Silk and Gold
Epoch Book
•*⁀➷pairing: chanyeol x fem reader
Theme: Arranged Marriage AU, Slow Burn, Romance, CEO/model life, Fluff & Tension. "You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you."
Description: Two strangers, bound by fate’s cruel design, collide in secrecy desire igniting, hearts surrendering, love blooming beyond duty’s cold chains.
Playlist: electric — alina baraz ft. khalid
Chapter 1: The First Dinner
It’s weird how my entire future could be decided over a few glasses of overpriced wine.
The car was swerving through the busy city night, the lights from skyscrapers flickering on the window beside me like broken stars. My assistant was panicking in the front seat, but I stayed calm well, at least on the outside.
“Y/N, they’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes. Your father just texted. He’s not happy,” she muttered.
“I had a campaign shoot that ran late. I’m not ditching Vogue just to shake hands with some random chaebol heir I’m supposed to marry,” I replied, arms crossed tightly over my chest.
Yeah. That’s the thing.
I’m getting married.
Arranged. Like a pretty package wrapped in designer ribbon, passed off to a business partner's son like I’m some sort of merger contract. All because I was born into a multi-billion company and my dad thinks love is less important than stocks.
What a life.
I stepped out of the car as the doorman greeted me with a bow, the scent of truffle and fine whisky floating in the air of the luxurious private dining hall. My heels clicked on the marble as I walked inside, every eye from the two families at the long table turning to me.
“There she is,” my father said, voice tight. “Y/N, come. Sit next to Mr. Park’s son.”
And there he was.
Chanyeol.
He stood up politely, tall and broad in his sleek black suit. His eyes met mine. They were... warm. Kind of soft. Maybe a little nervous too.
God, he was hot. Not just in a rich-kid-with-a-Maserati way. More like... annoyingly handsome, like the type who could steal a whole room’s attention without even trying.
I sat beside him, and for a few seconds, there was silence.
“Hi,” I whispered without looking at him.
“Hi,” he replied quietly.
And that was it.
No sparks. No fireworks. Just two strangers sitting awkwardly at a table where everyone else was discussing our wedding like it was a shareholders’ meeting
I could feel his sleeve brush mine when we both reached for the water at the same time. We pulled back instantly. He cleared his throat. I looked away.
Dinner dragged on my father talking about resorts in Europe, his father talking about legacy. I nodded, smiled when needed. But my eyes kept flicking to Chanyeol.
He wasn’t talking much either. Just gently smiling, fiddling with the ring on his pinky, barely touching his food.
Was he as uncomfortable as I was?
Finally, after dessert, our parents stepped away to talk business alone, and it was just me and him, left at the long table like two awkward kids at a family reunion.
He glanced at me then. Our eyes met.
“I, uh... didn’t expect you to look like that,” he said suddenly, then froze. “I mean not in a bad way. I just meant you’re... you’re beautiful. Like, really.”
I blinked.
That was the first sentence he ever said to me, and it caught me so off guard I actually laughed.
“I guess you Googled me.”
He flushed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Guilty. My hyung follows you on Instagram. He’s obsessed with models.”
“Should I be flattered or creeped out?” I teased, raising a brow.
He chuckled. “Flattered. Definitely flattered.”
There was a pause. Then he looked at me again, more seriously this time.
“Do you want this? The... marriage, I mean?”
I stared at him for a second, surprised at how honest that question was.
“No,” I said honestly. “Not like this. I don’t even know you.”
He nodded slowly. “Me neither. But... maybe we could take it slow? Get to know each other before all the chaos?”
His voice was calm. Sincere.
And for the first time all night, I didn’t feel like some pawn in a corporate game.
I looked at him really looked and felt something strange in my chest. Maybe curiosity. Maybe relief. Or maybe just the tiniest beginning of a spark.
“Alright,” I said, reaching for my wine. “Let’s take it slow.”
He smiled.
And for a moment, I didn’t hate the idea of this arranged marriage at all.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 2: Between the Pages
I wasn’t expecting to see him.
