facade - prelude
𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> when the popular and good-looking ceo is officially on the market, everyone is scrambling to catch his attention.
𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. park jimin
𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> strangers to lovers; arranged marriage au; ceo!jimin
𝔴/𝔠 >> 3.5k
𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> soft jimin, caring jimin, please shower with love jimin; an honest to god heartthrob jimin (nod to wings era jimin); all to trump a nasty mother figure. fluff (for now)
𝔞/𝔫 >> surprise! enjoy this new series. i’m not sure how many parts this may be, but i hope this little prelude intrigues you! a copy (although slightly different) exists on the internet already, but this is the official upload! thank you for all your support. as always, happy reading (:
next |
It is tiring to be standing in front of all these people. All of them looking up at him expectantly, waiting upon his next words like hungry wolves. He is the bait that is dangled in front of them, and once he is dropped, they will pounce and devour until nothing is left.
The cameras flash again in his face, and the white spots swarm in his vision. Loud chatter fills his ears from his spot on the stage and he resists all temptation to turn on his heels to walk away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Amongst all the chaos, he is slightly calmed down by the sight of one person who remains unmoving. You stand – stoic and without expression – hands folded in front of you in a manner that is the same if not more serious than him.
“Jimin,” he hears you say the two syllables.
They fall flat, a name that over the years has accumulated many emotions, but now, contain nothing.
He looks at you, standing beside him with your face towards the crowd in front. With a deep breath, he walks up towards the crowd of reporters and opens his mouth. They all drop silent and wait.
“Yes, we are divorced.”
Past.
It was only natural for the two of you to be wed. While your parents did not support arranged marriages, they highly recommended that you were to meet the son of the Park family that coming afternoon. They wanted to generate talk – sole heir meets the only daughter. Because at the end of the day, whether or not the meeting went well, talk generated publicity and publicity was good.
“Y/N,” your mother calls from the outside your room. You are currently standing in the middle of your closet, staring at the coded clothes consisting of three main colours – black, white, navy.
You hear your mother’s clipped footsteps approach you from behind and her heels stop at the doorway.
Perhaps simply calling where you are standing as a “closet” may have been an understatement. It is in fact a large room that is the size of a small store. One side held all your business tops, the other your one pieced dresses or jumpsuits. All around, your shoes have been pushed against the walls in perfect pairs and in perfect alignment. In the middle of the room is a small island where all your jewellery is spread out for easy access.
“I feel like I have nothing to wear,” you say. Again, the next biggest understatement.
Your mother smiles at you. It is but a small lift of the left corner of her mouth but you see it anyways. “Here,” she offers a closed box towards you, “I picked it up yesterday. Custom made to fit your body and for your occasion today.”
You turn and look at her. Short, clipped hair dyed to masquerade the greys beneath, a clean line elongates her eyes and a signature colour of red splashes across her lips. She stands at a lower height than you, but for all your life, your mother has only been a skyscraper of standards to which you could never meet.
“You will look pretty. Don’t disappoint me,” she says. Before walking away, her eyes run over your length at an agonizing pace, analyzing every piece of stray hair and dust that lines your shirt.
And there, the expectations are set before you. You sigh, feeling burdened at the mere action of receiving a gift. Besides standards of meeting men, your mother had standards of how you should dress, the size of your body, the amount of work you are required to put into the company… your makeup, your friends. Really, your entire life has been molded from her hands.
Blinking away the sudden exhaustion you feel, you unwrap the box and take a peek inside. There lays an exquisite, silken amber dress. You take it out, feeling the smooth velvety texture between your fingers as you stroke it. Small floral details line the bosom, and you know the cut of the length will elongate your legs.
Well, your mother is right about one thing. Regardless of what happens, you will definitely look pretty.
However, that was the extent of your day. He never showed up at your arranged place and time. He had apologized and left a large bouquet of flowers and a crystal pendant in his place. You did not know if you were feeling disappointed as you saw them or relieved that through this opportunity, it was not your fault that the meeting did not go through. You would not be disappointing your mother this time.
