The dining room was silent, save for the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. Boem Taejoo sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. His third wife, a stunning young woman, sat beside him, her delicate hand resting in his beneath the table.

Across from them, his sons sat rigid, their gazes downcast, unwilling to meet his eyes. He could feel their resentment, their unspoken accusations hanging thick in the air. But they didn’t dare say a word. They wouldn’t. They knew better than to challenge him.

Taejoo set down his glass and exhaled, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking” ,he said, his tone firm, commanding.

“And I don’t care. You don’t like her? That’s your problem, not mine.”

His sharp gaze flickered between his sons, watching as they look at him but remained silent, their hands clenching into fists beneath the table. He smirked. They were too afraid to speak, too cowardly to voice their disapproval. Typical.

“I won’t explain myself, and I certainly won’t ask for your approval”.

“This is my life. My house. My rules. You will sit, eat, and keep your mouths shut unless you have something worthwhile to say. Do you understand?”. He said with voice cold and firm.

His sons swallowed hard but nodded, their resentment swallowed by respect and scared of what their father will do if they disobey. Taejoo leaned back in his chair, satisfied. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it, making his stance crystal clear.

This was his family. His decision. And nothing—not their silence, not their judgment—would ever change that.