Soon, we begin to eat.
Throughout dinner, their attention on me is suffocating. I can feel their gazes pressing down on me, heavy and intrusive, but I keep my eyes on my plate, pretending to focus on my food.
With every passing minute, though, their stares burrow deeper, burning through the thin fabric of my composure, heating my skin until I can barely breathe.
When I finally look up, I realize it isn’t curiosity.
It’s appraisal.
Every pair of eyes is on me, including my father’s.
He flashes me a smile, the kind that never reaches his eyes, and lifts his glass in a deliberate, almost theatrical motion.
“To alliances,” he says smoothly, “and beautiful, binding contracts.”
The guests echo him, voices deep and approving.
“To alliances and beautiful, binding contracts.”
The words hang in the air, rich with meaning and poison. He doesn’t say it outright, but he doesn’t need to. The truth crashes over me like ice water. This dinner isn’t about business. It’s about me.
My father is putting me on display.
Auctioning me off behind the glitter of crystal and wine.
I grip my glass so tightly my knuckles ache, and I’m certain it will shatter in my hand. My pulse hammers in my ears, my throat tight with fury I can’t afford to unleash.
Two truths slice through me in that moment, clean and merciless:
My father will never see me as anything but currency.
And if I ever want a life of my own, I’ll have to run.
I wait a few more minutes, forcing myself to breathe evenly, then rise to my feet. My chair scrapes softly against the marble floor, the sound far too loud in the tense room. I nod toward my father, silently asking to be excused.
Chul and Haneul turn to me instantly, their movements sharp, predatory, ready to drag me back into my seat if Papa so much as frowns.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, my father waves one dismissive hand, a lazy flick of his wrist that somehow feels both indulgent and demeaning. Normally, I’d burn under the insult of it. Tonight, I’m just grateful.
Relief rushes through me like air after drowning.
Chul and Haneul step aside, watching me with cold obedience as I move toward the door. I can feel the stares burning into my back, curious, assessing, demeaning.
I reach the door, push it open, and step out. The murmur of conversation fades behind me. I slam the door shut and lean against it, my chest heaving, my heart galloping against my ribs.
For the first time all night, I can breathe.
“David, why would you let your daughter leave?” a man’s voice says from the other side of the door. “We were enjoying the show.”
“Don’t worry,” my father replies smoothly, as if discussing the weather. “My daughter will be back. Her hand will seal our business; she’s my currency.”
I feel the air leave me. The words land like blows. My throat tightens, and my vision blurs at the edges. Hatred roars up through my ribs so hot it feels like fire. Tonight, I decide, I will run, but not before I make sure David Chang understands exactly what he’s lost. I’ll destroy him in a way he can never recover from.
Chapter 1 – Elara
The museum has always been my sanctuary. The scent of varnish, the hush of climate-controlled halls, the muted glow of centuries-old canvases. Here, the noise of my father’s world can’t reach me.
