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The bridal suite was nothing like bride had ever imagined she would sit in.

It was large  — with tall ivory walls, gold-edged mirrors, and long sheer curtains that allowed soft afternoon light to spill across the polished wooden floor. The air smelled of hairspray, fresh lilies, and expensive perfume.

In the center of the room, seated in front of a massive vanity mirror framed with warm lights, was the bride.

Selene.

Her name felt delicate and rare — like it carried its own light. And yet, at this exact moment, she looked like she was about to cry, laugh, and faint all at once.

“Selene,” a soft voice rang dramatically from behind her,

“moon goddess of chaos stop overthinking.”

Selene groaned.

“Don’t call me that right now, Emily ,”

she muttered, trying not to move her lips too much while the makeup artist carefully applied lipstick.

“If I smile, she’ll mess up the line and then I’ll look like a clown in all the pictures.”

The makeup artist chuckled politely.

On Selene’s right stood Emily  — tall, sharp-featured, confident, with a teasing smile that rarely left her face. On her left was Tiara — softer, calmer, observant, the kind of friend who carried tissues in her purse for emotional emergencies..

“Relax,” Tiara said gently. “You look beautiful already.”

Selene’s eyes widened in the mirror.

“No I don’t,” she whispered dramatically. “I look like I’m about to faint.”

“You always look like you’re about to faint before any important event,”

Emily  said dryly.

“Remember your college presentation?”

Selene gasped. “Don’t remind me! I said ‘photosynthesis’ wrong five times!”

“You said ‘photo-sympathy,’” Emily  corrected.

Tiara burst into laughter.

Selene covered her face with both hands — then immediately panicked.

“No I don’t,” she whispered dramatically.

Both Emily  and Tiara exchanged a look behind her.

Emily  snorted softly.

“Selene, if you look any better than this, the groom might faint before the ceremony even starts.”

Selene blinked at her reflection again, clearly unconvinced.

And that, honestly, tells you almost everything you need to know about me.

My name is Selene Lee, and if you’re expecting a calm, graceful, perfectly composed bride sitting in this beautiful bridal suite… then you might be slightly disappointed. Because inside this expensive white dress and carefully styled hair is a woman whose brain is currently running in seventeen different directions at the same time.

I wish I could say I am naturally elegant. The kind of woman who moves slowly, speaks thoughtfully, and always knows the correct thing to say. But that has never been me. I am the person who trips over invisible things, says the wrong sentence at the wrong moment, and then spends the next hour replaying that moment in my head like a personal horror movie.

Nervousness and I have always been very close friends.

When situations become important, my brain starts working overtime. I begin wondering if I’m standing properly, if my smile looks strange, if people can see that my hands are slightly shaking. And the worst part? When I get nervous, I start talking too much. Silence makes me uncomfortable, so I fill it with words… and sometimes those words escape before my brain has had the chance to approve them.

Which is exactly how I end up embarrassing myself in important situations.

Despite that, my life has always been fairly simple and ordinary. I grew up in a noisy but loving home where conversations were loud, laughter was common, and my brother never missed a chance to tease me. I was never the genius student in class or the girl who impressed teachers with perfect answers. Academics were… complicated for me. Numbers and formulas never stayed in my head the way recipes did.

Cooking, however, was different.

In the kitchen, I felt confident. Ingredients made sense to me. Flavors made sense to me. I could experiment, fail, try again, and eventually create something good. What started as a hobby slowly turned into something I loved deeply — filming recipes, sharing cooking videos, and connecting with people who enjoyed simple food the way I did.

That world felt safe.

This one… the one I am sitting in today… still feels a little unreal.

A bridal suite. A wedding gown. A ceremony waiting downstairs.

Sometimes I look at my reflection and wonder how exactly I ended up here. Because the truth is, I still feel like the same slightly clumsy, overly honest girl who laughs too loudly at her own jokes and apologizes three times for tiny mistakes.

But maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing.

I may not be the most graceful bride in history, and I may still be overthinking every little detail of this day… but I know one thing about myself for certain.

My heart is sincere.

When I care about someone, I care deeply. When I promise something, I try my best to keep it.

And when when I hate something or someone I hate with all my heart. 

So if you’re wondering who Selene Lee really is, the answer is quite simple.

