Your pen pauses mid-sentence the moment your door bursts open without warning.

“Noooonnnaaaaa~~~!” Jungkook’s voice shakes the walls. Not knocks. Not a polite call. A scream. A whine. A full-body complaint.

You close your eyes, inhaling slowly, already tired. You know that tone. That tone means chaos is coming.

You turn in your chair and see your 17-year-old menace of a brother standing there with his hair sticking up in every direction, hoodie half zipped, eyes wide… and dramatic despair written all over his face.

“What is it now?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Jungkook throws his arms up helplessly.

“Noonaaaa, why can’t I get pregnant?!”

You stare.

Blink.

Once. Twice.

Your soul leaves your body.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper, “did you just ask me why you can’t get pregnant?”

He nods aggressively, as if he expects applause for his ignorance.

“Yes! I’ve been thinking! How do other people—why can’t—why is my body not—”

You stand up so fast your chair rolls back.

“You have a vagina?” you ask calmly.

He blinks.

“No?”

“Exactly.”

You widen your eyes at him. “THEN WHY—IN THE NAME OF EVERY SCIENTIFIC TEXTBOOK IN THIS COUNTRY—WOULD YOU EXPECT YOURSELF TO GET PREGNANT?!”

He gasps like you’re the stupid one.

“But I have a di—”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE!” you shout and fling your hand in the air before he can describe it. “God, Jungkook, how can you be this dumb? People your age know more than this!”

And in your frustration, you accidentally spit a little.

Right. Onto his cheek.

He recoils dramatically, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Ewwwwwwww, noonaaaa! That’s disgusting!”

“You are disgusting!” you scream back. “You barged into my room screaming about pregnancy—PREGNANCY!—while I’m trying to finish an important file!”

He folds his arms, pouting. “I just wanted to ask! You’re the smart one! Am I not supposed to learn things from you?”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, pacing in circles. “This is not learning—this is stupidity on a different planet. At seventeen? Jungkook, seriously?”

He shrugs innocently. “Well, whatever… but noona—”

“No. No more ‘but noona’.” You point at the door. “I swear on every neuron in my brain, if you ask one more biological question today, I will personally unsubscribe you from oxygen.”

He gasps dramatically again. “You’re so mean!”

“I’m busy!”

“You’re still mean!”

“I don’t care!”

You sit back down and open the file again, but Jungkook doesn’t move. He stands there, scrunching his nose like a grumpy rabbit.

“Noona…”

“Don’t say a word,” you warn without looking up. “Not. One. Word.”

He watches you for two seconds.

Two long, irritating seconds.

Then he sighs loudly, defeated.“You’re a meanie,” he mutters under his breath, and stomps out of your room like a rejected puppy.

The door slams shut.

Silence.

You let out a breath, leaning back in your chair. Your chest softens despite your frustration. Because beneath all his idiocy, all his whining, all his unbearably dumb questions…

He’s still your baby brother.

And for a second, your lips curve into a tiny smile.

Even idiots need love.

The morning sun spills softly into the dining room, casting warm light across the long wooden table. The maids move silently around, placing steaming bowls of doenjang jjigae and freshly cut kimchi.

You sit at your usual seat, flipping through a few office documents even while your rice cools. Your eyes feel heavy, your soul already exhausted from last night’s mental trauma called Jungkook.

Right on cue, the door slides open.

“Noonaaaaaaaa~~~!”

Before you can even turn, Jungkook swoops in, leans down, and plants a loud smack of a kiss on your cheek.

“Good morning, beautiful ladies!” he chirps, already glowing like a golden retriever wearing a crown.

Then he leans over and presses another kiss on Mrs. Jeon’s cheek.
“Good morning, eomma.”

Your mother smiles warmly, ruffling his hair. “Aigoo, my Jungkook woke up early today? What miracle is this?”

He beams, plopping into the chair beside you, bouncing slightly in excitement.
You eye him suspiciously.

“Noona~” he sings, “can you come to school with me today?”

You lower your spoon.
Your eyebrow lifts.
Your soul prepares itself for impact.

“Why?” you ask slowly. “What did you do?”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile — the kind guilty people wear during a police interrogation.

“Well… you see… yesterday… we had an exam… and the teacher… threw me out of class suddenly. Out of nowhere.”

Your eyes narrow.
Out of nowhere?
Never.
Not with him.

“So what?” you say calmly. “What did you do? Did you make him bald? Put Fevicol on his chair and rip his pants?”

Jungkook gasps loudly, placing a dramatic hand on his chest.
“Noona! You think I’m capable of such things?!”