Especially not here between shelves of rare editions and poetry anthologies my hair damp from the rain, a beige hoodie over my gym clothes, no makeup, and wearing glasses.
I was a far cry from the model version of myself plastered on LED screens in Seoul. Right now, I was just me.
I was crouching down, fingers trailing along the spines of books, flipping through a vintage hardbound copy of “The Bell Jar,” when I heard a deep, familiar voice behind me.
“Y/N?”
I froze.
Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.
I turned slowly, still kneeling on the wooden floor.
And there he was.
Chanyeol.
Wearing a charcoal wool coat, hair slightly tousled like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot (and knowing him, maybe he did), with a coffee in one hand and wide, startled eyes locked onto mine.
“…Hi?” I said, trying to act casual, even though my soul was screaming why now of all times.
He blinked a few times, then chuckled under his breath, like he didn’t expect this either. “Didn’t expect to find you in a bookstore.”
I stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off my hoodie. “What, models don’t read?” I teased, hiding the slight flush on my cheeks.
“No, no! I mean I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered, clearly panicking, and I couldn't help but laugh.
“I’m kidding. You’re cute when you panic,” I smirked.
His ears turned red. God, he was too easy to fluster.
He walked a little closer. “So… what are you reading?”
“Depression,” I said bluntly, holding up the Sylvia Plath book.
He blinked again. “Wow. Mood.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Did Park Chanyeol just admit to being emotionally complex?”
He tilted his head and grinned. “What if I told you I write lyrics in my studio late at night and cry over old jazz ballads?”
My lips curled. “Then I’d probably marry you next week.”
He paused. Then smiled slowly, like my words knocked the wind out of him for a second.
There was a sudden tension in the air not heavy, not awkward. Just… charged. Like two people in a storybook, halfway through the chapter, not sure whether to turn the page or reread that line again.
“I was actually buying a gift,” he said, changing the subject, lifting the paper bag in his other hand. “My cousin passed her college exams. Thought I’d get her a Murakami.”
I looked impressed. “You’re a Murakami guy?”
He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You’d be surprised how much you don’t know about me, Y/N.”
And that did something to me. Something subtle. A soft spark under my skin.
I clutched my book a little tighter. “Maybe we should fix that.”
He smiled, all teeth and charm, but still boyish in a way that made my heart soften. “Then let’s start now. Coffee? The one downstairs smells like cinnamon and rain.”
I hesitated for a moment. But maybe, just this once, I could step out of the scripted life our parents planned for us and just let this be a normal moment between two almost-strangers.
“Okay,” I said. “But you’re paying. My face already earns more than yours.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
And just like that, under rainy skies and between pages of forgotten books, something between us shifted.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was fate.
Or maybe it was the first real moment we weren’t being pushed together by business or bloodlines just two people who accidentally found each other on a rainy day in a bookstore.
The café was nestled inside the bookstore, tucked away behind poetry shelves and vintage postcards. It smelled like cinnamon, steamed milk, and something warm I couldn’t quite name. Maybe nostalgia.
We sat across from each other in a small corner booth, wood panels behind us and a fogged-up window beside us. I had my usual white chocolate latte. He ordered a plain americano, black as midnight, no sugar. Of course he did.
“So,” I said, tracing a finger on the mug. “Do you always stalk women in bookstores, or am I special?”
Chanyeol laughed, head tilting back just a little. “I swear I didn’t know you’d be here. You’re just hard to miss.”
“You mean loud?”
“No,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “I mean... you glow. Even when you’re just in a hoodie with fogged-up glasses.”
Okay. What was that flutter in my chest?
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile too much. “That was smooth.”
“I’ve been practicing. For you,” he said, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just casually admit that out loud.
I looked at him really looked. Beneath the expensive coat and tailored image, there was something about Chanyeol that felt different. He was... awkward. Honest. Like someone who had grown up with pressure too but never lost the softness.
“So,” I said, tilting my head. “If we’re really going through with this arranged-marriage business… I should probably know more than just your coffee order.”
He raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Like... what keeps you up at night?”
He blinked at the unexpectedness of the question. Then answered.