I’m a woman who worries too much, talks too much, cooks too much food for other people, and still somehow ended up becoming a bride today.

And honestly?

I’m still trying to process that part.,

That's what everything about me .

I was so immersed in my own world that i didn't even notice when my hands went to my eyes rubbing then slightly as i was continuously staring at the mirror and

It stuck me. .

“Ohh god! Did I ruin anything? Did I  smudge my eyeliner,my maskara, my foundation? Oh my God, I ruined it, didn’t I? I ruin everything.”

The makeup artist gently pulled her hands down.

“Nothing is ruined, ma’am. Please don’t move too much.”

Selene nodded stiffly.

“Sorry. I’m very sorry. I’m sorry for apologizing too much also.”

Emily  and Tiara exchanged a look.

“This is exactly why we didn’t leave you alone,” Emily  said.

Selene stared at herself in the mirror again.

The makeup artist leaned closer, carefully blending the final touches on her eyelids.

“Please don’t move,” the artist murmured gently.

“I’m not moving,” Selene whispered.

“You are blinking very aggressively.”

“I’m blinking with emotion,” Selene defended nervously.

Tiara folded her arms. “Selene.”

Selene stiffened. “Yes?”

“You are not going into war.”

“It feels like war,” Selene replied immediately. “A holy, expensive war.”

Emily let out a soft laugh. “It’s your wedding.”

“Yes,” Selene whispered dramatically, staring at herself in the mirror. “Exactly. That’s why it’s worse.”

Her white wedding gown hung behind her — elegant, fitted at the waist, flowing down in soft satin layers. The veil rested carefully on a nearby stand. Everything about the room felt sacred and polished.

Everything except the bride’s spiraling thoughts.

“Do I look okay?” Selene asked for the fifth time.

Tiara leaned closer to the mirror, studying her reflection. “You look beautiful.”

“No, but like… properly beautiful?” Selene insisted.

“Like future daughter-in-law-of-the-Jeon-family beautiful? Or just normal beautiful?”

Emily shook her head. “There are not levels of beautiful, Selene.”

“There are,” Selene whispered seriously. .

“There’s ‘cute girl next door.’ And then there’s ‘cold, elegant, intimidating chaebol daughter-in-law.’ I am clearly the first one.”

Tiara smirked. “You are barely the first one. You trip over air.”

Selene gasped. “Why are you both attacking me today?”

“Because you’re panicking,” Emily said gently.

Selene’s shoulders dropped slightly.

“I don’t want to mess anything up,” she admitted quietly.

The room softened a little at her tone.

“You won’t,” Emily said.

“I already did once,” Selene muttered.

Tiara raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about the mansion meeting, aren’t we?”

Selene covered her face instantly.

“Don’t,” she groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”

The makeup artist paused, clearly curious.

Emily leaned forward excitedly. “Oh no, we are definitely reminding you.”

Tiara asked curiously “ what did you do selene ?"

“ Ohh Tia  !i didn't tell you this because of you were out of town for few days and selene promised me to not to tell you this but now I think you should know"

Selene slowly lowered her hands, eyes wide with embarrassment.

“I was nervous!” she defended immediately.

“It was their mansion. Their actual mansion. Do you know how big that place is? I got lost looking for the washroom!”

Emily started counting on her fingers.

“You called Mr. Jeon ‘uncle’ first.”

“I corrected myself!”

“After three seconds.”

“I panicked!”

Emily added in. “You spilled tea.”

“It was a small spill!”

“It was not small,” Emily corrected remembering the details selene told her 

“It reached the edge of the tablecloth.”

Selene groaned loudly.

“And,” Emily continued sweetly,

“when Jungkook walked into the room, you stood up too fast and hit your knee on the table.”

Selene squeezed her eyes shut.

“I can imagine that sound,” Tiara said dramatically. “It must echoed.”

“I was trying to look respectful!” Selene cried. “I didn’t calculate the distance!”

“You never calculate anything,” Tiara replied calmly.

Selene turned back to the mirror, cheeks burning.

“I just wanted to make a good first impression,” she whispered.

Instead, her mind replayed it all — the massive living room, the polished marble floors, Mrs. Jeon’s elegant smile, Mr. Jeon’s composed gaze… and Jungkook standing there, quiet, unreadable.

“I tried to make conversation,” Selene muttered.

Emily laughed softly. “You asked him if he sleeps.”

