My best friend introduced me to a CEO and said he fell for me at first sight.
I texted and flirted with him everyday, but he stayed cold. When I asked my friend, she was confused.
The man I introduced you to wasn’t named Shin. Chapter 1. The wrong MR. Shin.
When Mia pushed her phone across the cafe table and told me she had found me a perfect blind date, I nearly laughed into my iced latte.
Perfect, she said, dragging out the word like a magician revealing a rabbit. A real CEO, tall, rich, terrifyingly capable, and apparently he fell for you at first sight.
I stirred my drink and gave her the look I reserved for scam texts and beauty influencers who claimed expensive face cream could fix personality flaws.
A CEO fell for me at first sight, I repeated. Mia, you know, I am not opposed to miracles, but I do prefer them with paperwork.
She leaned closer. I am serious. He saw you at that industry reception last month.
Said you were different. The second she said it, the translucent comments appeared in the air in front of me.
They had been following me for weeks, floating across my vision at random times like a private live stream chat nobody else could see.
There he is. No mistake. This is Sebastian Shin, the legendary business shark. He really did see her at the reception.
He looked at her for three full seconds. He is cold because he is careful.
She has to be brave. Somebody teach this girl to flirt. I froze with my straw halfway to my mouth.
Sebastian Shin. Everyone in our circle knew that name. He was the kind of man people lowered their voices to discuss.
Chairman of Shin Capital’s emerging investments arm. The youngest person in his family to take control of a division.
Ruthless in negotiations. Nearly allergic to meaningless socializing and so emotionally restrained that one tabloid once described him as a marble statue with a bank account.
A man like that had looked at me once and fallen in love. Absurd. But the comments kept streaming.
She should get his number right now. He will never confess first. He is too controlled.
Natalie, do not waste your romance plot. My name was Natalie Goo. I was 26.
Spoiled in the harmless way. Daughters of mildly successful businessmen were allowed to be spoiled and not nearly smart enough to ignore supernatural commentary when it appeared during a blind date setup.
So when Mia offered to help me add the man on messaging app, I agreed.
The contact she sent had a single character nickname, Shen. That was all the confirmation I thought I needed.
For the next month, I became a woman I barely recognized. Every morning, I sent, “Good morning, MR. Shin.
May your meetings be short and your coffee strong. Every night I sent good night.
Dream of something less boring than spreadsheets. When he responded with one-word answers, the comments explained him for me.
He is shy. He is older. He does not know how to flirt. Look, he replied within 8 minutes.
That is basically a confession for him. So, I kept going. I sent dog stickers.
I sent weather reports. I sent a photo of a ridiculous Capa blind box figurine.
And told him it looked exactly like him, emotionally stable, expressionless, and possibly judging everyone.
He replied, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I typed, “Of course.” Capabas are dignified.
He did not respond for 3 hours. The next day, I asked whether he wanted to get coffee that weekend.
He said he had a board meeting. The next weekend, I asked whether he wanted to see an exhibition.
He said he was flying to Singapore. The weekend after that, I asked whether he wanted to try a new restaurant.
He said nothing at all until midnight. Sorry. Busy, cold, yes, indifferent, perhaps, but the comments insisted he liked me.
He is protecting her from gossip. He is afraid that if he moves too fast, she will run.
She needs to make him feel safe. A month later, I finally snapped. I met Mia at a dessert shop and slapped my phone onto the table.
Are you sure Sebastian Shin is in love with me? I demanded because if this is love, I would hate to see his professional hostility.
Mia blinked. Sebastian Shin? I stared at her. The man you introduced me to. Her expression emptied.
Natalie, what are you talking about? The guy I meant to introduce you to is my cousin’s friend.
His surname is Joe. For 3 seconds, my soul left my body. Joe, I repeated.
Yes, Mia said slowly. Julian Joe, investment banking, nice family, tall, pretty good-looking, definitely not Sebastian Chin.
The comments exploded. Wait, what? Not Shin? Then who has she been flirting with for a month?
Did we collectively identify the wrong male lead? I picked up my phone with trembling fingers and opened my pin chat.
The nickname still redshin. The profile photo was a black and white skyline. The account was absolutely Sebastian Shins because I had asked my father for his contact under the excuse of forwarding some project material and dad delighted that I was finally interested in business networking had sent it without question.
I had not added my blind date. I had spent a month flirting with one of the most powerful men in our industry by accident.
Natalie Mia reached over and touched my wrist. You look pale, I said with great dignity, I need to leave the country.
My phone buzzed before I could begin researching flights to New Zealand. Sebastian Chin had sent a photo.
It showed a sleek black gift box on a dark wooden desk. Under it, he typed, “You bought this?”
I enlarged the photo and nearly bit my tongue. It was the watch. A limited edition men’s watch I had ordered 3 days earlier during one of my bolder phases, thinking it would make an excellent early holiday gift for the CEO who, according to the ghostly comments, was secretly waiting for me to prove my affection.
Now it sat on Sebastian’s desk like evidence at a trial. A second message arrived.
Do not do this again. My blood went cold. I typed so fast my fingers shook.
I am sorry. Please return it or throw it away. I should not have sent it.
The top of the chat showed typing. Then it disappeared, then appeared again. After an eternity, he replied, “As you wish.”
As I wished. I wished for a hole in the floor and a second identity.
The comments, now trying to sound wise after having ruined my life, rushed in with damage control.
He is already being merciful. He probably only tolerated her because of her father’s cooperation project.
Run, Natalie. Run while your family business still exists. I looked at Mia. I have a friend, I said horarssely.
Her expression softened with terrifying pity. Of course you do. Tell me about your friend.
I told her everything. When I finished, Mia took both my hands and said, “Tell your friend to stop immediately.
She should block him, change her name, and maybe avoid glass office towers for a while.”
I wanted to argue, but she was right. Sebastian Shin was not a harmless romantic prospect.
He was a man whose silence could ruin a supplier’s quarter. I had called him baby in a sticker once.
Twice if we counted the animated one. I left the cafe prepared to vanish. Before I reached the curb, my father called.
Natalie, dad said cheerfully, “The Shen project is almost complete. Next week, there will be a celebration dinner.
Sebastian Shin will attend. Be smart. Say hello. Build rapport. My knees almost buckled. Dad continued.
Also, tomorrow I need you to deliver the final cooperation documents to Shin headquarters. It will be good practice.
Good practice. Yes. Excellent. Nothing built character like walking into the lair of a man I had accidentally flirted with for 30 days.
Chapter 2. The capabra on the desk. The next morning, I dress like a person seeking forgiveness from the corporate gods.
No backless dress. No dramatic earrings, no lipstick called dangerous berry. I wore a clean white dress, low heels, and the expression of an intern who had never once used a dog sticker inappropriately.
“At Shin headquarters, the front desk recognized me.” “Miss Goo, MR. Shin’s secretary, can take you upstairs through the executive elevator.”
“No need,” I said too quickly. “The regular elevator is perfect. I love equality.” The receptionist stared.
I smiled and fled to the public elevator bank. The comments followed now pretending to be useful.
Good. Stay low profile. Deliver the file. Leave. No flirting. Do not call him emotionally stable Capa man.
The elevator climbed. With each floor, my regret gained muscle. When the doors opened, I stepped out and almost walked into him.