“Music,” he said quietly. “Not being enough. Feeling like I have to live up to something I didn’t choose.” He looked away. “That got too deep, huh?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
He met my eyes again. “What about you?”
I hesitated. Then whispered, “Not being seen. Everyone thinks they know me. The model. The rich girl. But no one ever asks what I want. Who I am outside the gloss and covers.”
There was a silence. Not heavy. Just... real.
Then he smiled, soft and a little sad. “Well, hi. I’m Chanyeol. And I’d really like to get to know the real you.”
And maybe just maybe I wanted to let him.
We talked for another hour. About favorite songs, childhood dreams, the worst paparazzi stories, his secret studio above his dad’s hotel, the time I cried during a Paris fashion show because my heels broke before the runway.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t awkward anymore.
It was just... warm.
When we finally walked out, the rain had gotten heavier. I pulled my hoodie over my head, groaning. “Of course.”
Then, without a word, Chanyeol stepped in front of me, pulled off his coat, and draped it over my shoulders.
“Wha—no, you’ll get soaked!”
He grinned, holding it over both of us like a ridiculous oversized umbrella. “So? If I catch a cold, you’ll have to visit me.”
“Smooth again,” I muttered, cheeks warm.
We walked to my car like that huddled under his coat, close enough to feel his warmth, hear the rain fall in rhythms around us. The air smelled like coffee and cold pavement and maybe the beginning of something dangerous.
When we reached the door, I turned to hand him his coat.
But he didn’t take it. He just looked at me.
“Keep it,” he said softly. “It looks better on you anyway.”
My heart thudded. A little too hard.
Before I could reply, he leaned in not for a kiss, but just close enough to brush his fingers over a wet strand of hair sticking to my cheek.
“You’re not what I expected, Y/N.”
“Neither are you,” I whispered.
He smiled.
And walked away into the rain.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 3: The Plus One
I was wearing a sleek, sapphire gown that dipped low in the back classy, timeless, dramatic enough for the front page. My hair was up in a soft chignon, glittering earrings brushing my shoulders.
I looked perfect.
And I had never felt more on edge.
Not because of the cameras. Not because of the expectations.
But because I’d just been told that Park Chanyeol would be arriving as my plus one.
Apparently, our parents arranged it. They said it would “look good for the engagement.” A “gentle introduction to the public.”
But no one asked me if I was ready.
And the problem was I didn’t know if I was.
I was sipping champagne near the edge of the ballroom, pretending to laugh at some executive’s joke, when I felt it that shift in the air. The kind that made people turn, just slightly, without knowing why.
Then I saw him.
Chanyeol.
Tall, devastatingly handsome in a sharp black tux. Bowtie slightly undone. Hair pushed back like he just ran his fingers through it in the car. And those eyes warm, searching, catching mine instantly across the sea of glitter and velvet.
Everyone was watching him.
And then everyone was watching us.
He made his way toward me slowly, confidently, like the ballroom was his runway.
“Hi,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I believe I’m your date tonight.”
I tried not to let my smile falter. “So this is what being auctioned off in silk looks like.”
He chuckled, eyes dancing. “If it helps, I wanted to be here.”
That made my chest do a stupid flutter again.
He offered his arm. “Shall we cause a scandal?”
I looped mine through his, ignoring the way everyone started whispering.
We moved through the gala like a dream. Camera flashes followed us. Executives smiled with tight interest. The tabloids were already writing our love story and we hadn’t even had our first kiss.
Later, during the charity auction, he leaned close and whispered, “I bid two million won for your attention.”
I blinked. “You what?”
He pointed to the stage. The emcee was laughing. “Our next prize an exclusive Paris getaway for two!”
And Chanyeol… raised his hand.
“Two million won.”
Everyone turned.
I choked on my champagne.
“Chanyeol!”
He just smirked. “For charity. Right?”
He won, of course. And as the room erupted in applause, I turned to him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
“What the hell was that?”
“An investment,” he murmured, leaning close to my ear. “In us.”
Hours later, after the ballroom had emptied and the moon hung quietly above the city, I found myself alone on the balcony. Cool wind brushing against my bare back, my heels finally off.
