︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I'll never know how sweet you taste
I let you go and slip away
I know it hurts, but it's the truth
My heart's so sour without you

- Sour - The Rose -

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hana POV:

I slipped into my dress, pairing it with delicate silver pearl jewelry that seemed to perfectly complement the soft white fabric.

Checking the time on my phone, 5:30pm, I saw I had a little while before I needed to leave. Taking a moment to perfect my makeup, I added a final layer of setting powder and a sweep of soft blush for a fresh, glowing finish. With a few touch-up products tucked neatly into my bag, I turned toward my closet, eager to find the perfect shoes to complete the look.

I rummaged through box after box, but nothing felt quite right. Each pair seemed either too bold or too plain, and I let out a quiet sigh, feeling the frustration rise. But then, at the very bottom of the stack, I spotted them: a simple pair of white strappy sandals. They weren't flashy, but they had just the right touch of elegance.

I slipped them on, standing taller as I admired the way they complemented the dress. Perfect. With a satisfied nod, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

I sat in the car, the engine humming quietly as I scrolled through my phone, searching for my mom's contact. My thumb hovered over the screen for a second before I tapped it open, the familiar name flashing across the screen. I quickly set the location for venue, trying to ignore the slight knot in my stomach that always formed before anything important.

I quickly sent a text to group chat, telling them that I'm leaving now.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Straykids with Hana

Me

im leavingggg

minho i'll prolly be late
so don't worryy

Best dad

okayyy 

if anything goes wrong, just
leave, okay?

or call one of us, im sure someone
will pick you up

Me

nah dww it's gonna be a good
 time (I hope)

baby 🍞

he's right though

just come back okay?

are you staying there?

Me

mom asked me to stay
for dinner

but ill come back home

even if its late

hell no way im not staying
 there overnight

puppy🐶

just be okay

that's all

My lovely(eww) roommate🏠

when am i ever worried?

have funnnn though!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

I arrived at the venue and handed my invite to the guard. He scanned the list, gave me a brief nod of approval, and motioned for me to enter, directing me toward the right path with a polite gesture.

The crowd was full of new faces, some vaguely familiar, others completely unknown. My eyes scanned for him, the one person I could always count on finding. There he was—my father. Standing with a group of well-dressed figures, all engaged in some conversation, each one perfectly in place.

I hesitated for a moment, then made my way over to him. The smiles, the laughter, the polished conversations—it all felt like part of the same routine. Every time I stepped into these spaces, I was reminded of my role. To them, I was a part of the image they worked so hard to cultivate, nothing more.

When my father saw me, he offered a smile, sharp and practiced. "Hana," he greeted, his tone casual, almost rehearsed. "You made it."

"Of course," I said, forcing a smile of my own. There was nothing else to say. As always, I was just here to play my part.

"Gentlemen, meet my daughter, Choi Hana."

I nodded politely, offering the same practiced smile I always wore. The group turned their attention to me, each of them giving a brief but courteous nod.

One of them, a middle-aged man with graying hair, stepped forward. "Ah, so you're Hana," he said, his voice polite but casual, as if he were simply acknowledging a name he had heard before. "Your father speaks highly of you."

Highly of me definitely meant highly of what he expected from me.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded again, keeping the smile fixed in place.
"Nice to meet you, and you are?"

The man smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Ah, I'm Dr. Kim," he replied. "I've known your father for years. We go way back."

I shook his hand briefly, trying not to let the awkwardness show. "It's nice to meet you."

He didn't seem bothered by my lack of enthusiasm.
"Your father speaks very highly of you. A top student, I hear. Impressive."

I felt the faintest tightening in my chest but masked it with another smile.
"Thank you," I replied, trying to sound more natural than I felt.

"Quite the high expectations to live up to," he continued, a knowing glint in his eye.

I could feel the pressure of his gaze, but I forced myself to maintain composure. "I do my best,"
 I said, wondering how many other times I'd said that same thing—how many times I'd answered the same questions, had the same conversations.

"Well, we'll let you enjoy the evening," he said, stepping back with a polite smile.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Hana."