Sebastian Shin stood near the corridor window speaking to a senior manager. He wore a dark charcoal suit and a white shirt so crisp it looked carved.
His face was calm, handsome, and impossible to read. He turned. “Natalie! Not Miss Goo!
Not Msu! Natalie!” My spine straightened. “MR. Shin,” I said with the respectful distance of a tax auditor.
“I am here to deliver the cooperation documents.” His brows threw together. “MR. Shin,” I held out the folder with both hands.
Yes, please review them when convenient. If there is nothing else, I will not disturb your work.
He did not take the folder. Why did you come through the public elevator? I did not want to trouble your secretary.
You have never minded troubling my secretary before. My soul flinched. That was true. During my delusional month, I had entered his office twice with the confidence of a heroine who believed destiny had already signed the contract.
I once asked his assistant whether MR. nutition preferred dark chocolate or fruit tarts. I once pretended I had low blood sugar and spent 20 minutes in his lounge because the comments told me he would be secretly pleased.
Now I wished to apologize to every assistant in the building. I was immature, I said solemnly.
I will be respectful from now on. Sebastian’s expression became stranger. Respectful very to me absolutely.
He looked at me for a long moment then said come to my office. Panic surged.
“Actually, I have another appointment.” “With whom?” My mind blinked. “A friend.” Before he could respond, the executive elevator chimed.
The doors opened and a woman in a red dress stepped out as if the building had been waiting for her.
“She was beautiful in the sharp, expensive way of people born knowing which wine glass to pick up.”
“Sion,” she said with a smile. “Were you waiting for me?” I instinctively moved aside.
Sebastian did not move toward her. Instead, he reached back and lightly caught my wrist, guiding me half a step to his side.
“Go to my office,” he said quietly to me. “Wait there.” The woman finally noticed me.
“And this is,” I blurted. A staff member from the cooperation partner. Sebastian’s hand tightened around my wrist.
His eyes lowered to me with a flat palm of a man watching someone throw herself off a cliff.
“Natalie,” he said. I smiled as if nothing was wrong. MR. Shin, if the documents are delivered, I will leave you to your meeting.
I hope the project proceeds smoothly. Office, he said. One word, no room to negotiate.
I went. His office was exactly what one expected from Sebastian Shin. Minimalist, expensive, gray and black, all clean lines, and controlled light.
The only absurd thing in the entire space sat in the middle of his desk.
The capa. My capabra. The blind box figure I had shoved at him two weeks earlier, declaring that it matched his energy.
It was small, round, and profoundly unimpressed with the world. It looked insane on his pristine executive desk.
I stared. The comments whispered. He kept it to remind himself of harassment. Evidence item one.
Capabra. Maybe he hates it so much he wants to see it daily and build legal rage.
My guilt spiked. If the object offended him, I should remove it before he had to look at it another day.
It had been my gift, technically reclaiming it was damage control. I walked to the desk and reached for it.
The door opened behind me. What are you doing? Sebastian asked. My hand closed around the capabra.
In pure panic, I dropped it into the loose pocket of my dress and turned.
Stretching, I said. His gaze lowered to my pocket. I smiled harder. He entered, shut the door, and said, “You do not need to behave like a visitor.”
“I am a visitor.” “You were not last week.” “Last week, I was less aware.”
He stared at me. “Aware of what?” “Professional boundaries,” I said. Each syllable wrapped in apology.
Something tightened in his jaw. “Is that why you have called me MR. Shin six times?”
“To express respect. We have known each other for a month, and now I respect you even more.”
He looked almost annoyed. That is not what I asked for. I did not understand.
The comments did not help. He is angry. No, he is hurt. Hard to tell.
Handsome men should come with captions. Sebastian exhaled. The woman outside is Lydia Lou. Her family works with mine.
We are not involved. My brain shortcircuited. He was explaining to me. The comments gasped.
He explained an opposite sex relationship. This is not a drill. Maybe he does not want Natalie to misunderstand.
I, however, was still deep in survival mode. Of course, I said quickly. She must have business with you.
Please do not worry about me. I understand completely. His eyes sharpened. You understand? I nodded.
You have nothing else to say. No, I respect your privacy. His mouth tightened. Lunch.
I cannot. Friend again. Yes. Many friends. I tried to retreat. He walked me downstairs himself, which somehow felt more dangerous than being dragged to a board interrogation.
At the lobby, I turned too fast. The capa slid out of my dress pocket.
It hit the marble floor with a horrible crack and split neatly in two. The silence was immediate.
Sebastian looked at the broken figure, then at me that, he said quietly, was on my desk.
My face burned so hot I could have melted the marble. The comments screamed advice.
Say you wanted to replace it. Say it did not fit his office. Say the old one was unworthy of his noble aura.
I crouched and snatched up the two pieces before he could touch them. It did not match your office, I said, nearly choking.
I plan to buy you a better one, something elegant. Perhaps a tasteful rock. His expression shifted.
No need. That one was fine. Fine. He had thought it was fine. My fingers closed around the broken capabra.
I will fix it, I said. Or replace it. I am sorry. Goodbye. I fled.
That night, I sat on my bedroom floor with glue, tweezers, and the concentration of a surgeon saving a national treasure.
When the capabra was whole again, the crack remained visible. A white seam down its round little body.
It looked like us. Ridiculous, damaged, still standing. My phone buzzed. Sebastian, you once said you liked vineyards.
A friend recently bought one outside the city. Would you like to see it? My heart jumped before fear pinned it down.
I typed, “Sorry, I already have plans that day.” His reply came after a pause.
I have not said which day. I closed my eyes. Terrific. A few minutes later, he wrote, “If you are in trouble, tell me.”
I stared at that sentence for a long time. There it was again. The warmth I kept dismissing as manners, the careful, restrained concern hidden under his clipped words.
I wanted to tell him everything about Mia, about the wrong blind date, about the comments in my vision, about the way I had turned myself into a coward the moment I realized he was not a scripted romantic lead, but a real person with pride and feelings.
Instead, I lied. My father put me on several projects. I am just busy. He seemed to accept it.
“When your work is done,” he wrote. “We can go by a new blind box.”
“There is an empty space on my desk.” I pressed my hand over my mouth.
The office had an empty space because of me. After a long minute, I typed, “Okay.”
Chapter 3. The vineyard misunderstanding. I had not been lying about work. Dad really had decided that I should learn responsibility, by which he meant I should spend weekends attending business events disguised as leisure.
Wine tasting is not overtime, he said on Saturday morning. It is networking with better snacks.
That is exactly what villains say before corporate team building, I replied. He had the decency to look guilty, but only briefly.
Bring me a take photos. If you like any wine, charge it to me. That improved the moral quality of the outing.
The vineyard outside the city was beautiful. Low green hills, wide glass tasting rooms, dark wood terraces, and enough expensive people to populate a luxury watch advertisement.
Mia and I ate cheese, took pictures, and tried to identify wine notes beyond grape and more expensive grape.
She kept laughing at her phone. “What?” I asked. She pointed discreetly across the lawn.
Her cousin stood with a group of men near the old stone fountain. “My stomach sank.
Please tell me you did not bring the real blind date. I did not bring him, she said quickly.
I just discovered he is here. Different thing. Before I could escape behind a decorative olive tree, her cousin spotted us.