The door behind me creaked.
“Cold?” he asked softly.
I turned. He was holding his jacket again that habit.
“You have a thing for covering me up,” I said, letting him wrap it around me.
He didn’t laugh. He just looked at me for a long, quiet moment.
“I thought tonight would feel fake,” he said. “But it didn’t.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”
He stepped closer. Not touching, just enough that I could feel the tension rise between our bodies like static.
“You looked like a dream tonight,” he whispered. “And for a second… I wished this wasn’t arranged. I wished it was real.”
My breath caught.
“It could be,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked stunned for a moment eyes searching mine like he wasn’t sure if he heard it right.
Then, slowly, gently, he reached out, brushing his thumb along the edge of my cheekbone. His voice was lower this time. Rougher.
“Y/N... can I kiss you?”
God. No cameras. No audience. No parents. Just us.
And I whispered: “Yes.”
He kissed me soft, slow, and delicate. Like he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Like he wasn’t just kissing a fiancée but someone he was falling for.
And in that quiet space between our lips, I realized something.
Maybe I wasn’t being forced into this.
Maybe fate was just... working overtime.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 4: The Leak
The rain tapped on my window like static chaotic and constant. But nothing compared to what was happening on my phone screen.
Breaking: Park Chanyeol seen getting cozy with chaebol heiress-model Y/N inside a bookstore café. Sources say “the two looked like a real couple.” Are wedding bells ringing sooner than expected?
The photos were everywhere.
Me and Chanyeol.
At the corner booth.
Laughing.
His coat around my shoulders.
Paparazzi.
Of course they followed us.
I should’ve known.
My phone was blowing up agency, stylists, brand reps, even fellow models. Half of them wanted to know if it was true. The other half wanted to know if I was crazy.
I tossed the phone on my bed and ran a hand through my hair.
I didn’t know what was worse—
the online headlines,
or the silence downstairs.
Because he had seen it too.
My father.
And he wasn’t happy.
I was pacing when the doorbell rang.
Late. Cold. Unplanned.
I looked out the window.
My breath caught.
Chanyeol.
Standing in the rain.
No umbrella.
Just his tall frame, soaked through, fists clenched at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he was more angry or scared.
I rushed down, heart pounding, and opened the door.
“Are you crazy? It’s pouring—”
“I had to come,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “I know your dad saw the photos. I know this is about to get worse. But I’m not letting him twist this.”
“Chanyeol—”
“I’m not backing down,” he said. “Not about you.”
Then, without asking, he stepped inside, dripping rain onto the marble floors, and looked straight toward the hallway.
Where my father was now standing.
Silent. Stern. Watching everything.
Perfect.
“Mr. Lee” Chanyeol said with a respectful bow, voice firm. “I know the press made it look like we’ve crossed boundaries. But I promise Y/N and I haven’t done anything that would disgrace either of our families.”
My father’s expression didn’t change. “Yet you kissed her. In public.”
I tensed. Chanyeol stayed calm.
“Yes,” he said. “Because I like her.”
The silence was deafening.
“I didn’t expect to,” Chanyeol continued. “I thought this arrangement would just be business. But she’s not someone you arrange. She’s someone you fall for.” He looked at me. “And I am.”
My heart stopped.
My father crossed his arms. “Do you think liking her is enough to marry her? This is more than feelings, Park Chanyeol. This is legacy.”
“I know,” Chanyeol said. “But I’m not here to inherit her. I’m here to choose her.”
That shut everyone up.
Even me.
My father studied him for a long moment, jaw tight. Then finally said:
“She’s not a prize. You’ll have to prove you deserve her.”
Chanyeol nodded. “Then I’ll prove it.”
He turned to me.
Rain still glistening in his hair. Eyes burning into mine.
“You’re not just a contract, Y/N. You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted… just for you.”
And in that moment, standing in the echo of his promise, I realized…
I was already falling.
Fast.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 5: One Month Rule
Turns out, being rich didn’t mean freedom.