I nodded, my relief barely hidden. I watched him return to the group, the conversation quickly turning back to whatever business they'd been discussing before I'd interrupted it.

Then, in a tone that left no room for argument, my father spoke, his smile vanishing the instant we were alone. "Find your mother. You need to meet some people. I have to get ready for my speech."

I gave a tight, polite nod, acknowledging his command, before turning away.

The pressure in the room seemed to intensify as I moved through the crowd. The conversations hummed around me, empty pleasantries and business talk blending together into one indistinguishable murmur. I was just another face, another figure in the background of this world they had built—a world I had never fully belonged to.

I scanned the room for my mother, my eyes drifting over the sea of well-dressed people, searching for the familiar image of her poised figure. There. By the far end of the room, standing in a small circle of women, her back straight, her smile flawless. She looked every bit the part she had perfected over the years. Her role was different from my father's, but just as important, if not, more. Maybe this side of her, graceful and confident, I did envy yet admire.

As I neared, her gaze flicked to me, her smile widening ever so slightly, but there was something in her eyes that I had long learned to recognize: the quiet assessment. It wasn't genuine warmth or concern.

"Ah, Hana," she said smoothly, her voice as polished as her appearance.
"You're here. I was hoping you'd find me."

I nodded, offering the practiced smile that seemed to keep everything in place.

"I need you to meet a few people tonight," she continued, as though it were a casual suggestion, though I knew better. "Some potential colleagues, doctors. You know how it is." 

I nodded again, my mind already bracing for the endless introductions to people whose names I'd forget the moment the conversation ended. It wasn't that I didn't care about what they did, but I was always so aware of the masks they wore—just like mine. Polite, distant, and detached.

"Of course, Mother," I replied, keeping my tone even.

She gave me a once-over, ensuring I looked just the right amount of polished.
 "Good. Remember, it's all about connections. And you need to make sure they remember you."

The evening stretched on, the conversations blending together into one long, monotonous hum. Every handshake, every greeting, felt like a performance. No one was genuinely interested in who I was, just who I could become in the future—a well-connected, well-spoken woman to further their own ambitions.

Eventually, I found myself in a conversation with an older woman who seemed to talk only about her latest charity event, her voice high-pitched and endless. As I nodded at the right moments and smiled at the right intervals, I couldn't help but wonder how many others here felt the same quiet exhaustion. 

How many others were merely playing their part?

The night dragged on, each moment a blur of faceless greetings and hollow words, until finally, I found myself at the edge of the room again. My father was nowhere to be seen, and my mother was deep in conversation with someone else. No one was watching me now.

I stepped outside for a moment, letting the cool air hit my skin. For the first time that evening, I breathed deeply, feeling a little lighter, just a little. The stars above seemed distant and indifferent, much like the world I had just left inside.

I sipped on a virgin mojito, since I still needed to drive back. I peacefully sat there, my fathers speech wasn't until 8:30pm.

I stepped outside for a moment, feeling the cool air on my skin. For the first time that evening, I breathed deeply, feeling a little lighter. The stars above seemed distant and indifferent, much like the world I had just left behind.

But, of course, I wouldn't be left alone. How could I ever have a moment of peace?

A tap on my shoulder breaks the stillness, and I flinch so violently that I almost spill my drink. The jolt of surprise runs through me, making my heart race for a moment.

"Your father make you meet everyone again?" Yedam asked, that infuriating smirk of his plastered across his face—one I desperately wished I could wipe off for good.

"The usual, yes."

"Didn't come see us, did you?" he continued, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Maybe I didn't want to."

"You wound me, Hana." He chuckled, and I couldn't help but scoff at him.

"Do you really have to find me every chance you get?" I muttered, my patience wearing thin.

He raised an eyebrow, that same annoying smirk never leaving his face.
"Oh, come on, I'm just keeping you company. You looked so lonely sitting out here all by yourself."

I rolled my eyes, taking another sip of my drink.
"I wasn't lonely. I was enjoying some peace for once."

"Are you here alone?" he asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.

"Of course not, my parents are here."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I mean, you didn't bring your boyfriend here?"

