kpop scenarios

It had only been a few weeks since the gala, but time no longer made sense. The days had collapsed into each other. You barely remembered packing. Or eating. You had just kept moving because stopping meant feeling.

You hadn’t meant to give up on your marriage. You fought so hard, for so long, clinging to the idea that things could get better. And they were. Mingi wasn’t perfect, but he was trying in all the ways you used to dream about when things were at their worst.

But you weren’t.

You were unraveling.

You didn’t want to hurt him, but the guilt was eating you alive. The guilt of being loved so gently by a man who had once made so many mistakes and was now trying so hard to do better, even as you were falling apart.

And then the gala set everything into motion. You’d tried to hold it together and tried to pretend you were okay.

But when Ahri followed you back into the ballroom, spitting insults, you didn’t even remember crossing the room. You only remember your fist connecting with her face, then being dragged away.

She was just the match. 

The fire had been smoldering inside you for a long time. Your insecurities, your fear that you’d never be enough and losing those around you had become suffocating. 

That night, they tore out of you, ugly and loud. All the resentment, the grief, the exhaustion. The pressure to hold it all together. To be gracious. Forgiving. Sane. You couldn’t contain it anymore. 

So you asked for the divorce. 

And Mingi, in the most heartbreaking act of love you’d ever known, let you go.

“Okay,” he said, like he understood. Like he knew this wasn’t about love. That it never was. That you still loved him, but it wasn’t enough, not when you couldn’t even love yourself.

You blinked down at your hands, trying to stop them from shaking.

“You okay back there?” San asked, peeking into the mirror. 

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to not know how you feel right now,” Jongho replied. 

You gave a small, broken laugh. “Yeah, well. I feel like shit. So I guess that’s something.”

San was quiet for a moment. “You’re doing what’s right for you, Y/N.”

“No,” you said quickly. 

“I’m not. I-I broke down. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m insecure, I tried so hard to be someone I’m not but I’m just nothing.”

“And none of that is your fault.”

“What kills me is that he was so kind about it. He just…let me go. Who does that!?”

“Someone who really loves you,” Jongho sighed quietly.

You could still hear Mingi’s voice in your head, the way it cracked when he agreed to the divorce. He hadn’t tried to guilt you into staying or begged you to reconsider. 

He just held you and kissed you, understanding that you had to do what was best for you. 

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. “He didn’t fight for me, Jongho. He didn’t even reach out when I moved out o-or try to see me…”

The bitterness in your voice startled you. You’d been so numb for weeks, just surviving, just getting through that you hadn’t realized how deep the resentment ran until now.

“I know we agreed it was for the best. I know I left. But he just—” You exhaled sharply, the words catching in your throat. 

“He just accepted it! I hate that he was so gentle during the breakup,” you snapped. 

“I feel like part of him gave up before I did. And now? Now he gets to walk away as the good guy, the loving ex-husband who let me go like some fucking martyr.”

You wiped your cheeks roughly, surprised to find tears streaking down your face. It wasn’t fair. You had no right to feel this way. You were the one who asked for the divorce. You were the one who walked out.

You were the one who couldn’t do this anymore. 

It was ridiculous to feel jealous, to feel replaced, to picture him laughing with someone else. You had forfeited the right to that kind of pain the moment you signed your name on the dotted line.

You chose this.

What if all that tenderness he gave you in the end was just guilt?

You wanted to believe he was the man you'd grown to love, someone who tried.

“Because he knew the fight wasn’t with him,” Jongho said, turning just enough to look back at you, his voice cutting through your thoughts. 

“You wanted him to make it hard. Because if he had then at least you’d know it hurt him too.”

You wiped at your face, trying to will the tears back where they came from. It didn’t work.

“He didn’t make it harder,” Jongho continued. 

“Not because he didn’t care. But because he did. Because he knew the fight was inside you. That you were drowning, and you have to save yourself.”

There was something cruel about that kind of love. It was so tender and so selfless that it made your chest ache just thinking about it.

You looked back out the window, swallowing hard. You were angry that it had to come to this. That the person who loved you most also had to be the one to help you leave.

