XXVIII.

H I G H E R  L A W

—aka, perfecting the perfect bride

INT— NATASHA KIM'S APARTMENTS.

PARIS, FRANCE — AFTERNOON.

SCENE II.

Dusted, plucked, and rogued, if one's ass isn't so used to being glamoured to find the right shade, the right colour, the right sweep of a brush for hours on end on a chair, well. I'd rather think you'd lose your mind a little. Thankfully, the art of sitting still for the sake of beautiful ends was something I was used to.

Something I enjoyed, actually. It's just another form of pampering yourself. Sitting there and letting others enhance what you already got, covering blemishes, shadowing the height of your cheekbones... etcetera.

You can always just stretch after, and knowing an entire ball is a long, arduous affair. Mingling. Dancing. All of those actions consistent with a somewhat vertical extremity. And a lot of movement to join it. For hours. I cushioned my butt as much as I could, dead legs and shaky thighs damned it, knowing the predicament of high heels and ankle-swollen pain I was soon to be subjected to.

I did appreciate the makeup artist calling me a goddess when she stepped back and surveyed her work, fluffing up my hair, and tapping my cheek.

Flattery for your physical attributes might be vain for some, but it is undoubtedly fuel to a girl who will have to face a lot of people in her very best armour: her good looks.

Natasha, already in a dark, dark emerald gown that looked black at first glance until the light shined just right, raised her eyebrow and hummed her appreciation at the tall figure I posed.

I liked being cheeky, but you already knew that. I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"I know."

Natasha laughed, nodding to her assistant, that quiet, mousy girl with the dark eyes and two-toned hair, before I was ushered to a more private room— a guest room by the looks of it, with the gown I was fitted to wear inside.

My eyes followed the pearls, the diamonds, as my bathrobe fell from my shoulders. If she was surprised at my lack of propriety or body, she didn't show it, just unlacing the gown from the mannequin as silent as a ghost but much more efficient.

"What's your name?" I asked, still busy with admiring the gems that armoured the gown. I knew the gown was borrowed— someone important from Kristoff's life, someone from his family, from the many complaints Natasha said about its appliqués. My best guess was that his mother owned it.

I wouldn't put it past Kristoff to make me wear his mother's gown as some sort of declaration. He could say a lot of things about himself— or not — but he was just as dramatic as I could be.

I saw her eyes dart to me, dark pools of irises against alabaster skin. She was paler than Natasha. Where Natasha had at least a creamy, rose-tint quality to her, this girl was like a milky apparition.

"Yuki. Ayato Yuki."

"Pretty name. Snow, isn't it?" I met her gaze.

Her smile didn't reach her passive eyes as she finally unlatched the dress and motioned for me.

"Yes. Step in, miss."

Hm. A lot of secrets then.

"Of course."

Truly, the beaded work was delicious. The appliqué was a little older, true, but I liked it. I liked how I felt in it. The bodice felt snug, which was good with a heart shaped top as my breasts all but look like they were about to pop up from underneath the pale white. I was just glad I felt comfortable to even bend down and not be fearful they'd spill all over. Not that I'd have a chance to bend down, of course, but it was good to have the option of mobility.

The pearl choker came next, just as heavy as I thought it would be, clasped to my neck tightly. Gloves were given, silk, and long, and when I stepped out, I was smirking.

"Be honest, I look ravising, yes?"

I expected Natasha Kim's smirk, but it was a familiar face's eye roll that made me shriek in surprise. "Glad to know leaving you with Ms Kim had not dampen your audacity in the slightest."

My mouth widened impossibly at the cutting figure KC made, the elevators closing behind him.

"You dog!"

It was pure elation that I ran to him, shocking both him and everyone else, when I tackled him and he caught me with ease, spinning me as much as he could, a surprised laugh erupting from him.

I was shocked at myself. I didn't think I would miss him this much, but I did. KC and I had gotten close before all the mess, Kristoff all but banishing him from my sights. In the time I spent cooped up, the time I spent planning and analysing my options, faking smiles and moving my cards in order— in all the political intrigue and emotionally taxing goading, KC and I spent a lot of time conversing, making jokes, and riling Archie up.

He was a confidant, dare say, a good friend in a time of danger and peril.

A bitter part of me knew that if KC had been the one guarding me beforehand, Yuna wouldn't have gotten that close to me.

But no, KC was Kristoff's soldier. His to manage, to guard and to protect. A shadow that follows him, not unlike Archie's more... covetous one.

If KC was the left hand meant to raise to protect himself, Archie was the right meant to draw a full sword to cleave an enemy in half.