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by the question. "What? No." I quickly added, trying to mask the discomfort his words stirred up. "What's this strange obsession with my apparent 'boyfriend'? I don't even have one."

"You aren't lying, right?" Yedam asked, his tone teasing but with a hint of suspicion.

I gave him a flat stare, my patience wearing thin. "Why would I lie about that?"

He shrugged, still wearing that infuriating smirk. "You'd be surprised how many people do."

I sighed, ready to move on from this awkward conversation. "Well, I'm not one of them."

"I know you're not exactly fond of me—"

"I'm not fond of anyone I'm forced to be around," I cut him off, my voice tight with frustration.

"Forced?" His brows furrowed, confused. "What are you talking about, Hana?"

I stared at him, fighting the rising heat in my chest.
"How oblivious do you think I am? You really think I don't notice? That I don't find it hilarious that my parents practically adore you more than me? That somehow, you're always in my space—always at every family dinner, sitting there with your perfect little smile like you belong?"

He blinked, but I could tell he wasn't prepared for this.

"Why do you think I hate you so much?" I bit out, the words sharp and deliberate.
"Why do you think I've never tried to befriend you? Because if I did, I'd be signing myself up for misery. For me. Why do you think you can just waltz in and win me over, like you've got some claim on me, just because you have everything—including my parents' approval?"

I took a breath, barely holding it together.
"And don't you dare tell me my parents aren't part of this, because I've heard it."

"I've heard my mom with my own ears."

He stood there, looking stunned, and I couldn't tell if it was guilt, confusion, or something else flickering across his face. But the silence between us? It stung more than any answer he could've given.

"You don't get it, Hana,"
he said, his voice tight, as if he was struggling to find the right words.
 "I've been trying. For so long. As long as I've known you. I know your parents think I'm the one for you, and I think that too. I know I can give you everything you could ever need—"

"Stop," I cut him off, my voice shaking with frustration.
"Just stop. You're telling me that I'm right. I don't want to be with you. I don't want to see my parents in the person I'm supposed to love. Because every time I look at you, all I see is them. And I hate you for that."

He opened his mouth, as if to say something more, but I didn't let him.
"I really do like—"

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Just... please, don't say it again."

I've known for a long time how Yedam felt about me. When he told me, I remember how effortlessly laid-back he was, and how that ease made me uncomfortable. It all stemmed from my jealousy—jealousy of everything he had, everything he was. I hated him for it, for being so much braver than I could ever be.

He looked at me, frustration flickering in his eyes. "You know your parents are never going to let you hear the end of it, right? Make the right choice, Hana. I'm the right choice."

I felt the weight of his words sink in, but it didn't change anything. My chest tightened, and I shook my head slowly, fighting to hold back the tears.
"I am making the right choice," I said quietly, the words raw on my tongue. 

"But it's never going to be you."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Third person POV:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, and honored guests,

We are gathered this evening for a moment of great significance—not just for our family, but for the future of this institution, which has long stood as a pillar of excellence in healthcare.

As the heir to the founder of this hospital, I stand with immense pride, knowing that this legacy is built on hard work, dedication, and a shared commitment to advancing medical care. Tonight, we honor the work that brought us here and the vision that will guide us forward.

In just a moment, the new CEO will step into a role that will shape the future of this hospital. His leadership, experience, and passion for our mission make him uniquely suited for this responsibility. We have witnessed his dedication to improving our institution, and with this appointment, we trust he will lead us to even greater success.

It is now my great pleasure to pass on this symbolic memento to him, a gesture of both honor and responsibility. This moment is not just for him, but for all of us, united in our commitment to advancing healthcare and compassionate care.

And with immense pride, I invite my daughter, Choi Hana, to present this memento to her father. As the next generation, she embodies both our family's legacy and the bright future ahead. Hana, would you please come forward and do the honor?"

The room grew still as Hana's mother finished her speech, the applause polite but measured. The air was thick with expectation, the kind that only those accustomed to perfection could truly feel. All eyes shifted toward Hana, the heir's daughter, the one who would pass the symbolic memento to her father, the soon-to-be CEO.