After Chanyeol’s “I choose her” declaration, my father didn’t scream or cancel the arrangement. Instead, he did what rich men do best make rules.
One month.
That was the deal.
One month of supervised courtship.
It sounded like a rom-com gone corporate.
We were allowed to go on dates approved, timed, and tracked. My security would tag along, and someone from my dad’s office would call to check in.
No kissing. No overnight visits.
No “acting married.”
Just a "polite engagement period.”
Like falling in love had to be monitored.
But tonight, I broke the rule.
I slipped away after my brand shoot, pulled on an oversized hoodie, and took the elevator up to the 25th floor of the Park Hotel where Chanyeol’s private studio was hidden behind a heavy glass door marked P.C. Room.
No cameras. No bodyguards.
Just him. And me.
I knocked.
He opened the door in a white tee, loose joggers, and headphones around his neck.
He blinked, surprised. “You came.”
“I broke the rule,” I whispered. “Sorry.”
He stepped aside, lips twitching into a smirk. “Good. I was about to.”
His studio was dimly lit, cozy, filled with scattered sheet music, half-drunk iced americanos, and a grand piano in the corner.
Guitars hung on the wall like quiet sentries.
A beat softly played through the speakers slow, low, romantic.
“You’ve been working?” I asked, walking in slowly.
“Kind of.” He scratched the back of his head. “Actually… I wrote something. About you.”
I turned to him, stunned. “What?”
He walked over to the keyboard, sat down, and motioned for me to sit beside him. I did, heart thumping louder than the bass.
“This might be stupid,” he said, fingers resting lightly on the keys. “But every time I think of you… this melody plays in my head.”
Then he played.
And God.
It was beautiful.
Soft piano notes. A slow guitar riff layered in.
And then he started singing.
┃“You walked in like a secret I didn’t know I was keeping,
Eyes like a storm, lips I dream of kissing.
I didn’t choose the moment... but I’m choosing you.”
My breath caught.
I’d been on a thousand runways. Heard thousands of cheers. But nothing ever made my chest ache the way his voice did right then.
He looked at me when he finished, a little breathless, a little scared. “Too much?”
I shook my head slowly. “It’s everything.”
A long silence fell between us. Not awkward just full. Of everything we couldn’t say under rules and conditions and staged dinners.
Then I leaned in. Slowly.
He blinked. “You’re not allowed to—”
“I don’t care,” I whispered.
And I kissed him.
His hand found my waist like he’d been waiting. The kiss was soft at first, but there was something dangerous underneath. A spark from a match we were both too afraid to light.
When we finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered. “But I want you to want it, not because your dad said so. Because your heart did.”
“You really want my heart?” I asked.
He smiled. “No. I want all of you.”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 6: Midnight Silk
The villa was quiet.
Too quiet.
Perched on the edge of the cliffside, surrounded by nothing but wind, ocean, and shadows. It was meant to be peaceful a private location for my magazine shoot. No press. No distractions. Just me, my team, and nature.
They all left after dinner.
I stayed behind.
Needed silence. Needed space.
Needed to breathe in something that didn’t smell like perfume campaigns and expectations.
I was barefoot in a satin robe, skin still warm from a hot shower, a glass of wine in hand. The moonlight spilled through the open balcony doors, painting silver patterns across the marble floor.
That’s when I heard the knock.
Three slow taps.
I froze.
No one was supposed to be here.
I crept toward the door, heart pounding like something out of a movie. I opened it just a crack and my breath left me.
Chanyeol.
In a hoodie and jeans, a duffel slung over his shoulder, hair tousled from wind and travel.
“How what how did you—”
He slipped inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. “Your manager let it slip where you were. I made them swear not to tell anyone. Not even your security.”
“Chanyeol,” I whispered, stunned. “If my dad—”
“I don’t care.” His voice was low. Serious. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed to see you.”
His eyes drank me in.
I was still in the robe.
Still slightly damp.
Still not thinking clearly.
The air shifted between us fast.
“You’re insane,” I breathed, stepping back slightly as he stepped forward.
He smiled. “Maybe. But you’re worth it.”
Then his lips were on mine.
And everything else vanished.
