It all started with a cat.
I was just minding my own business, walking down the alley behind Silvermist High because I needed air (and a break from people who think Prada is a type of sushi), when I saw it.
A tiny, scruffy, absolutely adorable kitten.
Big eyes. Soft fur. A meow so soft it could melt diamond.
My heart cracked open like a crème brûlée.
"Hi there, little fluff," I whispered, crouching down.
It tilted its head. Meowed again. And just like that, it was over.
I picked it up and tucked it into my scarf like the insane rich girl I am. "You're coming home with me. I'll give you silk pillows and chicken sashimi."
---
Back at the Hwang Mansion
"WHERE did you get that filthy—but admittedly cute—cat?!" Dad roared, pointing as if the kitten was a grenade.
"It's not filthy!" I pouted. "He's elegantly rustic."
"You're allergic to dust! What if you sneeze and collapse?!" His protective-dad mode activated, full throttle. "You can't just bring wild animals into my multimillion-dollar air-purified estate!"
"HE'S NOT WILD. HE'S MINE." I hugged the kitten like it was a life raft.
Dad opened his mouth to argue—
And I did what any emotionally advanced heiress would do.
I cried.
"I—I love him!" I sniffled. "You always said I could have anything I want. I want Monchi!"
Dad froze. "You named it already?!"
I sniffled again, perfectly timed. "Monchi. It means... tiny dumpling of happiness."
Was I lying? Absolutely.
Was it working? Also yes.
"Fine!" he groaned. "But he's staying in your wing of the mansion. If I so much as hear a purr near my art collection, I'm sending him to a five-star cat hotel in Switzerland."
"Deal!" I beamed, kissing Monchi on the head. "Welcome to royalty, my fuzzy prince."
---
Three Weeks Later
Monchi had a gold-trimmed litter box, a Swarovski collar, and a custom-designed wardrobe from a Parisian pet designer.
But I?
I was bored.
Like, eat-caviar-with-chopsticks kind of bored.
So naturally, I did what any emotionally impulsive girl with an inheritance would do.
I opened my laptop and googled:
"Private resorts for sale – no paparazzi, oceanfront, dramatic sunsets."
Twenty minutes and a few black card clicks later…
"Congratulations, Miss Celeste," my real estate broker said over the phone, half-panicked. "You now own the Moonlace Bay Resort."
I sipped my matcha.
"Good. I'm going next weekend. Invite list: Me, Monchi, and... maybe Jihan."
Let's get one thing clear.
When I said I bought a resort, I meant I bought the entire resort. Beach, palm trees, infinity pool, and a private mansion on a cliffside with panoramic views of the ocean.
Because if I was going to escape real life (and my dad's "no more cats" speech #27), I was going to do it in style.
And naturally, I wasn't going alone.
"Get in," I said, pulling up in my Lamborghini Aventador, roof down, Monchi on my lap wearing a tiny Louis Vuitton hoodie.
Jihan blinked at me from the school steps. "Is that… a cat?"
"He prefers the term feline prince. Now come on. We've got a resort to conquer."
---
A Few Hours Later – Moonlace Bay
We zoomed down the coastal road, the sea sparkling beside us, Monchi purring contently in his little booster seat like the celebrity he was born to be. Jihan kept sneaking glances at me like I was the most confusing creature he'd ever met.
"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he asked.
"Because I bribed you with mango smoothies, beach access, and zero economics homework."
"Right," he said, smiling faintly. "Also, your cat winked at me. That was weird."
"He's protective."
---
When we arrived at my mansion in Moonlace Bay, I watched Jihan's jaw drop.
The place was a dream: ivory stone walls, endless balconies, and a glass staircase that spiraled like a sculpture. The floor sparkled so clean I could see my own reflection—and that was the problem.
Because the moment I stepped onto it—
SLIP.
"WAAAH—!"
I squealed, feet flying like a cartoon character. For one horrifying second, I thought I was about to land flat on my couture.
But instead—
THUMP.
Strong, steady arms caught me mid-fall. The world tilted—but he didn't.
I opened one eye.
And there he was.
Lee Jihan.
Holding me like a K-drama male lead straight out of a slow-motion scene. His hands were large and warm, firm around my waist, and his face was inches from mine.
"Seriously?" he said, smirking. "Five seconds in and you already tried to kill yourself on marble?"
I was too stunned to answer.
Because instead of being embarrassed or angry, I was—
Grateful.
Like, actually grateful for my clumsiness.
Because my stomach?
It wasn't upset.
It was doing gymnastics.
Butterflies?
