A cold and quite the strict boss how could someone ever fall for her? Y/N sure would never he's worked with her for years and watched every single employee get crushed under her wrath. For Y/N he's had enough working years with such a tyrant has don...
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I woke up with a faint light streaming through the curtains, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness of the room. As I turned, I realized that Yunjin was still asleep beside me, her peaceful face inches away. Her arm had loosened its grip around me during the night, but she was still so close. For a moment, I just stared at her, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath.
Her hair had fallen over her face, covering part of her cheek. On instinct, I gently brushed it aside, tucking the strands behind her ear. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. I couldn't help but smile a little to myself—this was so different from the Yunjin I was used to, the one who always had that cold, professional exterior. But here, in the quiet of the morning, she looked so... vulnerable.
I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her, and headed to the kitchen. My mind was still reeling from last night, replaying every moment over and over. Part of me was trying to rationalize it, telling myself it was just part of this whole fake marriage thing. But deep down, I knew something was shifting between us.
In the kitchen, I decided to make breakfast—something simple, just scrambled eggs and toast. Cooking had always been a way to clear my head, to give myself something to focus on when life felt too complicated. As I set the food on the table, my phone buzzed. I picked it up and saw it was my mom. A sigh escaped my lips before I even answered, already dreading the conversation.
"Hey, Mom," I greeted, trying to sound upbeat.
Her voice came through, frantic and frustrated, immediately launching into complaints about my dad. Apparently, he'd gotten into gambling debt again, and her investments were tanking. It felt like every conversation with her had been about their financial issues lately, and it was weighing on me more than I wanted to admit.
As she kept talking, my mind started drifting back to my childhood. I could still see it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday—the day our house was taken away. I remembered watching my parents beg my uncles and aunts for just one more day, promising to make things right. But they didn't. They couldn't. From that day on, we bounced from couch to couch, never staying in one place long enough to call it home. Stability became a foreign concept to me, something other families had, but not mine.
I blinked, snapping back to reality as my mom's voice cut through my thoughts. "Are you listening? We need your help again."
I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening around the phone. "Mom, I spent the majority of my early twenties paying off Dad's initial debt," I reminded her. "I've worked so hard just to get by myself. I deserve to live my life too."
Her response was immediate, filled with guilt and manipulation. "But we're your parents. Don't you want to help your family?"
I sighed, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I wanted to argue, to tell her that it wasn't fair to keep dragging me into their messes, but I could already feel the guilt setting in. I knew I'd end up helping them—again—because that's what I always did. "Fine," I muttered. "I'll help with it."
