#drew this with a mouse in class lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysafehaneul · 9 months

Text

II.AQUAMARINE

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 7k+

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

ANGST, (obviously lol), Fluff, Smut (in future chapters not this one).

This is my original work for free comsumption because fuck capitalism but please do not steal it. All characters are orginal except The members of Seventeen, I do not own them. This is purely a work of fiction with no similarity with real life whatsoever, If any incident feel familiar, That is purely a coincedence. Please drop your feedback as it helps me feel motivated and improve. Happy Reading!

Previously On

CHAPTER 1

Here's the Picture that inspired this chapter.

CHAPTER 2: A RELUCTANT AGREEMENT

Ten years ago

Through the corridors of yesteryear, you recall the day when, in that bright classroom, red chairs and whiteboards, your professor's voice echoed through the room. The chirps of the birds could be heard from outside the window. Silent and attentive, like a gust of wind, he burst into the classroom, a whirlwind of energy and presence. Brown hair, tousled like a cascade of autumn leaves, His eyes bore the stories yet to be told; gentle and expressive, his brows arched as if to frame his emotions, a canvas upon which his feelings painted their masterpieces. And that smile, my goodness, that smile, a warm sunbeam peeking through the clouds, a constant presence on his lips, as if kindness itself chose to reside there. He tilted his lean body as he excused himself through the narrow passageway between the tables without knocking over the laptops or catching the professor's eyes.

Professor Stevens spun the pointer in his hand, expounding on the intricacies of change management. ''So as we can see from this point, change is an inherent part of life because the ability to adapt to a new circumstance is a hallmark of human resilience. From personal transformations to shifts within organisations, the psychological aspects of change and adaptation play a pivotal role in our ability to navigate unfamiliar'' His voice drew out and lost its trail when the movement at the back of the class disrupted his lecture. Catching sight of the intruder, voice laced with reprimand and amusement, he said, ''Stop right there, Mr. Mouse. Where are you attempting to sneak into?'' following his line of vision, all twenty pairs of eyes looking back at him. Through the collective attention of the classroom, Joshua could feel the burn of it as its evidence slowly rose to his cheeks. His embarrassment was palpable, an eloquent smile tucked away, and his gaze cast downward as if the most interesting object in the world were now on the floor beneath him. ''The class started twenty minutes ago, young man,'' the professor's voice resonated. With a sheepish grin and the shoulder strap of his backpack clutched tightly over his shoulder, Joshua lifted his head, his fingers finding refuge at the back of his head. ''Sorry, Dr. S,'' a hint of apologetic charm twinkling in his eyes. A swift retort danced in the professor's gaze. ''Party went too long,'' he quipped, and a ripple of chuckles traversed the classroom. ''Come here and sit in your assigned seat'' and went back to the lecture. Reclaiming the reins of the lecture, he went back to highlighting the nuances of adaptation, echoing through the walls. But his words faded into the background as you stood in the midst of that moment, your heart beating in a newfound rhythm. Your gaze was an unwitting lighthouse, locked onto him, and the cadence of his movement to his seat enveloped your senses. Your reverie was broken by a nudge from your best friend. Pulling you back from your daydreams. Her voice, laced with playful jes, reached your ears. ''I get that he's cute, but stop doorling.''

A smile adorned your lips. Rolling your eyes, you forced your eyes back to your professor. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of the same brown eyes got fixated on the person right next to you.

...

Present day

Laughter flowed like a melody, woven into the golden threads of the lamps and chandeliers above the table. Amidst the opulent splendour of the dining hall, the clinking glasses and the delicate harmony of forks and knives became the soundtrack of the evening. Your parents are mainly leading the conversations, engaging in animated conversations about Mr. Hoshimoto, the CEO of Tiger Baby Media, and his inexplicable obsession with tigers. ''I tell you,'' your father declared, his voice filled with mirth and the boost of wine. '' One of these days, he'll start adding 'rawr' at the end of every sentence.'' The collective laughter that followed enveloped the room with shared amusement.