“That is a valid question!”

“You followed it with, ‘You look like you don’t sleep. Not in a bad way. In a hardworking way. But also slightly scary way.’”

Selene’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Why do I speak?”

“Because silence makes you uncomfortable,” Tiara answered smoothly.

Selene nodded miserably. “When I get nervous, my brain just throws words out without permission. And then I regret them five minutes later.”

She looked at her reflection again.

“I don’t want to spoil today like I spoiled that meeting.”

“You didn’t spoil it,” Emily said gently.

“I embarrassed myself.”

“You were human,” Emily corrected.

Selene’s fingers twisted together in her lap.

“I don’t fit into their world,” she whispered.

“They are so controlled. So graceful. Even when they talk, it feels planned. And I just… blurt things out. I laugh alone at my own jokes. I overexplain everything. I don't know how Mrs Jeon chose me for her son!”

Emily’s easing expression softened slightly.

“Selene,” she said quietly, “do you know what you did after spilling tea?”

Selene blinked.

“You apologized four times.”

“That’s polite! That's tell you how soft you are”

“And then you tried to wipe it with your sleeve.”

Selene froze.

“Oh.”

Tiara burst into laughter.

“Yes. In front of the Jeon family’s housekeeper who was standing right there with a napkin.” Emily said.

Selene covered her face again.

“I wanted to look mature,” she mumbled through her hands.

“Instead I looked like I had never attended a formal dinner in my life.”

Tiara stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“And yet, they still agreed to this marriage.”

Selene slowly lowered her hands.

The room grew quiet for a moment.

Then Emily suddenly smirked.

“Honestly,” she said to Tiara, “that was just the trailer.”

Selene’s eyes widened in horror.

“No.”

Tiara looked intrigued. “What trailer?”

Emy folded her arms dramatically.

“If you hear what stunt she actually pulled during her first meeting with Jeon you’ll want to bang your head against the wall.”

Selene gasped. “Emy!”

Tiara turned sharply to Selene, eyes sparkling. “What did you do?”

Selene looked between them like a criminal caught mid-confession.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said weakly.

Emy raised an eyebrow. “Should I tell her?”

Selene shook her head rapidly. “No, no, no, no—”

Tiara  stepped closer, gripping Selene’s shoulders gently. “Selene.”

Her tone dropped to dramatic seriousness.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Selene swallowed.

Her wedding veil shimmered softly behind her.

Outside, faint music from the ceremony hall began to rise.

And inside the bridal suite, just before stepping into her new life, Selene’s past chaos was about to unfold.

She looked at both of them, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“But you are not allowed to judge me.”

Flashback

The Lee house was not quiet.

It never had been.

It was a modest two-story home in a busy neighborhood — the kind where delivery bikes passed every hour, neighbors knew each other’s business, and the smell of someone’s cooking always floated through open windows.

But that day.

it was the battlefield.

Selene stood in the middle of it, her apron still tied around her waist, wooden spatula in one hand like a weapon.

“I said I don’t want to marry!” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

Her mother stood near the stove, turning off the flame under a pot of soup before it boiled over.

“Lower your voice. The neighbors will hear.”

“Let them hear!” Selene snapped. “Maybe they’ll come rescue me!”

“Rescue you from what?”

Noah’s voice came lazily from the dining table where he was scrolling through his phone.

“A rich, handsome, successful man?”

Selene shot him a glare sharp enough to cut vegetables.

Her father,  sat at the head of the table,  He had been quiet so far, listening carefully.

“Selene,” he said finally, his tone calm but firm, “sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” she replied instantly.

“Sit.”

There was something in his voice — not anger, but seriousness.

Selene sighed dramatically and dropped into the chair opposite him, crossing her arms.

Her mother wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and joined them at the table.

The air shifted.

This was no longer casual conversation.

“Do you know how this proposal came?” her father began slowly.

“Yes,” Selene muttered. “Because Mrs. Jeon lost her mind.”

“Selene,” her mother warned.

Her father ignored the comment.

“Mrs. Jeon personally asked for your hand,” he continued. “Do you understand what that means?”

“It means she needs glasses,” Selene replied.

Noah snorted.

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“It means she saw something in you. Maybe a clown “

Selene looked at him with fire in her eyes .

“The Jeon family is not ordinary,” he continued.