You slowly turn your head to look at him, and he shrinks a little under your stare.

“You,” you say, tapping his forehead, “are capable of more than that. I know every nerve of yours, Jeon Jungkook. Now talk.”

He purses his lips, avoiding your gaze, eyes darting everywhere like a criminal caught in 4K.

Mrs. Jeon watches between both of you, confused, but she stays silent. She's learned not to interfere when you’re grilling her youngest.

Finally, Jungkook sighs dramatically, as if confessing to a tragic love affair.

“Fine.”
“I dropped baby chicks in the classroom.”

Your hand freezes mid-air.

“…How many?” you ask, dread crawling up your spine.

“Three.”
He holds up fingers.
“Baby chicks. I named them One, Two… and Four.”

You blink.
Your mother blinks.
Even the maid passing behind freezes.

“Why,” you ask slowly, “why.… is there no Three?”

Jungkook bats his eyelashes proudly.
“Exactly. So when the teacher caught the chicks, he freaked out because he couldn’t find Number Three. Whole class searching for it, noona. Beautiful chaos.”

You stare at him, horror blooming across your face.

He continues as if he’s reciting poetry.
“And while they were hunting for Three, I gave the test papers to the goats at the farm nearby.”

Your jaw drops.
“Goats.”

He nods.
“Nearby goats.”
“They ate it. Every. Single. Paper.”
He finishes with a bright smile.
Like he just cured cancer.

You grip the edge of the table, knuckles white, resisting every instinct to bang Jungkook’s face into the breakfast.

Mrs. Jeon chokes on air.
“GOATS?! JUNGKOOK!”

Jungkook just shrugs, proud of his “wisdom.”
“Noona, the teacher can’t mark what doesn’t exist. Pure logic. I’m a genius.”

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, whispering the only prayer you know:

Do not kill your brother. Do not kill your brother. Do not kill your brother.

Before you can even open your mouth to scold Jungkook for his goat apocalypse, the dining room door slides open with the kind of authority only one person in this house carries.

Mr. Jeon enters.

His presence fills the room instantly—the cold, commanding aura of a man who built an empire from dust and expects absolute obedience from the air around him. He carries a neat black folder in one hand, his face expressionless except for the faint flicker of irritation he gives.

First side-eye to the youngest.
Second side-eye to the oldest.

He sits down slowly and clears his throat.

A deep, meaningful, weight-carrying throat clear.

Mrs. Jeon, without looking up, simply pushes a steaming cup of herbal tea toward him.
“Why does your throat itch so much these days?” she asks innocently.

You don’t even look up from your file as you scoop rice into your mouth. Every time Jungkook tries to steal your bacon, you glare at him without saying a word. So he sighs dramatically and ends up feeding you instead, muttering something about “dangerous sisters and territorial breakfast rituals.”

Mr. Jeon massages his temples.

Then places the folder gently—too gently—right in front of you.

“Yn,” he says in a tone that announces doom, “it’s high time you get married. We have selected a boy for you. Look at the profile and tell me so I can arrange a blind date.”

There’s a sharp choking sound.

Jungkook slams his spoon down, eyes widened in pure betrayal.

“ARE YOU—”
He points at his father as if accusing him of murder.
“Are you saying you’re TAKING MY INTELLIGENCE AWAY?!”

Mr. Jeon blinks.

Jungkook continues dramatically, grabbing your arm as if you’re about to be shipped to another continent.

“I’m still young! I need to learn a LOT from her! And you’re sending her away?!”

Mrs. Jeon facepalms.

But before anyone could say, Jungkook abruptly stops crying and sighs in acceptance.
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll survive. But… can I shift into her room when she leaves? She has a home theatre.”

You turn your head toward him with a slow, deadly glare.

He immediately scoots away, hands up in surrender.
“Okay okay okay, nobody’s shifting! I’m sorry!”

You place your spoon down with calm precision—a gesture more frightening than shouting.
Your lips curl into a smile.

A smile that freezes every living soul in the room.

“I’m not getting married,” you say sweetly. “That’s final. I’m twenty-three.”

Your father clears his throat again, this time louder.
Like he’s trying to clear the rebellion out of his lungs.

“No,” he says sternly, “you have to get married. Do you know how much it is—”

“TRY ME,” you snap, cutting him off instantly.

The table falls into silence.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle.
He loves the show.
This is his daily K-drama.

Mr. Jeon sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“It is beneficial for our company. We can dominate globally. This marriage will—”

You raise your hand and point straight at him.

