WEDCUFFED (18+)

Borrowed Hours

        "Some nights aren’t meant to last,
              But only to be remembered."

...

The world outside bloomed like spring in a fever dream. The garden paths were swept thrice an hour, petals carefully scattered in curated shades of ivory and blush. Crystal chandeliers were delivered in crates the size of bathtubs. Drapes of gold silk spilled down the pillars. Even the koi pond had been filtered and filled anew, the fish replaced with more vibrant colors for "aesthetic harmony."

The mansion—White Emperia—was alive with orchestration. Florists. Planners. Photographers. Chefs. Every corner of The Kim Estate echoed with delicate chaos, laced with laughter and soft piano music. Staff bustled about with checklists, arranging rose domes and tassel lanterns like a royal fairytale unfolding.

And yet, inside one of the grand rooms of the mansion,

Jin remained still.

On the chaise lounge near the window of his soon to be bedroom, curled up in his silk robe like a fragile note folded too many times. His eyes didn’t follow the fluttering petals outside. They stared past them—glassy, hollow at the quiet street.

How wonderful is it to be out there where nobody knows you. Nobody to stop you from wandering around, nobody to watch your every steps. You're free to come and leave as you please. You can do whatever you want and nobody would bat an eye!

These are all just simple wishes of Jin which might never get fulfilled again in this life.

He watched intently as the whole mansion was being decorated with tenderness and care while its most important resident—the groom—was quietly breaking apart.

Piece by piece.

Yet, no one noticed.

No one paused if he's actually alive or just barely existing.

The mansion was cold, despite the gold. Towering walls gleamed with splendor, but not once did they echo back his thoughts. And Jin, a living soul, was more invisible than the paintings that lined the corridors.

People moved around him with purpose, ignoring him like he was a ghost or cursed.

It was cruel, he thought.

To dress a house with love while letting a human rot inside it.

He wanted to scream—but even that felt too loud for these velvet walls.

So he rose silently, heart full of noise no one would hear, and prepared for a day where the world would celebrate a marriage and he would mourn the burial of his freedom.

His body cramped and aching from a night spent curled on the chaise lounge, the burn in his throat from last night’s sobs still lingered. The room was empty, yet still crowded with the weight of all that had been said—and all that hadn't.

He barely had time to wash his face before a pair of bodyguards stood outside the door like clock hands stuck at the same hour. Silently, they gestured.

Jin followed.

Down the endless marble corridor. Past walls that gleamed like ice. Into a sleek, shadowed dressing room.

Inside, a tailor bowed. "Hello Mr Min, I'm Juliana, your assigned tailor. Now if you are ready and comfortable, can we begin the fitting?"

Jin looked at the guards, then at the tailor and his helpers. He nodded weakly, trying to be done with useless things as soon as possible.

Two attendants moved wordlessly around Jin, their fingers precise, adjusting, pinning, measuring. The suit was exquisite—a fusion of Korean hanbok-inspired layering with a modern cut, hand-stitched silver thread curling along the sleeves like frost. It should have felt regal.