Natalie. He approached with a tall man in a navy suit. Let me introduce you.
This is Julian Joe, my friend. Julian had a pleasant face, gentle eyes, and the tragic misfortune of arriving in my life one month too late.
He seemed to know who I was because he smiled with a mixture of curiosity and apology.
Miss Goo, he said, I have heard a lot about you. I opened my mouth to deliver a polite rejection.
Then the air changed. Someone behind me said, Natalie. Sebastian Shin stood a few steps away in a pale casual jacket.
He was not wearing a suit, but somehow looked more dangerous without one. His gaze moved from me to Julian, then to Mia’s cousin, then back to me.
You are busy, he said. No, I said quickly. I mean, yes. I mean, not like that.
Mia’s cousin, a man with the social instincts of a runaway cart, laughed. Young people should get to know each other.
My sister had wanted to set them up anyway. Sebastian’s expression cooled by 10°. Get to know each other, he repeated.
I wanted to throw myself into the vineyard pond. Sebastian, listen. This is not Dash.
I see. His voice was smooth and distant. Then I will not interrupt. Enjoy yourself, Miss Goo.
Miss Goo? Not Natalie. He turned before I could explain. A woman in silver approached him from the terrace.
Lydia Lou. Sebastian, there you are, she said. You are late. The comments swarmed. Is she the rumored arranged match?
Looks like the family approved type. Natalie, chase him. But my feet did not move.
I watched them walk away together and tasted something bitter than the wine. On the ride home, I typed and deleted explanations until my thumb hurt.
It was a misunderstanding. No, too weak. My friend confused the setup. Too absurd. Are you and Lydia?
Absolutely not. I had no right to ask when I had just been caught standing beside a man everyone thought I had agreed to meet.
Finally, I sent, “Does our plan to buy blind boxes still count?” Hours passed. Then he replied, “No need.”
Two words. I deserve them, but they still hurt. I wrote a longer message. I told him about the blind date confusion, leaving out the floating comments because even I understood that sounded like a medical emergency.
I apologized for panicking, for avoiding him, for calling him MR. Shin as if formality could erase my ridiculous month of boldness.
He did not reply. The next day, I bought an entire set of Capabraa blind boxes and went to Shin headquarters.
His assistant led me in after a meeting. Sebastian sat behind his desk signing documents.
The empty space where the capabra had been looked louder than an accusation. MR. Shin, I said softly.
His pen paused. MR. Shin, he echoed without looking up. I placed the blind boxes on his desk.
This is my apology. Not for the broken figure only, for everything. He finally raised his eyes.
Which part of everything I swallowed? For mistaking you for the blind date. For not telling you as soon as I understood.
For avoiding you and acting strange. For making you feel used maybe. The office fell silent.
Then he pushed the boxes back toward me. Take them. My fingers curled. You do not want them.
Miss Gu does not need to compensate me for a misunderstanding. Miss Goo again. It hurt more the second time.
I am not here only because of the misunderstanding, I said. His eyes sharpened. Then why are you here?
I had rehearsed three versions of this conversation and failed all of them. Because I like you is lodged behind my ribs like a coin I had swallowed.
I He waited. The comments hovered. Say it. No, not now. He will think she is desperate.
Too late. She already looks desperate. I hated them suddenly. I hated that my own feelings felt like a public vote.
Sebastian picked up his pen. If you cannot say it, go home. Something in me snapped.
I shoved the boxes back to the center of his desk. I will say it once.
His pen stopped again. At first, yes, I thought you were the man Mia meant to introduce me to.
I approached you because I was misled. But after I found out you were not him, I did not avoid you only because I was afraid.
I avoided you because I realized I really liked you and I did not know how to face what I had done.
His eyes did not soften. “If anything, they became harder.” “You like me now?” He said.
“Yes, because you do. Or because I stopped matching the role you gave me.” My throat closed.
He stood at the vineyard. Why did you not push Julie and Joe away immediately?
When I asked, “Why did you explain that you had only just met him instead of saying you had no intention of seeing him?
Why did you see me with Lydia and leave instead of asking? Why did you spend a month sending me good mornings and good nights, then suddenly call me MR. Shin once you learned who I was?
Every question landed exactly where I had no defense. Sebastian, I am not a patch for your mistake, Natalie.
I am not a convenient proof that the chaos meant something. His voice was controlled, but there was fatigue beneath it.
Go home. The project will not be affected. As for us, let it end here.
Let it end here. The words were not loud. That made them worse. I picked up the blind boxes.
Okay, I whispered. I am sorry to have disturbed you. At the door, he called my name.
I stopped. He was quiet for several seconds. Do not say you like someone so carelessly again.
My eyes burned. I understand. Outside Shin headquarters, the comments tried to comfort me. He is just angry.
Give him two days. Bring food next time. I looked up at the floating words and felt something in me go cold.
Enough. They froze. You said he loved me. You told me to chase him. Then when you realized you were wrong, you told me to run.
Now you tell me to chase him again. What do you actually know? For the first time, the air went completely silent.
No comments, no instructions, just wind, traffic, and the heavy weight of my own choices.
Chapter 4. Learning to stand still. I took the blind boxes home and put them in the storage room beside the repaired capa for 2 days.
I did nothing dramatic. I did not text Sebastian. I did not stalk Lydia Lou’s social media.
I did not ask Mia to investigate Julian Joe’s opinion of my emotional stability. Instead, I bought a thick notebook.
On the first page, I wrote how to like Sebastian Chin correctly. Then I stared at it horrified by myself and crossed out correctly.
Below it, I wrote, “One, stop obeying invisible comments. Two, stop running when afraid. Three, stop calling his kindness good manners to protect myself.
Four, respect his boundaries. Five, become clear before bothering him again. It was childish. It helped.”
Dad noticed my mood over dinner. “Did you fight with Sebastian Shin?” He asked. I nearly choked on rice.
“Why would you ask that?” Because for a month you looked at your phone like it was a treasure chest.
Now you look at it like it killed your goldfish. I buried my face in my bowl.
He put down his chopsticks. Do you like him? I said nothing. Dad sighed. That means yes.
I told him the sanitized version. Wrong blind date. Wrong contact. My own panic. The vineyard misunderstanding.
The failed apology. When I finished, Dad stared at me for a long moment. Natalie.
Yes, your brain usually works better than this. I know. He gave me a piece of brazed pork, which in our family meant criticism had ended and strategy had begun.
If you still like him, do not rush back. I looked up. You are not telling me to give up.
Would you listen? Probably not. Then why waste my wisdom? He leaned back. Sebastian Shin is not the kind of man who enjoys being treated like a fallback, a mistake, or a risk calculation.
If you want to stand in front of him again, first know what you are standing there for.
Do you like the legend? The rescue fantasy? The man who remembered your food preferences.
Figure it out, then speak. The next morning, I went to work with dad’s project team.
At first, everyone treated me like a decorative extension of my father’s surname. They gave me harmless tasks and said things like, “Miss Goo, you do not need to worry about the numbers.”
Which instantly made me worry about all numbers. So I learned. I read supplier contracts until my eyes hurt.
I sat in meetings where older men tried to explain basic margins to me as if I had wandered in from a flower shop.
I reviewed old bids, flagged inconsistencies, and asked questions so specific that the finance manager began bringing backup spreadsheets just in case.
