"The girl with the guitar."

Tiffany finally decided.
 
There were others in there with her.
 
But she was all that Tiffany was seeing.
 
 
She leaned on the two-way mirror to observe the girl a little longer.
 
The one she picked seemed to be in her early 20s, judging from her petite and fit build. She had slightly-messy, shoulder-length brown hair with streaks of blonde at the edges. Her fringes fell over her eyes, preventing Tiffany from seeing how her eyes were truly like. The girl was wearing a plain white top and tight black jeans. One of the shoelaces on her sneakers was loose. Tiffany silently hoped with all her might that she was not underage.
 
The girl cradled her guitar case on her lap while shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. She was looking down at the carpeted floor the entire time, avoiding the constant emotional bursts of the other young women in the room with her.
 
 
Her appearance didn't blow Tiffany away. When she first laid her eyes on her, two words came to mind: stray puppy
 
She never had puppies or any pet before. Her relationship with these furry creatures remained at an I'm-fine-just-looking-at-you level of fondness.
 
The girl didn't even strike Tiffany as someone she would talk to or even approach in different circumstances, and still—

The stray puppy moved. She suddenly looked up at the mirror, to where Tiffany was standing on the other side. She stared at it with unwavering eyes, as if knowing that the mirror was actually two-way.
 
Tiffany held her breath upon seeing the girl's face.
 
The girl's dark, penetrating, and defiant look pulled her in.
 
She absentmindedly leaned closer to the glass.
 
 
So she's going to be the one...
 
 
Without looking away, Tiffany cleared , and made requests to the few people in the room with her.
 
"Sunny, please usher the rest of them out, and compensate them well. To the rest of you, you know what to do."
 
Her foster sister, Sunny, was quick on her feet. She signaled one of the men present to follow her outside.
 
The remaining guys immediately gathered all the profiles of the other girls, putting them straight to a paper shredder. One of them called their family lawyer to come over, and deliver the contract right away.
 
Tiffany momentarily spared a glance at the row of equally-unfamiliar faces in the other room. Even if there were only nine of them in there, the range was a bit wide. Not to stereotype, but some of them looked like models, and university students. Then there were a few that looked like club regulars, maybe even a worker in the mix. Most of them were either bawling their eyes out or shooting suspicious glances at the two-way mirror. A few walked around the room with dread in their eyes. Tiffany just wanted their discomfort to end.
 
Tiffany turned around and eyed a slightly-flustered Donghae, her father's trusted right-hand man and her godbrother.

"Where did you find them, oppa?" She asked, pertaining to the others she didn't pick. 
 
"Outside of malls, bars, libraries. Not-so busy streets..." Donghae said, walking up beside her to hand her the sole profile that was left. He stared at the moving line of now-disgruntled young women being ushered out of the room. "We have little choice, given that we need to resort to taking them just to get this done."
 
Tiffany nodded curtly. She didn't have time to think about the other women, and the consequences taking them might entail.
 
She had already chosen who she wanted.

The one sitting calmly at the corner of the room, seemingly unperturbed that she was the only one left in the room.
 
 
The girl with the guitar.

* * *

They guided her to another room, and made her sit on a chair behind a bare desk made of polished dark wood. When they attempted to take her guitar case away from her, she almost hissed in protest. Instead, she gently positioned it beside her against her chair.
 
Then she leaned back a bit, and looked around her. She met the eyes of the petite girl she had met earlier.
 
The petite girl looked away.
 
Still, she somehow felt a bit relieved upon seeing a 'familiar' face among a handful of tough-looking men dressed sharply in black suits. None of them were saying anything. They just seemed ready to pounce at every bold movement she might do. It made her want to laugh with contempt.
 
She grimly looked down at her hands clenched on her lap. They had turned pale, and almost unrecognizable. She had been unconsciously wringing them into tight fists for some time. The sight made her remember the last time she felt like that... that alone.
 
It was a really cold night.
 
Her life had its share of exciting episodes that fueled her to go through her 'planned' existence. Until she finally found what she really wanted to do...

That was when her life had taken a drastic change.
 
