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A Christmas Proposal | c.vn

You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Vernon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Vernon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.

Genre: fake dating, smut Pairing: SEVENTEEN Vernon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the movie The Proposal. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you like this one <3 Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush.

“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”

You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

You.

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you.

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

“So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.

“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic.

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy.

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging.

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him.

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off.

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice.

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.”

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth. So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you.

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.

Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space.

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word.

Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat.

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch.

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in.

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again.

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” Sofia prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.

“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling.

Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.”

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest.

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe!

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny.

Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Mingyu added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that.

“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”

You snorted. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Vernon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line.

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you.

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach.

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side.

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over. “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer.

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently.

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster.

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again.

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot.

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply.

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully.

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.”

“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

Vernon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea.

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee.

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away.

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won.

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you.

Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.

Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas.

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.”

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

[fin]

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