"Have you ever thought about how I'd feel?" I gaped. I tried to push the disappointment down to the pit of my stomach, so as to prevent the threatening tears from rolling down and ruining my make-up. I didn't want the stylists near me again.

"Look at your brother. He's inheriting your father's position in care for the company's future. The least you can do is sign a contract and help us progress," my mother spat.

"He's becoming the CEO because he's willing to. What both of you are you doing right now is forcing me into a marriage I'm unwilling of. There's a difference," I fired back, blood boiling to the surface of my throat.

I glanced at my brother relaxing on the long couch while texting away on his phone, completely unaffected by the situation I'm currently in. Beside him was the stylist who had fixed my hair and picked my maxidress. She was now concentrating on making his tie looked perfect.

My mother shook her head and muttered calmly, "We're not asking you to spend your life with him forever. You can break off the marriage after eight years."

"Eight years?" I scoffed as I stumbled back in utter disbelief. Eight years must seemed very short to my parents but those eight years would be torture and loneliness for me. "I can't do it...I won't do it!"

"You don't have a say in this, honey."

"Watch me. I'm going to ruin tonight's meeting."

If not for my parents' threat of cancelling my job at The Pets' Shop, I'd not have agreed to join them for dinner with the Kims, anyway. And it was only just now that I discovered an arranged marriage was planned between the Jungs and the Kims.

My mother hissed, "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm not. You are."

"Enough!" My father roared as he slammed the marble table. He stood up with such great force that the chair knocked down onto the floor. Everyone stilled at his sudden outburst.

"You are marrying to Kim Jongin. That is final. I don't want to hear anyone talking about this again unless it's for business matters," he barked angrily before marching upstairs.

As soon as he was gone, everyone was back to doing their work, their expression falling into one of disinterest. My mother scowled at me before ordering a housemaid to fetch her lavish heels.

I dropped my gaze to the silk, blue dress clung onto my frame. An outfit not of my type. An outfit not of my choice.

My fingers grazed the diamond necklace and bracelets on my body. As much as they shone under the sparkling chandelier and as much as they captured the attention of others, I hated them. They felt itchy and uncomfortable on my skin.

I eyed my surroundings, feeling sick and tired with all that was revolving around me. A father who only cared about his business, a mother who only cared about money and designer bags and a brother who only cared about himself, and only himself.

I was nothing like them because I wanted to be nothing like them. A world of plastic smiles and insincere compliments was not the kind of place I wanted to grow up in.

But as I stormed out of the mansion, my frantic expression was immediately replaced by one that conveyed everything-is-fine.

Maybe I was just like the rest of them.

Then again, I was simply afraid of letting anyone know of my disastrous family, one that was vacant of warmth and love. It was embarrassing for all my close friends had a family that was unlike mine, a family that had the rights to be called a family. 

My gaze landed on the limousine that was going to drive us to the Kims. As not a fibre of my being wanted to return to the house, I figured I could kill time while waiting in the limo.

As I strode down the path, over to the limo, my eyes recognised a man's back. He had a tall, lean figure and broad shoulders, and by the look of his formal outfit which was black from head to toe, I could tell he was one of our chauffeurs. He was wiping the window panes and by coincidence, the door was wide open.

The clicking of my heels must have alarmed him because he turned around to look at me, blinking in confusion.

"Ma'am, departing time is in half an hour."

"I know," I hopped into the limousine, settling down behind the driver's seat. I crossed my legs before travelling my eyes up and down his figure again. "How old are you?"

"I'm 22, ma'am." He bit down the bottom of his lip, "Um...ma'am, I'm sorry but I've to tidy up the car." He waved a wet cloth in  the air.

"Then that makes us friends. You can drop the formalities."

He cowered his head, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I believe I can't do that."

I sighed wearily as I reassured, "It's okay. There's no one else here."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I really can't."

"Stop calling me ma'am. I'm not a ma'am."

The rising frustration in the pit of my stomach caused my words to come off as a stern warning, which I immediately felt guilty for.

"I mean...I just want a friend to talk to," I said meekly.

The chauffeur stared back at me with an unreadable expression, a great contrast to his following reply which was of a string of words that no one in the house ever dared to utter.

"God, just get the  out of the car."

My eyes widened like saucers before a corner of my lips slowly quirked up in amusement.

"Just let me stay here, will you? I won't disturb you."

He sighed heavily, eyes still fixed on me as if he was contemplating really hard. "Fine."

He climbed into the car as well before sliding the door shut. He started scrubbing the leather seats in front of me and I swore at the rate he was going, my reflection would shine in them.

"The seats are clean as it is, though."

I wasn't surprised when there was no response, but a part of me felt disappointed because I was hoping he'd prove me wrong.

"If you think I'm cleaning these because they are unclean, you're wrong. I'm cleaning these because your father finds them unclean." He replied.

My brows lifted. One, because I'm stunned he was interested in conversing with me, and two, because I'm sorry he had to take orders from an unreasonable, old man.

"Seriously, no one will find out if you don't clean them."

He glanced over his shoulder, his side profile facing me, "Why would I do something that would get me a pay cut?"

"So it's all about the money."

He stopped scrubbing and turned to face me with furrowed brows, looking almost as if he was offended. "What's with that tone?"

"You're 22 for god's sake. Do something that you really enjoy and have passion for."

"In today's world, hardly anybody likes the job they are doing. They do it for a living and not for liking. One of the perks of my job is its generous pay, and in a way, I can pay off my rent and provide my mum surgery. Is it really wrong to work for money?"

I bit my lip. "What do you really want to do?"

I'm truly curious about his answer, but at the same time, it was ironic because I'd just ignored his reply, knowing full well that he was right about the people today and didn't want to acknowledge it.

His face was out of my line of sight again but by the way his hand movements on the seats slowed down, I could tell he was hesitating on giving me the answer I want.

"A d-dancer."

My lips curled into a genuine smile, "That's cool." I leaned forward to catch his expression of what seemed like bashfulness.

I finally had the chance to take in the person in front of me, which I realised he looked too handsome to be a chauffeur. He looked more like a model. The afternoon sunlight reflected off his face, making his eyes looked golden and his skin lustrous. His jaw was defined, nose was very sharp and he had pink cherry-like lips.

"What about you? What do you really want to do?" His words snapped me out of my thoughts. He tucked the cloth into his pockets, his attention entirely focused on me.

For as long as I'd been sitting in this limo, that question was something I'd been trying to avoid. But then again, I'd e