✧ ─── 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘌𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘜𝘴 ─── ✧
Pairing:CEO!Park Sunghoon x Female!Reader
Tags/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, established forced/arranged marriage, emotionally distant Sunghoon (initially), parental neglect (accidental/workaholic), yelling, child crying, emotional confrontation, slow burn character development, father-daughter healing, domestic fluff at the end.
For seven years, the penthouse overlooking the Seoul skyline wasn’t a home; it was a beautifully curated museum of silence.
You had married Park Sunghoon in a grand ceremony dictated by corporate mergers, not love. You were the soft, enduring light to his freezing shadow. For seven years, you tried everything. You cooked his favorite meals, adjusted his ties before his early morning board meetings, and greeted him with a warm smile every midnight when he returned. In response, you received polite nods, curt replies, and an invisible, unbreakable wall.
Born four years into your marriage due to intense family pressure, your sweet four-year-old daughter was a carbon copy of Sunghoon—right down to the sharp, beautiful eyes. But her heart was entirely yours: gentle, hopeful, and longing for affection.
"Mumma, will Papa play tea party today?" Eunji asked, dragging a tiny plastic cup across the plush living room rug.
You knelt, kissing her soft cheek, hiding the familiar ache in your chest. "Papa has a very big meeting today, sweetie. He’s working so hard. It’s okay, Mumma will play! Should we make the teddy bears guests?"
"But Hana’s papa held her hand at the park yesterday," Eunji whispered, her lower lip trembling. "I want Papa to hold my hand too."
Your heart broke a little more every day. Sunghoon didn’t hate Eunji; he simply treated her like a fragile piece of glass he didn’t know how to handle, choosing to immerse himself in numbers and contracts rather than risk feeling something.
The breaking point arrived on a rainy Tuesday evening.
Sunghoon was working from his home office, conducting a high-stakes international video conference. The door was firmly shut, a visual boundary everyone in the house knew never to cross.
But Eunji, clutching a colorful drawing she had spent hours perfecting—a drawing of three people holding hands under a bright yellow sun—escaped your watch. Driven by pure, innocent hope, her small fingers twisted the heavy brass doorknob, and she toddled inside.
"Papa! Look what I made—"
"I told you, the projections for the third quarter must be revised by—" Sunghoon stopped mid-sentence, his icy gaze dropping to the little girl standing by his desk. The board members on the screen went silent.
Sunghoon slammed his laptop shut, the sharp clack echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"What are you doing in here?!" his voice boomed, sharp and laced with exhaustion and irritation. "How many times do I have to say I am not to be disturbed? Get out!"
Eunji froze. Her big eyes filled with instant terror. The drawing slipped from her tiny hands, fluttering to the floor. She let out a sharp, terrified sob, turning on her heel and running straight into you as you rushed through the doorway.
You scooped her up against your chest, her tiny frame shaking violently as she buried her face into your neck.
Looking past her, you saw Sunghoon rubbing his temples, already reaching back out to open his laptop as if nothing had happened. He didn't even look up at his crying child.
Something inside you—seven years of patience, compliance, and silent suffering—finally snapped.
"Out," you whispered to the nanny who had just hurried up the stairs. "Take Eunji to her room, please."
Once the door closed behind them, leaving just you and the man you shared a bed but no life with, you stepped fully into his office.
"You cross the line when you bring your domestic issues into my workspace, Y/N," Sunghoon said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "Teach your daughter some discipline."
"Our daughter," you corrected, your voice dangerously low, trembling with a rage he had never seen in you before. "She is our daughter, Sunghoon."
Sunghoon finally paused, looking up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
"For seven years, I accepted this," you said, tears finally spilling over your lashes, though your stance remained unyielding. "I accepted that you don’t love me. I accepted the silence, the cold looks, the fact that I am nothing but a ghost in your house. I stayed sweet, I stayed quiet, because I chose to fulfill my vows. But I will not let you do this to her."
"I am securing her future—"
"She doesn't want your money, Sunghoon! She wants her father!" you yelled, the sudden volume making him visibly flinch. "She is four years old! She doesn't understand stocks or board meetings. She just wanted to show you a picture. She wants you to look at her, to love her, to live with us instead of just existing like a stranger who sleeps under the same roof!"
You took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping your face fiercely.
"If you can’t love me, fine. That is my cross to bear. But if you cannot find it in your frozen heart to be a father to that little girl, then tell me now. Because I will take her, and I will leave, and I will make sure she never has to beg for crumbs of your attention ever again."
Without waiting for his response, you turned and walked out, leaving the heavy oak door wide open.
Sunghoon sat frozen in the silence of his office. The silence, which used to be his sanctuary, suddenly felt suffocating.
His gaze drifted to the floor. There, near the edge of his mahogany desk, lay the crumpled piece of paper Eunji had dropped.
Slowly, his elegant hands reached down to pick it up. He smoothed out the creases. It was a crude, colorful drawing of three figures. One had long hair, one had a dress, and the tallest one wore a messy black suit. They were all smiling, holding hands. Across the top, in uneven, backward child’s script, it read: MY FAMILY.
A sudden, sharp pang struck Sunghoon's chest. It was a physical ache so intense it made him catch his breath.
He thought about his own childhood—raised by a cold, distant father who only acknowledged him for his academic grades. He had swore he would never be weak like that. But in trying to be strong, in burying his emotions to be the perfect CEO, he had become the exact monster he hated. He had passed the curse down to his own innocent daughter. And he was losing the only woman who had ever looked at him with genuine warmth.
The next evening, you were sitting in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup with a hollow feeling in your chest. You were already mentally planning how to pack your things.
The front door clicked open. It was only 6:00 PM. Sunghoon was never home before midnight.
You walked out into the hallway, defensive walls instantly going up. But the sight before you stopped you in your tracks.
Sunghoon was kneeling on the hard hardwood floor. His expensive designer suit jacket was tossed onto a chair, his tie completely gone, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone. He was holding a large, plush pink teddy bear in one hand, and a box of pastel crayons in the other.
Eunji was standing a few feet away from him, peeking out from behind the sofa, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes cautious.
"Eunji-ah," Sunghoon called out. His voice wasn't cold. It was rough, uncertain, and incredibly quiet. "Papa... Papa is sorry for yelling yesterday. I was wrong."
He awkwardly held out the drawing she had made, which he had carefully taped back together.
"I really like your drawing," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he forced a gentle smile—a real, vulnerable smile that you had never seen in seven years of marriage. "Can you show me how to color the sun? I don't know how to do it right."
Eunji looked up at you, searching for permission. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, your eyes stinging with fresh, entirely different tears.
Slowly, the little girl took a step forward. Then another. Until she was running, throwing her small arms around Sunghoon’s neck.
Sunghoon stiffened for a fraction of a second, completely unaccustomed to the warmth, before his arms wrapped tightly around her small frame. He buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes tightly as a single, silent tear slipped down his cheek.
Over their daughter’s shoulder, Sunghoon looked up and met your gaze. There was no coldness left in his eyes—only remorse, a plea for forgiveness, and the first, fragile spark of a man who was finally ready to learn how to love his family.
I'm back after taking a break... Yay! ... Will update masterlist...
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
izzy806
gummygunk
baratheonpilled