“Then YOU marry him.”
Your voice is calm. Deadly.
“Mom also needs some spice in her married life, isn’t that right, Mom?”

There’s a choking noise.
This time it’s Mr. Jeon’s soul leaving his body.

Mrs. Jeon lifts her gaze slowly—like a queen who has had enough of everyone.

She stares at her husband. Hard.

“You are blaming ME?” she demands, pushing her spoon on the table with a loud clack. The sound makes Mr. Jeon flinch like a scolded schoolboy.

“You made them spoilt,” he mutters, looking anywhere but at her.

Mrs. Jeon rises dramatically.
“Wahh… wahh… WAHHH. Look at you!” she says, pointing at him. “Blaming me when YOU are the one who gave them those genes! Aren’t you the same in high school? Stubborn like her. And in kindergarten? Double stubborn, just like him!”

Mr. Jeon freezes, eyes widening.

“And you know what?” Mrs. Jeon continues fiercely, “You SHOULD HAVE worn a condom if you didn’t want this chaos, but NO—you refused because it had Hello Kitty printed on it!”

The entire dining room goes silent.
Jungkook chokes on air.
You drop your spoon.
A maid quietly walks out to scream into a pillow.

Mrs. Jeon picks up her tea and walks away.

Mr. Jeon turns to you with the softest, most helpless expression ever seen on his intimidating face.

You shrug.
“Nope. That’s your mess. Handle it alone.”

You stand near the glass window of your office, eyes fixed on the city stretched beneath you. Seoul looks calm from this height—buildings lined neatly, cars moving like disciplined ants—but you know better. Beneath the shine, everything is always one wrong step away from collapse.

Your manager sits across from you, flipping through files, his voice careful. Too careful.

“Ms. Yn,” he says, clearing his throat, “this project has always been a boon for our company. But… the investors are asking for an alliance.”

You don’t turn around. You already know where this is going.

“They want assurance,” he continues hesitantly. “Last month’s average was lower compared to previous years, and our returning customer ratio is slowly declining. If this continues—”

He stops mid-sentence as the door opens.

You don’t need to look. You feel him before you see him.

Mr. Jeon steps inside, his presence heavy, controlled. Your manager immediately stands.
“I’ll… give you both a moment,” he says softly, bowing before leaving.

The door closes. Silence settles.

Your father exhales slowly, like a man who hasn’t truly rested in years.
“Yn,” he begins, rubbing his temples, “try to understand. This project—this alliance—it will help us. Otherwise, the company could go under.”

You finally turn to face him.

“We aren’t that rich,” he continues quietly. “We can’t afford to keep losing investors. I don’t want to lose the company.”

Your chest tightens.

“So,” you cut in sharply, “you decided to sell your daughter to save it? Really, dad?”
You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You don’t trust your own daughter? You think I can’t save the company myself, so you brought in a nasty deal instead?”

He flinches.

You watch his face closely then—really look at him. The lines on his forehead seem deeper. His shoulders are slightly slumped, like he’s been carrying something too heavy alone for too long. For the first time, he doesn’t look like the invincible man who commands rooms.

You sigh, turning away.

“I won’t get married,” you say, voice quieter now. “So don’t force me.”

“And that boy—Chowmin—” you add dismissively.

“Mr. Cho Min,” your father corrects sharply.

“Whatever,” you snap. “Cho Min or Chowmin. He’s a clown. A fraud. I did a background check.”

Your father stands up abruptly.
“No, they’re not frauds,” he says firmly. “They’re genuine people, Yn.”

You stare at him in disbelief.
“You will get married someday,” he continues. “Today or tomorrow. Why not today?”

The words sting more than you expect.

You look away, your reflection staring back at you from the glass. Sometimes you wonder—if Jungkook were older… if he were standing where you are now—would your father trust him the same way? Or is it because you’re a girl? Because ambition in a daughter always feels like rebellion?

“I’m not marrying him,” you say slowly. “He’s not the right choice.”

Your father goes quiet.

Then, after a long moment, he says something you don’t expect.

“Then prove me.”

You snap your head toward him.
“What?”

“Prove me,” he repeats, meeting your gaze directly. “Prove that he’s not the right choice for you. If you can do that—if you show me solid proof—I’ll stop this marriage.”

Your breath catches.

“Even if I have to bear the consequences,” he adds.

The room feels heavier, but different now. Not suffocating—challenging.

“You mean it?” you ask cautiously.

“Yes,” he says. “One chance. That’s all I’m giving you.”

Your heart pounds. Anger still burns in your chest, but beneath it, something else ignites—determination. Fire. Purpose.