During one negotiation, a supplier representative smiled and said, “Miss Goo, a pretty face like yours should not be so aggressive over two points.
I closed the contract folder. MR. Wine, if you want to negotiate price, we can negotiate price.
If you believe my face is more relevant than the numbers, then we do not need to cooperate.
His smile died. 2 hours later, he reduced the quote. That night, I wrote in my notebook.
Six. Do not shrink to make other people comfortable. Then I tucked the revised quote into the pages.
The comments stayed away. Without them, my thoughts were quieter and less flattering. I had to admit things I did not like about myself.
That I had enjoyed the fantasy of being adored by a powerful man before I knew him.
That I had hidden behind fear because fear was easier than accountability. That I had treated Sebastian’s restraint as coldness instead of asking whether he too was trying not to hurt me.
A week later, the Shingu project celebration arrived. I did not want to go. Dad said, “You worked on the final stage.
You will attend.” I wore a deep blue dress and promised myself three things. I would not avoid Sebastian.
I would not chase him and I would not make a scene. The hotel ballroom glittered with glass chandeliers and gold champagne towers.
The moment I entered, I saw him. Sebastian stood near the center of the room in a black suit, surrounded by people who laughed carefully at his rare comments.
Lydia Lou stood beside him in silver white, graceful and composed. My chest tightened. Dad brought me over.
MR. Shin, he said warmly. MR. Goo. Sebastian nodded. Then his gaze landed on me.
Miss Goo. I smiled because collapsing in a ballroom would be inconvenient. MR. Shin. His eyes flickered then became unreadable.
After the formal greetings, Dad was pulled away by another executive. I retreated toward the balcony with orange juice.
Miss Goo. Julian Joe appeared beside me. I almost laughed. MR. Joe, you arrive at very dramatic moments.
Unfortunately, yes. He smiled apologetically about the vineyard. I am sorry. My friend speaks before checking facts.
Mine too, I said. We all contributed to the disaster. He stood beside me at the glass railing.
For what it is worth, I do not intend to pursue you. That surprised me.
He smiled. Not because you are not wonderful, because he likes Sebastian Shin and I prefer not to die under his stare.
I turned. Sebastian stood at the balcony entrance, watching us through the glass. Julian lifted both hands.
I will leave before I become a headline. Before he went, he said quietly, “Do not be afraid of saying what you mean.
Some men look impossible, but they are only waiting for the truth to arrive clearly.”
He left. Sebastian entered. The door clicked shut behind him. “You seemed comfortable,” he said.
Old Natalie would have panicked and defended herself with 10 unnecessary details. New Natalie breathed once.
It was a normal conversation. He apologized for the vineyard misunderstanding. He also told me about Lydia Louu.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. What about Lydia? That the Shinn and Lou families have discussed an arrangement.
He was silent for half a heartbeat. My stomach dropped. Then he said Lydia’s family discussed it.
I did not agree. I will not agree. The relief was embarrassing. Oh, I said.
Is that why you left that day? Partly and partly because I was a coward.
His expression shifted. I forced myself to continue. You asked whether I liked you because I was afraid of losing your cooperation.
The answer is no. I like you because you remembered I do not eat cilantro.
Because you kept the ugly capabra on your desk. Because you explained Lydia before I asked.
Because you told me to come to you if I was in trouble, even when I was acting like a strange, formal stranger.
His throat moved. Natalie, I am not asking you to forgive the mess immediately, I said quickly.
I just want to say this clearly once. I like you, not as a patch.
Not as a way to prove the mistake was destiny. Not because I want to protect my family’s project.
I just like you very much. My vision blurred. Sebastian raised a hand and brushed his thumb lightly under my eye.
Why are you crying? Only then did I realize tears had escaped. I tried to turn away, but he caught my wrist.
Do not run. My heart shook. His voice lowered. I like you, too. The world stopped.
From the first reception, he said. You spilled juice on my sleeve and accused my cuff of attacking your glass.
I should have found that irritating. I did not. A strangled laugh escaped me from the first morning message.
He continued, “You sent 18 son emojis and told me my meetings deserved mercy. From the capabra you forced onto my desk from the way you pretended not to care, but remembered everything.
I liked you before you knew what you were doing. Then why were you so cold?”
A faint flush touched his ears. I am older than you. I work with your father.
You are so bright. I thought if I took one step, you might regret encouraging me.
So I waited badly. Very badly. I know. I wiped my face and whispered, “What now?”
He looked at my lips, then back into my eyes. “May I kiss you?” The question undid me more than any forceful gesture could have.
I nodded. His kiss was not the violent claim of a dramatic CEO fantasy. It was careful, warm, and so restrained that my heart achd.
He kissed me like he was asking again even after I had answered. The comments reappeared in a burst of fireworks.
Finally, he asked permission. We stand respectful billionaires. No mistaken identity. Confirmed male lead. For once, I did not mind because I did not need them to tell me what this was.
I knew. Chapter 5. Grandpion and the gold seam. Our moment on the balcony lasted all of 8 minutes.
Then Lydia opened the glass door. She looked from Sebastian’s hand around my wrist to my flushed face and lifted one eyebrow.
I see I am interrupting something productive. Sebastian did not let go. What is it?
Your grandfather is here. Lydia said he wants to meet Miss Goo. My good mood fell through the balcony floor.
Old Master Shin. Even people outside the family spoke of him with the caution reserved for storms and tax audits.
He had built the Shin Empire with old cool severity and a gift for seeing weakness in 6 seconds.
The comments panicked. Here comes the family obstacle. Prepare for a check. Maybe it figures.
If he offers money, negotiate first. Sebastian’s grip studied me. I will go with you, he said.
This time I did not pull away. Old Masters Shin sat in a private lounge upstairs.
His hair was white, his suit dark, his cane blackwood. He looked at me without smiling.
The goo girl. I bowed my head politely. Grandfather Shin. I heard you made my grandson miserable.
Grandfather Sebastian warned. The old man tapped his cane once. Did I ask you? Sebastian closed his mouth.
I nearly smiled. It was useful to know even Sebastian Shin could be silenced by family elders.
Old Master Shin turned back to me. Do you like him? Direct, terrifying, efficient. Yes, I said.
Why? I thought of his office, his careful questions, his rigid restraint, his awkward text saying he was trying because he looks cold but is serious about what he cares about.
Because he respects boundaries even when he is upset. Because he remembers small things. Because he explains instead of leaving people to guess because he kept a very ugly capabra on his desk.
The old man’s expression twitched. Capabra. Sebastian looked away. A blind box figure, I said.
Old Mastershin was quiet for a moment, then gave a short laugh. So that foolish thing on his desk came from you.
Yes, it is ugly. Deeply, I agreed. Sebastian looked at me with betrayal. The old man seemed to approve of my honesty.
Then his gaze sharpened. Do you understand what the Shin family is? A little. Are you afraid?
Yes. He did not expect that. I folded my hands. But I cannot pretend not to like someone just because I am afraid.
I also cannot pretend liking him means I am already prepared for everything that comes with him.
I made mistakes. I avoided him. I hid behind a misunderstanding. If you ask whether I can immediately become the most suitable person beside him, I cannot promise that.
But I can promise I will be serious. I will not use him. I will not treat feelings like a game.
