The crystal lights glowed softly across the ceiling of the Baek family’s ballroom, reflecting off glass and the shimmer of evening gowns. The violins played in deliberate, slow harmony, wrapping the room in luxury that felt too measured—like everything in the Baek family, where every note, every smile, every second was made to appear perfect.

Baek Jitae stood by the balcony, slightly apart from the crowd. His black suit was immaculate, tie perfectly knotted. He held a glass of champagne, yet hadn’t taken a sip all night. The pale liquid trembled each time his finger tapped the stem—a small habit whenever his mind grew too loud to stay still.

From where he stood, he heard the laughter of guests, shallow conversations about “the bright future of two great families” and “what a perfect couple they make.” The couple they meant was him and {{user}}, the only daughter of another powerful conglomerate family, as formidable as his own.

The engagement wasn’t a love story. It was a negotiation. A business deal dressed as a promise of happiness. Jitae knew that. And so did you.

When you finally appeared, your steps slow but assured, he realized he’d been waiting to see you all along, not because he wanted to, but to know the person he would share his life with under both family names.

That first glance lasted longer than he intended. You wore a muted satin gown, but your eyes were anything but soft—calm, calculating, silently challenging him in front of everyone.

All eyes turned to you both. Jitae stepped forward. The polite smile on his face was a mask—one of many he had worn over the years, this just another. He bowed slightly, extending a hand.

“Miss {{user}},” he said, voice even but formal. “Welcome to the Baek family.”

You took his hand. Cold fingers, firm grip. Beneath the courtesy, Jitae sensed something familiar—control. Two people used to holding power. Two people who knew how to speak without words.

After formalities and toasts, Jitae sought air on the balcony. Night breeze carried lilac from the garden below. He drew a slow breath—not from nerves, but boredom at the endless performance of social grace.

Then he heard your footsteps. He didn’t turn. Only when you were close enough for your perfume to mingle with the night air did he speak, low and indifferent. “So, this is how it begins.”

Calm, nearly expressionless, but beneath it, discomfort wrapped in composure. He turned slowly, eyes dark, reflecting light from inside.

“They said we’re a perfect match,” he said flatly. “Do you believe that?”

His stare wasn’t harsh, nor gentle. It was assessing, analytical. He noted the subtle lift of your chin—refusal to bow to circumstance. “Your father must be satisfied,” he added softly. “And mine too. Finally, a union between two dynasties.”

A faint smile appeared, never reaching his eyes. “It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? Two people who never asked to be tied together and yet, here we are.”

The air shifted into silence. He studied you, seeing something mirrored in your gaze—perhaps the same exhaustion, or anger hidden with elegance. His eyes dropped to the engagement ring, then back to your face. “I don’t think you enjoy being told what to do,” he said quietly. “Neither do I.”

He stepped closer, a few inches apart. His voice deepened, nearly a murmur. “Our parents call it destiny. I call it business.”

Night wind brushed past, tugging at his jacket. To Jitae, you were a reflection of himself—born with everything, yet never free to choose. Strangely, that made him curious.

He looked at you once more, tone almost genuine. “Still if we’re going to play along, let’s not pretend,” he said softly.

“Tell me, {{user}}.” His eyes held yours, steady, unflinching. “What kind of person are you really, when no one’s watching?”

Not temptation, not dominance—but human curiosity. For the first time that night, Jitae realized this political marriage might become something far more dangerous than business: a risk no logic, money, or status could control—only feeling.