San pulled into the terminal, swinging into the private departures lane, way from the chaos of luggage carts and drop off zones. Jongho was the first to get out, popping his door open with a grunt and stretching his legs like he’d been trapped for hours. He rolled his shoulders once, then opened the back door and hauled your carry on from the backseat. 

“This family has enough emotional baggage,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the car door shut. “Don’t make me carry any more.”

“You sure you don’t want to change your mind and just move in with me and Kira instead? I can take the guest room.”

You smiled, misty eyed. “Tempting, but I think you and Kira deserve your space without me crying every night.”

“You can cry as much as you want, as long as I get to be a part of girl’s night,” he teased gently. “Text us when you land, okay?”

You nodded, getting out of the car. Jongho handed you your bag and adjusted the strap on your shoulder before nudging you toward the entrance.

“I’ll be back in July,” you said, pausing before heading in.

“You’d better be,” San said, stepping in to pull you into a tight hug. 

Jongho hugged you next. It was quick, almost casual, but his hand lingered on your shoulder in a way that said more than words ever could. 

“Everything will be fine. Don't forget to write, okay?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of their support, but your throat was tight again. The tears you’d been holding back were threatening to spill. With one last glance at them, you turned toward the gates, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The promise of what was waiting for you was ahead, even if the road to it was uncertain.

⋆

Mingi stood frozen, watching you walk away. He hadn’t meant to come to the airport. Had promised himself he wouldn’t. That he’d let you go, just like he said he would. But something in him needed to know you’d made it out safely and that you were okay. 

Hidden behind a pillar near the far end of the terminal, he kept his cap low, hood drawn tight, glasses shadowing most of his face. The urge to run forward, to call your name, to grab you and start all over again consumed him. But he stayed rooted in the shadows, knowing some goodbyes couldn’t be undone.

Mingi made sure you made it through security, watching your figure disappear among the sea of passengers until he couldn’t see you anymore. Even then he stayed, watching the departure board until your flight finally took off. 

The drive home alone was unbearable.

The passenger seat felt emptier than it ever had. He kept glancing at it like you might still be there, talking about dinner plans or complaining about the weak office coffee, maybe teasing him about his hidden love for anime.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. His throat ached, as if every breath were a betrayal. He recalled the night you asked for the divorce, like you didn’t have any fight left in you.

“I want a divorce,” you whispered.

He swallowed, his chest tight with pain, but he couldn’t speak. He just stared at you, trying to breathe through the knot in his chest. Then, in the gentlest voice he could muster, he replied. 

“Okay.”

It was the hardest thing he’s ever done. But in that moment, it was all he could say.

The tears welled up in your eyes, and he could see the strain of everything you’d been carrying alone. You were breaking, and it felt like he had been the one who drove you to this edge.

He wrapped his arms around you instinctively, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him together. He couldn’t fix what had gone wrong. He couldn’t take back the time he’d lost, unaware of the pain that had built up in you, quietly growing until it became too much to carry.

When he finally returned to the penthouse, the silence was suffocating. The place felt empty without you, as if your absence had drained all warmth from its corners. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way to your old room, the space still holding faint traces of you. 

He sank down onto the floor, back against the wall, and for the first time since you left, he let the walls around his heart crumble.

He thought back to the early days of your marriage; how cruel he’d been, how undeserving. The memory of your wedding night made his stomach churn. Inviting another woman into your home wasn’t just a mistake, it was a betrayal. He had shattered your trust long before he understood what love truly meant.

When he fell into a coma, you stayed.

As a puppy, you carried him gently in your arms, booped his nose playfully, let him curl up beside you in bed. You held him through sleepless nights, wrapped your arms around his trembling body when the world felt too heavy to bear. 

He wished he could turn back time, erase the pain he caused, and hold you like you held him when everything else was falling apart.

Mingi’s tears fell freely, silent and unrestrained, as he grieved not just for you, but for the life that never came to be. He clutched his chest like he could hold his heart together. It hurt. God, it hurts. 

In the stillness of your room, Mingi unraveled completely, sobbing into the silence as if it could comfort him.

