In a world where money talks louder than anything else, two rivals are forced into a marriage they never wanted. They've been rivals for as long as they can remember, their families always trying to outdo each other.
But when their parents see a cha...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As I settled into the makeup chair, the flurry of activity around me intensified. Brushes and tools danced across my skin, the hum of conversation filling the air as stylists debated the finer points of my appearance. Each touch felt like an intrusion, a reminder of the expectations weighing heavily on my shoulders.
The makeup artist's brush swept across my face, the scent of cosmetics mingling with the faint hint of perfume in the air. I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the rising tide of frustration that threatened to consume me. The stylist tugged at the fabric of my outfit, their hands moving with practiced precision as they adjusted every seam and fold.
But it was my hair that elicited the strongest reaction. I winced as the scissors sliced through my blond locks, each snip a painful reminder of the sacrifice I was making for the sake of appearances. My heart sank as I watched my reflection in the mirror, the unfamiliar hairstyle a stark contrast to the image I had carefully cultivated over the years.
And then came the spray paint. The stylist wielded the can with careless abandon, coating my once-golden hair in a layer of dark pigment. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sensation of the nozzle against my scalp, the chemical fumes stinging my nostrils.
"Why must they defile what is already perfect?" I thought bitterly, a knot of anger forming in the pit of my stomach. But I knew better than to voice my protest. In this world of glitz and glamour, image was everything, and I was merely a pawn in the game.
As the makeup artist reached for the box of grey contacts, I felt a surge of defiance rise within me. I wanted to scream, to lash out against the forces that sought to mold me into their idea of perfection. But I bit my tongue, forcing myself to remain passive as the lenses were inserted into my eyes.
Behind the mask of the ideal son and eligible bachelor, I was a prisoner of my own making, trapped in a gilded cage of expectations and obligations. And as I gazed into the mirror, I couldn't help but wonder: would I ever be free?
As I struggled into my boots, amidst the chaos, the door swung open, and Manager Min strode into the room. Relief flooded through me at the sight of his familiar face, a beacon of comfort amidst the storm of preparation.
"Hwang, you're looking good," he remarked with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine affection. My heart swelled with gratitude for this man who had become more of a father to me than my own.
I returned his smile, a genuine expression of happiness breaking through the facade of stoicism I often wore. "Uncle Min," I greeted him, using the affectionate term that had become second nature to me. "I'm surviving. They're getting on my nerves, but I'll manage."
Uncle Min chuckled, a sound that eased the tension in the room like a balm. "Well, I brought you something to ease the pain," he said, producing a paper bag from behind his back with a flourish. "Your favorite – a cheese cutlet and shrimp patty burger from Lotteria, caramel pudding, and an ice americano."