"Whoa, there." He held my by the waist when we pulled away, grin positively impish. "Don't want to mess up your hair before we even got to leave."

My hairdresser muttered her assent in grumbling French, already fixing the loose strands that flew at my rush, as well as the pearls and diamonds that they somehow twisted in the crown of my head.

"Can't I miss you?"

"Never said you couldn't." He pulled me back, holding me by my arms, drinking me in. "You look amazing, by the way. Ethereal."

"Thank you." I tilted my chin down, all demure and pretty future bride like. "You look gallant yourself."

His smile was wide but pinched.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look... uncomfortable."

"I do?" His eyes tensed at the slightest bit.

"Yes. For a lack of better word."

He sighed. "Don't make fun of me."

"When have I ever?"

He looked unimpressed.

I gasped. "Truly. When have I ever made fun of you?"

"Not me, not really. But you can be... pretty mean to Archie when you want to."

I almost snorted, but the look in his eye stopped me. "...Okay. I promise not to make fun of you. I'm only that mean to Archie because he's that mean to me. I don't shoot back what I don't absorb."

"Okay, well." His voice pitched lower. "I'm uncomfortable in this suit."

I hummed, resting back and giving him an assessing eye from tip to top. He shifted under such scrutiny, but let me finish. He wore a light brown suit, almost grey, with polished brown soles. I disliked brown shoes on principle, but it didn't seem like a bad choice to his overall attire. Hair coiffed, and face cleaned up. There were a few scars on his hands, but small enough to hide between light and laughter.

And he had such a strong, pronounced jaw. Most women would focus on that.

"I think you look fine." My fingers ghosted over his cheek, around his jaw. His shoulders went up at my touch. I smirked. "Ticklish, are ya?"

He smacked my hand, laughing. "Stop it."

"I do think you look quite handsome."

A click of heels, a perfume that reminded me of posies and the sharp, tangy edge of roses drowning in a storm told me much of who had arrived, apart from the lilt of a melodious if not low voice.

In response, KC went rigged.

I looked back at Natasha. "Right? He's handsome in his suit. Not a lot of men can pull of a light coloured brown and grey— God knows some men should try to spice up a black tie event in not just a black tie."

Natasha's smile was more amused than anything, gaze back to a ruffled KC who looked at her both in equal fear and flighty unease. Interesting.

"You seem more masculine now, more at ease in your skin. But you need to work on your confidence, KC. People can easily weaponise what they see to be your vulnerability." Her hand came down KC's shoulder, a move one might make from an elder's advise wisely given.

KC himself was appearing to be doing a magnificent portrayal of Kristoff, frozen in stiff terror, before she addressed me. "Give me your hand, Ms La Verne. Take your glove off."

I did as she told, my eyes still on KC who refused to meet my gaze, swallowing hard. Natasha took my hand in hers and slid a ring on my forefinger. A diamond in a cushion setting, elongated in a gold band. It was a simple but bold piece. There was as much as a good heft to the rock as much as there was a sparkle.

Natasha admired the glint from my fingers, moving it around against the light. A hum in the back of her throat, nostalgia in her eyes.

It didn't look new, the band itself, though clean and polished bright, held slights and dents of a piece that had been worn before.

"It's pretty," I murmured, admiring its elegance and curious of its former owner. It could've been Natasha's, but from what I've seen of the older woman, she much preferred her diamonds set in silver if not completely filling the band. "A little heavy, but pretty."

She smirked. "You can have it. Take your glove off at the right time, okay?"

"Right time?"

She helped me put on the glove before patting my cheek, almost affectionately. "You will know it when it comes. Let's go." Natasha nodded to her guard, then to Yuki who had changed into a short black dress, simple but elegant, hair twisted in an updo. Neither of them gave me a look, following Natasha like good lapdogs.

As they started for the elevator, KC turned to me, nervous.

"Nina darling—"

"—I adore you." I took his arm and looped my own through his, voice quiet, just for him. "Just as you are. Who you are to me."

KC swallowed hard, smile watery. "I like you, too. Thanks."

As we entered the elevator, I whispered in his ear. "Whatever for? Don't think I've stopped plotting to burn all your camo pants into smithereens. I don't like you enough to keep them. Abhorrent tastes, darling."

His laugh was bright and loud, echoing as the elevator closed.

SCENE III.

Boisterous in colour, in ostentatious display of wealth and wonder, bright with laughter and lies— I arrived late, in the strong arms of the hostess, her smile (sly, beauty, refined— Hera reigning court over her subjects, won over a war before it had even begun), her arm over my own, her voice carrying through with her entrance as she introduced me as Kristoff's paramour — she was the best shield I could for.

And everything done as planned.

