words: 12k (who knows what happened)

           It is tiring to be standing in front of all these people. All of them looking up at him expectantly, waiting upon his next words like hungry wolves. He is the bait that is dangled in front of them, and once he is dropped, they will pounce and devour until nothing is left.

           The cameras flash again in his face, and the white spots swarm in his vision. Loud chatter fills his ears from his spot on the stage and he resists all temptation to turn on his heels to walk away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

           Amongst all the chaos, he is slightly calmed down by the sight of one person who remains unmoving. You stand – stoic and without expression – hands folded in front of you in a manner that is the same if not more serious than him.

           “Jimin,” he hears you say the two syllables.

           They fall flat, a name that over the years has accumulated many emotion but now, contain nothing.

           He looks at you, standing beside him with your face towards the crowd in front. With a deep breath, he walks up towards all the reporters and opens his mouth. They all drop silent and wait.

           “Yes, we are divorced.”

..........

Past.

           It was only natural for the two of you to be wed. While your parents did not support arranged marriages, they highly recommended that you were to meet the son of the Park family that coming afternoon. They wanted to generate talk – sole heir meets the only daughter. Because at the end of the day, whether or not the meeting went well, talk generated publicity and publicity was good.

           “Y/N,” your mother calls from the outside your room. You are currently standing in the middle of your closet, staring at the coded clothes consisting of three main colours – black, white, navy.

           You hear your mother’s clipped footsteps approach you from behind and her heels stop at the doorway.

           Perhaps simply calling where you are standing as a “closet” may have been an understatement. It is in fact a large room that is the size of a small store. One side held all your business tops, the other your one pieced dresses or jumpsuits. All around, your shoes have been pushed against the walls in perfect pairs and in perfect alignment. In the middle of the room is a small island where all your jewellery is spread out for easy access.

           “I feel like I have nothing to wear,” you say. Again, the next biggest understatement.

           Your mother smiles at you. It is but a small lift of the left corner of but you see it anyways. “Here,” she offers a closed box towards you, “I picked it up yesterday. Custom made to fit your body and for your occasion today.”

           You turn and look at her. She stands at a lower height than you, but for all your life, your mother has only been a skyscraper of standards to which you could never meet.

           “You will look pretty. Don’t disappoint me,” she says before walking away.

           And there, the expectations are set before you. You sigh, feeling burdened at the mere action of receiving a gift. Besides standards of meeting men, your mother had standards of how you should dress, the size of your body, the amount of work you are needed to put into the company… your makeup, your friends. Really, your entire life has been molded from her hands.

           Blinking away the sudden fatigue you feel, you unwrap the box and take a peek inside. There lays an exquisite, silken amber dress. You take it out, feeling the smooth velvety texture between your fingers as you it. Small floral details line the bosom and you know the cut of the length will elongate your legs.

           Well, your mother is right about one thing. You will definitely look pretty.

           But that was the extent of your day. He never showed up at your arranged place and time. He had apologized and left a large bouquet of flowers and a crystal pendant in his place. You did not know if you were feeling disappointed as you saw them or relieved that through this opportunity, it was not your fault that the meeting did not go through. You would not be disappointing your mother this time.

           Promptly, you leave the restaurant from the back door to meet your chauffer before any reporters could catch you. Luck is not on your side for right as you turn the corner, you are blinded by the snap of a camera. You stumble backwards and nearly lose your footing.

           “Miss Y/N!” the reporter shoves the recording device towards your face, “Are you meeting somebody here? Who are those flowers from?”

           Perhaps you were annoyed at being stood up. You can hear your mother’s screech of disappointment and her look of fury in your mind but you pay no heed. You smile mischievously at the camera and say,

           “Park Jimin.”

           The news spread like wild fire. Park Jimin, the sole heir of the Park family, is currently courting the daughter of their rival company. Was this a modernization of Romeo and Juliet? Or perhaps this had always been planned and two of the largest companies in Seoul were to combine to form the largest one?

           Your parents – especially your mother – were extremely unhappy at the fact that you said his name. Your mother lectures you for three days straight about the consequences of your words. She finishes with a whole day of refusing to acknowledge your presence in the house despite the fact that the both of you were confined due to the swarm of reporters outside.