Eight Months Later

You already regretted leaving the farm.

The second you stepped off the train into the chaos of Saint-Michel Notre-Dame shoulder to shoulder with tourists, influencers, and interns sprinting in impractical shoes, you were reminded exactly why you left the life that you did. 

You hadn’t been to France in years. But after the divorce, Jiwoo found a charming little farm with a crumbling stone house and overgrown fields and somehow, it felt perfect. How hard could it be to go from former Choi family heiress to full time sheep farmer?

Turns out, quite difficult.

Because you weren’t sure it was what you wanted. But you knew it was what you needed. Even if your heart wasn’t fully in it.

In the weeks that followed the gala, you worked to make the divorce as clean and quiet as possible. You didn’t want alimony. You didn’t want your shares. You just wanted out, and Mingi made sure everything was handled with care. He didn’t fight you. Didn’t drag it out. He respected your wishes, even though it was clear the decision tore him apart.

You hadn’t expected him to make it so easy and heartbreaking.

Amid the paperwork and logistics, Jiwoo did her best to lift your spirits. She knew better than anyone how broken you were. After weeks of checking in, bringing takeout and bottles of wine, she finally convinced you to take a leap.

She pitched it like the opportunity of a lifetime. A seller had approached her about a quiet farmhouse in the French countryside, just an hour from Paris. You couldn’t shake the feeling you were being gently steered into something you didn’t quite understand. Maybe you needed something to fill the void. Or maybe you were just tired. 

So you bought it.

Jiwoo handled everything from the deed, the paperwork and even a local inspection. But when you arrived in Chevreuse, the farmhouse felt untouched like it was suspended in time. It was everything you thought you needed, yet somehow, it felt like a life that didn’t belong to you.

But there was one surprise that changed everything.

Your friends had arranged for a Valais Blacknose lamb with the fluffiest fleece and the most dramatic side eye you’d ever seen to be the foundation of your flock. 

You named her Kiki.

And then cried into her fleece for two whole days.

She didn’t mind. She would lean in, letting you cling to her as you sobbed. In those early months, when the silence of the farm was almost too much to bear, she became your comfort. Not just as you mourned the relationship, but the version of yourself who had tried so hard to hold it together.

Now the idea of leaving the farm, of stepping back into this city where everything felt like a mirror to who you used to be, was unbearable.

“I didn’t realize the heir to Park Enterprises moonlighted as a model,” you said dryly, approaching Seonghwa. 

He looked up from the menu, effortlessly chic in a tailored black coat that framed his broad shoulders. His hair was swept back with precision, probably done without a mirror, probably perfect anyway.

He looked up from the menu, flashing you that annoyingly charming smile. “Only for fun. They said I had good bone structure and excellent time management.”

“You know what else has good bone structure?” you said, sliding into your seat. 

“A skeleton.”

Back then, your interactions with Seonghwa were brief, just passing conversations during hospital visits. Then one evening, out of nowhere, he called you from Paris. Said he had a gap between fittings and shows, and for some reason, you were the person he thought to call. You weren’t really friends. But when he asked if you were free, something in you said yes.

“Put your back into it!” you called out from across the pen, grinning wickedly.

“I hate you!” Seonghwa shouted, staggering as he tried to lift a hay bale over his head. Bits of straw clung to his hair, now matted with sweat and flecked with debris. 

“You can’t,” you called back cheerfully from across the pen. “I’m your only friend.”

“When you said, ‘Come visit my farm,’ I thought there’d be wine and scenic views,” he snapped, glaring at you over the hay. 

“Not satanic sheep.”

“The sheep aren’t as bad as the chickens,” you shrugged, tossing another forkful of straw into the stall.

“I see your sense of humor hasn’t changed,” he snorted. 

“I just saw you in October,” you muttered, reaching for the carafe. 

Seonghwa watched you closely as you scanned the menu. Your hair was shorter now, tousled, practical and kissed by the sun. It spoke of mornings spent among your animals and a life lived outdoors. He noticed the subtle changes, but he also saw the parts that still made you undeniably you.

“How are you?” he asked, gently.

You looked away, scanning the menu, though your eyes weren’t actually reading.