"Why can't you arrive with me?" Kristoff had asked, frowning at Archie and I who shook our heads in unison. I clenched a laugh between teeth when he looked more surprised at our united front.

"It's a statement," Archie explained as I nodded along, twirling a pen between my fingers. "And a surprise. We talk to everyone important, give them a show of ease. A good front in front of your sister and cousins, and all the investors and board member wives and daughters—"

"— dangling the ever wonderful heir apparent to fortune and inconceivable power within their grasps as if you are attainable —"

"— and we make nice, converse, hold the stronghold so to speak — "

"— Kissing ass, nice." I snorted. "I can already see the pearl choked mamas trying to pry my name, age, ancestry, and all the figures in my background from Archie's unforgiving hands."

Archie glared at me as he pulled off his glasses, cleaning the lenses.

Kristoff looked like he didn't know what emotion to settle with, amusement at our shared presentation of scheming, or disgruntled?

"Think of it this way," I continued. "You hold the forth, mingle, entrance, be your usual standoffish, selfish self—" Kristoff raised an eyebrow but I held up a finger. "— and then I arrive, in your aunt's hold, the neutral aunt, as a show of taking a side. Me, with all my beholding glory."

Archie snorted but nodded. "It'll be a surprise they wouldn't see coming."

"Assuming Yuna didn't prat on about me, conniving little witch."

Kristoff shook his head. "She wouldn't."

"She would still be trying to gain footing in all of this," Archie said. "You are a wild card. But what she will most definitely do is to try and undermine you when the time comes."

I waved my hand at that. I'm used to insults. "Please. I'm a big girl. I can handle a trade of barbs."

"You shouldn't need to." Kristoff raised an eyebrow. "You are my lover. Any snide or demeaning remark against you is made against me. I expect you to bite at anyone who looks at you the wrong way, much less say anything crude."

Archie gave me a look. "Please don't do that."

I laughed. "I think I'll pass on the biting. But if I have your express permission to defend my honour in deference to your honour as my own..."

"I do."

I smiled. Brilliantly. "Then don't you worry, lover. Your honour will remain as it is. Plus, I'll save the biting specially for you."

With a wink from me, Archie groaned.

SCENE IV.

And a surprise it was.

The room paused, seemingly as if their breaths have been pulled taunt by the puppeteer before them. Their lungs, their gazes, all pulled into one direction.

Not him, in a black suit, in the gold wrought around his smallest finger, with his hair pulled back and his jaw tight. All of them— strangers, familiar faces of board members accompanied by wives, whores, and longtime mistresses, and in a beckoned viper's nest of the Park clan's grandchildren encircled in between, taking venomous bites of each other, taunts and jabs, eyes devouring every means of weakness they can unearth — all of them, Kristoff thought with a certain degree of pleasure from the tip of his mouth pressed against the glass of his whiskey, down and down until they reached his feet, as they all turned to the only woman in a pearl white gown, taking the light that bounced from every bulb, captured by diamonds and pearls, and the sheer glisten of white silk.

She captured the light, then snared their captivated gazes.

All to her.

And more than enjoying their stares, Kristoff smirked his own as he watched Antonina smile at the attention, eyes alight in a sweet, superior look casting all those around her. She drank all of their gazes as if every envious, adoring, simpering, lustful gaze made and remade her armour anew.

He didn't know if she recognised him, that far from the top of the elongated stairs. She devoured everyone's attention all the same, delivered her piety in the form of a saintess they must all bow to, and he didn't care.

Her appearance, her beguiled smile, and even the little laugh she exhaled at something his aunt whispered in her ear— did everything they were supposed to.

She captured the crowd. And the crowd held their breath, enchanted by the appearance of an angel.

Naui Cheonsa.

Philipp Park, his cousin of few years, whistled, eyes focused on the woman before him as they finally escorted each other from the stairs, their descent slow, savouring every bit of attention it produced.

It was a good idea then, to make sure there were more lights when they had arrived. Dim a few to the side and turn off those outside chalet. The focal point was specific, and the people operating the venue hardly seemed bothered in making sure his bride to be was the centre of the show.

"That's your woman?" Philipp asked.

Kristoff glanced at his sister behind his whiskey, watching the cold, volatile murder she was keeping between tensed jaw and white-knuckles. Her nails were long and she was used to pain— liked it even, that he hardly thought she felt the piercing of her nails against her flesh when he saw blood slowly gathered in her pale hands.

"Kristoff?"

"Hm?"

