Into You

look what you started

February 24, 2020 — Guangzhou, China

The Victorian painting on the walls entertains the young woman for what appears to be two long hours, when, in fact, the expensive watch on her wrist says that only half an hour has passed since she first stepped into the mansion.

Outside the room, she is seated in one of the luxurious armchairs in the corridor while listening to the squeezed cries of the thin voice contesting her new imposition. Soyeon is internally hoping that she will shut up once and for all because she fears that her contractor, Wong Zhoumi, will give up on the idea of a personal bodyguard for his fiancee just so he doesn't have to endure her complaining like that. For God's sake, it's annoying.

Jongin, Zhou's guard, awaits his subject as well as the youngest, seated; hands crossed, suit tight, communicator in ear, legs needlessly spread too far. He keeps looking at her, facing her with his head against the wall. She can bet this guy has a problem with her, because he has been commenting acid phrases one after another and wanting to reaffirm his authority with unnecessary orders since she arrived.

Did he even realize how difficult it had been for Soyeon to get into the security agency? Or finally deserve a place on the family team of the President of China? It is quite a step in her career and she is willing to do anything not to fail, the Chinese princess finding her presence necessary or not.

Wong opens the double doors dramatically and walks away without even looking at the agents, appearing to be too stressed to deal with even his own security.

"Deal with it," Jongin spits out his words, putting on his sunglasses as he stands and buttoned his blazer. "But don't lose sight of her."

Soyeon takes a deep breath as she watches him leave the room and out of sight.

"Imbecile," she murmurs, going inside and comforting herself once more. It couldn't be as bad as people in the agency made her imagine, could it? The young brunette hopes not.

Once inside, the pastel pink walls give the room a calm and relaxing atmosphere, but the girl who inhabits it is not at all peaceful. Her cheeks are a bright red and her eyes water with rage. Soyeon knows it is with anger.

Song Yuqi, dressed in her elegant lilac robe designed by Alexander McQueen, stretches to stand in front of the door and with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the mirror of her dressing table and her perfectly arranged red hair. She is beautiful, and certainly not easy to deal with — all roses have thorns, after all.

Soyeon had already heard somewhere this week about the confusion the girl's own parents had thrown her into, promising her hand in marriage to the youngest son, and most interested in the family business, of the Chinese President Wong Yongdae. The girl's family, a powerful name in the Chinese society, known for its monopoly on precious stone mines on the African continent, had been carrying a large two-generation debt with the Wong's, who had always devoted themselves to politics, and saw the opportunity to get rid of it when Zhoumi fell in love with the Song's only daughter, Yuqi, and asked for her hand in marriage to put an end to that stain in their history.

"You came to tell me how ungrateful I am?" She asks, her tone as bitter as plain coffee. "That I should see how lucky I am?"

The agent fixes her posture because she knows that the situation is difficult, she acknowledges this, but she could not get too involved or she would end up doing some nonsense. She must keep her distance.

She swallows the saliva that has accumulated and holds her hands behind her body. "I see no luck in an arranged marriage, Miss Song. I apologize if it disappoints you."