           A week later, you receive a call from an unknown number on your cell phone.

           “Hello?” you pick up, only half concerned with the person on the other end as you are watching a rerun of Mean Girls.

           “You were pretty annoyed at not meeting me, weren’t you?” the voice on the other end chuckles. You don’t recognize it, but it makes you sit straighter nonetheless. There is only one person who would call you about this anyways.

           Seeing that you had no response, he laughs again and says, “Sorry to suddenly call you like this. I was out of the country but you’ve certainly created quite the scandal for us.”

           The best way to explain the sound of his voice is to say that it is smooth and creamy. There is a slight lilt of an accent you cannot quite put your finger on. His pitch is also higher than you had anticipated.

           You sigh, slightly regretting your impromptu decision that day. You had only wanted to be snarky but the social status of both families had created a snowball effect. You are about to execute the perfect apology when Jimin interrupts you.

           “I’m sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you.”

           You are speechless once again. That had not been what you were expecting.

           You hear his laughter on the other end. It is slightly childish and a smile unconsciously tugs your lips. “Are you really that mad at me that you are refusing to talk to me as well?”

           You realize that since he had called, you had not been able to say a single word. You clear your throat and respond, “No. I’m not mad at all. It was very immature on my end to bring your name into the spotlight. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

           “No, no. I should have told you earlier if I couldn’t make it to our meeting. Say, Y/N, can I make it up to you? Let me take you out to dinner to compensate?”

           “I’ll have to check my schedule,” you reply with sass.

           You can practically hear his wide grin through his words. “Your mother already told me that you’re free Thursday evening. Shall we set our date then?”

           You mentally curse your overbearing mother. You couldn’t even win in a game of simple push and pull.

           You agree to the location and time over the phone with him and lean back on the couch after. Karen on the screen has just said her iconic line, “On Wednesdays we wear pink,” which causes you to ponder. It’d still be acceptable to wear pink on Thursday, right?

           The crystal like exterior of the restaurant takes your breath away. You have been to your fair share of high end restaurants but this is your first time entering this one. Its tall towers reach high into the night sky and the bright twinkling of lights from a multitude of chandeliers greet you. It had been a bit of a drive for you, but the time had been appreciated as your mother sits in the back seat with you, continuously fixing your hair.

           Even though you have arrived, you still ponder at why your mother insists so much that she must be with you today. Her constant nagging and reminders of how to act are not helping in the nerves that are building within your stomach and chest. You are about to meet the man you are allegedly dating for the first time, after all.

           Your plan of wearing pink had been overtaken by your mother’s suggestion of wearing an ox blood red gown. When you heard the word, you had though it to be a simple dress you usually are forced into, but it really was a heavy and expensive piece that trailed on the floor behind you. The heels you wear to match it after about six inches and you slightly teeter as you take your first step. The neckline cut delicately but quite dangerously low on your body. You didn’t really care for it, however, as you had worked hard to achieve your toned body. In actuality, you quite enjoyed showing off your results from the gym.

           You pat your mother’s hand one last time before exiting the limousine that brought you to the front of the restaurant. Your heart starts to quicken in its pace but you need to have a calm mask on your face. A quick sweep of your surroundings present multiple reporters that lurk amongst the shadows. The host at the entrance gives you a nod of his head before leading you to your reserved table. Seems like everybody in the restaurant had been anticipating your arrival.

           Unable to control your nerves, you squeeze your hand around the matching clutch at your side and feel its embellished jewels dig into your palm. All eyes are on you as you walk to a booth that has been tucked into the side. While it was not in the middle of the restaurant, a particularly large chandelier hung above it. So while he had not chosen the center of attention, he still did not shy away from drawing attention to the two of you.

           “Mr. Park,” the host greets the man sitting at the table. His hair is dyed a soft lilac grey hue and he sips delicately at his red wine before standing to greet you.

           You are met with piercing dark eyes and a devilish smile. You cannot help but stare and the sound of your swallow echoes loudly in your ear. Park Jimin is like an otherworld creature that has crawled out a world that did not belong to yours to seduce you tonight. He stands at the same height as you in your stilettos and his gaze never leaves your face.

