Andrea hadn't even stepped fully into her bedroom when she froze.
Two massive boxes sat on her bed like royal guests she hadn't invited. Wrapped in ivory paper, tied with velvet ribbons so pristine it looked like someone ironed them, the boxes radiated trouble. Or money. Or both.
She blinked, muttered under her breath,
"Of... aman Tanrım... bu hediye mi, yoksa bomba mı?"
(Oh my God... is this a gift or a bomb?)
Her accent thickened, the way it always did when she was startled. She stared harder, squinting like the boxes might confess.
Before she could attempt a second round of suspicious glaring, Layla walked in, balancing a tray of documents and iced tea like always.
"What...?" Layla's voice trailed off as soon as her eyes landed on the boxes. Her eyebrows went straight up. "Oh. Oh wow. You should open those. Immediately."
Andrea pressed a hand to her forehead. "I don't know whether to run or to pray."
"You know exactly who sent them." Layla smirked, setting the tray down. "Your boss has a habit of sending stress in luxury packaging."
Andrea clicked her tongue. "He's not my boss."
Layla raised an eyebrow. "He's literally your boss."
Andrea ignored that. She approached the first box with a mixture of dread and curiosity, hands hovering over the ribbon. She pulled it slowly, the knot loosening like a breath held for too long. The lid lifted.
White silk spilled like moonlight.
Andrea's mouth parted. "Hayır... yok artık..."
(No... no way...)
She touched the fabric with trembling fingers, lifting it gently—almost reverently. The gown was impossibly detailed, structured yet soft, the corset sculpted into delicate curves, the bodice wrapped in draped satin that fell into a cascade of embroidered lace. The gloves shimmered with hand-stitched beads.
Eunwoo had sent her a wedding dress.
Her laugh was dry, shocked. "Ben zaten gelinlik seçtim..."
(I already chose a wedding dress...)
She swallowed, tracing the bodice. "Why would he send me another one... and why... this?"
Layla leaned in. "He's going for a theme, clearly."
Andrea shook her head, still in disbelief. "This isn't a normal dress, Layla. This is couture. Look at these seams. The draping. The corset construction." She pointed at the structured waistline. "This is architectural."
"So which dress did you actually pick for the wedding?" Layla asked. "Show me again."
Andrea set the white gown down on the bed, walked to her mirror, and pointed to the dress already hanging on the side: a radiant piece of moonlit glamour.
The bodice was strapless, bold. Silver crystals traced it like constellations over glass, cascading down into a silk overlay that split at the left side, revealing sheer embroidery underneath—delicate, intricate, shimmering.
"It wasn't too plain," Andrea said softly. "It wasn't overly royal. Just... strong. Beautiful. It made sense." She smiled to herself. "Benim gelinliğim bu."
(This one is my wedding dress.)
Layla admired it. "It's very you."
Andrea nodded, brushing the crystals gently. "And I paid for part of it myself. So it... means something." She turned back to the box. "But this? This is expensive for no reason."
Layla scoffed. "Every reason is expensive for him."
Andrea sighed, running her thumb again along the white dress's lace. "Still... it's beautiful. Too beautiful."
Her fingers drifted over the beaded gloves again. She whispered,
"Aşırı zarif..."
(excessively elegant...)
Then her gaze slid to the second box.
"Ohh... bir tane daha..."
(Ohh... another one...)
Layla practically bounced. "Open it. Open it right now. I want to see what's next."
Andrea narrowed her eyes. "If your boss is this generous..."
She started to say more, but the sentence died when she opened the lid.
Her eyes widened. Then shimmered.
Then downright sparkled.
"It looks... familiar..." she breathed.
Layla frowned. "Familiar how?"
But Andrea didn't answer. She reached into the box with both hands, fingers trembling with an emotion Layla recognized immediately: nostalgia mixed with longing.
She lifted the red dress.
And Andrea gasped.
A real, high-pitched, excited gasp—
"Bu... bu... bu Şanghay'daki elbise!"
(This... this... this is the dress from Shanghai!)
She held it against her body, the silk catching the light like garnet fire.
"It's the same dress I wanted to buy!" she shouted, jumping once in place, unable to contain herself. "Aynısı! Aynısı!"
(The same! The same!)
Layla blinked, startled. "Wait—this is the one you told me about? The dress you kept staring at for half an hour in that boutique video??"
Andrea nodded rapidly, spinning once with the gown in her arms. "Yes! That one! The one with the off-shoulder drape and the backless drop. Look—look here! The high slit on the left side. The layered satin on the hips. The train that flares out like a flame!" She held up the hem with pride. "I couldn't afford it back then... so I left the store. But I never forgot it."