Promptly, you leave the restaurant from the back door to meet your chauffer before any reporters could catch you. Luck is not on your side for right as you turn the corner, you are blinded by the snap of a camera. You stumble backwards and nearly lose your footing.
“Miss Y/N!” the reporter shoves the recording device towards your face, “Are you meeting somebody here? Who are those flowers from?”
Perhaps you were annoyed at being stood up. You can hear your mother’s screech of disappointment and her look of fury in your mind, but you pay no heed. You smile mischievously at the camera and say,
“Park Jimin.”
The news spread like wild fire. Park Jimin, the sole heir of the Park family, is currently courting the daughter of their rival company. Was this a modernization of Romeo and Juliet? Or perhaps this had always been planned and two of the largest companies in Seoul were to combine to form the largest one?
Your parents – especially your mother – were extremely unhappy at the fact that you said his name. Your mother lectures you for three days straight about the consequences of your words. She finishes with a whole day of refusing to acknowledge your presence in the house despite the fact that the both of you were confined in it due to the swarm of reporters outside.
A week later, you receive a call from an unknown number on your cell phone.
“Hello?” you pick up, only half concerned with the person on the other end as you are watching a rerun of Mean Girls.
“You were pretty annoyed at not meeting me, weren’t you?” the voice on the other end chuckles. You don’t recognize it, but it makes you sit straighter, nonetheless. There is only one person who would call you about this anyways.
Seeing that you had no response, he laughs again and says, “Sorry to suddenly call you like this. I was out of the country, but you’ve certainly created quite the scandal for us.”
The best way to explain the sound of his voice is to say that it is smooth and creamy. There is a slight lilt of an accent you cannot quite put your finger on. His pitch is also higher than you had anticipated.
You sigh, slightly regretting your impromptu decision that day. You had only wanted to be snarky, but the social status of both families had created a snowball effect. You are about to execute the perfect apology when Jimin interrupts you.
“I’m sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you.”
You are speechless once again. That had not been what you were expecting.
You hear his laughter on the other end. For a dignified businessman, the sound can only be described close to a slightly childish giggle, and a smile unconsciously tugs your lips.
“Are you really that mad at me that you are refusing to talk to me as well?”
You realize that since he had called, you had not been able to say a single word. You clear your throat and respond, “No. I’m not mad at all. It was very immature on my end to bring your name into the spotlight. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”
“No, no. I should have told you earlier if I couldn’t make it to our meeting. Say, Y/N, can I make it up to you? Let me take you out to dinner to compensate?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” you reply with sass.
You can practically hear his wide grin through his words. “Your mother already told me that you’re free Thursday evening. Shall we set our date then?”
You mentally curse your overbearing mother. You couldn’t even win in a game of simple push and pull.
You agree to the location and time over the phone with him and lean back on the couch after. Karen on the screen has just said her iconic line, “On Wednesdays we wear pink,” which causes you to ponder. It’d still be acceptable to wear pink on Thursday, right?
The crystal-like exterior of the restaurant takes your breath away. You have been to your fair share of high-end restaurants but this is your first time entering this one. Its tall towers reach high into the night sky and the bright twinkling of lights from a multitude of chandeliers greet you. It had been a bit of a drive for you, but the time had been appreciated as your mother sits in the back seat with you, continuously fixing your hair.
Even though you have arrived, you still ponder at why your mother insists so much that she must be with you today. Less than twenty-four hours prior, she had basically refused to acknowledge your existence around the house, but now she leans forward preening you like a mother bird would to her chicks. Her constant nagging and reminders of how to act are not helping in the nerves that are building within your stomach and chest. You are about to meet the man you are allegedly dating for the first time, after all.
