Chapter Thirteen – The Weight of Blood
The car glided smoothly through the gates of the Han estate, headlights sweeping across manicured lawns and marble statues. Joon-Ho sat back against the leather seat, jaw tight, his reflection in the tinted window staring back at him with the same restless eyes he had seen in Amara’s earlier that night.
He hated coming here.
Here, he wasn’t just Joon-Ho. He was Han Joon-Ho, heir to a legacy built on money and power. Every corner of the mansion whispered expectations, every polished surface reflected the image of who he was supposed to be.
The driver opened the door, and the chill of the night was replaced with the suffocating warmth of the chandelier-lit foyer. His mother stood waiting at the top of the grand staircase, graceful in her silk hanbok, her gaze sharp as glass.
“You came quickly,” she said, her voice smooth, controlled. “Good. We have much to discuss.”
He followed her into the sitting room, where gold-framed family portraits watched him from the walls. His father wasn’t there—as usual, business consumed him. It was always his mother who delivered the speeches, who reminded Joon-Ho of his duty.
She gestured for him to sit. He remained standing.
“There’s a charity gala next month,” she began, pouring herself tea. “The family of Chairman Seo will attend. You know his daughter.”
Joon-Ho’s stomach clenched. Seo Hana. Perfect, elegant, polite—the type of girl his family would choose for him. The type of girl who smiled for cameras and curtsied at events. The type of girl who had nothing to do with who he was, or what he wanted.
His mother’s eyes flicked up to him. “It’s time you start preparing for your future, Joon-Ho. You can’t afford to waste time with meaningless distractions.”
The words stung sharper than usual because tonight, they had a face. Amara’s face.
His hands curled into fists. A distraction? That was what his family would call her. That was what they would reduce her to.
He forced his voice steady. “I told you before. I don’t want to be paraded around like some… trophy.”
His mother’s lips curved into a thin smile. “This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s expected of you. Don’t forget—you carry the Han name. And the world is watching.”
Joon-Ho’s chest tightened. He hated this world—one where love was a transaction, where choices were chains.
But he couldn’t tell her about Amara. He couldn’t put a target on her back. His family had the power to destroy lives if it meant protecting their reputation. And Amara… she didn’t deserve to be dragged into this.
So he stayed silent.
When his mother finally dismissed him, he climbed the stairs to his room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. For a long time, he just stood there, staring at the city lights twinkling in the distance. Somewhere out there, Amara was probably still awake, still angry, still hurting.
He pressed his forehead to the glass, whispering the truth he could never say aloud.
“I want you, Amara. But wanting you might ruin you.”
And that was the cruelest part—his heart belonged to her, but his world could never let it.
Amara stirred awake the next morning, the sunlight slipping through the thin curtains of the guesthouse room. Her roommate Hana was still asleep, one arm flung over her pillow, breathing evenly.
But Amara couldn’t close her eyes again. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her chest aching with the weight of the night before.
She replayed every second of her confrontation with Joon-Ho by the bonfire—the way his eyes had burned with jealousy, the way his voice had cracked when he said I don’t want to be jealous, but I am.
And then the silence that followed.
She turned on her side, clutching her blanket tighter. It hurt too much.
He had avoided her for weeks, pretending as if what happened between them at the party never existed. And then, out of nowhere, he had dragged her into the woods and acted like she belonged to him.
Her fists clenched. “What does he even want from me?” she whispered harshly into her pillow.
By the time the bus rolled back into Seoul later that day, Amara still hadn’t shaken the knot in her chest. Students streamed off, laughing, carrying bags and souvenirs from the trip. Daniel walked beside her, trying to make her laugh with little jokes, and she smiled politely, but her heart wasn’t in it.
She could feel the weight of Joon-Ho’s absence.
Back in her dorm room that evening, Hana noticed immediately. “You’ve been spacing out since we got back,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “It’s about him, isn’t it?”
Amara’s lips parted, but no words came out. She hated how obvious it was.
Hana tilted her head gently. “Amara… be careful. A boy like him—he looks like trouble.”
Amara wanted to say I know. She wanted to say I’m trying to stay away.
But instead, she just whispered, “It’s already too late.”
Her chest tightened again, because she knew it was the truth.
She had tried to resist, tried to pretend it was just a mistake, a single night blurred by music and heat. But her heart wasn’t listening. No matter how much she told herself to forget him, her thoughts always found their way back to Joon-Ho.
And the worst part? She didn’t even know if he cared.
She curled into her blanket, biting her lip to stop the sting in her eyes. Somewhere in the city, Joon-Ho was living his own life, untouched by the storm raging inside her.
At least, that’s what she thought.