“Fine,” you say, straightening your shoulders. “I’ll prove it.”

Your father nods once, turning toward the door.
“Don’t disappoint me, Yn.”

As he leaves, you stare out the window again—but this time, the city doesn’t look overwhelming.

You sit elegantly inside the luxurious restaurant, hands folded on your lap. It feels like one of those fancy K-drama meetings where people marry for alliances, not love.

You inhale slowly. You need to prove he’s wrong for you.

The door opens. Cho Min enters.

Tall. Sharp suit. Soft smile. Eyes gentle. Posture confident but not arrogant. He bows politely.

“Yn-ssi,” he greets softly, voice warm. “Thank you for meeting me. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

You blink.

Okay. That’s… unexpectedly considerate.

“Let’s talk straightforwardly,” you say calmly. “I don’t want marriage.”

He smiles politely.
“And that is completely understandable. Marriage is… a lifetime decision. You shouldn’t feel forced.”

You pause.

Wait.
What?

He continues, tone sincere.
“I don’t want you to think of me as some opportunist barging into your life. Whether you say yes or no, I will respect it. Your life isn’t a business deal.”

You stare at him cautiously.
“So… you’re saying you don’t want this either?”

He chuckles softly.
“I didn’t say that.”

Of course.

“I believe,” he continues gently, “if you and I do get married, it should be because you trust me. Not because your father pushed it. Not because of the company. Just because you want to.”

He smiles again. Calm. Soft. Flawless.

Damn it.
He’s good.

“And just so you know,” he adds politely, “I admire you. You rule a company men twice your age fail to handle. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

Your heart stalls for a second.

No insult.
No ego.
No superiority.

Just pure smooth gentleman perfection.

You clear your throat.
“We barely know each other.”

“Then allow me to change that,” he says kindly. “Not as a fiancé. As… someone who would like to know you. If you’ll allow it.”

For the first time… you hesitate. You don’t trust him, but…

He isn’t wrong.
He isn’t disrespectful.
He isn’t manipulative.

He is just… perfect.

For the first time in years… you don't know what to say. Then—

“NOOOOOONAAAAAA~!!!”

Heads turn.

Here comes chaos in human form.

Jungkook bursts into the café like rain in a library—loud, unpredictable, grinning wide like sunshine didn’t get a choice.

“Ohhhh my future brother-in-law~~~!!!” Jeon Jungkook screams dramatically.

You close your eyes.
You breathe.
You regret being born.

Cho Min blinks.
Then… smiles softly.
“Ah. Jungkook-ssi.”

“My MAN!!” Jungkook grins and casually hugs him like they’ve been friends forever. “Are you into boys by any chance? Because I kinda… really like you.”

“JUNGKOOK!” you snap.

He ignores you proudly.
“Do you know, she once tried to jump out of her window to sneak to a night party?” he tells Cho happily. “She fell straight into the mud. In a WHITE sparkling dress. She looked like a sad chocolate cake.”

Cho Min LAUGHS.

A real one.
Not fake.
Not diplomatic.

You glare at your brother.
“I will murder you.”

He beams.
“She also cried for three hours once because her bubble tea shop was closed.”

Cho Min looks at you warmly.
“That sounds… cute.”

Jungkook gasps.
“SEE?? He understands me! I mean… you!”

You collapse on the couch. Jungkook sprawls beside you happily.

“So Noona…” he says casually, “If you don’t want him… I can marry him.”

You slap his arm.
“What?!”

“He gave me a PS5,” Jungkook says proudly. “He is THE ONE.”

You stare at him in disbelief.
“I told you not to accept it?!”

“Of course,” he shrugs. “but he said, ‘I heard you like games. Consider it a friendly gift, Jungkook-ssi.’ Noona… he called me ssi. Respectful. Polite. Rich. Handsome. My type.”

You bury your face in your hands.
“I hate you.”

“But Noona…” Jungkook softens. “He’s… nice. Like genuinely nice. I couldn’t read anything negative. Are you sure he’s bad?”

You go silent.

Because that’s the problem.

He is perfect.
No flaw.
No red flag.
Nothing you can prove wrong.

Yet…
your heart whispers:

Something isn’t right.

You sigh deeply.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Not at all.

You pace back and forth, the heavy silk of your wedding dress brushing against your legs like chains you never asked for. The mirror in front of you reflects a bride—perfect makeup, perfectly pinned hair, perfectly stitched gown… but absolutely wrong eyes.

Because your eyes scream one thing.

You don’t want this.

Three months. Three exhausting, frustrating, infuriating months of digging… and finding nothing. No cracks. No stains. No dark corners.