Philipp looked amused, son of that nasally irritating woman, Soo Young. As the only son of her and his uncle, Nam Seok, now the aging cripple unable to even feed himself, much less stand and piss on his own— his 'aunt' had fretted and latched onto his care, producing a whoremongering mama's boy who cared more about showing off his wealth, going through prostitutes as if he had a sole mission to leave as many with children as he could, and drinking himself stupid than ever being qualified for their grandfather's seat, much to his mother's dismay.

But not for the lack of trying, Kristoff thought, since his cousin was still here. No doubt heckled and pushed by his mother to come. Last he heard of the boy before he found out he was en route here— alongside their other cousin — Philipp was having a grand time in Singapore, two weeks before his mother had withdrew a load of cash and had someone accompany a woman to a discreet abortion clinic in Malaysia.

Kristoff felt a tick. He pushed it down.

"I asked if that was your woman, cousin," he repeated, though he himself wasn't looking at him. No, the minute Antonina arrived, his gaze was hooked on her. Eyes devouring her in a way that made the tick louder in his body. Like a thrum, vibrating through his bones.

A flash of an idea, his hand reeling back, his fist coming down his cousin's face, his whiskey spilling, the glass shattering on impact, and the blood streaking, spilling, before pooling— he swallowed another gulp, no one the wiser to his thoughts as he nodded.

Yuna snorted. The derisive sound grounding him back harder.

From the corner of his eye, their oldest cousin and the oldest grandson of their grandfather— Tae Yang, gave Yuna a look of solemn reproach. The other, real competitor for their grandfather's power, apart from the fact that Tae Yang was the oldest and his father, Baek Nam, the only son their grandfather favoured and almost left the inheritance line to— Tae Yang was capable.

After the death of his parents and brother, orphaning him to the care of a branch family in Japan, Tae Yang had quietly cemented his own name away from the mother country. He proved he didn't need the family's name or fortune as he wrought up the steps on his own, balancing top marks and acquiring new businesses left and right.

And with his genial, agreeable personality— he was a competition Kristoff had monitored, despite the many refusals to work or be near the Seoul offices until their grandfather had ordered him to in the last year.

And Yuna, well... Yuna was bloodthirsty from birth alone.

"What was that, sister?" Kristoff asked calmly, not even deferring her a glance as he kept his gaze on his aunt leading Antonina to all the right people. In her arm, this was a declaration of choice. That Natasha Kim, formerly neutral to the succession line and rights as she did not have a child of her own from her marriage to Kristoff's uncle, Baek Young, before his untimely death— nor did she care for raising one of his many bastards as her own

—was now actively choosing a side; her smile calm with a hint of smug superiority, a winning fire behind her eyes as she continued to cement his paramour to everyone she deemed worthy and necessary, and Antonina, with her quick retort and shifts, perfectly capturing every introduction in one cursory look at their greeting, their physical attributes, and forming the perfect response to cater.

Yuna did not like that at all.

"Isn't white a little on the nose, oppa?"

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to marry her?"

"Phillip," Tae Yang warned. He turned to Kristoff, too aware of his silences and lack of expressions. "She seems wonderful, Kristoff. Aunt Natasha seems to like her."

Kristoff offered a blank smile, turning to his cousin only to notice his wedding band. Tae Yang had married early in the year to a decent woman if not too common in their grandfather's eyes, a schoolteacher from Indonesia. Kristoff had yet to met her officially, but he has seen pictures. There were still no news of pregnancy, and that, in itself, was a blessing.

So he was sincere when he said, "Thank you, hyung-nim."

Tae Yang's returning smile was small but sincere, before it was ruined by Phillip snorting.

"If Aunt Natasha likes her then she's a prude, isn't she? Daughter to one of those hoity-toity mamas practically raised in a fucking convent." Philipp tilted his head, assessing Kristoff's bride like a prize cattle. The urge to slam his head against the marbled floor got stronger, the thrum of his blood in his ears getting louder.

Phillip was good at this, Kristoff almost forgot. Usually, he didn't care. But usually, Kristoff didn't have anyone he can claim ownership to, nor liked enough to tamper down this deep seated ugly... emotion, is it? Clawing its way out of his throat.

Phillip finally gave him a glance, mischievous as the smirk twisting from his face. Tae Yang went to warn him again, but either Phillip was already too into his drink (this was fourth glass of gin, not to mention the sips he was taking from the flask he had kept hidden in his suit's doublet), that he slung an arm around Kristoff and Tae Yang physically winced.

"But then again, this is you who we're talking about, hyung, right? So it makes sense she's a little... prudish."

"Phillip. That's enough."

By this point, Yuna had reached her breaking point. Her scowl tore through her face, spitting, "She's a paid whore!"

Unedited, will go back. But cleaved in half because I got too into Kristoff's POV. . .