CHAPTER NINE.

“I… care about Hara.  And, I don’t know how much she told you… but we’ve been friends since middle school.” 

    “What are you saying?”

    “Just… don’t say anything at school.” 

    He scoffs, “I can’t tell if you’re worried about your friend or your reputation.” 

    I don’t respond.  

    “Alright,” he concedes, “thanks for the legal advice, dollface.” 

                        ~

“I don’t get how reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy is going to help, Ines.” I collapsed onto the navy-and-cream Italian silk sofa in the living room before promptly flipping through the glossy pages of a Jill Sanders catalogue restlessly.  

    Ines, who my mother left in charge of the maids, stood in front of me with a pointed frown.  “Miss, this is direct orders from the President.” 

    “And you’re telling me this helped dad put together JK Royal’s introductory speech at the business dinner every single year?” I dropped the magazine on my lap, choosing to ignore Ines’ small clucks of disapproval as I kicked my feet up on the mahogany coffee table.  

    “Well—,” 

    “Look, the event is tonight, the speech is the least of my worries—I don’t even know what to wear,” I cut in flatly, subconsciously feeling the hair curlers at the nape of my neck.  

    “Of course you do, the emerald Marc Jacobs flapper we had on hold two summers ago.” I stiffened at the sound of the double french doors clicking open.  My mom came in, nodding curtly at Ines, who bowed before shuffling away at the dismissal.   She stopped in front of me, with both hands placed on the waist of her camel Escada Sport stretch pants.  A rose-colored Bottega Veneta tote dangled from one wrist, a Bliss Spa bag from the other.  Just from the look of her supple, make-up free skin, I pouted; she had gotten her facial without me.  

    “Yeah, but that’s vintage,” I muttered distastefully.  My mom paused and tilted her head to the right, sensing the slight dent in one of the couch pillows.  

    “Son Naeun, there is a reason why you accompany your father and I to this event every year, I’m sure you know?” 

    Ticked off, I rolled my eyes, wishing I had my phone to text Hyuna about this.  Her dad was Korea’s best attorney.  She didn’t need to go to any fancy niche event.  She sure as hell didn’t need to do the same exact thing her parents did.  

    She continued, pressing a coral acrylic nail to her bleached teeth.  “You’re representing an extremely prosperous corporate company, Naeun.  And a one your father owns, at that.” 

    “Stating the obvi again, mom?” 

    “JK Royal holds the biggest stocks and amount of shareholders, and with so many more companies coming into the picture, as the future President of JK, you need to be more on guard.”  

    I hated it.  I hated that my parents, who acted like regular guardians over a teenage girl going through regular teenage hormones, acted like the rich, business coveters they were the very next second.  I hated it.  I hated it that people envied me for being so fortunate, and I hated that I couldn’t live up to their expectations.  This was the main reason why everyone knew I was the heiress of JK, but also knew not to mention it frequently.  

                        ~

The formal party was in fully swing, and I managed to slip out of wearing the vintage number, but opted for a sequined Chanel cocktail dress in the same color (sans the hideous cap sleeves which I so wisely snipped off).  Before my mom could even say Project Runway, I was passing it off as last year’s chic.  It wasn’t the ground-goddess-chic get up I wore to every dinner, it was just chic.  In favor of change, I swept my waves to an elegant side pony, and finished off by dusting my legs in iridescent powder.  

    Pausing at the entrance on top of the spiral staircase, I peered over the wide marble banister, as my parents swiped a glass of champagne each.  Three floors below, the front foyer of the country-club manor was rife with millionaires and their all-too- familiar party noises— violins screech-humming, champagne flutes clinking, air kisses smacking, and business men mingling.  

    “Remember, chin up, smile at everyone,” my dad whispered under his breath, smoothing the lapels of his Salvatore Ferragamo suit.  

    “Got it,” I mumbled before flitting down the staircase, making a beeline to the group of teenagers by the grand piano.   They were the inheritors, the heirs— much like myself, only they were talking for the sake of the artificial manner of talking to milk out their parents’ job.  Voluntarily.  

    Not to mention, they’ve all heard of Son Naeun.  Besides the regulars, I didn’t know them.  

    “Nae,” Woohyun called me over, picking up one of the small crab cakes on a passing tray.  I grinned.  We knew other people from our school who attended events like this regularly— strangely, I didn’t see any of them here.  

    I felt the girls tense up, looking at me from toe up.  I had time.  

    “I thought our parents would be the first ones here,” he started, popping the savories into his mouth.  

    “Oh, you know, favor or being fashionably late,” I chortled, expertly gunning for a piña colada.  Bored, I dipped the straw into the ice blended drink.  

    “Son Naeun, right? I saw you with your parents at the Gala last year,” a girl piped up, extending her hand.  

    I shook it lightly.  “Nice to meet you, sorry, I don’t recall seeing you.” I meant to sound snobby.   Gingerly, I took a sip from the cold glass.  

    “GrandLens, by the way.” 

    “JK Royal group,” I said, without skipping a beat.  

    “Of course, who doesn’t know JK Royal?” 

    I refused to direct my attention to the cold, husky voice. 

    “Kim Myungsoo,” Woohyun acknowledged, his tone terse.  

    And there he was, behold; Kim Myungsoo, clad in a dapper black suit with his equally ebony hair gelled up, making him look that of a brooding prince.  The girls looked too excited, practically bouncing on their round-toed kitten heels.  

    “Nam Woohyun.” Myungsoo’s tall stature stood beside him, casually sipping a glass of Dom Pérignon.  He threw at my direction a stoic smile.  “Naeun.” 

    “The Kim Myungsoo? Next in line for LHotel, right?” another guy sounded, whistling.  At this, the girls grew even more jittery.    

    “I read the article online.” 

    “Didn’t you go to a boarding school in London? The Leroux, right? I know an alumni.” 

    I scoffed to the side, jutting my hip out.  “Didn’t know you came to gatherings like this.” The chatter revolving around L Kim halted momentarily.  

    “That was when my brother came in my stead,” he clarified.  “Or, actually, more so the other way around.  But, seeing as I’m linked to a rather micro-managed contract pertaining work with my family,— well, I’m sure you all know how it works.” Myungsoo flashed his signature dimple smile, the girls laughing.  It was so obvious— if he winked at them now, they’d probably fall to their knees in a heartbeat.