“Their heritage, their reputation, their name — it is built over decades. They are respected everywhere. People line up just to get a meeting with them.”

“I didn’t line up,” Selene muttered.

Noah leaned back in his chair. “You tripped into the line probably.”

She kicked his leg under the table.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Stop it, both of you,” their mother said sharply.

Sung-Jae adjusted his glasses.

“Jungkook is not just any man,” he said.

“He is successful and already leading major decisions in the company. His IQ, his business sense — people talk about him with admiration. He turned failing branches profitable within months.”

Selene rolled her eyes. “So marry him yourself.”

The table fell silent.

Her father’s calm expression hardened slightly.

“This is not a joke,” he said.

Selene’s defiance faltered a little, but she held her ground.

“I don’t even know him,” she argued.

“How can you expect me to marry someone I don’t know?”

Her mother leaned forward. “That is why we are asking you to at least meet him properly.”

“ Why would I meet him if i don't want to marry right now !” Selene protested.

“ He would reject you anyway so why are you making fuss,” Noah muttered.

She reached across the table to smack him. He caught her wrist mid-air.

“You’re impossible,” she snapped.

“And you’re headache,” he shot back.

“Enough!” their mother said firmly.

Sung-Jae’s voice grew quieter, but heavier.

“You are very lucky,” he said.

“Do you know how many families would dream of this? Mrs. Jeon is a generous and kind woman. She chose you.”

Selene’s jaw tightened.

“I didn’t ask to be chosen.”

Her father inhaled slowly.

“This is not only about wealth,” he continued. “It is about stability. Security. A good family. Respect.”

“I don’t care about that!” Selene said, her voice cracking slightly.

“I don’t want to marry just because someone is rich or powerful.”

Her mother softened her tone. “Then what do you want?”

Selene opened her mouth — and closed it again.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.

Noah leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table.

“So you don’t want to marry,” he said.

“Fine. Then what do you want to do?”

She glared at him. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You kind of do,” he replied casually.

“Because right now your biggest achievement is making pasta videos on YouTube.”

“That channel has subscribers!” she protested.

“Twenty thousand,” he corrected.

“That’s a lot!”

“For a cooking hobby,” he shrugged.

“It’s not a hobby! It’s my passion!”

Her father rubbed his forehead slightly.

“Noah,” he warned.

But Noah wasn’t done.

“Look, I’m just saying,” he continued,

“Jungkook is out there running companies, making million-dollar decisions, handling international deals. And you—”

“Cook,” she finished sharply. “I cook. And I’m good at it!”

“You burn toast sometimes.”

“That was once!”

“You set off the smoke alarm.”

“It was dramatic effect!”

He laughed.

Selene stood up suddenly.

“Just because I don’t like studying or I'm not topper like you,doesn’t mean I’m stupid!”

Noah stood too. “No one said you’re stupid.”

“You imply it all the time!”

“Because you failed math twice!”

“Math is evil!”

They were now face to face across the table.

“You’re average at studies,” Noah said bluntly.

“And you’re average at being a good brother!” she shot back.

He leaned closer. “Reality hurts.”

She shoved his shoulder.

He pushed her lightly back.

She grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it at him.He caught it and tossed it back.

Within seconds, they were half wrestling, half arguing — bumping into the couch, nearly knocking over a side table.

“Stop it!” their mother shouted.

Noah grabbed Selene’s wrist; she tried to twist free and accidentally stepped on his foot.

“Ow!”

“Serves you right!”

“Noah , Selene !” Sung-Jae’s voice boomed now, rare and commanding.

They froze instantly.

Breathing heavily, Selene pulled away, hair messy, cheeks flushed.

Tears pricked her eyes — partly from anger, partly from frustration.

“What if I am average?” she said, her voice shaking. “What if I don’t like studying? That doesn’t mean I’m useless!”

Noah’s expression softened slightly.

“I never said you’re useless,” he muttered.

“I have talent,” she insisted. “My cooking is good. People comment. They try my recipes. They message me saying it helped them.”

Her voice grew emotional.

“I may not have a sharp business brain. I may not know economics or stocks or whatever he knows. But I’m not nothing.”

The room went quiet.

Her mother’s eyes softened.

Her father looked at her steadily.

“No one said you are nothing,” he said calmly.