Your plan of wearing pink had been overtaken by your mother’s suggestion of wearing an ox blood red gown. When you heard the word, you had thought it to be like one of the simple dresses you usually were forced into, but it really was a heavy and expensive piece that trailed on the floor behind you. The heels you wear to match it after about six inches, and you slightly teeter as you take your first step. The neckline cuts delicately but quite dangerously low on your body. Not that you truly minded, as your body was one of the only things left in which you had control. You worked hard to achieve it and when presented a chance, you quite enjoyed showing off your results from your healthy active lifestyle.
You pat your mother’s hand one last time before exiting the limousine that brought you to the front of the restaurant. Your heart starts to quicken in its pace, but you need to have a calm mask on your face. A quick sweep of your surroundings present multiple reporters that lurk amongst the shadows. The host at the entrance gives you a nod of his head before leading you to your reserved table. Seems like everybody in the restaurant had been anticipating your arrival.
Rule number one when making an entrance is to exude confidence. One should hold their head high, pause at the door, scan the scene with deliberate motions of the eyes, and finally step through.
Unable to control your nerves, you squeeze your hand around the matching clutch at your side and feel its embellished jewels dig into your palm. All eyes are on you as you walk to a booth that has been tucked into the side. You teeter on the height of your stilettos, but catch yourself before you can meet an unfortunate fate. While the booth is not in the middle of the restaurant, a particularly large chandelier hangs above it.
Park Jimin may not want to physically be at the center of attention, but he surely did not shy away from drawing any said attention to the two of you
“Mr. Park,” the host greets the man sitting at the table. His hair is dyed a soft lilac grey hue and he sips delicately at his red wine before standing to greet you.
You are met with piercing dark eyes and a devilish smile. You cannot help but stare and the sound of your swallow echoes loudly in your ear. Park Jimin is like an otherworldly creature that has crawled out a universe that did not belong to yours to seduce you tonight. He stands at the same height as you and his gaze never leaves your face.
“Y/N,” he whispers, “Please take a seat.” He gestures to the chair across from him. You stand before it and he chivalrously helps you sit.
“Do you enjoy wine?” he asks once the two of you are seated.
You nod.
“A bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc, please. And surprise me with the year,” he slightly teases the flustered host.
The uniformed man nods and shuffles away with his head down.
“You’re certainly something else,” he lightly licks his lips with his words, “You look beautiful.”
“You’re also something else,” you whisper to yourself. He raises an eyebrow, not quite catching what you had said. You inhale before saying, “Thank you. For your compliment and for meeting me.”
He waves your words away with a flourish. “No, like I said over the phone, it is completely my fault for not attending our meeting the other day. I left a pretty lady like you alone at the restaurant. It must have been quite a surprise.”
You smile in return. The host thankfully returns with said wine and glasses. He pours you a drink and Jimin urges you to take a sip. The wine is woody and aromatic, sending warm shivers down your back and a slight burn down your throat.
Jimin had already decided on a set course for dinner that night, telling you that it was so the two of you could get to know each other better without interruption. You accept his compliments gratefully and with the slight trace of alcohol through your body, you hesitantly begin to open up to him.
He did not turn out as bad as you had thought him to be. Yes, a little conceited at times, but it was not without reason. Having graduated a prestigious institute two years early, he is smart, has childish yet charming humour and a dazzling smile. Not to mention, he is respectful to all the people who came to serve the two of you and only ever pays attention when you speak. At the young age of 25, he already ran most of his family’s company and carried a vast knowledge of nearly everything.
“Tell me about yourself, though. I still feel like I know nothing about you,” Jimin speaks. He brings his fork to his mouth and the wine infused sauce leaves a stain at the corner of his mouth. You point it out by mirroring its placement on your own face.
“There really isn’t much to me,” you say as he dabs the sauce away. You cannot help but smile at how petite and round his fingers are – like the hand of a child. “You’d be able to Google everything about me.”
His eyes twinkle, a sign that you have now come to understand as his way of teasing you. “You’d think that, but your profile is extremely mysterious. There’s barely any information on there.”
“My profile?”
