Sometimes, the most luxurious apartment in the city felt more like a prison.
Or so Roseanne's dramatic imagination told her as she lay strewn across her couch, scrolling idly through her phone.
Sure, she had an apartment at the top of Seoul's Black Diamond Building, with a view of Han River and more than a few amenities at her doorstep. And, sure, she had heated floors, a Jacuzzi tub in her bathroom, and two more bedrooms than she would ever know what to do with.
Most girls her age would kill to be where she was. But that didn't change the fact that every time she stepped out of her apartment, she was sorely reminded that, despite being 22 years old, everyone still thought of her as a child who couldn't take care of herself.
She rolled over on her couch, phone dangling from her hand as she motioned to the brown tabby cat on the other side of her living room. "At least I have you to keep me company."
Ickis, the furry little terror who Roseanne now called her own after a failed attempt at fostering, cried out for food he knew he wasn't due yet. When Roseanne showed no sign of giving in, he simply sat down and began grooming himself.
She sighed and stared at her ceiling. She could almost feel her nosy mother's eyes on her through it. That was what really made her apartment feel like a prison. Roseanne had her own place, which she could decorate as she liked and have anyone over that she wanted. But she was still under the metaphorical—and literal—ass of her mother, who occupied the building's penthouse, the Park family home.
Only a few years ago, Roseanne had lived up there too. Out of the three sisters who had grown up in the penthouse, hers was the only childhood bedroom that had remained untouched after moving out. Oldest sister Irene's room was now their mother's office and reception space. Middle child Jennie's old room had been transformed into a swanky guest suite that often housed business royalty and foreign dignitaries.
Roseanne's room? No matter how many times her mother talked about making it into the 'fitness' room, complete with gym equipment and yoga nook, Roseanne knew it would never happen. Her mom kept that room pristine, a shrine to her youngest daughter's babyhood, awaiting the day Roseanne would travel back in time and become a preteen again.
"Mrow." Ickis hopped up onto Roseanne's chest, staring straight into her face and heaving hot cat breath against her skin. "Mroooow." "It's not your dinner time." But to Ickis, it never mattered how far away dinner was. It should happen now. Roseanne kept his claws trimmed, but he still found ways to dig them through her sweatshirts and get straight to her sensitive flesh. "Somebody save me," she murmured. "My cat's going to kill and eat me."
Given how wild and bad-tempered Ickis had been before Roseanne adopted him, it probably wouldn't have surprised anyone if he did just that. Instead, he settled against her chest, purring furiously.
Roseanne gave the top of his head a scratch. I've got myself. I've got my cat. I have everything a girl could ever want. But there was something sorely missing from Roseanne's world.
No, not something. Someone.
Someone who gave her a reason to wake up in the morning and face the day. Someone who would hold her when she was happy, or sad, or for no reason at all. Someone who saw her for the grown, educated woman she was—not the spoiled, sheltered youngest daughter of the richest family in Seoul.
That was all that mattered to her. She didn't care about anything else. Not looks. Not class. Not money. And not gender.
Her mother might have something to say about that. She could probably come around to the idea of her baby falling in love, as long as it was with the 'right' person. Well-bred. Polite. Educated. Attractive.