And there, across the expanse of the table, was him. His eyes, as sharp and inquisitive as a fox, a shade of black as deep and enigmatic as the night sky, held stories untold, a universe of thoughts and emotions concealed within their depths. His gaze was both intense and preceptive, as if he possessed an innate ability to see beyond the surface and to delve into the hidden corners of the soul. met yours in a challenge, a dance of determination that played out in unspoken verse. With a lazy smile gracing his lips, he laid down his fork, reaching for his glass in sync with your movement, like a subtle mirroring of your actions. A silent duel of wills, a tug of intentions, unfurled between you both. His words echoing in your head: the information you believed was unbeknownst to the whole world, he is aware of it. You steeled your resolve; no matter what, you would not let him breach your composure. You will not let him have the benefit of doubt that he got under your skin. You gave a subtle cheer to the glass and brought it to your lips.

But the universe had other plans. For your mother's voice, a beacon of redirection cut through the atmosphere, dissolving your silent standoff. A victorious grin danced on her lips, a know-it-all grin that spoke volumes of maternal triumph. ''Mrs.Jeon is asking you something,'' she announced, her words pulling you from the magnetic pull of his gaze. You redirected your attention, a reluctant withdrawal from the battlefield of gazes, only to meet the warm and understanding smile of Mrs. Jeon, who encouraged familiarity with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Call me Sunmi," she insisted, her tone one of amity. "So, Y/n, I've heard you completed your education and now handle your father's business in Switzerland. Any particular reason?" Her inquiry hung in the air, a canvas upon which you painted your aspirations and your reasons for charting your own path beyond the shadows of legacy. "I like the weather over there," you offered, your chuckles echoing like a chorus that surrounded you. "On a serious note," you continued, eyes glinting, determination set like steel. "I wanted to expand my horizons beyond the family's shadow, learn about the world, experience life, and make friends." And then, the audacity in his gaze pierced through, his mocking remark barely veiled, ''who feel like family'' a reminder that he was present in every corner of your world, even here. Your gaze, unwavering and defiant, shifted from Mrs. Jeon to him, a smile that whispered "Fuck off" without uttering a word. And then came the probing question that shifted the air—a playful inquiry about your romantic inclinations.

So, Y/N, do you have any boyfriends or girlfriends? '' "Suni—"

"Honey, it's the 20th century. A girl can have options." Sunmi's voice, cheekily defiant, carried an air of rebellion, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips as she leaned on her palm and elbows on the table. a posture that didn't sit well with your mother's etiquette-driven sensibilities.

"We're all friends here, aren't we?" she mused, her gaze challenging the boundaries of decorum. With a calculated tilt of your head and your voice a blend of wit and audacity, you responded, "Not sure. I'll have to check my dungeon in Switzerland to see if he's still there." The room held its breath, a suspended moment, a tightrope between jest and earnestness. Then, like a storm breaking, the room erupted in laughter—a deep, soulful laugh that enveloped you, drawing you into its embrace. Among the harmonies of shared amusement, his laughter stood out—a sonorous echo that mirrored the rhythm of your own mirth. He has a nice laugh, you thought to yourself. And amid the laughter, Sunmi's declaration washed over you like a gentle tide. "I like you," she confessed, her words an embrace of shared connection. "I knew I was going to like you." As the conversation flowed seamlessly back to its course, you found yourself excusing your way from the table—a retreat to solitude in the powder room. Yet even as you left, your curious eyes met his, his amused smile leaving a lingering trace on your thoughts.