He pulls up the app on his phone and shows it to you. It seemed to be your profile on a dating app just for the access of elite persons.
You groan, shielding your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god. My mother…”
He laughs at how red you are turning. “To be fair, I would swipe right regardless,” he says with a smirk, much to your chagrin. Having finished his meal, he now puts his utensils down. There is a brief moment of silence as he dabs his lips and then speaks again, “On the topic of your mother, did she tell you the purpose of our meeting this time?”
You tilt your head in confusion.
This seems to fluster him. “Ah, well then. Not a worry. Shall we order dessert? I always have a sweet tooth to satisfy.”
Your lips slightly protrude forward at his ambiguous words. You hated when your mother made plans for you without your knowing. What had she planned this time?
“Don’t frown!” he gives you smile, “It’ll give you premature wrinkles. I promise, everything is fine.”
There is no more time for you to think as with a snap of his fingers, a glistening caramel mousse with gold flakes appear on top of a plated dish. It is set gently before you and a mint leaf is the only other colour.
“Enjoy,” he says.
“What about you?” you ask, looking at his empty spot.
“I have something I need to take care of first. I’ll be right back,” he assures you. You pout at his mysterious behaviour but leave him to be. There must have been a lot on his mind to find time out of his own hectic schedule to be on a date with you.
As visually appealing as the dessert is, the taste explodes, and you are rewarded with even more. The mousse is fluffy and soft, melting on your tongue. The caramel is rich and slightly sweet. You move in to take another large bite when your spoon hits something in the center of the dessert.
A metal band pokes through, and you take a peek around. It did not seem the style of such a high-end restaurant to make a mistake in preparation. Nobody else’s eyes met yours as you scanned through the crowd. Taking your spoon, you jiggle the band out a little more and that is when you see it attached to a large rock.
An extremely large, extremely expensive rock.
The ring sits on your plate, dug out and staring at – no, daring – you to pick it up. But your mind is blank. You are only starting to realize what is happening.
The lights are dimmed, and romantic classical music starts to play. At some period in time, a small ensemble had been set up and the violin’s melody reaches your ear – the first to stimulate your senses. From behind them, Jimin walks up to you. He has changed into another suit, a darker shirt with a silver embellished jacket. You will your legs to stand and miraculously, they do.
Once he is close enough, he takes your hand in his. His skin is smooth and warm compared to yours which all blood has been drained from. Being at a close proximity, he speaks only into your ears, “I promise, everything will be fine.”
The people who had been sitting at the tables around you suddenly shed their skins and become reporters, taking our their cell phones or other devices to start snapping away. Security at the entrance also has gone lax as real reporters come pouring in. The flashes and mumbles you have gotten used to over the years come into existence in a moment’s time.
Jimin releases your hands and slowly gets down on one knee. From his pocket, he produces a velvet box. You know what is sitting inside already.
You are panicking, not knowing what to do. Well, in truth you know exactly having rehearsed and argued about it many times with your mother; but at this particular moment… nothing. Your mind is void. Eyes are looking at you from every angle and you vaguely register Jimin asking you a question. You still have no idea how you are able to stand and your lips part, as you know everybody is expecting an answer.
A pair of familiar eyes suddenly distinguish themselves from all the strangers’. At the back of the room, standing nearly all hidden in the shadows, is your mother. Her icy gaze hits you in the chest and the wave of fear that had washed over you dissipates. So this is what your mother has planned.
A different emotion overcomes you and you close your mouth again. Your lips are a straight line on your face as you look down at Jimin. His puppy eyes meet yours, but they are also devoid of anything.
This is a business transaction after all.
He watches as the line on your face blossoms into something else. Your eyes glisten and he sees the tears that drop from your face. You bring a hand to your mouth and your eyes transform into crescents. Without a word, he sees red flush your face and your hand is held out towards him. Your head nods and he can only smile in return.
And as the cameras click. As the fingers speed away on news boards.
The two of you become one.