No, babe.
Fireworks.
"Umm... thanks," I whispered, trying not to melt in his arms. "I blame the floor. And gravity. And maybe your distracting jawline."
He blinked. "Wait—what?"
"NOTHING!" I squeaked, pulling away and smoothing my dress. "Let's… let's go tour the place!"
But the blush on my cheeks said everything I didn't.
And from the way his ears turned slightly pink as we walked toward the pool?
I wasn't the only one with butterflies.
After my not-so-glamorous slip on the marble floor (RIP my dignity), Jihan and I decided to take a walk along the beach. The sky was golden, the waves were whispering, and I—being the aesthetic goddess I am—ditched my heels and walked barefoot on the warm sand.
Monchi?
He was left behind at the mansion, guarding it like the royal feline he was, probably sipping coconut water and judging my life choices.
We strolled in silence for a few minutes, the breeze tugging at my dress, when Jihan suddenly said:
"You probably won't live without luxuries. HAHAHA."
Excuse me?
I stopped walking.
Oh. He thinks I'm that kind of girl.
"Actually," I said coolly, "I'm allergic to luxuries."
He raised a brow. "Oh really? Then why aren't you in the hospital right now?"
"Tch." I rolled my eyes, but a tiny giggle escaped. Okay, fine. That was kind of funny. "Because I've developed immunity. Like a true survivor."
He smirked, clearly amused. "Well, I'm allergic too."
"To what? Air-conditioning?"
"No." He turned to me, eyes suddenly more serious than usual. "To beauty."
…
Wait.
WHAT.
Before my brain could even process that—
Before I could scream internally or activate my delusional mode full throttle—
He stepped closer.
His hand reached out.
Oh my God. Is he going to kiss me?
Here?
Now?
Under the sun with the sea breeze and everything?!
My heart did a triple flip and my brain screamed: CELESTE DON'T PASS OUT NOW YOU DRAMA QUEEN—
But then...
"You have sand in your hair," he said.
And casually brushed it away.
...
…
…
EXCUSE ME WHAT?!
THAT'S IT?!!
"No forehead touch? No almost kiss? Not even dramatic violin music in the background?!"
"Hmm?" he asked, like nothing just happened.
"N-Nothing," I muttered, face hotter than a frying pan. "Must be the sun. Or your dumb face."
He laughed. "Delusional much, Celeste?"
"EXCUSE YOU? I'm not delusional! I'm—"
But he was already walking ahead, hands in his pockets, looking smug.
And me?
I stood there, mentally combusting, cheeks on fire, plotting to one day actually slap him with a luxury sandal.
Delusional?
Maybe.
In love?
...Maybe, too.
We were still walking along the shore, the wind playing with my hair and the sun setting like a K-drama backdrop. Everything was going peacefully…
Until Jihan opened his big mouth.
"By the way, I read your latest chapter."
I perked up immediately. "You did?!"
He shrugged. "Yeah. I don't like it."
…
EXCUSE ME?
"What do you mean you don't like it?!" I gasped. "That chapter was trending! It even got me a thousand coins and a reader who said I was their favorite author!"
He smirked. "Still exaggerated. That scene where they kissed after she said 'I'm cold'—eww. Too cheesy."
"Well, excuse you, Mr. No Imagination!" I snapped. "You're probably just jealous because the characters are sweet and in love and YOU don't have that in your life!"
"Oh really?" he said, smirking like the devil in uniform. "What about that line—'I'll kiss you if you lie'? That's so irrelevant."
"It's romantic!" I huffed. "You're probably just anti-romantic. You've never even experienced that kind of love!"
I rolled my eyes dramatically like any queen would. But then—
He turned to me slowly and said, "Have you?"
The world froze.
What.
WHAT.
Abort mission—THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
I felt my cheeks go full cherry blossom.
"W-What? I—I'm not too! I just r-read those things on—on…"
Before I could even finish—
He leaned in.
And without any warning…
HE KISSED ME.
Not a forehead touch. Not a cheek graze.
A real, soft, slow kiss. Just enough to shut me up. Just enough to turn my brain into pudding.
And when he pulled away—
He whispered smugly, "You're lying. You practice it every day with your cat."
…
"WHA—?!"
"I've seen you, you know," he said, walking ahead again like nothing just happened. "Saying things like 'Monchi, if you were a man, I'd marry you.'"
I covered my face with both hands.
"I was JOKINGGG!!!"
He laughed so hard he nearly tripped over a shell. And me? I wanted the ocean to swallow me whole—or maybe kiss me again.