Cho Min is perfect.

Too perfect.

You went on dinners. He held chairs out for you. Paid politely. Never crossed boundaries. Never raised his voice. Never questioned your independence. He supported your ambitions. He remembered little things—your favorite tea, your dislike for lilies, the way you rub your fingers when stressed.

You went shopping with him. He carried bags. Never complained. Talked softly. Smiled gently.

You went to his house unexpectedly. Spotless. Quiet. Warm. His staff respected him, not feared him. His neighbors greeted him kindly. No whispers. No shady glances.

He doesn’t drink.
He doesn’t smoke.
He doesn’t gamble.
He has limited friends.
His company is clean.
His past? Crystal-clear.

He is the kind of man people pray for.

And still… your heart refuses to surrender.

“Either he’s too good for this world… or I’m too blind to see the darkness,” you whisper to yourself, palm pressing against your chest where your heart refuses to calm down.

Your fingers tremble as you press them against your temples.

“What are you hiding…?” you whisper to the empty bridal room, voice cracking.

Because perfection is loud. And this one feels silent.

The door suddenly opens.

Mr. Jeon steps in first. Calm. Trying to be gentle. As if carefully stepping into a cage with a wounded lioness.

Mrs. Jeon follows, her eyes soft but firm. The pillar of the house, the silent authority.

And then Jungkook walks in, dressed beautifully in a suit… but with red swollen eyes.

You freeze.

He stands still.

Then suddenly, his face crumples.

“Noona…” his voice breaks before he sprints to you and crashes into your arms like a child seeking shelter from a storm.

You swallow hard, arms wrapping around him instinctively, hand caressing his hair.

He smells like the same baby powder he used to steal from your dressing table when he was five. He feels like the same idiot who once cried because he thought he could get pregnant. He sounds like the same troublemaker who made whole schools cry — but right now, he is just a younger brother who doesn’t want to lose his sister.

“It’s okay… bunny…” you whisper, even though it isn’t. Nothing about this is okay.

He shakes his head stubbornly against your chest.

“No, it’s not okay… I don’t want you to go…”
His grip tightens. “You always say you’re strong… that you can handle everything… but I know you don’t want this… then why are you doing it…?”

Your throat burns.

You want to say—
Because Appa doesn’t trust me.
Because the company is trembling.
Because sometimes daughters are currency in business wars.

But you simply hold him tighter.

Behind Jungkook’s shoulders, your father watches silently. His eyes carry guilt. Pride. Fear. Responsibility. The burden of a man who believes he is choosing the greater good and yet feels like he is sacrificing his daughter in the process.

He steps forward.

“Yn…” his voice is gentle, almost pleading. “He is a good boy. He will keep you happy. I… I wouldn’t ruin your life. Trust me once—”

You scoff softly and look away.

Trust.

That word cracks through your chest like lightning.

Your mother sighs softly and steps closer.

“Enough for now,” she whispers to your father, resting a hand on his arm. Then she looks at you. A mother. A woman. Someone who understands your silence more than anyone.

“Do you need anything?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head.

“I just… don’t want to do this,” your voice trembles honestly for the first time.

Jungkook hugs you tighter, like he can physically stop the wedding by sheer will.

Your father inhales deeply, jaw tight, as if every breath hurts.

“I know,” he whispers.

You freeze.

Because this is the first time… he admits it.

“I know you don’t want this,” he repeats, voice heavy. “But I am not forcing you because of power… or pride… I am afraid. Afraid of losing everything we built. Afraid of failing your future. Afraid of seeing our company shatter.”

Fear.

There it is.

Not dominance.
Not ego.
Just fear.

The room fills with quiet sadness.

You don’t answer.

You simply turn away slightly, guiding Jungkook with you as you step back inside the bridal chamber.

And the moment you cross the threshold—

He squeezes your hand tighter, almost like he’s trying to anchor you to this house.

He isn’t ready to let you go.

Maybe…

You aren’t either.

Jungkook sits right beside you on the bed, refusing to leave even for a second. His warm hand clutches yours like he’s the one about to get married instead of you.

“Noona… listen carefully,” he says seriously, eyes sparkling with determination. “I have the perfect plan.”

You slowly turn your head.

Here it comes.

He leans closer like he’s about to share a national secret.

“When you walk down the aisle… I’ll stand up and shout— ‘THIS MARRIAGE CAN’T HAPPEN!’”

You blink.

“And then?” you ask cautiously.

His chest puffs proudly.

“I’ll tell everyone I’m pregnant with his child.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

He grins.