“Then why are you acting like this is my only chance?” she asked, tears slipping down now.

Sung-Jae stood slowly and walked toward her.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“This is not about you being incapable,” he said softly

. “This is about an opportunity. A good family. A secure future.”

“I don’t want security if I’m unhappy,” she whispered.

Her mother stepped closer.

“At least meet him properly,” she pleaded.

“What is the harm in meeting? Talk. Understand each other.”

Selene shook her head stubbornly. “What if I don’t like him?”

“Then we will see,” her father replied.

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He held her gaze.

“You will meet him. Respectfully. Without drama.”

She hesitated.

“Then we will see,” her father replied.

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He held her gaze.

“You will meet him. Respectfully. Without drama.”

She hesitated.

“And if after that you truly feel you cannot marry him,” he continued slowly, “we will talk again.”

Noah crossed his arms. “See? Not so dramatic.”

She glared weakly at him through tears.

But then her father’s tone changed slightly — firmer now.

“However,” he added,

“you will not reject this proposal without even trying. That would be disrespectful.”

Selene’s shoulders dropped.

She knew that tone.

It was not loud.

But it was final.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently.

“Just one proper meeting.”

Selene wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Fine,” she muttered.

“Speak clearly,” her father said.

She sighed heavily.

“Fine. I’ll meet him.”

Noah smirked slightly. “Try not to injure furniture.”

She picked up another cushion and threw it at him weakly.

This time, he didn’t throw it back.

And somewhere inside her stubborn heart, Selene knew this meeting would change something.

She just didn’t know how much.

Selene’s bedroom door shut harder than she intended.

She groaned and locked the door.

Her room wasn’t large. It was warm, lived-in, slightly messy in a comforting way. A small shelf stacked with recipe books and printed screenshots of comments from her subscribers.

Sticky notes everywhere.

“Try honey glaze version.” “Collab with Mina?” “Upload by Sunday!!!”

Her laptop was still open on the desk, paused on her editing software.

Her world.

Her safe place.

She walked to the bed and fell face-first into her pillow.

“I don’t want to marry, I want to open my own restaurant first it's my dream “

she mumbled into it dramatically.

Her voice sounded small in the quiet room.

Everything from the living room replayed in her head — her father’s serious face, her mother’s pleading tone, Noah’s irritating smirk.

You are lucky. Mrs. Jeon asked for your hand. You don’t know how big this is. He is a brilliant businessman. Sharp IQ.  Rich and successful. Cold but disciplined.

Cold.

That word kept echoing.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

“Cold.”

Her mind began building a picture without permission.

A tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit. No smile. No warmth. Just a straight face. Sharp eyes. Probably speaks in short sentences. Probably looks at people like they are spreadsheets.

She made a face.

She imagined walking into a giant mansion again. Marble floors. Huge chandeliers. Servants walking quietly. And him standing at the staircase, looking down at her like she was… a project.

“What if he talks like this,” she deepened her voice dramatically, “‘Miss Selene. Sit.’”

She pointed at an imaginary chair and made a stern face.

Then she gasped.

“What if he’s old?”

Her eyes widened.

Nobody had clearly told her his age.

They just kept saying “successful,” “established,” “responsible.”

Those were suspicious words.

“Successful at what age?” she whispered.

Her imagination betrayed her instantly.

She pictured a 38year-old serious man with slight eye bags from “not sleeping because he works all night.” Maybe faint wrinkles near the forehead. Always checking emails. Always on phone calls.

“No,” she whispered, horrified. “Thirty-plus.”

She fell back onto the bed dramatically.

“That’s why he’s cold. He’s tired of life.”

She covered her face with both hands.

“What if he hates noise?”

She slowly removed her hands.

“I am noise.”

Her room suddenly felt smaller.

She stood up and started pacing.

“He probably wakes up at 5 AM.” “I wake up at 9 unless my mother screams.” “He probably reads financial reports.” “I read recipe comments.” “He probably invests in companies.” “I invest in good butter.”

She stopped pacing and crossed her arms.

“I am not marrying a corporate robot.”

She walked to her desk and looked at her reflection in the small mirror beside her ring light.

Her hair slightly messy. T-shirt with flour stain from earlier filming. Pajama shorts.

She tilted her head.

“I don’t even look like someone who belongs in a billionaire house.”