           “Y/N,” he whispers, “Please take a seat.” He gestures to the chair across from him. You stand before it and he chivalrously helps you sit.

           “Do you enjoy wine?” he asks once the two of you are seated.

           You nod.

           “A bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc, please. And surprise me with the year,” he slightly teases the flustered host.

           The uniformed man nods and shuffles away with his head down.

           “You’re certainly something else,” he lightly his lips with his words, “You look beautiful.”

           “You’re also something else,” you whisper to yourself. He raises an eyebrow, not quite catching what you had said. You inhale before saying, “Thank you. For your compliment and for meeting me.”

           He waves your words away with a flourish. “No, like I said over the phone, it is completely my fault for not attending our meeting the other day. I left a pretty lady like you alone at the restaurant. It must have been quite a surprise.”

           You smile in return. The host thankfully returns with said wine and glasses. He pours you a drink and Jimin urges you to take a sip. The wine is woody and aromatic, sending warm shivers down your back and a slight burn down your throat.

           Jimin had already decided on a set course for dinner that night, telling you that it was so the two of you could get to know each other better without interruption. You accept his compliments gratefully and with the slight trace of alcohol through your body, you open up to him.

           He did not turn out as bad as you had thought him to be. Yes, a little conceited at times, but it was not without reason. He is smart, has childish humour and a dazzling smile. Not to mention, he is respectful to all the people who came to serve the two of you and only ever pays attention when you speak. At the young age of 25, he already ran most of his family’s company and carried a vast knowledge of nearly everything.

           “Tell me about yourself, though. I still feel like I know nothing about you,” Jimin speaks. He brings his fork to his mouth and the wine infused sauce leaves a stain at the corner of his mouth. You point it out by mirroring its placement on your own face.

           “There really isn’t much to me,” you say as he dabs the sauce away. You cannot help but smile at how petite and round his fingers are – like the hand of a child. “You’d be able to Google everything about me.”

           His eyes twinkle, a sign that you have now come to understand as his way of teasing you. “You’d think that, but your profile is extremely mysterious. There’s barely any information on there.”

           “My profile?”

           He pulls up the app on his phone and shows it to you. It seemed to be your dating profile on a dating app just for the access of elite persons.

           You groan, shielding your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god. My mother…”

           He laughs at how red you are turning. “Speaking of your mother, did she tell you the purpose of our meeting this time?”

           You tilt your head in confusion.

           This seems to fluster him. “Ah, well then. Not a worry. Shall we order dessert? I always have a sweet tooth to satisfy.”

           You lips slightly protrude forward at his ambiguous words. You hated when your mother made plans for you without your knowing. What had she planned this time?

           “Don’t frown!” he gives you smile, “It’ll give you premature wrinkles. I promise, everything is fine.”

           There is no more time for you to think as with a snap of his fingers, a glistening caramel mousse with gold flakes appear on top of a plated dish. It is set gently before you and a mint leaf is the only other colour.

           “Enjoy,” he says.

           “What about you?” you ask, looking at his empty spot.

           “I have something I need to take care of first. I’ll be right back,” he assures you.

           You pout at his mysterious behaviour but leave him to be. There must have been a lot on his mind to find time out of his own hectic schedule to be on a date with you.

           As visually appealing as the dessert is, the taste explodes and you are rewarded with even more. The mousse is fluffy and soft, melting on your tongue. The caramel is rich and slightly sweet. You move in to take another large bite when your spoon hits something in the center of the dessert.

           A metal band pokes through and you take a peek around. It did not seem the style of such a high end restaurant to make a mistake in preparation. Nobody else’s eyes met yours as you scanned through the crowd. Taking your spoon, you jiggle the band out a little more and that is when you see it attached to a large rock.

           An extremely large, extremely expensive rock.

           The ring sits on your plate, dug out and staring at you to pick it up. But your mind is blank. You’re only starting to realize what is happening.

           The lights are dimmed and romantic classical music starts to play. At some period in time, a small ensemble had been set up and the violin’s melody reaches your ear – the first to stimulate your senses. From behind them, Jimin walks up to you. He has changed into another suit, a darker shirt with a silver embellished jacket. You will your legs to stand and miraculously, they do.

