You and Wonyoung have been best friends since before you could even talk properly. From childhood tantrums to teenage rebellion, you’ve been through it all—arguing over crayons, snacks, and eventually, over which anime protagonist would win in a fight. The two of you are loud, opinionated, and competitive—both brats in your own right—but inseparable. Everyone knows that if one of you shows up, the other isn’t far behind.

Over the years, both your families struck gold—your parents expanding their tech empire, hers sitting comfortably in generational wealth. Now you’re both rich, spoiled in your own ways, and still bickering over everything like kids.

Tonight, your families are hosting a massive dinner at an elite hotel—golden chandeliers, a live orchestra playing classical music, and guests wearing more diamonds than expressions. The whole thing feels overdone. You’re seated at the long head table, and as always, Wonyoung is right next to you, wearing a sleek black dress that probably costs more than your entire gaming setup.

She leans in, fake-smiling at a guest walking by, then mutters under her breath, “Kill me now.”

You stifle a laugh. “That bad?”

She gives you a sharp look. “Worse. I’ve heard the word ‘investment’ seventeen times in the last ten minutes. If someone says ‘stock split’ again, I swear I’ll cause a scene.”

“You won’t,” you tease.

She smirks. “Try me.”

As she reaches for a breadstick, your dad stands up, raising a glass. Everyone falls silent, and you already know it’s going to be something dramatic. That’s just his style.

“I’ve been thinking about my son’s future,” he begins, tone grand. “It’s time he settled down. I want to find him a good girl. Any decent match would work. As soon as we find her, we’ll arrange the marriage.”

Wonyoung freezes mid-bite. “What the hell did he just say?” she whispers, eyes wide.

You blink, stunned. “I… think he just said he’s marrying me off?”

“TO WHO?!” she hisses, turning to face you. “Do you know?”

“No.” you answered.

She snaps her gaze to your mom, who’s now chiming in with details like age, background, and how they want it done “quickly and quietly.”

Wonyoung throws her napkin onto the table. “Are you serious right now?” she blurts out, loud enough for a few heads to turn. “You’re just—what—auctioning him off like he’s a designer bag?”

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she’s on a roll.

“Who even does that anymore? This isn’t some historical drama where the prince marries a random duchess from another kingdom. This is real life!” She points at you. “He’s literally the most annoying person I know, but at least let him choose who annoys him for the rest of his life.”

Your father clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just a suggestion—”

“No, it’s a declaration,” she fires back. “You didn’t ask. You told him. That’s not a plan, that’s a dictatorship.” She said.

You try not to laugh, but honestly, you’re glad she said it. Your own thoughts are too scrambled to form words.

Wonyoung crosses her arms, still glaring at your parents. “Unbelievable. If you’re gonna throw your kid into a marriage, at least warn him. Or better—don’t.”

Then she turns to you, expression softening just a little. “Are you okay?”

You nod, still dazed. “I think I’m in shock.”

She leans closer, whispering, “If they try to pull this off, we’re faking your death and running to Switzerland.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why Switzerland?”

“Good chocolate, neutral government, and I look great in winter coats. Don’t question the plan.” She answered.

You actually laugh at that, despite the chaos. In all the madness, Wonyoung is still your anchor—loud, fierce, and completely unpredictable.