And if people say I do not belong, I will not run without thinking again.
For the first time, Sebastian’s grandfather studied me without hostility. Then he asked, “You handled the Wong supplier negotiation for your father’s new line?
My brain needed two seconds to change tracks.” “Yes, how did you reduce the price?”
Their transport loss rate was inflated in the fourth quarter for three consecutive years. I compared it with warehousing records and found they were allocating other clients losses to our account.
I asked for recalculation based on actual shipment records. The old man’s eyes finally showed approval.
Not too stupid. I had never been so moved by an insult. When we left the lounge, I whispered, “Does that count as approval?”
Sebastian said, “He called you not too stupid. In our family, that is practically affection.”
The rest of the celebration passed better than expected. Lydia, it turned out, had no desire to marry Sebastian, and every desire to watch him suffer romantically.
He is stiff, boring, and impossible at dinner, she told me over champagne. If you can make him human, I support you.
You are very free, Sebastian said. Not as free as you, MR. officially pursuing. He ignored her, but his ears reened.
Near the end of the night, old Master Shin went on stage. After praising the business cooperation, he paused and looked toward our table.
“One private matter,” he said. “The ballroom quieted. My grandson has spent more than 30 years pretending not to need romance.
Now he finally likes a girl and almost frightened her away with that cold face of his.
The room laughed softly. I wish the floor would open. Sebastians expression remained calm only because his self-control was absurd.
Old Master Shin continued, “The Shin family will not trade marriage for profit. If Miss Guu is willing to enter our door in the future, she will be welcome.
If she is not yet willing, Sebastian can continue waiting in line. The room erupted.
My eyes stung. It was not pressure. It was respect. He had given me room to choose in front of everyone who might have questioned me.
After the banquet, Sebastian led me back to the balcony. He took out a small box.
My heart stopped. Sebastian Chin, are you proposing? He froze. Would that frighten you? Yes, a little.
Then no. He opened it. Inside sat my repaired capabra. Only it no longer looked clumsily glued.
Thin gold lines traced the crack, turning the damage into a deliberate pattern. Kinugi, he said, broken places do not always need to be hidden.
Sometimes they become part of the object. I held it carefully. Natalie, he said, I do not want our beginning to be defined by one mistake.
I do not want you to keep feeling you owe me for a misunderstanding. I like you because you are you reckless, timid, stubborn, funny, and brave enough to come back after fear.
I started crying again. He smiled faintly. So, I would like to pursue you properly.
Not MR. Shin pursuing Mscu. Sebastian pursuing Natalie. Aren’t you already pursuing me? Not officially.
You have not given me permission. I laughed through tears and hugged him. Then you have permission.
His arms came around me slowly, carefully, as if he was holding something he had waited for too long.
“May I kiss you again?” I nodded. The second kiss was still gentle. It felt like a promise.
This time, both of us knew who we were choosing. Chapter 6. No more scripts.
Dating Sebastian Shin was not like dating an ice statue. Despite what the internet might have expected, he was quiet.
Yes, he still sent messages that looked like executive summaries. Landed. Safe. Meeting ended dinner.
But 10 minutes later, he would follow with. I miss you. The first time I received those three words, I nearly dropped coffee onto a pricing report.
I replied, “Has someone stolen MR. Shin’s phone?” “No,” he wrote. Practicing that was Sebastian, not naturally fluent in romance, but willing to learn the grammar.
I meanwhile refused to become a decorative girlfriend. After the supplier negotiation, dad officially handed me a small business line to manage.
It was terrifying. It was also the first thing in years that made me feel more than charming, more than lucky, more than someone’s daughter waiting to be guided.
Often, Sebastian asked for dinner and I replied in a meeting, reading contracts, on-site inspection.
Once he was silent for a while, then wrote, “General manager Gu is busier than I am.”
I replied, “MR. Shin should adapt. He answered, “Adting?” Eventually, he moved dates to my schedule instead of demanding space in his.
He waited outside my office at 10 P.M. With convenience store soup and hot tea.
“You are a CEO eating convenience store food in a parking lot,” I said. “Do you feel wronged?”
He looked at me. “No. Why? I get to see you.” My face went hot.
The comments appeared less often now. When they did, they had less power. Make him jealous.
I did not act cute. Sometimes I discussed logistics instead. Kiss him now. I asked whether he had eaten.
My life became quieter when I stopped letting a chorus narrate it. Then came the bid leak.
One Monday morning, dad’s office erupted. Our new supply chain proposal, a project I had been assisting on, had been leaked to a competitor.
Not just general pricing, core numbers, volume terms, discount thresholds. Only three people had touched that version.
Dad, our project manager, and me. Dad trusted me. The company did not. By lunch, the whispers had begun.
Mscu got close to Sebastian Shin recently. Maybe Shin Capital wanted the project. She is too inexperienced.
Maybe she sent the wrong file. I stood outside the pantry and listened. 6 months earlier, I would have cried in the bathroom.
3 months earlier, I would have called Mia. One month earlier, I might have texted Sebastian in panic.
This time, I went to it. Each draft I produced had a tiny trace, a word choice, a punctuation pattern, a harmless typo.
I had learned the habit from a risk control lecture. The leaked file contained one specific typo from a mid-stage version I had sent only to our project manager.
I asked it for access logs. I asked finance for unusual payments. I asked procurement for vendor contact history.
By evening, the chain was clear. The project manager had received money from the competitor and leaked the draft.
Worse, he had deliberately spread rumors about me and Sebastian to redirect suspicion. Dad read the report in silence.
When he looked up, there was pride in his eyes. You did well. I tried not to grin.
I learned from someone. Do not praise Sebastian Shin in my office yet, Dad. He grunted, but he was smiling.
The manager was reported. The competitor was disqualified. Our company won the client’s trust because we had uncovered and disclosed the breach before they did.
That night, Sebastian texted, “I heard MSU handled a crisis beautifully today.” I wrote, “MR. Shin receives news quickly.
His reply, I am pursuing you. I need to understand my competition.” I laughed. How’s my competitiveness?
Very strong, he wrote. Strong enough that I may not deserve you. My heart softened.
So Sebastian also felt the gap sometimes. Not because I lacked worth, but because he feared hurting something he valued.
Then work harder, I typed. Already doing so. Chapter 7. The anniversary gala. A month later, Shin Capital held its anniversary gala.
This time, Sebastian officially invited me as his date. I tried on dresses for 3 hours with Mia.
We chose a misty blue gown that was elegant without screaming for attention. When Sebastian picked me up, he stood by the car and stared for a fraction too long.
“Not good,” I teased. He looked away. “Very good. How good?” The ears reened again.
“Natalie.” I laughed all the way to the hotel. At the gala, attention gathered the second we entered.
Surprise, curiosity, calculation, envy, all of it swept over us. Sebastian kept my hand in his not possessive, simply steady.
Lydia approached with champagne. Miss Goo, congratulations. For what? She glanced at Sebastian for making progress with a man who communicates like encrypted software.
Sebastian said Lydia. She ignored him. Also, for the record, my family had ideas. I did not.
I prefer men who can speak more than five sentences without needing recovery time. I laughed.
Just as the evening seemed impossibly smooth, old Master Shin took the stage and made the public statement that removed the last shadow of family arranged marriage.