“I’m raising sheep,” you replied flatly, folding your arms. “So either I’m thriving, or I’ve completely lost it.”

Seonghwa hummed thoughtfully. “That sounds…peaceful.”

You leaned back in your chair. Park Seonghwa was elusive, always keeping the world at arm’s length. But maybe that’s why it was easy for you to befriend him. There was always something just beneath the surface, something he never quite let slip. You wondered if anyone had ever really gotten close enough to see the real him. 

“So, is this your little last hurrah before you’re inevitably whisked away by that pharmaceutical heiress?”

Seonghwa scoffed and took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t remind me.”

“Men would rather fly halfway around the world to trauma dump than go to therapy,” you muttered, catching the waiter’s attention to place your order.

While your head was turned to the side, partially hidden behind the menu, Seonghwa quietly pulled out his phone. In that moment, there was a softness and freedom to you that the world rarely got to see, a light that had been almost extinguished but was now quietly burning again. The kind of light that deserved to be witnessed, even by the world that once tried to break you.

With a quick snap, he captured the moment.

⋆

Mingi stabbed at his salad like it had personally offended him.

Yunho sighed. “You’ve looked at that story five times. I’m starting to worry you’re going to create a burner account and leave hate comments.”

Mingi tossed his phone face down on the table. “I’m fine.”

“Hypothetically,” Yunho began with a sly grin, “if I were a petty man with a stupidly handsome face and a camera in hand, and happened to spot the girl my friend is still hopelessly in love with, who he hasn’t spoken to in eight months, living her best life in France… I mean, yeah. I might post a picture of her too.”

Mingi shot him a glare. “Seonghwa’s not my friend.”

“You haven’t spoken to her in eight months.”

“I told you,” he replied, “she needed space.”

“You both needed space. That’s not the same as disappearing.”

Mingi didn’t want to admit it out loud, but seeing you happy beneath the sun, far from everything he’d put you through, stung. You looked freer than he remembered. Lighter. Like the weight he used to see in your eyes had finally lifted. And maybe…maybe you deserved that freedom without him.

“I don’t want to show up half-fixed,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to pretend that I’m ready when I’m not.”

“So you ghosted her,” Yunho said flatly.

“I let her go,” Mingi snapped, running a hand through his hair. 

“I didn’t want to make any promises I couldn’t keep and I’m trying,” he said after a long pause. 

“I’ve been working with Jongho to finalize everything.”

Yunho leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. “How much longer?”

“Couple more weeks. Maybe less.”

Mingi stared down at his hands, then out the café window, hoping, just for a moment, you might appear on the other side of the glass. The distance between you felt unbearable. All he wanted was for you to know how much he misses you, even from a world away.

“Once I sign the final documents, I’m out.”

“You’ve been planning this for months,” Yunho said. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I’d rather be nothing than keep living as someone I hate.”

This was his chance to start over. Not just for you, but for himself. For the version of him he wanted to be. The version who didn’t flinch when he looked back on the choices he made or ran from the messes he made. 

Mingi’s phone chimed, reminding him of his appointment.

He exhaled slowly, though it did little to steady the jittery coil of nerves tightening in his chest. With a half-raised hand, he flagged down the waiter and quietly asked for the check. 

He paid quickly, murmured a thank you, and stood, brushing invisible lint from his shirt as if that would make him feel better than he looked.

Yunho gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Mingi didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he believed that yet. But he left the café anyway, because this wasn’t about comfort. It was about facing the consequences. And maybe, if he was lucky, starting to make things right.

The drive to his meeting felt endless. In the elevator, he kept fidgeting with his jacket sleeve, chewing the inside of his cheek raw. He’d rehearsed the conversation a hundred times, and still wasn’t ready.

“Mrs. Kim?” her secretary said gently, peeking through the cracked door. “Your appointment is here.”

Mrs. Kim perked up, straightening her spine from where she'd been slouched in her office chair. Things had been nonstop with the foundation lately, especially with the board vacancy.

“Send them in,” she said, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. 