Her eyes shimmered, watery and bright.
"Ve o almış..."
(And he bought it...)
She pressed the fabric to her chest like she was hugging a memory come true.
Layla laughed, delighted. "So your expensive angel delivered."
Andrea twirled, hair flying, the red silk dancing with her. She looked like a flame and a dream and a girl who suddenly remembered she deserved beautiful things.
Then she stopped, breathless.
"He remembered," she whispered. "I only mentioned this dress once."
"He listens to everything you say," Layla muttered.
Andrea didn't hear her. She was too busy hugging the gown again.
The white dress lay open on the bed like a fallen snow queen.
Her chosen wedding dress shimmered near the mirror.
And the red dress burned like desire in her hands.
Three colors.
Three stories.
Three choices she didn't ask for.
But one of them—
one of them made her heart stutter.
⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆｡˚☾˚｡⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆｡˚☾˚｡⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆
Eunwoo's phone screen was propped against the dashboard, a live feed of Andrea's room playing as Minjoon sighed next to him like a tired parent.
"You're seriously watching her reaction again?" Minjoon muttered.
"Shut up," Eunwoo replied calmly in Korean, eyes glued to Andrea dancing with the red dress.
"나 지금 중요한 거 보고 있어."
(I'm watching something important right now.)
Minjoon scoffed. "Important? It's her screaming at a dress."
Eunwoo ignored him.
On screen, Andrea was laughing, spinning, hugging the fabric like she'd found a piece of herself.
His lips curved.
Minjoon leaned back, arms crossed. "We had a whole bet. Does she even like the fancy stuff you buy?"
Eunwoo didn't blink.
"봐. 답 나왔잖아."
(Look. There's your answer.)
Andrea laughed again on screen, babbling excited Turkish about how perfect the dress was.
Eunwoo exhaled slowly, a quiet satisfaction warming his eyes.
"그녀는 좋아해."
(She likes it.)
The car around them was filled with luxury items for Andrea—boxes of jewelry, designer shoes, silk shawls, accessories worth more than most people's yearly salary.
But only one thing had been sent to the mansion in advance:
the white dress.
The red dress had been placed in her room a week earlier, waiting like a secret.
And now, watching her spin with it...
Eunwoo smiled to himself.
She chose it.
Without him saying a word.
♡₊˚*ೃ༄༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶ ♡₊˚*ೃ༄༶
Morning poured through the villa like warm gold, soft enough to kiss the hardwood floors, bright enough to turn Andrea's loose hair into threads of copper and honey. She stood before her mirror, humming a half-made melody as she brushed her hair in slow, satisfied strokes.
The happiness in her voice was unmistakable.
The red dress had done that to her.
A soft, airy Turkish hum slipped from her lips:
"Gel bana... yavaşça... kalbim seni nereye saklayayım..."
(Come to me... slowly... where should I hide you in my heart...)
Her reflection glowed, spirit light and unguarded, the tune spilling out like she'd been waiting years to sing it. Layla walked in mid-verse, typing furiously on her phone, cheeks flushed.
"Andrea—boss just—"
Too late.
Footsteps—sharp, confident, undeniably Eunwoo—echoed down the hallway like a countdown.
The door swung open.
He entered the room without asking, without slowing, without caring that Andrea still held her hairbrush mid-air. Two guards followed, each carrying towering stacks of luxury gift boxes. Minjoon trailed behind them like a man who accepted his fate long ago.
The guards placed the boxes on every empty surface.
Tables. Chairs. Even the floor.
Andrea's humming stopped instantly.
Layla froze.
Even the air paused.
Eunwoo didn't bother with a greeting.
"Put everything inside," he ordered, voice cool and clipped.
Andrea blinked rapidly. "Ne oluyor?"
(What's happening?)
"Your fiancé," Minjoon sighed, "has a spending problem."
Eunwoo pretended he didn't hear that.
More boxes arrived—black, ivory, wine-red—decorated in ribbons too perfect to be touched.
Layla gasped. "Boss... this is all for Miss Andrea?"
Eunwoo nodded once. "Wedding gifts. Accessories."
Andrea stood. "Huh? I already have plenty. Fazlasıyla."
(More than enough.)
His head turned sharply toward her.
"You're going to wear whatever I bought you."
Andrea frowned. "Eunwoo... I get to choose what I wear."
"Not tomorrow."
