The mornings in the Yoon estate were always quiet.
Too quiet.
Yoon Ha-eun woke before sunrise, as she always did. Her curtains had already been drawn back by the maids, revealing gardens still wrapped in pale mist. She sat at her vanity fastening the last button of her blouse—an ivory silk shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers. Her hair was smoothed neatly behind her ears, no jewelry except a slim watch.
Elegance, yes.
But more than that—armor.
A soft knock sounded.
"Miss, the Chairman is awake," a maid announced.
Ha-eun's hand paused, just for a breath, before she rose. She had never once ignored her grandfather's call in twenty-three years.
The halls whispered with wealth—marble floors gleaming in the early light, ancestral portraits staring down with cold eyes, and the scent of medicinal herbs drifting from her grandfather's wing.
Outside his room, a nurse bowed and opened the door.
Chairman Yoon sat propped against pillows, spectacles perched on his nose as he read the morning paper. His white hair framed a face shaped by decades of battles, business and otherwise, yet his eyes softened instantly when he saw her.
"There you are," he said, setting the paper aside. His voice was rough with age but always warm for her. "You look too serious for dawn. Come closer."
Ha-eun approached, the faintest hint of a smile tugging her lips—not quite a smile, but enough.
"I'm always serious," she said. "You trained me that way."
"Ah, but you forget," he tapped her wrist lightly, "you were a child once. Running in here with scraped knees, demanding candy as payment. I haven't seen such dramatics again—except when your father enters a boardroom."
A quiet breath escaped her. Almost a laugh.
"You shouldn't compare me to him," she murmured, weary rather than harsh.
"You're nothing like him," the Chairman said gently.
Silence settled—familiar, heavy with the wounds neither of them bothered naming. Her father's rejection. Her mother's absence. But her grandfather never let those shadows swallow her. He had chosen her. Raised her. For him, that was enough.
Finally he leaned back. "Tonight, the ball. You'll go in my place."
Her brows knit. "No."
"Yes."
"Grandfather, I have no interest in enduring another evening of being paraded for people who call me illegitimate behind their wine glasses."
"And yet," he said calmly, "you'll go. Because they need to see you stand taller than their whispers. You've worked harder than all of them. Let them choke on it."
Her lips pressed together. She despised these events—the gazes, the judgment, the way her father pretended she didn't exist while his wife and children sneered at her as though she'd crawled in from the gutter.
But her grandfather watched her with quiet pride.
"Go for me," he said softly. "You are the only one I trust with this family's name."
Her chest tightened. For everyone else, she was a stain.
For him, she was everything.
After a long moment, she nodded. "Fine. For you."
He chuckled, squeezing her hand. "That's my girl."
And just like that, the armor slid back into place.
Tonight, she would stand in that ballroom.
For him.
---
Later, as she finished preparing to leave for the office, another knock came.
"Miss… breakfast is ready," Soo-ah said gently.
Soo-ah—the only maid who had been with the estate as long as Ha-eun could remember. The only one who had looked at her with neither pity nor disdain. The woman who tucked her in as a child and whispered comfort when her stepmother's barbs cut too deep.
Ha-eun rose and smoothed invisible creases from her blouse.
"The Chairman is having his meal upstairs," Soo-ah added. "He asked that you eat something before leaving."
Warmth flickered briefly through her chest.
But then—"The Vice-chairman requested your presence at the family table."
Their eyes met. Soo-ah looked apologetic.
Ha-eun nodded. "I understand."
---
The dining hall was already full when she entered, crystal chandeliers casting cold light over polished wood.
Her father, Yoon Tae-han, sat at the head, reading the finance page like a king surveying his land. His eyes—sharp, always sharp—flicked to her with practiced disdain.
Beside him, his wife, Yi Soo-bin, smiled sweetly. The sweetness never reached her eyes.
Across the table, the twins—Jae-han and Jae-si—lounged with lazy entitlement, whispering something to each other when they saw her. A smirk passed between them.
At the far end, her aunt Ji-an sipped tea with calculated elegance. Her husband, Kang Jimin, smiled in that too-pleasant way she never trusted. Their son, Ji-sung, didn't even look up.
Every seat was filled.
Except her grandfather's.
"Ah, there she is." Soo-bin's voice chimed with too much sweetness. "Our little CEO finally joins us. You must be so busy."
Ha-eun offered a polite, empty smile. "I manage."
Jae-si leaned forward. "She's serious even in the morning. No wonder the board respects her—she's basically one of the old men already."
Laughter followed.
Except from the doorway, where Soo-ah stood awkwardly.
And from her grandfather's empty chair.
Ha-eun ignored them and took her seat, posture perfect. She sipped her tea without a flicker of emotion.
Her father finally lowered his paper. "You'll be at the ball tonight."
"I'll be there," she replied coolly.
"Good. Represent your grandfather well. This family has endured enough whispers."
She almost laughed at the hypocrisy.
Soo-bin set down her spoon delicately. "Do try not to attract attention this time, dear. Scandals are so unpleasant to read during breakfast."
The twins snickered. Ji-an smirked. Even silent Ji-sung showed faint disapproval.
Ha-eun sipped her tea again, composed.
They wanted her to break.
She wouldn't.
"Ha-eun," her father said, suddenly formal. "There's something else."
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
Ji-an paused mid-sip, smiling faintly. Soo-bin's eyes glinted.
"We've arranged for you to meet another potential suitor," he continued, as calmly as if he were announcing a quarterly report. "A far more suitable match this time."
The twins sneered. Soo-bin looked satisfied.
Inside, the armor around her chest tightened one notch further.
"I see," she said.
And she left it at that.