Taehyung, an orphan and mischievous young boy, fell in love at first sight with Jeon Jeongguk, promising that one day he would marry him.
Years later, Taehyung enrolls at Seoul National University, where his life intertwines with Jeongguk, a literat...
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After two years had passed, Jimin was now ten. He had learned many things during this time, and one of those lessons was a harsh reality: Kim Jong-in and Kim Jong-eun's lives were not as easy as they appeared. He had witnessed countless instances of their father's wrath, seeing the twins receive brutal beatings from Kim Jong-soo. Jimin's own father had never laid a hand on him, and the fear he felt for Kim Jong-soo was deeper than any he had ever known.
"Jimin, go and take this to the young master's room," the butler instructed, placing a delicate cake plate on the tray.
Normally, Jimin avoided delivering services directly to the twins. But today was different; Kim Jong-soo and his wife were abroad, and the oppressive weight of fear seemed a little lighter.
As he climbed the stairs, Jimin focused intently on the tray in his hands, remembering the time he had seen another maid fired for a mistake he was determined never to make. His heart raced as he approached the young master’s bedroom.
When he entered the room, he found Jong-in playing with a tennis ball, his carefree demeanor contrasting sharply with the weight of Jimin’s reality. As soon as Jong-in's gaze landed on him, Jimin felt a wave of intimidation wash over him. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his expression neutral, though anxiety bubbled just beneath the surface.
Jimin set the tray down on the nearby table. He kept his eyes lowered, acutely aware of the power dynamics at play.
Jimin gave a quick bow and turned to leave, but he halted at Kim Jong-in's voice, which cut through the air like a sudden chill.
"Are you mute?" Jong-in asked, his tone light. This was the first time he had ever interacted with Jimin, and the last thing Jimin wanted was to draw attention to himself. He turned around, his gaze still fixed on the ground.
"No, Young Master," Jimin replied, offering another small bow.
"So they’ve made you one," Jong-in chuckled. "They've made you a ghost."
Jimin fell silent, feeling the weight of the comment settle around him. It was just an observation, and he knew it wasn’t his place to respond with anything unnecessary. He was just a servant, a shadow in this grand house.
"Look up. What's your name?" Jong-in asked, his voice softer now. Jimin realized he had become like a ghost in this house, working tirelessly for two years without anyone truly knowing him.
"Park Jimin," he mumbled robotically, almost as if he were reciting a script.
"A pretty name for a pretty boy," Jong-in said with a bright smile, catching Jimin off guard. For a moment, Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise, meeting Jong-in’s gaze before he quickly looked down again, feeling a rush of warmth flood his cheeks.
