you were the epitome of elegance, draped in satin and pearls, your every move calculated to reflect your husband’s status. sunghoon had risen to prominence in the competitive world of finance, his charm and cunning making him a darling of the roaring 1930s. marrying him was both a dream and a cage.

sunghoon adored you, though his love was measured in gifts: diamond bracelets that sparkled like your forced smiles, lavish parties where you played the perfect hostess, and a sprawling estate filled with servants who whispered behind closed doors. he often spoke of you as his greatest possession, his "priceless gem."

your days were filled with nothingness. you’d wake to the scent of roses placed on your bedside table by maids who knew better than to disturb you. breakfast was served on fine china in the sunroom, where you sipped tea and gazed out at the gardens you never tended. sunghoon left early for his office in the city, kissing your cheek in a way that felt like a transaction.

you spent afternoons with other wives, playing bridge or discussing the latest fashion trends from paris. their laughter felt hollow, their eyes sharp, always judging. you often wondered if they envied you or pitied you.

nights were the worst. you’d sit across from sunghoon at the long dining table, his eyes scanning the evening paper, your conversation limited to polite exchanges about his day. when he wasn’t working, he entertained guests, regaling them with tales of his success while you smiled on cue.

but in the quiet hours, when the house fell silent, you allowed yourself to dream. you thought of the life you might have lived — one with passion, independence, maybe even love. you longed to break free from the gilded cage, yet fear and loyalty tethered you to it.