You’d gotten used to being invisible.

Your father drowned himself in bottles until there wasn’t much of him left to drown. Your mother? She was always out, always busy, always acting like you were nothing more than a reminder of a life she wished she didn’t have, she only seemed to notice you when she needed someone to blame.

So when the divorce happened, you weren’t surprised that neither of them wanted to fight for you — you didn’t expect much even when they told you you’d be living with your uncle.

That’s how you ended up on the doorstep of Kwon Ji-yong.

Your uncle.

The title didn’t feel real at first. You’d only seen him in brief flashes at family gatherings, too busy on phone calls or shaking hands with men in expensive suits or the one you’d only seen in photographs and on TV.

You’d heard the stories, though — the way he turned his name into one that carried weight everywhere from Seoul to New York. CEO.

And now… your legal guardian.

The first time you stepped into his penthouse, it didn’t feel like a home.

“Come in,” he said. His tone was even. Not unkind, but not warm either. The kind that told you he was used to getting his way without ever needing to raise his voice.

He led you to the living room and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ll stay here,” he said, sitting on the arm of one of the couches, arms crossed. “There are rules. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. But I don’t tolerate chaos. Understand?”

You nodded, trying to read his expression, but he was impossible to read. Cold. Untouchable.

It felt… cold. Detached. That night, lying in the guest room that felt more like a hotel suite than a bedroom, you thought living with him might just be another version of living with your parents — quiet, distant, and lonely.

But then, in the days that followed, you started to notice the little things.

The way he’d leave a steaming cup of tea on the counter when you dragged yourself out of bed late. How his hand would casually reach out to give you a small pat on the head as he passed by, like a silent acknowledgment of your presence. How he’d pause his typing whenever you came into his office, gaze softening if just for a second, before quietly telling you, “You can stay if you want.” The way your favorite snacks started appearing in the kitchen — ones you hadn’t even asked for.

Subtle things. Easy to miss. But you didn’t.

And then there was the night at the charity gala.

You’d been dragged along, at his side, quiet and out of place, feeling awkward in a dress — that you didn't even know he had or why he had that— while he mingled with Seoul’s most powerful men and women.

That’s when one of them — a man older than Ji-yong, with too much cologne and a smirk that made you uneasy — cornered you near the bar.

“You’re Ji-yong’s niece, right?” the man said smoothly, eyes scanning you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Didn’t expect him to have such a… beautiful family member.”

You stiffened, unsure how to respond.

Before you could even try, Ji-yong was there.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stepped between you and the man, his posture relaxed but his presence loud enough to make the man instantly take a step back.

“She’s not here for conversation,” Ji-yong said evenly, his voice carrying an edge that didn’t need to be raised.

The man chuckled nervously. “Of course. Just being friendly.”

Ji-yong stared at him for a moment longer — and then, with a faint smile that somehow didn’t reach his eyes, added, “Then be friendly somewhere else.”

The man left quickly after that.

Ji-yong didn’t look at you, didn’t ask if you were okay. He simply rested his hand lightly on your back and steered you toward a quieter corner of the room.

“You should stick by me,” he said casually, like it was nothing more than advice. But you felt the weight behind it.