Mornings, like you say should begin with something warm. A quiet moment. A cup of coffee held gently between your hands. Soft light slipping through the window, wrapping everything in calm. You used to believe. At least, until your mornings started looking like this.
"WAIT—!"
Your voice tore through the street as you sprinted forward, your breath uneven, your chest tightening with every step you forced out of your already exhausted body. The bus stood just ahead of you, the doors slowly closing as if time itself had decided to move faster just to spite you. "PLEASE—STOP!" You waved your arms wildly, uncaring of how you looked, uncaring of the strangers turning to stare as if you had just escaped from somewhere you shouldn't have been. Your bag slipped dangerously from your shoulder, bouncing against your side, but you didn't dare slow down. If you missed this bus… no, you couldn't miss it. Because being late didn't just mean being late. It meant facing your grandmother. And facing your grandmother in a bad mood was something you would not survive.
The doors paused. For a single, terrifying second, they hesitated. Then, with a soft mechanical hiss, they opened again. Relief hit you so hard your knees nearly gave out beneath you. "Oh my God… thank you," you whispered under your breath as you stumbled inside, one hand pressed against your chest as if trying to calm your racing heart. You didn't look at anyone. You couldn't. Because you already knew they were staring.
The air inside the bus felt heavy with quiet judgment, filled with people who had witnessed your very public loss of dignity. You kept your gaze lowered as you moved down the aisle, pretending not to notice the amused glances, the subtle smiles, the way someone near the front was clearly trying not to laugh. Your cheeks burned, but you kept walking until you found an empty seat by the window. The moment you sat down, you let out a long, shaky breath and shoved your earbuds in, almost desperately, as if music could shield you from reality. It helped. A little.
Leaning your head against the cool glass, you allowed your eyes to drift shut for just a second as the bus began to move again. Fourth time. You were late for the fourth time this month. The thought settled heavily in your chest, undoing the small relief you had felt moments ago. "I'm dead…" you murmured quietly. And the worst part? You weren't exaggerating. Your grandmother wasn't the type to simply scold you and move on. No, she believed in discipline. In responsibility. In consequences. And she had a very specific way of expressing those beliefs, usually involving a knife.
You shifted slightly in your seat, immediately regretting it as a dull ache spread through your back and shoulders. Right. Last night. You let out a quiet groan, the memory coming back in fragments. Sitting at your desk. Books spread everywhere. The clock ticking. Just ten more minutes, you had told yourself. Just a little more. And then, nothing. Sleep had taken you without warning, your head resting on your folded arms. Now your neck felt stiff, your arms heavy, your back aching with every small movement. "Great," you muttered under your breath. "Just great."
You weren't a genius. Not even close. If you wanted good grades, you had to work for them, really work. But somehow, you didn't hate it. You liked studying. There was something comforting about it, something predictable. Unlike everything else in your life. You opened your eyes again, staring out the window as the scenery slowly began to change. The crowded streets gave way to quieter roads, tall buildings fading into smaller ones before disappearing entirely, replaced by trees and long stretches of silence.
Your life had become simple. School. Work. Home. Over and over again, like a loop you didn't know how to step out of. You didn't go out, didn't meet people, didn't have anyone dragging you into plans. …Well. There was one person. But she didn't count.
A year ago, everything had changed. You had moved to Seoul, leaving behind your parents, your little sister, and the small world you had always known. At the time, it felt right. A fresh start. A chance to build something for yourself. Your grandmother had taken you in without hesitation, but she had made one thing very clear from the beginning. "If you live with me, you work." And just like that, you became part of the Black household.
Even now, the name carried weight. The Black family. People spoke about them in hushed tones, their voices lowering without them even realizing it. Wealth beyond imagination. Power that stretched across countries. Some called them dangerous. Others called them untouchable. You didn't know what to call them. Because from what you had seen, they weren't that simple.