           Once he is close enough, he takes your hand in his. His skin is smooth and warm compared to yours which all blood has been drained from. Being at a close proximity, he speaks only into your ears, “I promise, everything will be fine.”

           The people who had been sitting at the tables around you suddenly become reporters, taking our their cell phones or other devices to start snapping away. Security at the entrance also has gone lax as real reporters come pouring in. The flashes and mumbles you have gotten used to over the years come into existence in a moment’s time.

           Jimin releases your hands and slowly gets down on one knee. From his pocket, he produces a velvet box. You know what is sitting inside already.

           You are panicking, not knowing what to do. Well, in truth you know exactly having rehearsed and argued about it many times with your mother; but at this particular moment, nothing. Your mind is void. Eyes are looking at you from every angle and you vaguely register Jimin asking you a question. You still have no idea how you are able to stand and your lips part, as you know everybody is expecting an answer.

           A pair of familiar eyes suddenly distinguish themselves from all the strangers’. At the back of the room, standing nearly all hidden in the shadows, is your mother. Her icy gaze hits you in the chest and the wave of fear that had washed over you dissipates. So this is what your mother has planned.

           A different emotion overcomes you and you close your mouth again. Your lips are a straight line on your face as you look down at Jimin. His puppy eyes meet yours but they are also devoid of anything.

           This is a business transaction after all.

           He watches as the line on your face blossoms into something else. Your eyes glisten and he sees the tears that drop from your face. You bring a hand to your mouth and your eyes transform into crescents. Without a word, he sees red flush your face and your hand is held out towards him. Your head nods and he can only smile in return.

           And as the cameras click; as the fingers speed away on news boards – the two of you become one.

..........

One.

           It is the same restaurant that the two of you are sitting in. Three years have passed since the day he proposed to you on your first date. Three years and fourteen days in fact, as the two of you are here for your anniversary.

           The first night as an officially wedded couple had been extremely awkward for the two of you. Besides seeing each other that first time, you had not had the time to sit down with him again as the wedding was extremely rushed. In the span of two weeks, a banquet hall was secured; invitations were given out, dress fittings that lasted until early morning and countless interviews with reporters.

           The interviews were the only time the two of you were alone. Or “alone” in the sense of what viewers could see. He would act the part of your loving husband and you would reciprocate as a doting, head-over-heels wife. In every interview, your hands would be stacked on top of each other, like statues that had been carved from stone.

           You would answer questions as best as you could and he would smile at you every chance he got. The interview would always end with him looking at you and saying, “I love you.”

           All of a sudden, the two of you are standing across from each other on the sixteenth of August. Somehow, 365 days have passed.

           You remember that morning. You had rolled out of your bed, groaning at the pain in your shoulder after a particularly exhausting kickboxing lesson with your instructor the day before. The kink doesn’t seem to release despite all of your massaging. Even a warm shower leaves it slightly sensitive and all the way down the stairs you are pulling a face.

           The maid has yet to come in so you don’t bother to greet the only other person in the kitchen. At the end, what was the point? There was no audience for you that morning.

           So it came as a shock when you hear him say, “Good morning.”

           You turn and see him sitting at the dining table with black glasses perched on his nose. One hand holds a steaming cup of coffee and the other holds a tablet in which you know contains all the information about your company.

           Yes, your company. And his. Soon after your marriage, both sides of the family decided to combine the independent companies into one. Because when you are to peel away all the layers, that was the purpose of this marriage.

           “Good morning,” you say. They are the first words you have spoken since you awake and they come out raspy, quite unfeminine to even your own ears.

           Jimin looks up from his breakfast and the way his eyes peer at you from beneath the glasses make you nervous. You could not understand why. Many men more handsome than he and they’ve flirted at you before. You had decent enough experience around the other gender.

           So what was it about Park Jimin that morning that made your heart flutter? There was something there that screamed, “You are mine. Don’t forget.”

           “Are you alright? You’ve been rubbing your shoulder the entire morning,” he asks.

           You shake away the train of thought and sigh. “Kickboxing,” you utter the single word.

           He nods at your simple answer. He leaves you in silence as you rummage through the refrigerator. There is nothing to your liking so you settle with Oreo biscuits that you stashed away in emergency cases like these.