She imagined herself walking into that mansion with her tripod.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jeon, can I film a cooking reel in your luxury kitchen?”

She snorted.

“He would probably fire me from my own life.”

She flopped into her desk chair and spun slightly.

Her eyes moved to her whiteboard — all her plans.

“Street food series.” “Budget meals for students.” “Traditional recipes with twist.” “Goal: 1 million subscribers.”

Her lips pressed together.

“I have plans.”

That thought felt heavier than the rest.

Her father’s words echoed again.

At least meet him. What is the problem in that? He is educated. Intelligent. Mature.

She rolled her eyes.

“Educated doesn’t mean compatible.”

She leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling again.

“What if he looks at me and immediately thinks I am childish?”

Her chest tightened a little at that.

She had heard people compare them all evening.

“He is disciplined.” “He is serious.” “He is calm.” “He handles crores.” “He built half his empire alone.”

And then there was her.

“She cooks.” “She makes reels.” “She barely survived math.” “She argues emotionally.”

She suddenly stood up.

“Okay. So what if I am average?”

She pointed at herself in the mirror.

“So what?”

Her voice wobbled slightly.

“Average doesn’t mean useless.”

She swallowed.

“I may not have a sharp IQ like some business genius, but I have talent.”

She walked to her shelf and picked up a small trophy from a local cooking contest she won two years ago.

“I won this.”

She looked at her framed screenshot of her first viral video.

“Two million views.”

Her lips curved slightly.

“People like my food.”

Her shoulders slowly relaxed.

“But…”

She sat back on her bed.

“What if he doesn’t?”

That insecurity crept in quietly.

“What if he thinks cooking is small?”

She imagined him saying coldly, “Hobby is not career.”

She made a dramatic offended face.

“Excuse me. It is art.”

She hugged her pillow again.

“But still… what if he laughs?”

Her imagination was getting out of control.

She shook her head.

“No. No. I am not even meeting him properly yet.”

Then she froze.

“Meeting.”

Her eyes slowly widened.

Her brain, which had been spiraling in frustration and fear, suddenly slowed down.

Meeting.

Her parents only forced her to meet him.

Not marry tomorrow.

Not sign papers tomorrow.

Just meet.

She sat up straighter.

“If I don’t like him…”

Her eyes sharpened slightly.

“If he doesn’t like me…”

Her mind began moving faster now — not in panic, but in calculation.

A tiny spark lit up inside her.

“What if…”

She leaned forward slowly, elbows on knees.

“What if there is a way to make sure this marriage doesn’t happen?”

Her heart started beating a little faster — not from fear this time, but from possibility.

She stood up again and started pacing, but this time her steps were lighter.

A mischievous smile slowly began forming.

“Then maybe…”

Her eyes gleamed.

“…he won’t like someone who is the exact opposite.”

She covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing too loudly.

“No. Wait. Calm down.”

She walked to the mirror again.

“If I show him…”

She stopped herself mid-thought.

“No. Too obvious.”

She crossed her arms, thinking deeply.

“There has to be a way.”

Her frustration from earlier slowly melted into something else.

Strategy.

“If he rejects me first,” she whispered slowly, tasting the idea, “then problem solved.”

Her eyes widened.

“That means I don’t have to argue with dad again.”

She grinned.

“I don’t have to disappoint Mom “

She gasped softly.

“And I don’t have to marry Mr. Corporate Robot.”

She jumped lightly on the bed once in excitement.

Then quickly froze, listening if anyone heard.

Silence.

She giggled quietly.

Her disappointment from earlier had almost completely shifted.

Her imagination was no longer painting a scary thirty-plus cold businessman.

Now it was painting a challenge.

“If he is cold,” she whispered confidently, “then I will be chaos.”

She twirled once in the middle of her room.

“Let’s see how long Mr. Emotionless survives.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

For the first time since the argument, her eyes sparkled again.

The meeting no longer felt like a trap.

It felt like a ga

me.

And Selene — average, noisy, flour-stained, cooking-obsessed Selene — was suddenly very ready to play.

She fell back on her bed, staring at the ceiling again.

This time, she wasn’t frustrated.

She was planning.

And somewhere deep inside, a small rebellious thrill bloomed.

“Let’s meet, Mr. Jeon,” she murmured softly.

Her smile widened.

“You won’t know what hit you.”