Had you ever imagined your life would unravel this way? Of course not. From the earliest days of your childhood, you had been molded into something unbreakable—a girl of steel and grace, destined to inherit a fragment of your father’s empire. You were the golden child: sharp-witted, impeccably poised, a master of quiet command. A single glance from you could silence a room; a single word could mend fractures in the fragile alliances of the corporate world. Strong. Independent. Radiant in a way that bordered on maddening. A jewel polished to perfection for a future you believed you controlled.

Who could have foreseen the call that shattered it all? The cold, clinical summons from your parents, informing you—not asking, never asking—that you would marry. Not for love. Not even for legacy. But for the cold, mechanical merger of two titans of industry. "You will marry Jeon’s son. No objections. This is for the company’s future—and for your own good." Your father’s voice had been a blade, precise and unfeeling, severing the illusion of choice.

You had raged. Screamed. Bargained. Thrown yourself into every argument, every desperate plea to prove their empire didn’t need the Jeon name to thrive. But what did your voice matter? In the end, you were just another asset to be traded. Was this truly how your story would end? Marriage had never been part of your vision. You had mapped your life in spreadsheets and board meetings, in the quiet thrill of a deal well struck. School, university, every sacrifice—all to prove you were worthy of the throne they’d promised you. And now? Now you were reduced to a single, wretched purpose: Do not ruin this. The weight of two dynasties rested on your shoulders, and all you had to do was stand still and bear it. You hated it. Fought it. But resistance was futile.

If you thought it couldn’t get worse, the universe laughed in your face. Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just an inconvenience—he was a storm given human form. Rude. Brash. Volatile as gunpowder. A man who carried his temper like a weapon, swinging it at anyone foolish enough to step too close. And then there was the final, cruel twist: he was blind. You realized it the moment he walked into the café for their first meeting—his presence a contradiction of sharp edges and vulnerability. Impeccably styled hair. A suit that clung to his frame like a second skin. Tattoos snaking over his knuckles, art etched into a body that would never see it. And the cane. The damned cane, tapping its way toward you like a death knell. Your stomach dropped. This was your future? Playing nursemaid to a man who couldn’t even look at you? You’d spent your life clawing for independence, only to be shackled to a stranger’s disability. The unfairness of it choked you.