           When you take a seat across from him, he an eyebrow at the choice of your breakfast food.

           “I like sweet things,” you comment, shrugging. Chocolate, candies, anything sugar coated fit your palate well. Your mother often scolded you since you were young at your unrefined taste, but you couldn’t care. Your mother shouldn’t have the ability to control what you ate to that extent.

           You stand up to pour yourself a glass of almond milk as a healthy compensation for your otherwise unhealthy choice. You know secretly that this doesn’t cancel anything out but you fight your own thoughts by convincing yourself that it has been compensated already by staying an extra hour at your lesson yesterday. You continue nibbling on your cookies when you sit down again when a thought hits your mind.

           “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve had breakfast together.”

           Jimin doesn’t look up from whatever he is reading, only slightly nodding.

           You had expected a bit more of a response. Through the 365 days the two of you have been married, you could count the number of breakfasts you have shared with him on one hand.

           One.

           You could also count the number of dates you have been on with him.

           One.

           Emitting a small snigger, you wonder exactly what type of married couple the two of you are.

           “Are you free next week?” he suddenly asks you.

           His behaviour has certainly been strange. An unexpected fear grips your heart as the night of his proposal runs through your mind. That was the only other time when he showed such strange behaviour.

           “Wouldn’t you know my schedule from my mother?” you for no particular reason.

           He laughs, turning his eyes into small crescents. “That’s true. But I wanted to ask you anyways. Your mother doesn’t control everything in your life, does she?”

           His words annoy you so you don’t answer him.

           He takes the glasses away from his face and set them on the table. He leans with his cheeks on his hand and never stops watching you. You feel his eyes burning into the top of your head. You really wished that you had brought your phone down from your room as a distraction, but as you had forgotten to charge it the night before, it was sitting on your bed.

           “What is it?” you ask him, a small mutter from between the twisted apart Oreo in your mouth.

           “You still haven’t answered my question.”

           “Which one?”

           He laughs again. “The one about being free.”

           You take a pause and drag out your answer, “Yes.”

           “Okay then. We’re going to Paris.”

           That makes your head snap up.

           “What?” you nearly scream due to surprise.

<>

           “I’m not going to Paris with him!” you whine in front of your mother.

           She has reluctantly agreed to meeting you over tea after you dramatically tell her over the phone that you are about to die.

           “This is the reason you’re about to ‘pass into the golden lights and walk to the beyond’,” she repeats your words from the call.

           You shake your head. “Mother!” you hiss, “I can’t go to Paris with him. He’s basically a stranger. And besides, I’d have to sleep with him.”

           “Just because you’re in Paris doesn’t mean the two of you have to have ,” she states nonchalantly.

           Your face immediately flushes at the thought and you slam your hand down on the table, causing the other prestige members of the club to look at you. That was not what you meant and your mother knew it. In the house that you lived in, you still had your own room, your own bed. On this trip, however…

           Your mother sighs, her shoulders slumping forward nearly in defeat – she could never actually be defeated. “He’s going on a trip with you, dear. All I’m asking of you is to be… presentable.”

           You don’t respond to her words. Instead, you ask her a question of your own, “This was your idea, wasn’t it, Mother?”

           Her silence is the answer to your question. “I’m only doing it for your good. The entire world is watching you right now. All you have to do is act happy that you’re going to be going away with your husband. Hold each other’s hands in public, give him a kiss every so often. When the both of you return to the hotel, you don’t even have to speak a word to him if that’s what you desire. It’s going to be like when you’re interviewed.”

           Except this interview lasts an entire week. This thought you kept to yourself.

           “I mean, you know why you have to go on this trip with him, don’t you? Everybody else does.”

           You keep your mouth shut because in fact, you don’t know why. And you’re also not sure who “everybody else” encompasses.

           Your mother sighs, exasperated. “It’s your anniversary. One year since you’ve been married.”

           Everything clicks into place now. That was why Jimin was so kind to you that morning. That was why your mother insisted. The first anniversary of Seoul’s biggest couple. Where they would go would definitely help the economy. What they would eat could possibly be featured in the next magazine. Even the clothes they sport might inspire a designer’s showcase on their runway.

           “I know th