The mornings in the Yoon estate were always quiet. Too quiet.
Yoon Ha-eun woke before the sun, as she always did. Her curtains had been pulled back by the maids long ago, revealing the gardens below still wrapped in mist. She sat at her vanity, fastening the final button of her blouse. A plain ivory silk shirt, high-waisted black trousers, hair smoothed perfectly behind her ears. No jewelry except the slim watch at her wrist.
Elegance, yes - but more than that. It was armor.
A knock sounded on her door. "Miss, the Chairman is awake," a maid announced softly.
Ha-eun's hand paused briefly, then she rose. She never ignored her grandfather, not once in twenty-three years under his roof.
The halls of the Yoon estate whispered of wealth and history. Marble floors that gleamed even in the morning light, ancestral portraits with cold, watching eyes, and the faint scent of aged wood and medicinal herbs lingering from her grandfather's wing.
She stopped outside his room. A nurse bowed politely as she opened the door.
Inside, Chairman Yoon was propped up against pillows, spectacles balanced on his nose as he read the morning paper. His white hair framed a face that had weathered decades of storms, both business and personal, yet his eyes softened the instant they landed on her.
"There you are," he said, setting the paper aside. His voice was rough with age, but warm, always warm for her. "You look too serious for the morning. Come closer."
Ha-eun approached, the corners of her mouth tilting just slightly-not a smile, not quite, but enough for him. She sat at the edge of his bed. "I'm always serious. You trained me that way."
"Ah, but you forget," he said, tapping her wrist lightly, "you were a child once. You used to run in here with scraped knees and demand candy as payment for your suffering. I never saw such dramatics again until I watched your father enter a boardroom."
A quiet breath of amusement escaped her, almost a laugh. Almost.
"You shouldn't compare me to him," she said, though her tone carried no sharpness, only weariness.
Her grandfather's gaze softened further. "You're nothing like him."
For a moment, silence lingered. That was always the unspoken wound between them-her father's rejection, her mother's absence. But the Chairman never allowed her to drown in it. He had chosen her, raised her, and to him, that was what mattered.
Finally, he leaned back. "Tonight, the ball. You'll go in my place."
Her brow furrowed. "No."
"Yes."
"Grandfather, I have no interest in enduring another evening of being paraded for people who call me illegitimate behind their wine glasses."
"And yet you'll go." His tone was firm, but not unkind. "Because they need to see that you stand taller than their whispers. You've worked harder than all of them, and I want them to choke on it."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She hated these events. The gazes, the judgment, the way her father pretended she was invisible while his wife and children looked at her as if she'd crawled in from the gutter.
But her grandfather was looking at her now, the faintest smile tugging his lips, pride etched into every wrinkle.
"Go for me," he said softly. "And when you do, remember that you are the only one I trust to carry this family's name."
Her chest tightened, a familiar ache. For everyone else in that house, she was a stain. For him, she was everything.
After a long silence, she nodded once. "Fine. For you."
The Chairman chuckled, reaching for her hand. "That's my girl."
And just like that, the armor slid back into place around her. Tonight, she would stand in that ballroom. For him.
------------------------
Ha-eun had just finished getting ready to leave to the office when a gentle knock sounded. "Miss... breakfast is ready," a familiar voice said.
It was Soo-ah, the only maid who had been in the estate as long as Ha-eun could remember. Older now, with kind lines at the corners of her eyes, Soo-ah was the only one who looked at her without pity or disdain. When Ha-eun was a child, it was Soo-ah who tucked her into bed on nights her grandfather was away. It was Soo-ah who whispered reassurances when her stepmother's words cut too deep.
Ha-eun rose, smoothing invisible creases from her blouse. She was halfway to the door when Soo-ah added softly, "The Chairman is having his meal upstairs. He asked to make sure you ate something before leaving."
The words warmed her, if only briefly. Her grandfather was the one anchor in this house. Without him, she wasn't sure she could endure it at all.