It gave me dignity in a room full of people who measured women by surnames and seating charts.
Later on the balcony, Sebastian gave me the gold repaired capabara and officially asked to pursue me.
After that, the world finally knew. Not that I had trapped Sebastian Shin. Not that the Goo family had climbed the Shin family ladder.
But that Sebastian Shin, the famously cold man who had never publicly acknowledged any woman, was waiting in line because Natalie Goo had not yet said yes fast enough.
The comments exploded in delight that night. Half a year later, they disappeared. It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
Sebastian and I were in his apartment opening blind boxes. He had pulled three common figures in a row and looked more offended by probability than he ever had by a business rival.
The comments drifted across my vision one last time. This is a good place to stop.
She no longer needs us to tell her what to choose. Be happy, Natalie. Goo.
I blinked. They were gone. Sebastian noticed immediately. What happened? Nothing, I said. He set the box down.
Natalie. I smiled. I just realized I can decide my life by myself. He took my hand.
You always could. I leaned against him and felt for the first time that the story was not happening to me.
I was writing it. Chapter 8. The proposal on the desk. A year after the disastrous blind date mixup, Sebastian proposed.
He did not choose a hotel ballroom or a yacht or a camera ready garden.
He chose his office. When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a row of capabaras on his executive desk.
The gold repaired one sat in the center, dignified and ridiculous. Beside it stood the hidden business suit capabara we had drawn together.
Around them were more capabaras he had collected over the year. Sleepy ones, angry ones, flower holding ones, one wearing tiny sunglasses.
The minimalist office had lost the war. Sebastian, I said laughing. Your office is becoming a zoo.
He stood beside the desk, more nervous than I had ever seen him in a boardroom.
Natalie. I stopped laughing. He picked up the gold repaired capabra. The base opened. Inside was a ring.
My breath caught. Sebastian walked to me and knelt. We began badly, he said. There was a wrong contact, bad advice, fear, pride, and too many things said too late.
But I am grateful that the person who walked into my life by mistake was you.
My eyes filled. I want to like you seriously every day for the rest of my life.
I want to listen when you are afraid. Wait when you need time and come closer only when you choose me too.
Natalie Goo, will you marry me? In that moment, I saw all of it again.
The first good morning I had sent the wrong man. The capabra I had stolen from his desk and broken on the lobby floor.
The vineyard where I had nearly lost him. The office where I finally said I liked him too late and badly.
But honestly, the balcony where he kissed me only after asking. The silent afternoon when the comments disappeared.
I held out my hand. Yes. The ring fit perfectly. I looked down then up.
When did you measure my size? His ears turned red. A while ago. How long is a while?
The first time you slept in my office lounge. I stared at him. Sebastian Shin.
He coughed. You were sleeping. It was convenient. That is not better. I was careful.
I hit his shoulder. He caught my hand and pulled me into his arms. Natalie, what?
I am glad you mistook me for someone else. I laughed into his suit. Me too.
Because by mistaking him, I had found him. Because by nearly losing him, I had learned to see him clearly.
Because the real love was not the fantasy the comments had promised me. It was the man who kept an ugly capabra on his desk because I gave it to him.
The man who respected a pause. The man who let cracks turn gold instead of pretending they had never existed.
I used to think love came with subtitles, instructions, and dramatic certainty. Now I know it is choosing someone even when there is no floating text telling you what comes next.
Sebastian held my hand. Outside his office window, the afternoon sun fell across the city in clean, bright lines.
On the desk, the capabas stood in absurd formation. I leaned against him and felt everything settle into place.
This time, no mistake, no running, no script. I had finally chosen the right person.
Epilogue. After choosing, people assume that a proposal is a finish line. It is not.
A proposal is closer to a door opening. The music swells. Everyone smiles and then you step through and discover there are still schedules to coordinate, families to inform, contracts to review, flowers to reject, and a future to build with the person who has just promised forever in a room full of collectible rodents.
The first person I called was my father. He answered on the second ring. Did Shin Capital cancel another meeting?
No. Did Sebastian bully you? I looked at the ring on my finger. Sebastian stood a few steps away, pretending not to listen while obviously listening to every word.
He proposed, “Silence.” Then Dad said with the calm terror of a man whose daughter had once crashed a golf cart into a decorative pond.
Which part of that sentence should I focus on? The proposed part. Did you say yes?
Yes. Another silence. Then a size so long it felt like it had been stored for 26 years.
Give the phone to him. Sebastian’s posture changed instantly. He took the phone like a man accepting a court summon.
MR. Goo. I could not hear Dad’s side clearly, but Sebastian’s answers were enough. Yes, I understand.
No, I will not make her give up work. No, I will not let my family pressure her.
Yes, she can keep her own assets. Of course, the capabaras are not part of the dowry.
I choked. Sebastian glanced at me, eyes soft despite the formal line of his shoulders.
After the call ended, he returned my phone. Your father asked if I could cook.
Can you? I can follow instructions. That means no. I can learn. It was such a simple sentence, but it had become the quiet center of our relationship.
I can learn. He had learned to say what he felt instead of burying it under restraint.
I had learned not to turn panic into distance. We had learned that liking someone was not the same as guessing correctly.
It required asking, answering, and surviving the awkward middle. Mia cried when she saw the ring.
Then she slapped my shoulder. Do you understand that I almost introduced you to the wrong man and somehow became the cause of your marriage?
Technically, you did introduce me to the wrong man. Do not ruin my legacy. I am claiming credit.
Julian Joe sent congratulations through Mia. His message was short, funny, and kind. Tell Miss Guu I am relieved not to have been murdered by MR. Shinare.
I wish them happiness and strongly recommend that all future blind dates include legal names, photos, and perhaps fingerprints.
Sebastian read it over my shoulder and said he has many opinions. He also saved us from another misunderstanding at the banquet.
I am aware you still dislike him. I am polite to him. That was not my question.
Sebastian adjusted the cuff of his shirt. I respect his survival instincts. I laughed until he kissed me quiet.
News of our engagement traveled faster than any formal announcement. By that evening, three business gossip accounts had posted blurry photos of my ring for relatives I had not seen since middle school sent messages beginning with I always knew.
And one anonymous commenter claimed I had used an oult capabra ritual to capture Sebastian Chin.
I sent the screenshot to Sebastian. He replied, “Inefficient theory. If Capabas worked, I would have proposed earlier.
Dating him had made me discover a hidden talent. Sebastian Chin was unexpectedly funny when no one else was watching.
But public happiness brought public opinions. Some people said I was lucky. Some said the Goo family had won the lottery.
Some said Sebastian was generous to forgive a woman who had approached him through a mistake.
Some said I was clever, play innocent, act confused, make the man think he had chosen first.
I used to think those comments would crush me. Instead, I printed a market expansion plan, walked into the conference room at GooG Groupoup, and led a tower meeting on supplier restructuring.
When someone mentioned the engagement with a tone that suggested my future had been settled by a ring, I looked up from the projection.
The ring is on my left hand, I said. The financial model is on the screen.
Please focus on the one relevant to this meeting. The room went silent. Dad laughed so hard afterward that he had to sit down.
You are becoming difficult, he said proudly. I learned from the best. Me partly. Do not say Sebastian.
I was going to say myself. Dad looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.
