𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐀 | 𝙏𝙃𝙑

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 ◎ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.•°

'Edited'

Her pov

"I'm sorry—what?" My voice fractured under the weight of disbelief, though I tried to anchor it with reason. But reason had no place here anymore.

"You heard me, Heaven." My mother stood before me, arms folded tightly, her stare unreadable—almost mechanical. "I'm marrying a stranger?" I asked, breath catching in my throat. "You expect me to marry someone I've never even met?"

"You will," she replied flatly. "There is no room for negotiation."

I blinked slowly, numbness blooming behind my eyes as if my brain had paused in its ability to process what she had just said.

"But... why?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

"Because your father said so. He called this morning. He believes the arrangement is in everyone's best interest." Her voice was so calm it made the words sound rehearsed.I studied her face, searching for some sign that she was conflicted—that even a small part of her was reluctant. But there was nothing. A hollow woman echoing a hollow man's command.

"You don't even know who he is," I said, disbelief bleeding into fatigue.

"No," she admitted. "But I don't need to. Your father trusts him."

I stood frozen, time warping under the weight of this betrayal. I was no longer a daughter. I was a transaction. "Why are you doing this to me?" My voice cracked, and I hated how fragile I sounded.

"Why are you handing me off like an object? Is that all I am to you people?" She frowned, clearly more offended by my tone than my pain. "Heaven, watch your words. I am still your mother."

No, you're not, I wanted to say.

I glanced sideways to where my brother, Ji Hun, stood watching silently—expression unreadable, eyes avoiding mine. Not a word. Not a flicker. Just silence.

I reached for the pen and the marriage contract my father had mailed over. My hand didn't tremble. My heart did. I pressed my name into the paper like it would carve some freedom out of ink. These weren't vows. They were chains.

I didn't cry—not then. I refused to give them that.

Instead, I left the living room and walked to my bedroom—no, not mine. It didn't feel like it anymore. I slid the door shut and let my back collapse against it. And there, in the silence, the tears came hot and fast.

I didn't cry for the loss of love—I had long accepted they'd stopped loving me.

I cried because I was being traded off like damaged goods. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I had still believed that maybe—just maybe—they might still fight for me. They hadn't.I packed mechanically, as if preparing for exile. And when the knock at the door came, I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my suitcase and descended the stairs. My mother's satisfied smile made bile rise in my throat.