Ha-Eun hesitated before opening the door. "The Vice-chairman also requested your presence at the family table this morning."
Their eyes met. Soo-ah's expression was carefully composed, but there was a shadow of apology there. A quiet warning.
Ha-eun only gave a small nod. "I understand."
---
The dining hall was already alive when she entered. Crystal light spilled from chandeliers, gleaming against polished wood and silverware, but the warmth stopped there.
Her father, Yoon Tae-han, Vice-chairman of the Yoon Foundation sat at the head of the table, reading the financial section as if the world belonged to him. His jaw was sharp, his hair only just beginning to gray, but there was a harshness in his eyes that never softened when they landed on her.
Beside him sat Yi Soo-bin, his wife, dressed immaculately in pastel silk. Her voice was sweet, her smile softer still - but every glance she gave Ha-eun was laced with quiet venom.
Across from her, the twins - Yoon Jae-han and Yoon Jae-si - lounged with the casual arrogance of university students who had never been told no. Jae-han scrolled his phone even at the table, while Jae-si smirked openly at Ha-eun's arrival, whispering something into her brother's ear that earned a chuckle.
At the far end, her aunt, Yoon Ji-an, sipped her tea with pointed delicacy. Always poised, always calculating. Her husband, Kang Jimin, sat beside her - genial enough on the surface, but Ha-eun knew better than to trust that smile. Their son, Kang Ji-sung, barely lifted his gaze when she entered. He offered no smirk, no insult, but the indifference in his eyes spoke clearly enough.
Every chair filled. Every seat except her grandfather's.
"Ah, there she is." Soo-bin's voice rang out, all sweetness. "Our little CEO, finally joining the family table. You must be so busy - hardly any time for us, hmm?"
A thin smile curved Ha-eun's lips, though it never reached her eyes. "Busy enough."
Jae-si leaned on her elbow, smirking. "Doesn't she look so serious even in the morning? No wonder the board respects her - she's practically one of the old men already."
Laughter rippled around the table, except from her grandfather's empty chair and Soo-ah, who hovered quietly by the doorway.
Ha-eun ignored them, taking her seat with a grace that cost her effort. She lifted her cup, sipped her tea, and stared straight ahead.
Her father finally lowered his paper. "You'll be at the ball tonight."
It wasn't a question.
"I'll be there," Ha-eun said evenly.
"Good." His eyes narrowed. "Represent your grandfather well. This family has endured enough whispers."
The irony almost made her laugh. It was because of them she bore those whispers in the first place.
She didn't reply. She didn't need to. They would fill the silence with their own poison soon enough.
And sure enough, Soo-bin tilted her head, smiling sweetly as she set down her spoon. "Do try not to draw attention this time, dear. Some of us prefer not to read scandalous headlines with our morning coffee."
Her step siblings chuckled. Her aunt's lips twitched upward. Ji-sung said nothing, but the silence was heavy enough to be agreement.
Ha-eun only sipped her tea again, calm, composed.
They wanted her to break. To snap. To show weakness.
She never would.
Not here. Not in front of them.
"Ha-eun," her father spoke again, his tone measured, formal. "There's a matter we should address."
Her stomach tightened.
Ji-an's smirk grew. Soo-bin's eyes gleamed with feigned kindness.
"We've arranged for you to meet another potential suitor," Tae-han said, as though he were announcing a business merger. "This time, a far more suitable match than before."
The twins snickered quietly, while Soo-bin reached for her glass of water with a satisfied smile.
Ha-eun's jaw clenched. Of course. Again. Always this.
Her grandfather had given her everything-trust, responsibility, power within the foundation. But to the rest of them, she was still just something to bargain away, a pawn they could push toward whatever alliance suited them best.
She set her spoon down carefully, her expression unreadable. "I see."
It was all she said. But inside, the armor around her chest tightened another notch.