Chapter Five – Joon-Ho’s Secret
Joon-Ho hadn’t meant to leave like that.
When he woke in the dim bedroom, the sun just brushing the edge of the curtains, Amara was still asleep beside him. Her breathing was slow, her face soft, almost angelic against the pillow. For a moment, he just sat there, watching her.
Something inside him stirred—a dangerous, unfamiliar warmth that both pulled him in and terrified him.
He wanted to stay. He wanted to wake her, to whisper her name against her skin, to see her smile at him the way she had last night.
But instead, he slipped out of bed, gathered his clothes, and left before she could open her eyes.
Because wanting her was one thing. Keeping her was another.
⸻
The black car waited for him outside, sleek and silent. The driver opened the door, bowing slightly.
“Young master,” the man greeted.
Joon-Ho’s jaw tightened. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Of course,” the driver said quickly, though his tone was apologetic rather than obedient.
As the car pulled away from the street, Joon-Ho leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. Seoul’s cityscape blurred past, all neon signs and endless movement. From the outside, he was just another student, quiet and serious, blending into the crowd.
But that wasn’t the truth.
Joon-Ho was the only son of the Han family—one of the wealthiest, most influential dynasties in South Korea. Their empire stretched across real estate, shipping, finance, luxury hotels. His father’s name was whispered in political rooms, his mother’s face appeared in glossy magazines, his family guarded like royalty behind gates and bodyguards.
He’d grown up in privilege, in palaces disguised as homes, with tutors and expectations that weighed heavier than gold.
But no one at the university knew. And he wanted to keep it that way.
That was why he’d changed his surname. Why he never brought friends home. Why he lived in a simple apartment near campus instead of one of the family estates.
He wanted—needed—to be seen as Joon-Ho, the student. Not Han Joon-Ho, heir to an empire.
⸻
But last night… last night, he had let his guard slip.
Amara wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was warmth and fire, soft laughter and bold eyes, a girl whose world was so far from his own that it scared him. And yet, when she’d looked at him in that dress, when she’d whispered his name like it meant something, all the walls he’d built had shattered.
He clenched his fists in his lap. She deserves better than this. Better than me sneaking out like a coward.
But part of him knew it wasn’t cowardice. It was protection—of her, of himself. Because if Amara found out who he really was, if she knew the weight of his name, she might walk away. Or worse, she might be crushed by the storm his family could bring into her life.
The car slowed as they approached the Han estate. Towering gates slid open, revealing manicured gardens and the sprawling mansion beyond, all glass and marble, standing like a silent testament to power.
Joon-Ho’s chest tightened. He glanced once more at the city skyline behind him, at the world where Amara still was.
And for the first time in years, he wished he wasn’t a Han.
He wished he could just be hers.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion. The Han estate stood tall and commanding, with polished marble columns and an endless stretch of glass windows that reflected the morning sky. It was beautiful, but to Joon-Ho, it felt like a cage.
Inside, the halls were silent except for the echo of his footsteps against the gleaming floors. Expensive paintings lined the walls, chandeliers glittered overhead, but the house carried no warmth—only the weight of expectation.
“Your mother is waiting in the east drawing room,” a maid whispered, bowing as he passed.
Joon-Ho nodded stiffly and made his way down the corridor. His chest tightened with each step. His mother never called him home for something small.
When he entered, she was already there—elegant as always, seated in a silk hanbok the color of ivory, her hair pinned back with jeweled pins. Han Ji-Yeon was a woman who commanded respect with a glance, her beauty timeless, her will unshakable.
“Joon-Ho,” she said softly, though her eyes were sharp. “Sit.”
He obeyed, lowering himself into the chair opposite her. “What is it, Mother?”
She studied him for a long moment, as though peeling away the mask he wore. “You’ve been avoiding this house. And your father.”
“I’ve been busy with school,” he replied evenly.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, but it did not reach her eyes. “School is temporary. Family is permanent. You should know that by now.”
Joon-Ho stayed silent. He’d learned long ago that challenging her words was like trying to bend steel.
Finally, she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “It’s time you prepare for your role. Your father and I have been speaking with the Park family.”
Joon-Ho’s stomach turned cold. “The Parks?”
His mother’s smile hardened into something final. “Their daughter, Hye-Rin. She’s studying in London, but she will return soon. When she does, we expect you to begin spending time with her. The arrangement will benefit both families—and secure the future of our empire.”
His hands curled into fists in his lap. Arranged marriage. He should have expected it, but the words still felt like a blow.
“I never agreed to this,” he said quietly.
“You don’t need to agree,” she replied, her tone clipped. “You are our only son. You will do your duty. That is the price of being born into this family.”
Joon-Ho’s jaw clenched. He wanted to stand, to storm out, to shout that he wasn’t just their pawn. But instead, he sat in silence, his heart pounding, the weight of his mother’s words pressing down like iron chains.
And in the midst of it all, one thought kept cutting through the noise—
Amara.
Her laughter, her warmth, the way her touch had felt like freedom in a world where everything else was a prison.
He couldn’t let his mother know. He couldn’t let anyone know.
Because if the Han family discovered Amara… they would tear her apart.
