𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊

11

The date with Jungkook last night went better than expected. 

At lunch, I glance down at the ring on my finger.

It's breathtaking—and heavier than I thought it would be. A constant, unshakable reminder of the responsibility I carry for my family.

Jungkook's comment about how I should eat more lingers in my mind throughout the day. 

I stare at the plate in front of me, barely touched.

He'd expect more, but I've always been picky when it comes to food. I'm more of a snacker. 

The food yesterday was perfect—one of my favorites—but the food served at Tae's penthouse? Not so much.

I'd much rather have a big meal, but asking for that would earn me one of my mother's patented looks of disappointment.

'A good wife should always have a perfect body for her husband'. That's her theory

Embarrassing her in front of everyone would be a near death sentence. 

Not that she'd actually strike me with my wedding so close. But there are other ways she could make me miserable before my marriage.

I push the food around with my fork, making it look like I've eaten something. 

My mother sits to my left, Mimi to my right, devouring everything on her plate. Across from her, Jackson catches my gaze, his eyes flicking to my barely touched meal before settling back on me with silent curiosity.

I offer him a passive smile. My mother and father's animated conversation with Tae pulls me from my thoughts. My cousin has changed his hair color yet again.

At the club, his platinum hair had been dyed a cool blue, but now it's black. 

He smiles at my mother as he speaks, and though Taehyung is an intimidating presence—tall, fit, and always looking slightly furious—it could just be the tattoos he has that give him that vibe.

To me, though, he's still my Taetae —the affectionate name I gave him when I was little. He was always kind to me.

His gaze locks onto mine, and the corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk. 

"Y/n, how are you? I heard about your date with Jungkook. Did all go well?" Tae asks smoothly, His tone is casual, but his gaze is sharp, always reading between the lines.

"It went well," I say quietly. 

The ring catches the light, gleaming like it has a life of its own.

My mother lifts my left hand, and for a brief moment, I feel its weight pressing down harder than before—like a shackle I didn't notice tightening until now.

"She's being modest," my mother interjects, turning my hand toward Taehyung.

His eyes flick to the ring, lighting up with recognition. He nods, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands under his chin, studying me with something close to amusement.