Heartbeat // JK

41- Heritage

Taehyung gave a small, breathless laugh.
And that's when I sat back down.

I didn't mean to start talking.
Didn't plan to open the vault.
But the second I sat down—the second I saw their faces, waiting, patient, all of them—I just couldn't hold it anymore.

"My parents didn't want a daughter," I said.

No one moved.

"They wanted another heir. Another Sebastian. And when I wasn't that—when I wasn't him—they decided I'd be useful another way."

Jungkook's jaw clenched.

"They're old money. West Coast. Not Hollywood rich—older. The kind that bought politicians and named university buildings. The kind that built their world on bloodlines and purity. They treat people like investments, even their children. Especially their children." The words scraped my throat.

"I was a project to them. Something to polish. To marry off. They didn't raise me, they trained me. Every movement, every smile, every word—measured. If I spoke too loud, I was 'unrefined.' If I cried, I was 'unstable.' If I ever said no..." I swallowed hard.

"There were consequences."

Yoongi's gaze stayed on the floor.

"They never left bruises where anyone could see. They were too careful for that. My mother's nails under my chin if I slouched. My father's hand gripping my arm just a little too long. Locked doors. No dinner. No light. Days of silence until I apologized for things I didn't do."

I could still feel it sometimes—the quiet hum of fear in my bones.

"They called it discipline. Correction. But it was control. Every touch a reminder of who I belonged to."

Hobi's hand was fisted on the table.
Namjoon didn't blink—just listened, still and sharp, like a shield.

"They picked my life before I could spell it. Pre-med at Columbia. Med school after. Then marriage—strategic, arranged, profitable. I was supposed to become a surgeon and marry someone who could make them richer."

The weight of it pressed against my lungs.

"I ran away for the first time when I was fifteen," I said quietly.

"After one of their charity dinners. The kind where everyone smiles like the house isn't full of ghosts."

No one spoke.

"They'd locked me in my room for answering back. I said I didn't want to be paraded in front of their friends anymore. My mother said girls like me didn't get to have opinions."

The memory burned like a fever.

"I waited until the house went dark, climbed out the window, and just... walked. No coat. No plan. Just fear and cold air." I looked around the restaurant.

"I ended up here. It was late. I hadn't eaten all day."

Rosa's hand went to her chest, eyes glistening.

"I came in shaking. Frankie thought I was lost. Rosa made me sit, gave me soup, and said, 'You look like you need a mother.'" I let out a shaky breath.

"I told them my name. Everything. I don't know why I trusted them, but I did."

Rosa reached over and touched my hand.

"They gave me their guest room upstairs. Said I could stay the night, just to rest. But I didn't leave the next morning. I stayed a few days until my parents came."

Frankie's voice came from behind the counter, low and thick.

"She looked like a bird that'd flown into a storm. Didn't even ask for anything."