In the realm where awareness transcends mere information, a deeper truth takes root. Information, like fleeting gusts of wind, is consumed and forgotten, but awareness—ah, awareness—unfurls like petals, revealing what lies beneath the façade presented to the world. It's the art of observation that grants one the privilege of peering beyond the surface, uncovering the hidden layers waiting to be unveiled. Such was the state that Wonwoo found himself in on a Thursday morning, stirred by a curiosity that had lain dormant for far too long. As your graceful figure retreated from the opulent dining hall, a realisation swept over him like a gentle breeze. He became acutely aware that the waters of your persona ran deeper than what shimmered on the surface, and an inexplicable urge surged within him to plunge into those depths. A subtle clearing of the throat snapped his thoughts back to the present, a reminder that it was impolite to let one's gaze linger too long. Such introspective musings were often doubled in embarrassment when witnessed by the lady's father. Caught in an unspoken exchange with your father, their eyes locked briefly, and an unspoken recognition passed between them. Your father then addressed Wonwoo, ''Young man,'' he began. ''I have to tell you, you make your father very proud. He was telling me how you have a keen eye for property.'' ''He flatters me, sir'' "Good work deserves appreciation," your father said, his words carrying the weight of wisdom. "It fuels productivity and fosters competition among peers. Learn to seek what you want, my boy, and when you find it, treasure it." With a tender gesture, he kissed your mother's hand, a symbol of the appreciation he spoke of. The secret smiles exchanged between them held volumes of shared understanding. Wonwoo's father chimed in, ''I agree'' his smile echoing his agreement. Amidst these exchanges, a restlessness began to claw at Wonwoo's insides. He excused himself from the table, his fingers twitching with a subtle anxiety. He needed solace, a moment of respite, and smoke. And so he rose from his seat, excusing himself from the company and the conversation that had entrapped him.

"Would you like someone to show you the way?" Your mother's voice offered assistance, kindness colouring her words.

Politely declining the offer, Wonwoo left the room, his destination veering not towards the washroom but towards the haven of the balcony. The open air beckoned to him, a refuge to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts that spun within him.

...

The tendrils of moonlight that wrapped around you, a heavy ambience of anguish clung to your soul, reminiscent of a night shrouded in sorrow. Your feet, as if drawn by the moon's silver strings, carried you into the night, and with every breath of cool night air, you felt a weight on your chest that hadn't pressed down so heavily since the night you lost a piece of your world. As the moonlight bathed you in its ethereal glow, you found solace in its tranquil embrace, a moment of respite from the tempestuous memories that surged within you.

Two years ago

The echo of heavy footsteps reverberated through the halls of your home, carrying with them a grim aura that painted the scene as it unfolded before you. In the doorway stood police officers, their expressions etched with sombre gravity. A voice, tinged with urgency, pierced the silence as one of them addressed you.

"Do you know Noella Bulavia Hong and Joshua Hong?" The words hung like a haunting melody in the air.

"Yes," you replied, urgency tightening your voice. "She's a very close friend of mine—Noella'' Oh my Ella.

It was the dreaded moment when reality turned into a nightmare. "I am sorry to inform you, Ms. L/N," the officer's voice held the weight of crushing news, "but today at 1:30 am, there was an accident at the Bahnhofstrasse. Two cars collided, and a gas leak ignited a fire that resulted in an explosion. The occupants of both cars lost their lives."

No--- Your world spun in disbelief, and your mind was a maelstrom of chaos. Numbness spread like a winter frost, as if you were detached from the very ground beneath you. Tears flowed involuntarily, and your senses dulled as if robbed of their essence. A heart-wrenching void opened within you, an emptiness so profound that it felt like you were falling endlessly into an abyss. The weight of the night pressed upon you, suffocating your spirit.

'Noella, the girl with the most resplendent eyes,' your thoughts whispered, each memory a fragile touch that warmed your heart. Every laugh, every shared moment, is all fading into the bitter reality of the present. You have heard that when a soulmate departs, a part of oneself fades away with them. Today, you understood that agony.