It started slow. His hands gently cupped my face, mouth moving over mine like he’d been starving for it. I melted against him, fingers tangling in his hoodie, pulling him closer until I felt the hard planes of his chest against my silk-covered body.
We stumbled backward into the living room, lips never parting. He pushed the robe slightly off my shoulder, lips brushing the skin there, teeth teasing the delicate curve of my collarbone.
“Do you want this?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ll stop if you say no.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I gasped.
He groaned.
Then everything blurred.
The silk robe slid to the floor.
He lifted me with ease, carried me to the master bedroom, eyes never leaving mine.
The bed was massive, draped in white linen, sheer curtains fluttering in the sea breeze. The only light was the moon spilling in through the windows, silver against our skin.
He kissed every inch like I was art.
His name fell from my lips like a secret prayer.
He whispered mine like it was the only thing that mattered.
It was slow. Deep. Intense.
The kind of night that makes you forget everything else.
The kind that seals feelings into skin.
After, we lay tangled in the sheets, his chest beneath my cheek, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my back.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Just… silence.
And waves.
And heat still lingering on our skin.
Then he said it.
“I love you.”
My heart stopped.
I looked up. His eyes were serious. Raw. Open.
“I know we weren’t supposed to get here like this,” he whispered. “But I meant it. Every kiss. Every touch. I’m not faking this. I’m not pretending to be in love with the girl my father wants me to marry.”
His thumb brushed my lips.
“I love you, Y/N. Not the heiress. Not the model. Just… you.”
And for once in my life, with my heart exposed and body still humming from his touch I believed someone meant it.
“I love you too,” I whispered.
And in that coastal villa, far away from everything fake, we finally gave in to something real.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 7: Power & Possession
Back in the city, everything felt colder.
After our night at the villa skin on skin, his hands claiming every part of me, his voice whispering I love you into the crook of my neck it was hard to pretend things were the same.
But we had to.
At least, in front of everyone else.
I slipped back into my routine: shoots, fittings, brand meetings. And he returned to his boardrooms and business strategies, jaw sharp, suits sharper.
But something in him had changed.
Chanyeol was still soft with me when we were alone, when he texted me "home safe?" at midnight, when he sent black coffee and croissants to my shoot the next morning.
But in public?
He was colder. Smarter. Dangerous.
Like the man who whispered I’ll take care of you was now ready to fight for me.
And that’s exactly what happened.
It was a Wednesday when the rumor started: another chaebol heir from a rival conglomerate Kang Jisoo, the son of a massive tech empire was trying to pull my father into a new engagement proposal.
Apparently, their stocks were falling, and they needed a flashy PR move. A merger. A wedding. Me.
I was livid.
But Chanyeol?
He was furious.
That afternoon, I was called into Park Group headquarters. Not alone. With my father. His father. Executives. Board members. Kang Jisoo and his smug little tie.
I stepped into the glass boardroom in heels and a white dress I didn’t even mean to look intimidating in but Chanyeol was already there.
Sitting at the head of the table.
In a jet black suit.
Hands clasped, expression unreadable.
But his eyes flicked up when I walked in and I saw it.
Fire.
They started talking. About business. About optics. About restructuring and proposals.
And then Jisoo leaned back in his chair and said, like it was nothing:
“Of course, I wouldn’t mind marrying Y/N. She’d look stunning on our company’s next campaign. We could use someone like her.”
My father didn’t respond.
The board chuckled awkwardly.
But Chanyeol
He stood up. Slowly.
And the room went silent.
He looked at Jisoo. Dead in the eye.
“If you talk about her like she’s a product again,” he said quietly, “I’ll make sure your company’s next quarterly report comes with an apology letter.”
Everyone froze.
Even his father.
“I didn’t mean any offense—” Jisoo started.
“She’s not for sale,” Chanyeol snapped. “She’s mine.”
My breath caught.
The whole room shifted.
He looked at my father then. “With all due respect, sir... if this meeting is to reconsider the engagement, then let me make this very clear I’m not letting her go.”
No one said a word.
He turned to me last.
