Growing up, my daddy always pampered me with his money.
Limited edition dolls. A diamond-studded tablet when I turned seven. A private island I barely remember visiting. If I breathed in a direction, a new gift would appear the next day—gift-wrapped, bowed, and stamped with a black card receipt.
He believed love could be bought.
That feelings could be signed off in contracts and affection measured in luxury.
Maybe that's why my mother left.
She used to sing to me at night. Hold me tight when the nannies went home. But the warmth disappeared long before she did. One morning, she was just gone—leaving only a lipstick-stained note on the kitchen counter and silence that no amount of money ever filled.
My name is Celeste Hwang. Heiress of HwangCorp. Daughter of the man Forbes calls the "Emperor of East Asia's Market Empire."
And I'm done being the daughter of a black card.
This fall, I enrolled in a normal high school. Not the ones where students arrive in limousines and carry Prada pencil cases. No—Silvermist High is neutral ground. Mixed classes, ordinary people, and (thank God) no paparazzi.
I didn't tell anyone who I was. Not even my homeroom teacher.
I wore off-the-rack cardigans, packed my own lunch, and cut off the tracking chip in my handbag. I wanted to blend in. Start from scratch. Earn my own money. Write my own stories.
Literally.
I planned to be a novelist. A real one. No ghostwriters. No corporate marketing push. Just words. Mine.
And for a while—it worked.
Until the banana milk incident.Yes, you heard it right—I didn't know banana milk would bring happiness into my life.
That night, I was bored out of my mind. My luxury room felt like a golden cage, so I snuck out. Yes, me—Celeste Hwang, heiress of HwangCorp—crawling past my dad's sleeping security team like a ninja in designer sneakers.
It was past midnight when I walked into the 24-hour convenience store, craving one thing: banana milk.
Simple. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Just like how I wished my life could be.
I grabbed my favorite bottle, popped the cap, took a sip… and turned around—
BAM.
"AH!"
A guy was suddenly behind me, and I yelped like the scaredy-cat I secretly am. (Cute cat, mind you—just easily startled.)
Banana milk exploded all over his white T-shirt. My heart dropped to my Louboutin socks.
"I'm so, so sorry!" I gasped, pulling tissues from my pocket and frantically dabbing at the spill.
But he just looked down, calm as moonlight. "It's fine," he said, voice smooth and warm. Then, with the faintest smirk: "But next time, be careful… clumsy kitty."
Okay, sir, who gave you permission to sound that sexy?
But I couldn't let myself get distracted—not when I ruined his shirt. So, I had a flash of genius (or insanity, depending on who you ask).
"Come with me," I said, grabbing his wrist.
He blinked. "Wait—you spilled banana milk on me and now you want to… take me out?"
I giggled. "Exactly."
He stared at me like I was an alien in Gucci, but didn't resist when I tugged him along. His hand was firm and warm in mine.
We arrived at one of my father's malls. Yes, mine. The moment we walked in, the night staff stood straighter, their smiles stretching wider.
"Good evening, Madame. May I help you?"
A few employees whispered, wide-eyed.
"Is that the CEO's daughter?"
"Maybe she's here to inspect the stores!"
Then the manager came sprinting out like we were royalty on a secret visit.
"I need T-shirts," I said coolly. "Stylish ones. Not cheap. Be quick."
The manager vanished and returned minutes later with his arms full of designer shirts—Balenciaga, Off-White, Dior, even a couple custom pieces from Paris Fashion Week.
I looked them over, indecisive.
Black… white… oversized? Fitted?
Soft cotton or bold graphics?
They all looked good. On him, they'd look even better.
So I bought all 30.
Yes. Thirty.
He watched the bags pile up with the same expression someone has when a stray cat suddenly gifts them a gold bar.
"Do you do this with every guy you spill banana milk on?" he asked, lips twitching into a half-smile.
"Nope," I said, handing him the receipt like a business deal. "Just the ones who call me kitty."
We walked out of the mall, him carrying three glossy shopping bags like it was completely normal to be dragged into a luxury spree by a stranger.
He hadn't even told me his name yet.
"So…" I slowed my pace, sipping a new banana milk I grabbed on the way out. "What's your name, mystery shirt victim?"
He gave me a sideways glance, amused. "Lee Jihan."
I paused. The name sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't place it.
"Lee Jihan," I repeated, letting it roll off my tongue. "Hmm. I like it. Rolls smooth, like a luxury car."
He snorted. "You really don't do normal conversations, do you?"
"I don't do normal anything." I smiled proudly, then sipped again. "Besides, you don't seem very normal either. Most guys would've freaked out about the shirt. Or run away screaming when a strange girl dragged them into a private mall."
"Most guys don't get banana milk spilled on them by rich girls at midnight."
"Touche."
We stopped at a streetlamp, the soft buzz of late-night city life humming around us. It was quiet, unbothered, the kind of moment I didn't get very often. Not when you're always surrounded by cameras, expectations, and guards trained to treat you like glass.