Her past self would've retaliated if she was in the same position she'd been in the whole day. But looking down at her present self, with all the uncertainties and insecurities that constantly gnaw at her, her acceptance to all of it made her feel both pity and stupid admiration towards herself. She had no other choice but to let herself get carried away by the harsh tide that her previous life wanted to save her from.
 
She smiled bitterly.
 
She had no idea what these people wanted from her. Though she should be scared, she actually felt…composed. Attentive even. She figured out along the way, that if they were out to kill her or something, why go through such a meticulous process of checking up on her, on how healthy and clean she was?
 
They were even polite to her.
 
Unless they wanted to sell her off somewhere... But that thought was immediately dismissed upon seeing the other more good-looking girls back in the room with her. If they wanted to ship women overseas to work forcibly in sleazy places, they would've picked them first.

It was a somewhat-wicked, hopeful thought.
But a short-lived, hopeful thought... They picked her. Only her.
 
Her thoughts wandered again. What could they possibly want? A lot of questions reeled in her head.

 
Maybe 'resigned' was the perfect word to describe how she generally felt then.
 
And maybe a bit of 'anger.'
 
'Confusion,' too.

 
She recalled being treated nicely after she had regained consciousness hours ago. It shocked her for a while to find herself in her underwear under a fluffy white robe. But aside from the dreadful weight the shock had left in her chest, she didn't see or feel any form of assault on her body. And the constant headache she had been having the past few weeks was dulled by the long sleep that was forced on her. At least something good came out of whatever situation she was in.
 
She had woken up inside a bare and well-lit carpeted room. The windows were barred from the outside so she had no idea what time it was. There was ventilation, a small one, but the room didn't feel suffocating or anything less than comfortable. There were no weird paintings on the wall or surveillance cameras, to her relief. The double bed was soft. It had clean white sheets and a single pillow. At the corner of the room, there was a table with a tray of unopened bottles of water and a variety of snacks in sealed packs. Must be in assurance that they weren't, in any way, tampered with or drugged. The rest of her clothing was neatly folded beside it, with her dead phone on top. Her sneakers were on the floor.
 
Her old guitar case was propped against the wall. Upon seeing another thing that was familiar to her, she quickly dove for it, and examined it. She zipped open a secret pocket at the bottom. She let out a relieved sigh when she found all of its contents undisturbed. It was like how she remembered it, battered, old... and guitar-less.
 
"You're awake."
 
She whipped her head around. She didn’t hear the door open.
 
There by the doorway, stood a petite girl with blonde-dyed hair in a pixie cut, wearing a black three-piece suit that fit her figure well. Behind her was an older woman that looked like a doctor, judging from the way she was dressed and how she carried herself. Both of them were carrying medical kits and supplies.
 
She stood up instantly, frowning at the unfamiliar faces. Her hands balled into fists inside the long sleeves of her robe.
 
"I'd suggest that you take this calmly," the girl in suit said in an even tone. The doctor beside her promptly held out a medical license of some sort. "We just want to run some medical tests on you as part of our procedure. Be assured that we won't administer anything to your body without your permission or do anything that can harm you. If you feel wronged, you're free to sue us after, and if you still see the need to. But for now, just treat this like an ordinary, medical check-up."
 
She didn't move an inch. Nothing about what was happening was ordinary, but her frown decreased.
 
"My name is Sunny, and this is Dr. Hyerin Han," 'Sunny' introduced themselves to her. "Please sit on the bed, and let's get this over with."

* * *

She flinched at the sudden pain. She looked down at her hands, and saw one of her fingertips bleeding. She had been unconsciously peeling the skin around her nail. Again.

A manifestation of stress. It was a habit she had acquired since she started living alone.

Her wandering thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a not-so-tall but good-looking guy in all black walked through the door. He was followed shortly by an old man with stark-white hair, who was carefully scanning through the contents of a gray folder in his hands.
 
She sat up straighter while eyeing the newcomers. She waited patiently for them to start whatever show they had prepared for her. But after a long minute, they just continued ignoring her.

She had been kept in the dark all the while. Nobody bothered to explain what was happening ever since she was taken. Not even a hint. Nothing.
 
