“I flirted with those men last night because I made a bargain with HeeSoo. She’ll let me go to Spain to live with my aunt if I received and reject three proposals.”

ShiAhn stared at me for a long moment then laughed one short, mirthless laugh. “So you thought you could flirt with some man here and then they’d just propose marriage to you?”

My face burned again. “Crazier things have happened,” was my quiet response.

She was shaking her head. Her disbelief had turned to something I hated even more: pity.

“I. . . I have to tell you something Ki--I mean MiYoung. And I’m not just saying this because I’m upset with you. I’m saying this because you’re my friend and you deserve to know the truth.”

Dread pooled in my stomach, and my heart raced with nervousness. I was certain I didn’t want to hear what she had to say to me.

Leaning towards me, she looked straight in my eyes as she said, “No man here would ever marry you.”

I flinched. “How--how can you say that?”

“Because everyone here is friends with my mother. And all of them know what kind of woman your step-mother is and what she let your step-sister get away with last year.”

I dropped my head into my hands as hope began to leave me.

She continued, “Oppa fought for you to come here, and I stood up for you too, ensuring omma that you weren’t like them and that you’d never act that way. I told her our guests wouldn’t have to worry about you causing any kind of. . . scandal here.”

I breathed in and out trying not to cry. “I only wanted to go to Spain.”

ShiAhn was silent for so long that eventually I looked up to see if she was even still in the room.

“Did you not think of the moral implications of your actions? Using these men for your personal gain then dumping them when they were no longer useful? It’s heartless! Absolutely heartless Kim MiYoung!”

She looked at me as someone she pitied but didn’t care for. My friend felt so distant from me.

The truth of her words wounded my heart as easily as the same realization I’d had this past night. But my pride wouldn’t let me acknowledge them to her aloud.

After a long stretch of tension and silence, “I should get back now. Omma may be wondering where I am.” She paused at the door and said, “I’m--I’m sorry if I came across as harsh. I’m just still upset about last night. Park ShinHye still plans of giving you the grand tour today, and if you want I--I can tag along.”

She waited, shifting from one foot to another. Tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t have her witness my vulnerability, so I finally said, “Yeah. That’ll be fine. See you soon.”

Luckily, my answer satisfied her and she left me.

I was not crying, but I was very, very close to it. Too close to remain in such a public room and risk having one of the other guests see me like this.

I hurried through the maze of halls and rooms, my mind recalling in perfect detail the layout of Bora-do from the model ShiYoon had made me. There was only one place that could console a miserable person like me: the music room.

I rushed inside and shut the door just before the tears started flowing. Through the fog I was able to find the piano bench. Closing my eyes, I told myself that before I left this room I’d have to gain control of my emotions, silence the heartache and banish the embarrassment. I’d have to remove all thoughts of how I’d become like my step-mother. Opening my eyes and taking a staggered breath through the tears, I placed my fingers on the keys and began to play.

I tried my best to play the piece as it should be, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Flashbacks to last night’s incident kept distracting me: Kim SooHyun’s harsh words, Park ShinHye’s laughter, ShiAhn’s scolding. . .the look on ShiYoon’s face.

I played the piece through once and began again, but had to stop because my chest heaved with humiliation and despair. I’d never have the chance to win the bargain I’d made with HeeSoo; I’d have to submit myself to whatever she wanted me to do. And that thought brought me immeasurable pain. I longed to have the ability to remove myself from the situation and look at it objectively, to have order and discipline in my emotions like a piano piece.

I struggled with the music, even as tears poured down my cheeks. I struggled with each note as it refused to follow my commands.

“Stop.”

The voice commanded me quietly, but I still jerked back from the keys, startled. My gaze turned to the man who stood across the room. It was Jung YongHwa with his slightly tousled hair wearing a knitted white sweater that exposed his delicate collarbones.

He walked towards me.

“Kim MiYoung-ssi, you must stop this. What you’re doing isn’t right.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He ran his fingers through his hair tousling it even more.

Then he asked in a gentle voice, “What are you doing Kim MiYoung-ssi?”

“I. . . am. . . playing. . . the piano,” I choked out between the breaths I was taking to compose myself.

“No, that’s not playing.” He shook his head as if trying to erase what he’d just heard from his mind. His hands reached out to mine and removed them from the keys. “That was fighting. You were fighting the music.”

He leaned over me, peering into my eyes. His were a warm brown color and clear. For a moment I felt the thrill of fear. This was someone who could see into my soul. And there was so much of my soul I wanted no one to see.

“There is a war--some inner struggle,” he extended a finger towards my forehead. He got so close that I could feel the auras between our skins, but he never touched. Instead he moved his finger and pointed to my chest, a few centimeters below my collarbone, right at my heart. “Here, here is where your struggle is.”

My pulse quickened slightly which caused my breathing to accelerate. His finger was farther from me than when it had nearly touched my forehead, but I somehow felt the aura between us stronger now that he was pointing at my heart and peering into my soul.

“The demon you’re fighting is keeping you from playing music. You must find the right kind of music for your struggle, for your demon.”

I could only look at him in confusion. Demon wasn’t that far off of a term to describe HeeSoo. . . Just how was he able to read my mind like that?

He pointed to my chest again. “You have to find the music that sets the demon free. You can’t subdue it. If you try the music will suffer. You will suffer. Do--do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes,” came my soft reply.

He bowed his head to me and said, “So you know why this is necessary,” he said as he shut the cover over the keys.

We sat in silence for several minutes: me wiping my tears, blowing my nose in a not-so-lady-like-way, and patting my eyes in an attempt to prevent any signs of puffiness, and YongHwa quietly sitting beside me on the piano bench not saying a word, just being a source of calm.