A tall man stepped inside, his broad shoulders nearly eclipsing the hallway behind him. He removed sunglasses and tucked them away as the door shut with a soft click behind him.

He was still striking in that way that used to command a room the moment he entered it. But the shine was gone. The last time she’d seen him, he was the kind of man who believed nothing could fall apart simply because he was holding it together.

Now, he looked like someone who’d already lived through the collapse.

“Song Mingi.” 

“Mrs. Kim,” he greeted. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

She regarded him in silence.

She hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not after the fiasco he caused at the foundation’s gala the year before. The memory of angry board members demanding answers sent chills down her spine. That night hadn’t merely called her reputation into question; it had cast doubt on the very mission she’d spent years building.

And more importantly, the damage that had been done to her son’s memory.

The Cromer Foundation had been born from grief, a tribute to Hongjoong’s boundless love for music, and his quiet dream of making it accessible to those who needed it most. It had grown into a respected institution, funding music schools, community orchestras, and scholarships for underprivileged children.  

And then Mingi stumbled into the gala, spewing bitterness towards you in front of donors, students, and press. What should have been a night of celebration and remembrance unraveled into a public scandal.

She’d spent the next year quietly salvaging what she could, writing letters, making phone calls, doubling her hours to assure the public and the board that the foundation’s values remained intact.

But when she received word from her secretary that Song Mingi had requested a meeting, she was intrigued. 

“How can I help you?” She folded her hands together on the desk, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“I owe you an apology.”

Mrs. Kim said nothing, and Mingi took that as a cue to continue. 

“I shouldn’t have come that night,” Mingi began, voice heavy with regret. 

“I was angry and bitter. Y/N and I hadn’t even been married that long, and in my selfishness, I just wanted a way to hurt her without even really seeing her. Without trying to understand her.”

He clenched his fists at the memory, haunted by how deeply he had hurt you without ever really seeing you, without even trying to understand you.

“I let that resentment rot me from the inside, and then I carried it straight to your door. What I did wasn’t just shameful. It was a betrayal of that light of someone who gave so much to everyone around him. What I regret most is the damage I caused to his memory.”

He took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for turning your grief into a public spectacle. I know how much Hongjoong meant to the community, to you, and especially to Y/N. I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But this…this was the one apology I couldn’t stay silent about.”

He bowed deeply, and for a moment, Mrs. Kim struggled to reconcile the man before her. This was Song Mingi, once arrogant and reckless, now stripped of pride, looking almost like a stranger.

Though Mrs. Kim had never cared for the world of the wealthy, she was well aware of its undercurrents and drama. Her focus had always been on education, and through the Choi family’s influence, and Y/N’s heartfelt recommendation, she had become a sought after piano teacher among elite households.

“Are you only doing this because you and Y/N are no longer together?” Her voice was measured but edged with skepticism.

Mingi’s shoulders tensed slightly, then he nodded. 

“Yes. I lost her, and maybe this is my way of trying to make amends for everything I failed to be. Not just to her, but for myself.”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. In that moment, he understood where Hongjoong had gotten his strength, his unwavering kindness, and his love of music.

“But there’s something more…I’m stepping away from my family. I’ve begun the process of selling my shares and succession logistics.”

Mrs. Kim raised a brow, clearly taken aback. “Your father will be left without an heir?”

“That’s his problem to deal with,” Mingi shrugged. 

“Whatever arrangements the Songs and the Chois had through my marriage were dissolved the moment the divorce papers were signed.”

Mrs. Kim sat back, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “And once you walk away from the company… what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Mingi admitted. “Maybe I’ll get into art. Therapy’s been helping me find better ways to express myself. Maybe I’ll travel.”

He glanced down at his hands, then back up with a small, tentative smile.

“But more than anything…I think I’ll let myself dream again.”

“You’ve changed.”

Mingi gave a small, almost shy smile. “I’m trying.”

He hesitated, then added, almost under his breath, “Hongjoong was…a good friend to me.”

Mrs. Kim’s brows drew together. “Was?”

Mingi blinked, realizing the slip. “I-I mean, he would’ve been. I think we would’ve been good friends.”

Mrs. Kim didn’t respond. She simply nodded, walking him to the door.