You slap your forehead.

“Didn’t I ALREADY tell you that you CANNOT get pregnant, Jungkook?!”

He gasps dramatically as if you just killed his Nobel Prize dream.

“Yah! Why?! Why do you always crush my genius ideas?!”

“Because your GENIUS ideas come from your EMPTY brain,” you snap back.

He crosses his arms.

“I saw it in a drama! The girl stopped the wedding saying she was pregnant!”

“She. Was. A. GIRL.” you grit out. “You are a MALE bunny.”

He scowls.

“So what? Equality!” he argues stubbornly. “Men should also be able to get pregna—”

You flick his forehead.

He yelps.

“OW! Noonaaa!”

“Don’t ‘noona’ me. Stop embarrassing biology.”

He groans dramatically and throws himself back, still holding your hand as if letting go would mean letting go of you.

“Fine… I’ll use plan B,” he mutters like some mafia boss.

You sigh.

“God save me… okay, what now?”

He smirks.

“I’ll say my girlfriend is pregnant with his child.”

You blink.

Slowly turn.

Narrow your eyes.

“You. Have. A. Girlfriend?”

He bites his lip.

Avoids eye contact.

Starts humming.

You fold your arms.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He pretends to examine the ceiling.

You lean closer.

“You don’t have one.”

He gasps as if offended.

“How do you know? Maybe I do! Maybe I am secretly dating! Maybe I’m—”

“You cried because your celebrity crush posted a photo with another guy last week,” you respond flatly.

He deflates.

“…right. Point noted.”

You laugh softly despite the ache in your chest.

For a moment… the world doesn’t feel so heavy.

He squeezes your hand tighter.

“Noona… if you don’t want this marriage… don’t do it,” he whispers softly, eyes shining. “Run away. I’ll help you. I’ll create chaos. I’ll cry. I’ll fake faint. I’ll scream. I’ll tell them aliens abducted you—”

“Aliens?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” he nods confidently. “They’ll believe me. I have a trustworthy face.”

You snort.

“Trustworthy my foot.”

He pouts again, but his eyes never leave your face. He keeps studying you like he’s trying to memorize you. As if after today… you won’t belong to him anymore.

Your smile softens.

“You’re an idiot… but you’re my idiot,” you whisper.

He beams proudly.

“And I plan to stay that way forever.”

Before you can reply—

Your phone rings.

You frown.

Your manager.

At this time?

“Why is he calling?” Jungkook blinks. “Isn’t he busy running around yelling at people?”

You stare at the phone. Your gut twists.

Something isn’t right. You answer.

“Hello?”

There’s panic. Breathing. Fear.

“Ma’am…” your manager says in a trembling voice, “we… we have a problem.”

The grand doors slowly open.

Silence spreads across the hall like a wave. No applause. No cheerful music. Just soft instrumental strings echoing as you walk in — a bride in flawless white, walking alone.

Not because you don’t have a father.

But because you refuse to walk beside the man who forced you into a future you never chose.

Your lace veil drapes down, hiding your face completely. Your gown fits like a dream—elegant, traditional yet modern, shimmering softly beneath the lights. Your long hair cascades beneath the veil, and your gloved hands clutch your bouquet with unshaking grace.

Each step is steady… powerful… royal.

People whisper,
“Why is she alone?”
“Where is her father?”
“What happened?”

But your chin remains high.

You are not abandoned.

You simply chose yourself.

At the altar, Cho Min waits in a sharp black suit, posture perfect, expression calm yet warm. When you finally reach the steps, he moves forward and gently offers his hand.

You hesitate a fraction of a second…

Then place your gloved hand in his.

He guides you up with quiet respect. No force. No pressure. Just a polite smile.

You stand beside him.

The officiant speaks — words about unity, trust, partnership, and shared future. His voice echoes softly through the hall.

“And now,” he says, turning to you both,
“Do you, Cho Min, promise to cherish, protect, and stand beside your bride?”

“I do,” Cho Min answers calmly — firm, sincere, confident.

Your breath catches.

Then the officiant turns to you.

“And do you, Jeon Yn, promise to stand beside him—through joy, hardship, trust, and faith?”

The hall holds its breath.

Beneath the veil… your eyes don’t close. Don’t shake. Don’t cry.

You lift your chin slightly.

“I do,” you say — voice steady, whisper but sharp enough to pierce hearts.

Rings are presented.

Cho Min gently takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with care, as if afraid to hurt you.

You do the same, slipping the band onto his.

Soft applause fills the hall.