Why her? Why her? What did she do to deserve this? Your thoughts spiralled into an anguished chorus. "When she finally found the love she always yearned for and the family she deserved,"

Sobs clawed at your throat, but you continued, driven by a desperate need for answers. "Officer, they had a son, Noel Hong. He's five years old; was he... He has blue eyes and

Words faltered, and incomprehensible emotions swirled within you. Officer Batch, a familiar face, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, guiding you inside. The tea cup in your trembling hand was a lifeline, a futile attempt to find solace amidst the storm. But your thoughts slipped back to that dreaded call from Jeonghan, informing you of the accident.

"Fortunately, their son was not with them," he had said. "He was with his babysitter. Right now he is with Ms. Ashley, a child services officer. He's in the car sleeping."

Oh, Noel. Your mind groaned in anguish as you rested your head in your hands, trying to process the pain that gripped you. There was a honk outside, followed by a loud slam of the car door. A few beats later, Jeonghan rushed into the room, gathering you into a tight embrace. Sobs wracked both of you, two souls mourning the loss of the most important people in your lives.

"They're gone, JJ," you choked out, tears a torrent between you. "They're gone."

Victor, Jeonghan's partner, conversed with the officers before heading out to retrieve Noel from the car. "Where's Noel?" Jeonghan's voice trembled, brokenness painted across his face.

"Tante," a small voice roused you both. Noel's sleepy inquiry cut through the air like a blade, his innocence contrasting with the devastating truth. "Why are you crying? Where are Mama and Appa?"

Your heart shattered at the innocence that clung to his voice. You walked over to him, scooping him into your arms. Holding him tightly, you mustered a smile through your tears. "They went somewhere, little one. It's late; why don't Tante and Noel have a sleepover?"

"Without mama?" his voice trembled, mirroring your own.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice catching. "Today, it's just you and me."

You led him to your room, laying him down beneath the covers. He clung to your finger, his tiny hand a lifeline amidst the abyss of grief. In his slumber, he echoed the pain that reverberated within you. ''Tante, when will Mama and Appa come back'' for the first time in a while? You prayed for the first time in a while to know the answer to that question. ...

Descending back downstairs, the scene had changed. Officer Batch remained, as did Jeonghan and Victor. Ashley, the child services officer, stood, straightening her attire. Her condolences were heartfelt, and her sympathy was genuine. As she prepared to leave, her words lingered like a balm on your wounds.

"Firstly, I am extremely sorry for your loss."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the room. You looked around; the officer who had delivered the news had excused himself. It was now just the three of you, the grief englufing the room and the reality setting in.

Ashley's words took a practical turn, discussing procedures, cooperation, and the logistics of what lay ahead. But your thoughts drifted, images of Joshua and Noella surfacing like ghosts. You realised the danger Noel might be in—the very real threat that could have stolen him too.

"Jeonghan," you interjected, your voice calm yet resolved. "Noel's existence should remain hidden from the Bulavia family."

The room went quiet, the implication lingering in the air. ''The Bulavias are his only blood relatives,'' he cried, but you understood the darkness that lurked within their legacy. Victor's words echoed in your mind, urging you to see beyond the façade of their societal stature.

"They are murderers. Are you truly that naive to think their deaths were mere accidents?" The words tumbled from your lips, filled with an understanding forged from the past. "Come to your senses. We know what they are at the core; they may be arms manufactured for the world, but we all know—-'' you drew a deep breath, lowering your voice, '' they never cared for Noel. I am certain you can recall what happened when they learned of her pregnancy'' Jeonghan was now pacing as you sat down on the same chair as the officer Batch was once seated, recalling that horrendous sight when Joshua was beaten to pulp and Noella's brother slapped her to the ground—the horror she lived through till she came to the university. You were certain that if they got their hands on Noel, then one could only imagine the horrendous things they would do to that child. unshaken eyes and a composed voice, ''till the time I am alive, I won't let anyone touch Joshua and Noella's child''."