Good. Keep learning from her. That was the thing no one outside seemed to understand.
Sebastian had not rescued me from confusion and turned me into a heroine. If anything, losing him for those few weeks had forced me to rescue myself from the habit of letting other people narrate my life.
The floating comments had vanished because I no longer needed a crowd to tell me where to look.
A month after the proposal, old master invited me to tea. I went alone. Sebastian wanted to come, naturally.
He is my grandfather, he said. And I am your fiance, not a package you need to personally deliver.
That earned me a long look. Fine, he said. Call me if you need anything.
I will. If he says anything harsh, dash. Sebastian. He stopped. I straightened his tie because it was slightly crooked and because I knew he liked when I did small unnecessary things without making them symbolic.
Trust me, I said. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. I do. Old Masters private tea room smelled of sandalwood and roasted oolong.
He sat by the window with two cups already poured. You came without him, he said.
Yes, good means you have a spine. I sat. I will accept that as praise.
His mouth twitched. He asked me about GooG Group’s new supplier project. He asked about my father’s health.
He asked whether Sebastian had finally learned to send messages like a normal person. He is practicing.
I said that boy has practiced being silent for 30 years. It will take time.
The old man looked out at the courtyard. Do you know why I approved of you?
Because I am not too stupid. This time he laughed aloud. Because you were afraid and admitted it.
People who pretend not to fear power either want power or do not understand it.
You understood enough to be cautious, but you did not sell your heart for caution.
I held the teacup between my palms. I still worry. I admitted not about Sebastian’s feelings, about everything around us.
Family expectations, business interests, public opinions. Sometimes I wonder whether I can keep being myself in that kind of environment.
Old Master Shin nodded once. Then keep your own work. Keep your own money. Keep friends who dare to scold you.
And when the Shin family is unreasonable, be more unreasonable back. I stared at him.
That is your advice. The Shin family has never lacked obedient people. It lacks people Sebastian will actually listen to.
When I told Sebastian later, he frowned. Grandfather told you to be unreasonable? Yes, that explains his expression when I was a child.
He has been training everyone wrong for decades. Careful. He likes me now. I can report you.
Sebastian pulled me into his arms. Then I need to keep you happy. A wise strategy.
He lowered his head. I am practicing. The wedding planning began with three firm decisions.
First, no grand spectacle designed to prove the Shin family strength. Second, no business seating chart disguised as romance.
Third, the Capa Vera proposal story was not to be printed on napkins despite Mia’s enthusiastic suggestion.
It would be iconic, she argued. It would be grounds for ending your maid of honor privileges, I replied.
Sebastian, traitor that he was, looked thoughtful. A small capabra motif could be elegant. I turned to him slowly.
Do not, he held up both hands, withdrawn. But two weeks later, I discovered that he had ordered custom wedding favors, tiny gold line ceramic capabas, each holding a place card.
I stared at the sample. He stood beside me, expression serious. They are tasteful. They are capabaras in formal wear.
Exactly, Sebastian. Natalie, I try to be stern. I failed. The little capabra wore a bow tie.
Fine, I said, but if anyone asks, this was your idea. Gladly. The week before our engagement party, Lydia invited me to lunch.
She chose a quiet restaurant and ordered with the confidence of someone who had never once panicked over a menu.
I wanted to say something directly, she said after the waiter left. People used my name to pressure you before.
I dislike being turned into a weapon. You were never the problem, I said. Good.
Then we can be friends. Or at least allies against Sebastian’s tragic conversational habits. I laughed.
Lydia sipped water. Also, do not let anyone convince you that being suitable for him means becoming less yourself.
He liked you when you were chaotic enough to gift him an ugly animal. If you become a perfect porcelain hostess, he will be miserable and deserve it.
I thought of the old me trying to be careful by becoming small. I thought of Sebastian asking me not to run.
I will remember. Good. Lydia smiled. Now tell me honestly, does he still text like a bank notification?
Less often. Yesterday he sent me a full paragraph. A paragraph? Love changes men. It did.
It changed both of us, but not in the way I once imagined. It did not smooth away flaws or turn Sebastian into a talkative prince.
It did not make me fearless. It made us more responsible for the space between us.
When we fought and we did fight, it was usually over time. He had a habit of assuming he could cancel sleep, but not dinner with me.
I had a habit of pretending I was fine until I became terrifyingly not fine.
One night, 3 months after the proposal, I left his office because he took a call during the only hour we had both protected all week.
He found me in the parking garage. Natalie, go back to your call. I ended it.
How efficient. He stood a few steps away, not crowding me. I am sorry. You always say that very beautifully.
Then you do it again. He was silent. I was angry enough to keep going.
I do not need you to prove I matter by abandoning work. I need you to stop promising time you have not actually made room for.
When you cancel, say you cancel. When you are busy, say you’re busy. Do not sit across from me physically present and emotionally trapped in a boardroom.
He took the rebuke without defending himself. That more than anything calmed me. You are right, he said.
I wanted to keep both and did both badly. Yes, tomorrow lunch. No phone. I will have assistant Jin hold calls unless the building is on fire.
Whose building? Any building? I almost laughed. He saw it and came closer. May I?
Still asking. Always asking. I nodded and he hugged me. This was what the comments had never understood.
Romance was not only balcony confessions and public approval. It was learning how to fight without turning away.
It was saying you hurt me and hearing I did. It was returning not because a script demanded reconciliation, but because the person before you had chosen accountability.
The engagement party was smaller than the newspapers expected and larger than I wanted. That was compromise.
Dad cried during his toast and pretended he was allergic to flowers. Mia gave a speech that began with, “I would like to clarify that I introduced Natalie to the wrong man with the best intentions and ended with everyone laughing so loudly that old Masterson’s shoulders shook.”
Julian Joe attended as a guest and raised his glass to Sebastian. “No hard feelings?”
I asked cautiously. Julian smiled. “None. I prefer being alive.” Sebastian said, “You are very dramatic.”
Julian glanced at me. He says, “While standing beside a gold repaired Capa engagement display, I had to step between them before Sebastian could respond.”
The night ended with Sebastian and me standing outside the hotel under a soft spring rain.
He held the umbrella carefully between us. “You know,” I said, looking at the rain sliding off the canopy.
“If I had not mistaken you for Julian, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“It would have.” You sound certain. I am. How? He was quiet for a moment.
I had already asked about you after the reception. I knew your father’s company had a project we could cooperate on.
I was considering creating opportunities to meet you without alarming you. I stared. Sebastian Shin, that is premeditated.
Yes, you were going to manufacture business encounters. Respectful ones. You are impossible. You sent 18 son emojis to a man you had never met properly.
That was different. How? Mine was supernatural stupidity. Yours was strategic stocking. His mouth curved.
Then we are well matched. I leaned into him. Were you really afraid I would run?
Yes. And now he looked at me under the umbrella, eyes steady and warm. Now I know you will come back.
I squeezed his hand. Yes, I would. Not because Destiny comments told me to. Not because fear left me no choice.
Not because a mistake needed to become meaningful. Because I had chosen, because he had chosen, because love, real love, was not the absence of misunderstandings.
It was the decision to speak clearly after them, to repair what could be repaired, and to let the gold seam show.
