless, like a tornado feeding on gossip. Students leaned close, their eyes bright with hunger for scandal.
I didn't wait. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving him to drown in their noise.
By the time I looked back, he was gone.
He had fled to the restroom. The tiled walls reflected harsh fluorescent light, the air sharp with disinfectant.
He stood in front of the mirror, gripping the sink like it might hold him together, chanting under his breath.
"Breathe in. Breathe out."
Again. And again. And again.
Because Joon wasn't normal. He was… an empath.
Some called it a gift. You know, feeling what others felt. But to him, it was a curse, a storm of emotions he never even wanted to feel. A never-ending flood of emotions that weren't his own.
And I? I was probably the last person he should have been near.
***
Meanwhile, I walked through Dulwich College Seoul's polished halls like they were built for me. Sunlight shone through tall glass windows, reflecting off spotless floors.
My steps were measured, my chin high. My face? Perfect. My presence? You know that al
Even with my father turning my life into a living hell, no one here would ever see me crack. They shouldn't.
Students parted like the Red Sea making way. Heads lowered, conversations died, backs stiffened.
No one dared approach.
Well, except him.
"Hi," Joon said quietly, slipping into step beside me just as the bell rang. His voice was soft, almost careful.
I gave him the coldest look in my collection.
"Look. I don't know why you keep acting like we're friends, but stop. It's annoying."
My words landed. He sank. Good.
As I walked away, my phone buzzed. A text.
From him.
Father: Meet me at home for dinner.
A bitter laugh escaped. "Perfect. Just what I needed."
At the gates, my limousine gleamed under the late sun, black and perfect. Two bodyguards stood nearby, tall in dark suits, faces carved like they were made from stone. Trust me, they look like they were.
I rolled my eyes. "Took you long enough."
Sliding inside, I sank against the leather seat.
Thirty minutes later, the car slowed infront the 'wonderful' mansion. Its towering pillars and cold marble façade rose against the dusk sky, elegant yet suffocating.
Home. Or hell. Sometimes I couldn't tell the difference. Just kidding. It was hell.
No breakfast. No lunch. I wasn't even sure if I'd have dinner.
Two hours passed before the circus began.
The staff lined up neatly outside the doors, uniforms pressed, eyes lowered. They knew the performance required of them. They also knew what happened when it wasn't perfect.
Another limousine arrived—sleeker, shinier, more glamorous than mine. Of course.
My father stepped out, his posture commanding, his expression unreadable. Beside him clung Eunji, like a parasite that wore nice perfume.
"Good evening, Mr. Park," the lead maid greeted, her voice high, mechanical, like she was Siri.
He ignored her. "Is Chaeyoung home?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell her I'm here."
And just like that, he swept inside, Eunji hanging from his arm like she was glued to him or something; her smug smile lingering.
Upstairs, I already knew. I didn't need to watch them. I had seen the act countless times.
My phone buzzed again. Instagram notification. Username: @leejoon007.
Him: Hey. Sorry if I made you mad today.
I groaned. "Seriously?" My fingers moved fast.
Me: Are you stalking me?
The reply came instantly.
Him: No! It's not like that.
I narrowed my eyes at the screen.
Me: Cut the crap. What do you want? Money? Fame? What?
Him: What?! No, I don't want anything.
Me: Then can you like stop following me around like a clingy chihuahua.
A pause. Then—
Him: I just wanted to help.
Help? I chuckled.
Me: What could someone like you possibly help me with?
Silence. Then his profile went offline.
I tossed the phone onto the bed, frustration spiking. "Why can't people just be honest? What do you want from me?!"
My stomach growled. A hungry man is an angry man and that is not the combination I wanted right now.
I called for the chef. At least the kitchen hadn't been locked down… yet.
What would the press say if they knew the President starved his own daughter just because she wouldn't play along with his girlfriend's fairy tale? "Father of the Year"? More like "National Scandal."
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"What now?" I snapped.
"Sorry, ma'am," came the timid voice of a maid.
"Come in."
She slipped inside, head bowed low.
"Mr. Park asked me to inform you… he has arrived."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That's why you nearly broke my door? Your salary wouldn't even cover the damage."
Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Leave."
She bowed again and hurried out.
Ten minutes later, I came down from the grand staircase. The chandelier cast fractured light across the marble floor, glittering above the carefully staged living room.
And there they were.
My father, seated upright in a dark tailored suit, every inch the President. Eunji beside him, perfectly styled, her hand wrapped around his as though she was at one of those family TV reality shows.
I straightened, every movement controlled, polished.
"Good day, Father."
His brows lifted slightly at my composure, but he said nothing.
"I know I was harsh the other evening," he began. His voice was steady, practiced. "And I took measures… perhaps too far. But thanks to Eunji, I've decided to forgive you."
Forgive me?
The word burned the hell out of me, but I held my expression.
Eunji's lips curved sweetly. "What your father means is that he's letting it slide. But on one condition."
Of course. Always a condition.
"And that is?" I asked evenly.
My father cleared his throat, dragging the moment like a performance. He thrived on suspense.
"I've made a few calls. And after careful consideration…"
I rolled my eyes, just slightly. Enough for myself.
"…Eunji and I have decided. You'll move to the U.S. For a better education system."
The air left my lungs. Cold spread through me.
So this was it. Their plan. Their way of getting rid of me.
My phone buzzed softly in my hand. Another DM from Joon.
Him: I always wondered why people treat you differently. I still don't see why. You asked me why I follow you… It's because I know you need someone to talk to. I wanted to help… even if you don't know me.
My chest tightened.
But then my father's words echoed again, heavy and final.
"You'll move to the U.S."
And can we just say that things just got IMPERFECTLY PERFECT.