Minjoon immediately snorted with laughter. Andrea glared at him.
"And I'm going to wear the first dress," she announced, chin lifting.
Eunwoo's eyebrow twitched. "You don't like the white one?"
Andrea wrinkled her nose. "O benlik değil."
(It's not me.)
That struck him like a blade. He didn't show emotion, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed the hit. Minjoon practically collapsed with joy.
"That's two bets lost today, boss!"
Andrea's eyes widened. "You guys were betting? On me?"
Minjoon raised both hands. "He said you'd pick the white gown. I said you had taste."
Andrea laughed softly. "The white dress is stunning, ama benlik değil. But this..." She motioned to the crystal-silver gown hanging from the mirror. "Bu... ben."
(This... is me.)
She touched the hem, almost lovingly.
"It wasn't too plain, nor overly royal," she murmured. "It was bold, the crystals tracing the bodice like starlight... and the split..." Her fingers slid lightly over the sheer embroidered panel. "It feels like moonlight wrapped in silk."
Eunwoo's silence was a mixture of defeat and fascination.
Minjoon patted him on the shoulder. "You lose again."
Eunwoo hissed in sharp Korean:
"미쳤냐? 그만해."
(Are you insane? Stop it.)
Andrea finally looked at Eunwoo. "Why're you so quiet?"
His voice lowered. "Because... the wedding is tomorrow."
Time stopped.
Andrea's breath caught. "Yarın mı?"
(Tomorrow?)
Her voice trembled. "Bu çok erken..."
(This is too soon...)
Minjoon stepped forward gently. "If he doesn't get married by tomorrow, he loses the company. And the mission. Everything."
Andrea turned away, shaken. She walked out onto the balcony, fingers curling around the cold railing as she whispered in Turkish, voice soft with fear she tried to hide:
"Hazır mıyım bilmiyorum... ama kader beklemiyor."
(I don't know if I'm ready... but fate doesn't wait.)
The wind carried her words away.
Eunwoo had no idea what she'd said—but he understood the emotion.
Andrea turned back to them, shoulders steady despite the tremble in her heart.
"Tamam," she whispered. "But I'm wearing the first dress."
(Okay. But I'm wearing the first dress.)
Eunwoo's jaw flexed—and then he exhaled.
"Fine."
Minjoon nearly clapped again. Layla covered her mouth.
Eunwoo scanned the room.
His brows suddenly furrowed.
"Where is the red dress?"
Andrea froze.
Layla pressed her lips together.
Minjoon smirked like he'd been waiting for this moment all morning.
Andrea cleared her throat. "Hangi kırmızı elbise?"
(Which red dress?)
Eunwoo lowered his voice. "Andrea."
She folded her arms, smirking. "Ben... onu sakladım."
(I... put it away.)
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because I liked it."
Something flickered in Eunwoo's eyes—warm, startled, unfamiliar.
Minjoon elbowed him. "See? I told you one of your gifts would land."
Andrea opened one of the new boxes. Inside lay a velvet case overflowing with diamonds shaped like falling water—necklace, earrings, bracelets, all shimmering with deadly elegance.
Andrea whispered, "Bu ne?"
(What is this?)
"Accessories," Eunwoo said. "Layla will help you."
Andrea shook her head. "Eunwoo... bu çok fazla."
(This is too much.)
"It's necessary."
"For what? Kraliyet ailesine mi gelin gidiyorum?"
(Am I marrying into a royal family?)
"You're marrying me," he said simply.
Layla sucked in a slow breath. Minjoon looked away politely. Andrea's cheeks warmed.
Eunwoo stepped closer.
Close enough that she could smell the faint cologne on his suit, something dark and clean and expensive.
Close enough that her breath trembled.
"Andrea," he murmured, lifting a hand to brush a stray lock from her cheek. His fingers grazed her skin with such surprising gentleness that she didn't pull away. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
Layla blinked. Minjoon's eyes grew comically wide.
They looked at each other like two people who desperately wanted to live.
Layla tugged Minjoon out by the sleeve. "Let's go."
"Yes, let's leave before the boss gets sentimental."
They slipped out in a hurry, closing the door behind them.
Andrea stood in the center of the room, surrounded by luxury, responsibility, and a man whose eyes held storms and answers.
She lifted her chin, heart racing but steady.
"I'm listening," she whispered.
And for the first time that morning, Eunwoo's expression wasn't cold or irritated or unreadable.
It was human.
And he stepped closer.
~ℙ𝔼ℕ𝕆𝕃𝔸.𝕊