The back of her neck was starting to heat up. Her patience was running thin.
If she had done something wrong, why couldn't they just tell her and be on with it? 
 
Her eye twitched as the old man cleared his throat loudly. But instead of starting to talk, he kept on reading some documents he took from the folder.

"Damn it," she muttered through gritted teeth, sitting up in frustration.
 

But then—

The door opened again.

She froze midway.
All of a sudden, there was an unexpected weightlessness in her.
 
When she first saw her, a particular song automatically came into mind. It had no title yet, but it had been in her head for a few months, playing every once in a while.
 
The girl who just came in was wearing a black, long-sleeved mini dress, and heels. She had flowing brown hair that framed her pretty face. She had little make-up on.
 
Her face...
 
She observed her profile view. How the girl talked to the old man in serious, hushed tones… How her well-shaped lips pursed in concentration, how her thick eyelashes fluttered while reading the papers the old man laid out for her.
 
She stared at the girl's eyes longer.
 
Oblivious of her rapt attention, the girl took the papers to momentarily scan some of the pages. Then she asked most of the men to leave the room. Sunny, the white-haired old man, the guy in black, and the last girl to come in were the only ones left in the room with her.
 
The weightless feeling from before completely turned into dread as everyone fell silent for a good five seconds.
 
The newcomer heaved a long sigh before finally turning to face her.
 
Her eyes, she thought in amazement. They're…
 
"My name is Hwang Tiffany," the girl said. Her voice was husky and had a melodious resound inside the small room. The girl…Tiffany walked closer to the table, and offered a hand to her. 
 
Her insides twisted into knots.
 
She said nothing. She just stared back, deliberately ignoring the hand, which Tiffany withdrew slowly.
 
"What's your name?" Tiffany asked, her tone turned a bit lower.
 
"Taeyeon."
 
"Taeyeon..." Tiffany tilted her head sideways, seemingly waiting for her to add in a surname.
 
But she brushed off Tiffany's question with one of her own.
 
 
"What do you want from me?"

* * *

"What do you want from me?"
The girl with the guitar, Taeyeon, asked coldly.
 
Taeyeon’s intense gaze bore into Tiffany. It made her slightly flustered. The image of the furry puppy she never should have associated with Taeyeon from the beginning completely left her mind. The puppy scurried away, whimpering.
 
Tiffany racked her mind for a better way to approach Taeyeon but she found none.
 
"Are you a worker?" was the first thing that popped into her mind... and out of . Her eyes instantly widened in embarrassment. Seeing them among the random line-up of girls Donghae brought in must have messed up her usually-focused mind.
 
Taeyeon stifled a bitter-sounding laugh. "No."
 
"Do you do workers, then?" Tiffany tried another question...which wasn't any better. She almost bit her lower lip.
 
"I'm not the type who pays for ," Taeyeon replied curtly, throwing her another look as if saying, 'What the hell are you asking?'
 
Tiffany took a moment to stare at the girl in front of her, taking in her appearance. After stepping into the same room with her, she had noticed that Taeyeon had a kind of strong presence about her. It must be the way Taeyeon held herself — with a slight air of... arrogance. But seeing the girl up close, she couldn't help but admire how ironically cute and babyish Taeyeon's face was.
 
"Are you kind of homeless?" Tiffany asked softly, eyeing a smudge of dirt on Taeyeon's smooth chin.
 
Taeyeon looked away, setting aside another question.
 
Tiffany turned to Donghae behind her and asked, "Donghae oppa, where did you find her?"
 
"She was walking alone in a deserted alley in Hongdae," her godbrother promptly answered.
 
Tiffany nodded, her eyebrows creased thoughtfully.
 
"What do you want from me?" Taeyeon asked again in a firm tone.
 
Their old family lawyer and family friend, Uncle Jiho, stepped forward. He started explaining, "We would like you to—"
 
"I want to hear it from her," Taeyeon demanded, grimly throwing Tiffany a challenging look.
 
 
Tiffany was taken aback. But seeing how dead serious Taeyeon seemed waiting for her to continue, she stepped up. She stood up straighter, and uttered the things she never imagined would come out of her own mouth.
 
 
"Be my lover."