"Why were you out this late?" I asked, curious.
He shrugged. "Craving banana milk."
My mouth dropped open. "You too? Soulmates."
He raised an eyebrow. "You believe in that?"
I thought for a second. "No. But I believe in random midnight accidents turning into weird stories."
"Guess this qualifies."
The streetlight flickered green. We crossed in silence, side by side. Something about the quiet between us didn't feel awkward. It felt… easy.
When we reached the corner near my family's estate, I stopped. "This is where I go full Cinderella and disappear before the butlers start a manhunt."
He handed me one of the bags. "You forgot one."
"I bought those for you."
"I know," he said, eyes playful. "But I figured if you ever want to see me again, you'll need an excuse."
My heart did a little skip.
I stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like Celeste the heiress. I just felt like a girl… with banana milk in her hand, a flutter in her chest, and a boy looking at her like she wasn't just another headline.
"Lee Jihan," I said, slow and teasing, "are you giving me homework just so I'll come find you?"
He leaned a little closer. "Maybe."
And then he turned, cool as the night breeze, and walked off—leaving behind the echo of soft footsteps, 29 luxury T-shirts, and the start of something very dangerous for my carefully guarded heart.
My phone buzzed. Again.
[Dad]: WHERE. ARE. YOU.
Yikes. I was so busted.
I tiptoed past the grand staircase like a stealthy little cat burglar in Louboutins. Almost made it to the elevator when—
"Ahem."
I froze. Slowly turned.
There stood Butler Min, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, holding a tray with exactly one glass of warm milk. That meant Code Red.
"I trust your 'banana milk emergency' has been resolved, Miss Celeste?"
"Hypothetically, yes."
"Your father is waiting in the study. With thunderclouds."
"Perfect. I love dramatic weather."
---
Lee Corporation, 6:01 AM
CEO Lee Minjae's POV
"Did you hear me, Jihan? You're grounded."
"I'm 19, not nine." Jihan took a long sip of banana milk.
"That's not the point!"
Minjae paced the glass office like a tiger denied coffee. "What if paparazzi saw you with that girl? That Lee Group princess!"
Jihan blinked. "Celeste? How do you even know—"
"I know everything! That girl is the daughter of him."
The name hung in the air like poison.
"Chairman Kang." Minjae practically spit it out.
Jihan raised a brow. "You mean the guy you play poker with every third Friday?"
"That was before he stole my patent. And my seafood buffet reservation!"
Jihan stifled a laugh. "You're upset about oysters?"
"I am upset about betrayal!"
---
Kang Estate, 6:03 AM
CEO Kang Doyoon's POV
"She what?!" Doyoon shouted, dropping his espresso.
Celeste sat, legs crossed on the velvet couch like she hadn't just broken ten security protocols and possibly kidnapped a stranger.
"I said I took a boy to the mall."
Doyoon looked betrayed. "That's what my platinum card was used for? T-shirts?"
"Expensive ones. You should be proud."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Celeste. Tell me you didn't buy clothes for some no-name boy off the street."
"I didn't."
He looked up hopefully.
"He was in a store."
Cue the dramatic sigh. "You're grounded until you're forty."
---
Back to Celeste – 10:00 AM, Prestige High Campus
I strutted into school in a silk blouse and thousand-dollar sunglasses like nothing happened.
Wrong.
Everyone was staring.
"Is that her?"
"I heard she made a guy model luxury tees."
"She walked into campus like a K-drama villainess."
Even the teachers looked suspiciously stylish today.
I reached my locker and there he was—Jihan. Leaning casually, sipping banana milk like he'd invented it.
"You're late," he said.
"You're smug."
He grinned. "You missed the announcement. We're partners for Econ project."
"Nope. I'm dropping the class."
"You can't. Your dad paid for the building."
"…Damn."
He leaned closer. "Wanna discuss it over banana milk?"
I squint my eyes. "If this becomes our official drink, I want royalties."
---
Meanwhile, Behind the Glass of a Hidden Office
CEO Lee: "She's trouble."
CEO Kang: "He's a bad influence."
CEO Lee: "She's manipulating him!"
CEO Kang: "He's corrupting her!"
They paused. Realization dawning.
CEO Lee: "…they remind me of us."
CEO Kang: "That's terrifying."
They clinked espresso cups in temporary, suspicious peace.
---
Back to Celeste & Jihan – Library Study Room
"I can't believe we're actually studying," I muttered, flipping a page.
Jihan yawned. "I can't believe I said yes to Econ."
I threw a gummy bear at him.
He caught it—with his mouth. Show-off.
Then he said, "You look different today."
"More glamorous?"
"More... real."
I blinked.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, cheeks warming.
He leaned in slightly. "I think I like this version."
And just as my heart did that flutter thing—again—the librarian dropped a stack of books on our desk with a THUD.
"Keep it down," she snapped. "This is a library, not a romcom."
Oops.