On our wedding day, the ceremony was held in a glass conservatory at sunset. No reporters inside, no business partners seated by usefulness, just family, friends, a few colleagues, and a suspicious number of tiny ceramic paperas and bow ties.
When I walked down the aisle, Sebastian watched me with a look so open that my steps nearly faltered.
This man, who once replied to my flirting with chilly punctuation, now looked as if the whole world had narrowed to one person in a white dress.
At the altar, he took my hands. His vows were not long. “Natalie,” he said, voice low but steady.
I used to think restraint could prevent harm. Then I learned silence can hurt as much as recklessness.
You taught me to speak, to ask, to wait properly, and to come closer without making you smaller.
I promise to keep learning. I promise to respect your work, your choices, your fears, and your courage.
I promise that when things crack, I will not throw them away. I will repair them with you.
My throat tightened. When it was my turn, I looked at him and forgot the first line.
Everyone laughed softly. I laughed too, then began again. Sebastian, I walked into your life by mistake.
Then I almost walked out because I was afraid to admit what had become true.
You were never a script, never a roll, never a fall back after a wrong turn.
You were the person I learned to see when the noise disappeared. I promise to keep choosing you with my own eyes open.
I promise not to run without speaking. I promise to stand beside you as myself, not as a smaller version you can protect more easily.
Old Masters wiped one eye and claimed dust had entered it. Dad cried openly this time and blamed no flowers.
Mia sobbed so loudly that Julian passed her tissues. Sebastian slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit, of course. He had measured early. I whispered, still creepy. He whispered back, still convenient.
I almost laughed during the kiss. After the ceremony, when the guests moved toward dinner, Sebastian and I slipped briefly into the side garden.
The sky was deep gold. The air smelled of flowers and rain, and somewhere inside, Mia was probably telling someone the entire wrong blind date story with unnecessary dramatic enhancement.
Sebastian took my hand. Any regrets? I pretended to consider only that your office is now permanently associated with Capabaras.
That is not a regret. No, that is a legacy. I laughed and leaned into him.
For a second, I imagined the comments returning. A final burst of words across the evening sky.
They would say something sentimental, probably with too many exclamation marks, but the sky stayed clear.
Good. I did not need them. I knew the ending. No, not the ending. The beginning.
Sebastian kissed my temple. Natalie. Hm. I am still glad you mistook me for someone else.
I looked up at him. I am glad you were patient enough to let me stop being mistaken.
His thumb brushed my wedding ring. You found me. I smiled. No, I saw you.
Eventually, he held my hand tighter. And this time there was no wrong name, no borrowed plot, no invisible audience telling me which direction to go.
Only the man beside me, the life ahead of us, and the quiet certain knowledge that I had chosen it for myself.
Postcript. The first page we wrote. After the wedding, people still asked about the beginning.
At dinners, at charity events, at business conferences where the floral arrangements cost more than my first car, someone would lean in after two glasses of champagne and say, “Mrs. Shin, is it true you pursued your husband for a month because you thought he was someone else?”
Sebastian would go very still. I would smile. Yes, I would say. My judgment was questionable, but my taste was excellent.
That answer became his favorite. Once on our first anniversary, I found him standing in his office after midnight looking at the gold repaired capabra in the center of the desk.
The city lights glowed behind him. His suit jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up, and for a moment he looked exactly like the man I had first feared, sharp, remote, unreachable.
Then he heard me and turned. The expression softened before he spoke. You are awake.
You are not home. I was finishing a document. The document is a ceramic animal.
He looked at the capabra. It is relevant. I walked over and stood beside him.
The little figure’s gold seam caught the desk lamp and shone like a tiny river.
Do you ever mind? I asked. Mind what? That I came to you for the wrong reason first?
He answered without hesitation. No, really. Sometimes I mind that you were afraid enough to run.
Sometimes I mind that I made you afraid. Sometimes I mind that I waited in silence when I should have spoken.
But the wrong reason brought you to my door. Everything after that was ours to decide.
I rested my head against his shoulder. You have become very good at saying things.
I have a strict teacher. She sounds difficult. She is worth the effort. A year earlier those words would have made me blush and hide.
That night I simply took his hand. Marriage did not turn us into perfect people.
Sebastian still overworked. I still overthought. He still sent messages that sometimes read like executive bullet points.
I still occasionally wanted to throw decorative objects at him when he tried to solve feelings with logistics.
But now we notice sooner. When I went quiet, he asked, “Are you thinking or are you leaving?”
When he withdrew, I asked, “Do you need space or are you punishing yourself?” The answers were not always graceful.
Sometimes we argued in the kitchen while pasta water boiled over. Sometimes he apologized too formally and I accused him of sounding like a shareholder letter.
Sometimes I cried from exhaustion and he sat on the floor beside me because he had learned that solutions could wait until comfort arrived first.
We built a life out of those small corrections. Goo group grew. I took over the supply chain division and later led a new partnership platform for midsized manufacturers.
The first time a trade journal called me Natalie Guushian, a rising operator in her own right, I circled in her own right with a red pen and taped it inside my notebook.
Sebastian saw it and said, “They are late.” Who? Everyone discovering that. I pretended not to be moved.
He pretended not to notice. At Shin Capital, his office became infamous for the Capabraa collection.
No one dared laugh at first. Then old Masters Shin asked why the animals looked so calm when everyone else in the company looked overworked.
After that, employees began leaving tiny Capa gifts on Sebastian’s desk before difficult negotiations. He complained every time.
He kept everyone. Mia claimed the collection had become a corporate mascot and demanded royalties for introducing me to the wrong man.
Julian Joe sent a capabara wearing boxing gloves as a wedding gift with a card that read for MR. Shin’s emotional restraint training.
Lydia sent an elegant glass case claiming someone needed to bring taste to the zoo.
Our story became a joke among people who loved us. That I learned was how old pain became safe.
Not because it vanished, but because it could be touched without bleeding. Sometimes late at night, I thought about the floating comments.
I wondered who they had been. Fate, a story system, my own anxious imagination wearing an audience’s voice.
I never found out. I only knew that they had been wrong and right in equal measure.
They were wrong about the blind date. Wrong about running. Wrong about treating love like strategy.
But they were right about one thing. Sebastian Chin had seen me before I saw him.
And in the end, I saw him back. On our second anniversary, he gave me a new notebook.
The cover was dark green leather, simple and soft. Inside the first page, he had written a line in his neat, firm handwriting.
For every choice you make without a script, I stared at it for a long time.
Then I took a pen and wrote underneath. And for every choice we make together, Sebastian read it, smiled, and kissed the corner of the page as if it were my hand.
What should we write first? He asked. I thought of the cafe where Mia had started the disaster.
The watch I should never have sent. The office where I stole my own gift.
The vineyard where I failed to chase him. The balcony where I finally did not run.
The proposal hidden in a capa. And the clear sky without comments on our wedding day.
Then I wrote. Chapter 1. We begin again on purpose. Sebastian looked at the line and took my hand.
Outside, the afternoon sunlight spilled across the desk, across the gold seams of the little capabra, across the ring on my finger.
Everything glowed quietly. Not perfectly, better. Thank you for watching True Revenge Story. If you enjoyed this episode, please like, subscribe, and follow for more stories of betrayal, secrets, revenge, and karma.
Don’t miss the next story because the guilty never escaped forever.
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