Eyes softer now. Just for me.
“Unless you want me to,” he added quietly.
I stared at him. The man I used to call a stranger. The man who kissed me under moonlight. Who wrote me songs. Who made love to me like I was the only thing he’d ever fight for.
I stepped toward him.
And laced my fingers with his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
His grip tightened.
And that was it.
Deal or no deal.
This wasn’t about business anymore.
This was war.
And I had already chosen my side.
━━━━━━━━
The door slammed shut behind us.
And the silence cracked like lightning.
Chanyeol’s jaw was tight. His tie undone. Hair tousled from the way he ran his fingers through it during the boardroom chaos.
He didn’t speak.
Not right away.
He just walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, staring down at the glowing city below like he needed to calm the storm burning inside him.
I watched from behind, heart pounding.
He was still in that black suit. Still smoldering from earlier when he’d told a boardroom full of billionaires I belonged to him. When he’d looked at me like I was the only thing he trusted in this ruthless world.
And now, it was just us.
No cameras.
No fathers.
No board.
Just that fire.
And the tension stretching tight between us.
He turned around, eyes locked on mine. Slowly, silently, he walked toward me like a lion that had already claimed his prey but was giving her one last chance to run.
I didn’t move.
“Do you know,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “how hard it was to sit there and listen to another man talk about you like a prize?”
His hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“Do you know what it did to me to see you walk into that room, looking like that like you were made just for me and I had to act like I wasn’t already addicted to you?”
I swallowed, breath shaky. “Then don’t act.”
He growled low in his throat and crushed his mouth to mine.
It was nothing like the kiss at the villa.
This wasn’t gentle.
This was claiming.
He pressed me against the glass window with one hand gripping my thigh, the other in my hair.
Seoul sparkled behind me.
But all I saw washim.
He whispered my name like a curse, lips moving down my neck, sucking hard enough to mark. His suit jacket fell to the floor. My heels clattered away. The tension we’d built up for weeks months finally snapping.
“You’re mine,” he muttered against my skin. “Not a contract. Not a trophy. Mine.”
His voice deep, raw, full of something primal sent shivers down my spine.
I gasped as he lifted me, pinning me against the cool glass, his mouth hot against my collarbone.
“Say it,” he whispered, teeth grazing my ear. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I choked out, barely breathing.
And then nothing existed but us.
Clothes fell away like promises we never meant to keep. His hands worshipped every inch of me, his lips branding every curve with heat. He took his time possessive, precise. Every touch, every stroke, was a reminder.
That I wasn’t just wanted.
I was his.
And he made sure I never forgot it.
Later, we lay tangled in sheets made of Egyptian cotton, the city still glowing beneath our bare bodies. His arms wrapped around me from behind, his lips pressed between my shoulder blades.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I’ll protect you. From everything. Even if it’s our own families.”
I turned slightly, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “What if they don’t approve? What if they try to separate us?”
He pulled me closer.
“They can’t,” he whispered. “Because I won’t let go. Not now. Not ever.”
And something in me something scared and guarded—finally relaxed.
Because no matter how this world tried to control us…
He would always choose me.
And now, I was choosing him, too.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 8: Scandal, Smoke, and a Diamond Ring
The sun hadn’t even fully risen when Chanyeol’s phone started buzzing. Then mine. Then again.
Over and over.
Until he groaned, pulled away from where his lips had been trailing sleepy kisses down my shoulder, and reached for his phone on the nightstand.
His whole body stilled.
“…What is it?” I sat up, sheets falling off my bare skin, already feeling the chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather.
He handed me the phone.
A headline.
Blazing red font.
And a photo.
┃“CHAEBOL HEIR PARK CHANYEOL & SUPERMODEL Y/N SPOTTED TOGETHER AT PRIVATE LUXURY VILLA – ENGAGEMENT IN TROUBLE?”
┃ ‘Secret lovers? Business scandal? Leaked photos hint at late-night rendezvous caught without staff or security.’
My mouth went dry.
The photos were blurry… but real.
Me, stepping out in that white silk robe.
Him, shirtless, behind the glass balcony.