“And now,” the priest announces proudly,
“I declare you husband and wife. You may now… kiss the bride.”

Cho Min smiles politely and steps closer. He lifts his hand gently, fingertips lightly brushing the veil.

The hall holds its breath.

A perfect fairy-tale moment.

Slowly… gracefully… he lifts the veil upward.

White lace rises.

Light falls on the bride’s face.

And—

People jump from their seats. Someone drops a glass.

Mrs. Jeon slaps her forehead. Mr. Jeon stands up screaming—

“JEON!! JUNGKOOK!!!”

Because standing there…Wearing your gown…Your jewelry…Your veil…

Is Jeon Freaking Jungkook, pouting cutely in full bridal glory.

“Ma’am…” your manager says in a trembling voice, “we… we have a problem.”

“What happened?” you ask calmly, because panic lost its privilege long ago.

“There’s a guy trying to get inside. He grabbed one of our staff and is threatening to hurt him if we don’t let him meet you. Should I call the police?”

Your throat tightens—until he says the name.

“He said his name is Park Jimin.”

For the first time in days, your lungs remember how to breathe.

“Let him in,” you whisper.

Minutes later, the door bursts open. Jimin walks in, dragging a bloodied boy with him. The boy collapses to the floor, wincing in pain. You recognize him instantly.

He works for you. Worked for you. Once. Your jaw clenches.

“What did he do?” your voice stays steady, but your fingers curl into fists.

Jimin doesn’t waste time. “Every move you made, every risk you took, every person you tried to reach—he reported it to Cho. Every single thing.” His tone hardens. “Your calls were traced. Your locations mirrored. He didn’t miss anything. You thought you were smart? He was smarter.”

A cold chill crawls down your spine.

Of course.

That’s why nothing worked.

That’s why every secret meeting turned into dust.

That’s why every hope died before it even took its first breath.

“He knew?” you whisper.

“He always knew.” Jimin nods. “He let you search. He let you run. He let you try… because he liked watching you fail.”

The room spins. Not because of shock… but because you realize how trapped you’ve truly been.

You kneel beside the injured boy. He won’t even look at you. Shame weighs on his shoulders like chains.

“Why?” you ask quietly.

“Money,” he chokes. “Protection. Power. He promised… everything.”

Of course he did.

Mr. Cho always knew how to buy loyalty. He only struggled with love.

“And today?” you ask.

Jimin’s gaze sharpens. “Today… he slipped. Too busy playing the perfect groom. Too busy pretending to love you.” A bitter smirk curves his lips. “There’s something happening today—something big. Something wrong. Something he thinks no one will notice. And today… you can finally expose him.”

Your chest aches—but not from fear.

From resolve.

You stand up.

No shaking.

No hesitation.

Just fire.

You move towards the changing room, jaw set, mind already racing—even though you know escaping won’t be easy.

Security is everywhere.

Walls watching.

Eyes breathing down your neck.

He expected your rebellion.

He prepared for it.

You open the changing room—

And find Jeon Jungkook.

In your wedding dress.

Half worn.

Pouting.

“Why are there so many buttons?” he complains before noticing your expression and freezing.

You don’t smile.

There’s no space for humor here.

“I need you,” you say simply.

He blinks. “To… wear this?”

You nod.

Because when the bride walks… the world looks only at her.

And for once, you need the world blind.

Jungkook gulps. Then sighs dramatically. “What do I get?”

Even in ruin, he negotiates.

You sigh. “Anything.”

He beams.

Jimin groans.

And as the veil drops over Jungkook’s face…

Your cage unlocks.

Not for escape— But for war.

Jungkook blinks innocently.

Tilts his head.

And says— “Appa… I was about to kiss my husband. Why did you shout?”

Silence.

Then— CHAOS.

Guests scream. Some laugh. Some faint.

Journalists lower their cameras in pure disbelief.

Cho Min is frozen.

Priest doesn’t know whether to bless or pray.

Mr. Jeon’s soul leaves his body.

“Y-Yah!! What are you doing there?! Where is YN?!” he roars, veins popping.

Jungkook calmly fixes his veil.

“Relax, appa~” he says cutely. “Noona didn’t want to come down yet… so your smart son came to save the day.”

He even twirls.

The dress SPINS.

The audience GASPS again.

“JEON JUNGKOOK GET DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT NOW!!” Mr. Jeon explodes.

Jungkook dramatically clutches his invisible pearls.

“Appa, please respect your daughter-in-law— I mean son-in-law— I mean bride. This is a sacred moment!”

He turns to Cho Min.

Smiles sweetly.