Mrs. Black was kind. Genuinely kind. Not the distant politeness rich people sometimes showed, but something warmer. Softer. She spoke to you like you mattered, like you were more than just another maid moving silently through her home. You liked her. Her husband, however… your fingers tightened slightly. An American from old money, a man who owned companies across countries, fluent in more languages than you could ever learn. A genius. Everyone said so. And there was something about that kind of intelligence that made you uneasy. Luckily, he was rarely around.
And then there was Elliot. You sighed quietly. The eight-year-old menace. He didn't just play around like other children. He observed. Planned. Targeted. And for some reason, you had become his favorite victim.
The bus slowed, and you stood up quickly, stepping outside as the cooler air brushed against your face. The environment shifted almost instantly, fewer buildings, more trees, more silence. You followed the familiar path through the woods until the gates came into view. Tall. Cold. Imposing. Beyond them stood the mansion, massive and flawless, like something out of a world you didn't belong in.
As you approached, the guards glanced at you. Then one of them smirked. Luca. Of course. "You're late again," he said casually. You stopped. He leaned slightly closer, clearly enjoying this. "Your grandmother is in a terrible mood today." You stared at him blankly. "I'm going to die." He laughed. You didn't.
The moment you stepped inside, something felt off. People were moving too fast. Voices sharper than usual. Tension lingered in the air like something waiting to snap. And then, "Soo Yoo, dear." You froze. Slowly, you turned your head. Your grandmother stood there, smiling sweetly, a knife resting casually in her hand. Your heart dropped. "H-hi, Grandma…" you said weakly. "You look lovely —" She moved. And you ran.
"COME BACK HERE!" "NO!" You dashed through the halls, nearly slipping as you turned corners, your heartbeat pounding violently. "YOU'RE LATE!" "I KNOW!" "STOP RUNNING!" "STOP CHASING ME!" Despite her age, she was terrifyingly fast. After what felt like a lifetime, you finally stopped, your breath uneven as you tried to recover. She stopped too. Calm. Unbothered. "It is 10:47," she said coldly. "You were expected at 8." "…Yes, Grandma."
She handed you a list. You looked at it once. Twice. Three times. "…This is attempted murder." "Finish it," she said simply. "All of it. Master Kai returns tomorrow." Your grip tightened slightly. Kai. The name settled uneasily in your chest. "We will talk later." And just like that, she left.
"…Why am I still alive…" you muttered.
A blur rushed past you. Your list was gone.
You froze.
"…No."
"ELLIOT!" You ran after him instantly. "GIVE IT BACK!" "CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!" he laughed, waving the paper in the air. You chased him down the corridor, your legs burning. "I SWEAR—!" "YOU'RE TOO SLOW!" You were seconds away from tackling him when—"Elliot." Everything stopped.
Mrs. Black stood there, calm and composed. Elliot froze, then slowly walked toward her. "Give it back," she said. He obeyed, returning the paper to you. "I'm… sorry," he muttered. You blinked, suspicious. "…It's okay." Mrs. Black smiled softly. "I apologize for him, Soo Yoo." "It's fine," you said quickly. "I'm used to it." That earned you a look you couldn't quite read. "I'll take him with me," she said gently, guiding him away.
The tension faded as they left, and you exhaled slowly. "…I'm going to collapse," you whispered.
But you still had to work.
The employee room offered a brief moment of quiet as you changed into your uniform—black pants, white blouse, hair tied neatly back. Simple. You checked your reflection, making sure everything was in place before stepping out again.
"You're still alive?" Jihwa smirked as soon as she saw you. "Barely," you replied. Laughter followed, and you ignored it as best as you could.
"So… why is the eldest son coming back?" you asked, trying to shift the topic.
They stared at you.
"…You don't know?" Jihwa said.
"…Should I?"
"He's transferring here. Finished studying abroad," she explained.
"He's a genius," Ha Jin added quietly.
You paused. "…And?"
She hesitated slightly. Then said, "Just stay out of his way."
A small silence followed.
"He's not… normal."
You looked down at your list again, then back at your work. Tomorrow. He would arrive tomorrow. And somehow, without even meeting him yet, it already felt like something in your life was about to change.
And for the first time that day,
You weren't sure if you were ready for it.