A silhouette of us. Too close. Too exposed.
“Who the hell leaked this?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “But I’m going to find out.”
And then his phone rang again.
This time, he answered.
And from the look in his eyes… I knew.
My father.
Two hours later, I sat in a cold room at my family’s estate, across from my dad and a room full of men in suits.
“You embarrassed this family,” he said. “You humiliated yourself.”
“No,” I said quietly, “I fell in love.”
He didn’t listen.
“You’re no longer engaged to Park Chanyeol. I’m calling it off myself. From now on, you will only represent this family this company. Not your feelings.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
But then—
The doors burst open.
And in walked Chanyeol.
Still in his suit. Still sharp.
But behind him… a swarm of cameras. Reporters. Flashing lights.
“Good morning,” he said calmly, stepping into the room like he owned it. “I believe you all got the headlines today.”
My father stood up, furious. “This is a private matter ”
“Not anymore,” Chanyeol cut in smoothly. “You see, the media’s already talking. And I don’t care about saving face. I care about saving her.”
He turned toward me.
Everything else blurred.
Only him.
“I wasn’t going to do this like this,” he said. “But if this is what it takes then I’ll fight every damn boardroom in Korea for you.”
He took a slow breath. Reached into his pocket.
And pulled out a velvet box.
Gasps. Flashes. Silence.
Chanyeol walked to me, dropped to one knee, and opened it.
Inside: a diamond that sparkled like starlight. But more than that it was real. Raw. Like his voice when he said
“Y/N… will you marry me?”
“Not for our parents. Not for business.”
“But because I love you.”
“Because I’d choose you over and over, in every lifetime.”
My heart stopped.
And then, I stood.
Tears blurred my vision as I whispered:
“Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto my finger.
The crowd exploded.
But I didn’t care.
Because when he kissed me slowly, reverently, with a hand cradling my cheek I knew.
This wasn’t just a scandal.
It was a revolution.
And we had won.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Chapter 9: Mrs. Park, Forever Yours; Final Chapter
The veil brushed against my bare shoulders as the warm breeze carried the scent of lavender and late-summer grapes. I could hear the soft rustle of vineyard leaves, the quiet hum of the string quartet, and the gasp of our closest family and friends as I stepped onto the aisle.
But all I saw was him.
Chanyeol.
In a tailored ivory tux.
His eyes glassy, lips parted, breath caught.
As if he was seeing a miracle walk toward him.
And maybe he was.
Because I had never felt more like myself…
And more his.
We wrote our own vows.
His voice trembled just a little, but never once did he look away.
“You weren’t part of my plan,” he began.
“You destroyed it. Rewrote it. Became all of it.”
“I’ve known boardrooms, battles, billion-dollar stakes…”
“But you you are my biggest risk. And my greatest win.”
“I’ll love you in the spotlight. I’ll love you in the shadows. In chaos. In calm. In every life, every version, I’ll find you again.”
“You’re not just my wife. You’re my home.”
By the time he slid the ring onto my finger again a thinner, matching diamond band to pair with my engagement ring I was crying. Smiling.
Ruined. In the best way.
“I do,” I whispered.
“I do, and I always will.”
That night, after the dancing, after the speeches, after the sky filled with a thousand tiny fireworks over the vineyard hills
He carried me into our honeymoon suite. A private cottage surrounded by olive trees and white roses.
The moment the door closed, he unzipped my dress with trembling fingers, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered, and whispered:
“You’re not just the girl I fell for.
You’re the woman I’ll worship.
Every night. Every forever.”
And under the softest sheets, with only moonlight on our skin and a promise between our hearts
We made love as husband and wife.
Raw. Reverent. Endless.
No scandal.
No secrets.
Just us.
Flash-forward: 2 Years Later
You’re barefoot in your shared Paris apartment, in his oversized white shirt again, baby bump peeking out, coffee in one hand, Vogue magazine in the other.
He walks in behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.
Still the hottest wife in the city, he says.
And soon… the hottest mom.
You giggle.
And you know this love, this life?
It was never part of the plan.
But it was always meant to be.