“I won’t say I forgive you. Not yet,” she said, hand hovering over the doorknob. 

“But you’ve done more than most. You owned what happened and I accept your apology.”

Mingi bowed again. “Thank you for letting me speak,” he said quietly. “I appreciate you listening to me.”

“If you mean to build something better…make it matter,” Mrs. Kim said as Mingi turned toward the door.

And with that, he stepped out, the door closing behind him.

Mrs. Kim walked slowly back to her desk, lowering herself into the chair with a thoughtful exhale. Her eyes drifted to the framed photo of her son on the shelf beside her, frozen forever in his twenties, smiling with a piano behind him.

Hongjoong was a good friend to me.

“When did you meet him, exactly?” she murmured under her breath. 

There was no answer, of course. Just the hum of the office around her. She shook her head, lips curling into a small smile.

“Everything’s been reviewed by legal. You just need to sign,” Jongho said, sliding a thick folder across the table.

Mingi stared at the papers. His name was on every page, neatly typed, notarized, official. But for the first time in his life, it felt like a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. 

“Once this is finalized,” Jongho continued, tapping a finger against the folder, “you’ll no longer be tied to the company. You’ll retain your existing personal assets and shares, but all family holdings will be dissolved or transferred as outlined.”

He hesitated, then softened. “You sure you want to go through with this?”

“I’m sure,” Mingi said, his voice quiet but resolute. “Who’s to say I haven’t disappointed my family enough already?”

Across the table, Kira scrolled through the legal documents on her tablet. 

“His legal team will fight this. They'll go public if they think it’ll scare you into backing down. They’ll accuse you of breach of duty, maybe even moral failure.”

Mingi let out a humorless laugh and uncapped the pen. “Let them try. What’s the press angle?”

“You’re stepping away on your own terms to pursue independent ventures,” Jongho said, flipping to the draft statement. 

“We center the story on autonomy, long term vision, and the desire to innovate outside of a legacy framework.”

Kira looked up. “We embargoed an exclusive with Golden Hour. It goes live the same hour the documents hit the registrar. One interview. After that, we disappear.”

“And if my father tries to bury it?”

“He’ll try,” Jongho said. “But you’ll already be gone by then.”

Mingi leaned over the folder and signed. His name curved neatly into ink, followed by the stamp of his official seal.

Who knew freedom could feel so unceremonious? 

But it was real.

For most of his life, Mingi had believed there was only one path: one paved by his family and reinforced by fear. Fear of failure. Fear of wanting something for himself and being punished for it. Fear of what it meant to let go.

But the day after you left, something shifted. He wandered through the rooms of the penthouse, sat at your piano, stared at your half-used mug still by the sink, your faint perfume lingering on his pillow and he couldn’t breath. 

And that’s when he realized: maybe it wasn’t your absence that undid him. Maybe it was the fact that you’d finally saved yourself and that meant he could too.

So he made the leap. He searched for a therapist after hearing from you about how you’d been in therapy since you were 20 and how it had helped you survive grief, pressure, and loneliness.

At first, it was just a way to cope with the sudden emptiness. He felt awkward during the sessions, offering half-truths and questioning the point of opening up. He was bitter, angry, and convinced you had abandoned him, even as he told himself that letting you go had been some noble, final act of love.

But little by little he realized there were pieces of himself he’d buried, goals he never pursued and entire parts of his identity molded to fit someone else’s expectations. He wasn’t the only one who’d lost parts of himself in the process. 

You had sacrificed just as much. Maybe even more. You tried to mold yourself into the perfect daughter-in-law, the perfect partner, the perfect pawn in the legacy machine. And in the end, it had cost you everything.

You had been brave enough to leave and that terrified him. But it also inspired him at the same time. 

Because if you could walk away from a future already written for you, maybe he could too.

He started the process quietly. He arranged meetings with Jongho and Kira to restructure his holdings, transfer succession rights, and build a legal firewall between himself and the family. 

“I want out,” Mingi announced. “All of it. Not just the company, everything tied to my family’s name.”

Across from him, Jongho slowly set down his pen. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders said enough.

