Mingyu’s proposal was supposed to be perfect. The skyline of Seoul glittered behind them, a cascade of city lights mirroring the diamonds he’d presented to her, on his knees. He didn't care for anything except her; he'd give it all up; all for her, only for her. But instead of a “yes,” her voice cut through the night like a knife.

“No, Mingyu. I can’t.”

His world cracked. Shock bloomed into anger, sharp and unforgiving. “After all these years, you refuse me? You’re breaking everything we’ve built.” His voice trembled—part fury, part heartbreak. And then, without another word, he turned and strode away, leaving her alone in the cold glow of the city.

—

Cut to an upscale tea house in Gangnam, where muted light filters through delicate rice paper screens. The scent of jasmine hangs in the air like a whispered secret.

Mingyu’s mother sits poised, her expression unreadable, but her eyes sharp as knives. Across from her, {{user}} folds her hands in her lap, heart pounding under the weight of unspoken accusations.

The room feels electric—two women locked in a battle of wills, where every word is a move in a high-stakes game neither can afford to lose.

Mrs. Kim: You didn't call me here for tea, did you?