“Hi husband~”

Cho Min blinks slowly.

Opens his mouth.

Closes it. Reboots.

“You—what are you doing?” he finally snaps, his usually perfect calm cracking.

Jungkook clings to his arm, dragging him back toward the center of the stage. “Cho Min—nooo, wait! Chowmin? Miniee? Baby? Honey? What should I call you? Tell me, I am your husband—uh, I mean—you are my husband!”

Cho Min steps back, voice sharp, composed but cutting. “This is… fraud. I do not accept this marriage!”

Jungkook gasps like the world just ended. “WHYYYYYY?! We are married! You have no right! No right at all!” He wraps himself around Cho Min’s arm like a koala.

Cho Min tries to pull free, but Jungkook’s grip is relentless. “Stop this at once!” Cho Min hisses, face flushing. “I will not be dragged into childish theatrics. This… this is inappropriate. You are behaving like a… a—”

“A bride!?” Jungkook interrupts dramatically, spinning in a full circle, veil flaring out. “I am a bride! And you are my husband! And Appa… appa, why can’t you see how important this is?”

Mr. Jeon’s eyes bulge. “ENOUGH! Jungkook, you’re ruining everything! YN?!”

“Appa, shhh,” Jungkook coos, wrapping one arm around Cho Min’s waist. “We are just… practicing the sacred vows!”

Cho Min’s jaw tightens. “Practice?! This is a wedding, not a… circus!”

Jungkook gasps in mock offense, pressing his hand to his chest. “A circus?! How dare you! I am a royal bride of utmost dignity and importance! You will respect me!”

 He pushes Jungkook hard, and he flies backward, landing flat on his butt with a dramatic “oomph!” that echoes across the hall. His veil flutters over his face as he groans, half offended, half in shock.

Before he can even get down the aisle, a group of uniformed policemen storms in. Handcuffs glint in the chandelier light.

“Mr. Cho Min, you are under arrest for drug trafficking and illegal arms distribution,” one officer announces, voice firm, unyielding.

Min’s perfect composure shatters. His eyes widen, jaw tightens, “This… this is a mistake! I… I am innocent—!”

“Not today,” one officer interrupts, firmly guiding him toward the exit.

Just then you walk towards him, steps measured, heels clicking against the floor, holding your files like a weapon of justice. A satisfied smile tugs at your lips.

“Dude,” you say softly, almost amused, “I almost thought you were a charming prince… but it turns out you’re a wolf in prince structure.”

You tilt your head, letting the words sink in as the policemen march him out. He struggles, flailing slightly, but it’s useless. His empire crumbles in a perfect, public collapse.

Turning back, you crouch beside Jungkook, helping him to his feet. He’s still in his wedding dress, puffed cheeks and wide eyes, but victorious.

“Thank you… Noona,” he whispers, eyes glimmering. “I… I saved you.”

You brush a strand of hair from his face and kiss his forehead gently. “You did. And honestly, you’re crazy… but I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jungkook squeals. “I want to go to Paris!”

You groan, placing your hands on your temples. “Condolences to my bank balance,” you mutter, nodding.

He squeals again, flinging himself into a hug that makes you stumble slightly. “YES! Paris! Adventure! Croissants!”

Meanwhile, Mr. Jeon steps forward, his stern expression softening as he watches the chaos. He takes the files from your hands. “YN…” he says quietly.

You hand them over fully, voice calm. “This Chowmin is a local drug distributor in Gwangju, also involved in minor slavery. He wanted to marry me because our company would’ve helped expand his illegal business into Seoul. He needed something to show the shark loans to enter the Seoul market. All the while pretending to be… Mr. Perfect Groom.”

Mr. Jeon exhales slowly, running a hand over his face. “I see,” he murmurs. He glances at the wedding hall, at the policemen dragging Cho Min away, and then finally at you. A rare, proud smile breaks through his usual cold demeanor.

He gestures toward the exit. “YN… come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, following him out. Jungkook trails behind, still squealing and bouncing like a sugar-fueled child.

But before he escapes entirely, Mrs. Jeon grabs his ear firmly and drags him along.

“Yah! Appa! Mom! I saved her! I—ow! OW!!” he yells, struggling but unable to escape her grip.

“Don’t think I’ll let you get away with any nonsense, young man,” Mrs. Jeon scolds, dragging him down the corridor.

Jungkook’s wails fill the air, high-pitched and utterly dramatic. “I… I can’t… I saved her… why are you scolding meeeeee!”

You glance back over your shoulder, laughing softly despite the chaos. He’s still your bratty little brother—but maybe the bravest too.