“You’re serious?” Kira raised a brow, looking up from her laptop.

“I want to walk away. But I can’t do it alone.”

Jongho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Do you understand what you’re asking for? Once this goes through, there’s no walking it back. Your family will go scorched earth.”

“I know,” Mingi said quietly. “And I’m fine with it.”

Kira was quiet for a moment, studying him. “Does Y/N have anything to do with this?”

Mingi hesitated, then nodded. There was no point lying. 

“How romantic,” Jongho chuckled, flipping his pen between his fingers.

The youngest Choi had been devouring legal textbooks for fun by the time he was 10, competing at university level mock trials at 13, and ghostwriting threatening emails under fake burner accounts to hedge fund managers for misleading the public. 

He was a genius with a vindictive streak. And that’s exactly why Mingi needed him.

“You’re asking me to burn every bridge with your family including your relatives and their legal teams. You’ll be persona non grata in every major investment circle from here to Malaysia.”

“I don’t care,” Mingi said. 

Jongho tapped the pen once. Then again. And then he stopped.

“What’s in it for me?”

Mingi blinked. “Whatever you want.”

“I want revenge for Y/N. I want her to get every single thing that woman tried to take from her. I want to take Ahri’s deals. Her endorsements. Her agency contacts. Her fucking invitations to fashion week. I want her blacklisted from every high society circle she ever tried to climb.”

Kira let out a low whistle. “God, this is going to be fun.”

That made Mingi gulp. Here he was, sitting between two members of your family who weren’t just capable of chaos…they thrived in it. Maybe love really did run in your blood. So did vengeance. 

And Mingi was just beginning to grasp how meticulous your family could be when it came to madness.

It had taken months, months of sleepless nights and second guessing every step of the way. 

But now it was nearly done. He had chosen you instead.

Kira had already disappeared down the hall, relaying the next steps to the press team. Jongho offered a quiet nod, taking back the stack of documents.

“We’ll hold the final filing until you’ve spoken to them. After that, it’s official.”

Mingi nodded as Jongho left.

After a long moment, he stood slowly, smoothing the front of his jacket, his eyes lingering out the window.

It was done.

And in a few days, so would the rest of it be.

⋆

Seonghwa had convinced you to stay for his show after his assistants staged an emergency intervention over your “farmer chic” ensemble. Now, you sat front row in a dress that cost more than your entire farm, looking like someone who belonged. You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

The crowd burst into applause as the final walk ended with influencers and editors clambering about. A few minutes later, Seonghwa strode off the runway, still flushed with adrenaline. He spotted you instantly and grinned, tugging the pins from his hair so it tumbled messily around his face.

“I need carbs,” he groaned. 

You laughed, halfway on to your feet, ready to follow him backstage. But your phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down instinctively.

And froze.

Your fingers hovered above the screen. You hadn’t meant to tap the notification, but somehow the article was open, its bold headline glaring back at you.

Breaking: Song Mingi Steps Down, Issues Statement on Leaving Family Empire

“After years of speculation about his role within the Song conglomerate, Song Mingi has officially filed to dissolve all family held assets and relinquish his stake in the company. 

Sources confirm he will retain personal investments but has no plans to return to corporate leadership. The exclusive interview with Golden Hour details his decision to walk away from the legacy built by four generations of Songs…”

“Hey,” Seonghwa called over his shoulder, already pushing through a curtain flanked by security. “You coming?”

You held up your phone. His gaze landed on it and his jaw went slack.

“Holy shit.”

The article continued, accompanied with courthouse photos: Mingi in a suit, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, collar open. His gaze never wavered beneath the flash of cameras as he walked like a man with nothing left to lose.

The words on the screen blurred as your mind raced. He’d done the unthinkable. He turned his back on the empire his family had built. The same empire that nearly destroyed you both.

Seonghwa nudged your shoulder. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know what this feeling was. Relief? Disbelief? Hope?

The last time you saw Mingi, he was still the heir. The next time you see him, he might finally be just Mingi.

<< x | xii >>

a/n: just one more chapter and the epilogue and this baby will be done *cries*

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