Hana stood at the edge of the crowd, the faint rustle of her dress barely audible as she took a deep breath. She felt the weight of the moment pressing against her chest, though her expression remained steady, a practiced smile still in place. She could feel the gaze of the room following her, and the polite murmurs seemed to fade into the background as she took a step forward.

With each step toward the stage, the crowd seemed to part like water, her path marked by well-dressed faces turning to watch. The flicker of cameras and the hush of whispered conversations accompanied her as she moved, but it all felt distant. It was like walking through a fog—familiar, yet unsettling.

As she reached the base of the stage, her mother's gaze caught hers, a fleeting moment of eye contact that spoke volumes. It wasn't affection, nor pride—it was an unspoken command. Do it right, Hana. Her mother's eyes were the same as they always were: assessing, cold, calculating.

Hana's heart thudded in her chest as she stepped up to the stage, the soft click of her heels louder than usual, like an echo in the vast room. Her father stood at the center, perfectly poised, wearing the same sharp, practiced smile he always had. He didn't even need to look at her as she approached—he already knew the script.

She handed him the memento, a gleaming, heavy glass sculpture, a symbol of everything they wanted the world to see: success, legacy, perfection. His hand closed around it, his fingers cold, as if the object meant more to him than the daughter who offered it.

"Thank you, Hana," he said in a voice that was too smooth, too rehearsed. His eyes didn't meet hers for long—there was nothing in his gaze that suggested true pride, only a fleeting moment of approval that was more for show than anything else. 

Look at her, world. She's playing her part.

She forced herself to smile as the spotlight burned into her skin, knowing exactly how this would look. The perfect father, the dutiful daughter, the powerful mother. The applause began again, polite and empty, as if the crowd knew this was all a performance.

And when it was over, when the moment had passed, she stepped back, the memento's weight now a part of her father's burden, not hers. As she made her way to the back of the stage, she caught a glimpse of her mother's face, her smile unwavering, but the eyes—they never changed.

Her father then spoke,
"Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight. It's truly an honor to step into the role of CEO at this esteemed institution. I'd like to express my deepest gratitude to my wife, whose vision and dedication have been instrumental in our success. And of course, to my daughter, Hana, for presenting this memento tonight— and I hope her hard work and commitment and achievement's will continue to pride to her and all those around her. This is an exciting new chapter for us all, and I'm confident that, together, we will continue to build on the strong foundation laid before us. Thank you again for your support. I'll continue to make this legacy and it's people proud."

As the applause from the speech died down, the moment arrived—the family picture. A photographer, stationed at the front of the room, gestured for the family to gather, his camera already poised. The moment felt rehearsed, almost choreographed.

Hana stood next to her father, who was tall and imposing, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Her mother, elegant as always, positioned herself beside him, her smile flawless, the very picture of perfection. Hana couldn't help but feel like an accessory to their image—like the final piece in a carefully constructed puzzle.

The flashes of the camera began, blinding in their intensity, the sound of the shutter like a staccato beat in the background of the scene. A few quick smiles, a few more clicks, and then the photographer motioned for them to adjust slightly, angles corrected, hands repositioned.

As the photographer clicked one last time, the family smiled, their faces frozen in perfection. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the room once again filled with the hum of conversations.

Her father's speech had been perfectly executed, just as everyone had expected. And now, they were leaving—shifting from the grand facade of the event back to the quieter, yet still calculated, world of their family home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Hana," her mother called out, her voice like the smooth clink of glass as Hana tried to (was forced to) socialize with her Mom's side of the family.
"Let's go. We're having dinner with guests at home tonight."

"Guests? Who's coming over?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Bang, you know they always do, go get your car, and meet us home."

"Mr. and Mrs. Bang?" she repeated, not in confirmation, but in sheer shock.

"Yes, them," her mother said, her tone clipped, as though it should have been obvious.
"Now, hurry up, Hana. Don't keep us waiting."

Hana swallowed her frustration. Another round of empty compliments, another night spent by her parents pretending to be someone they weren't. As much as she wanted to rebel, she knew it wouldn't do any good. She'd play her part as always—gracious, quiet, obedient. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