Jeonghan and Victor exchanged glances, their unspoken agreement cementing an unbreakable pact. A silent oath was shared among the three of you—Noel's protection was is and will be your first priority. Because every child deserves a childhood and no one will deprive him of it.

Present.

Your musings were interrupted by the persistent vibration of your phone against your dress. The moonlight cast a sombre glow, your thoughts mired in the past, and your heart still carried the weight of those memories. You glanced at the caller ID, Rema's name catching your eye.

Your phone stirred in your hand; its vibrations were a stark interruption to the calm. Your heart quickened, for her calls often held weighty matters. You answered, your voice soft yet tinged with an undercurrent of anticipation.

"Rema?"

Her voice carried a mixture of empathy and concern, her words threading a tapestry of news that would unravel your tranquilly. "Y/n, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a new development. A notice from the Swiss court has arrived."

Your fingers tightened around the phone, an invisible tension sweeping over you. "What is it?"

A heavy pause danced on the line, a prelude to a storm of emotions yet to come. "They're suing you, Y/N. The Bulavia family is filing a lawsuit against you, claiming that you've kept their grandson away from them."

Your breath caught, a tempest of disbelief swirling within you. Their intentions bore a weight that you couldn't ignore, and the accusation against you was an unwelcome intrusion into the sanctuary of your solitude.

"They're also alleging that you're an unstable person, unfit to care for Noel." Rema's voice carried a note of frustration, mirroring your own feelings.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a surge of anger and desperation intertwined within your chest. The moonlight seemed to dim, the world tilting on its axis as the weight of their accusations pressed upon you.

As you processed the news, your back remained turned towards the entrance of the balcony. Little did you know that within the shadows, another presence lingered—WWonwoo, a silent observer in your moment of vulnerability.

Amidst the turmoil of emotions, your voice wavered as you spoke, your words a mix of resilience and defeat. "Rema, I... This is... it's unjust."

Her response was a reassuring echo in the night. "We won't let them tarnish your image, Y/N. I've already contacted our legal team, and the evidence is in our favour. We'll fight this with everything we have."

Your grip on the phone eased, and the connection between you and Rema felt like a lifeline in the storm. As you absorbed her words, the door leading to the balcony creaked open, but your attention was so consumed that you remained unaware of the presence that had joined you.

In the shadows, Wonwoo stood, his eyes upon your figure, his heart stirred by the depth of your emotions. Your strength and vulnerability were on display—a portrait of resilience in the face of adversity.

"We'll weather this storm together, Y/N." Rema's voice was a promise, a lifeline to hold onto in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty.

With a small nod, you replied, your voice a blend of determination and gratitude. "Thank you, Rema. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

As the call ended, you remained standing on the balcony, seeking solace amidst the twinkling stars. The tendrils of cool air wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, a balm for the restless thoughts that stirred within. Unbeknownst to you, a presence approached, a shadow converging with your own.

A soft spark illuminated the darkness as a cigarette was lit, the warm glow revealing the figure that had joined you. Wonwoo's towering form, standing at a commanding 6 feet, casts a silent yet powerful presence. The tendrils of smoke that curled from his lips seemed like ethereal wisps of thought floating into the night.

"You're quite the enigma, aren't you?" His voice was a low rumble, a testament to the depth of his emotions.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting the soft ember of the cigarette's tip. Your brows furrowed, and a mixture of surprise and accusation laced your voice. "Were you eavesdropping?"

He quirked an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Eavesdropping would imply a certain level of secrecy. I believe the word you're looking for is 'overheard.'"

Your lips curled into a wry smile, and you crossed your arms, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and curiosity. "Semantics. What's the difference?"

He took a leisurely drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. "The difference, my dear, is that eavesdropping implies a certain degree of intentionality, while overhearing is simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time."

The banter between you was a dance of words, a subtle clash of wills that echoed in the night air. The moon above seemed to glow a little brighter, as if captivated by the exchange unfolding beneath its watchful gaze.

As the cigarette dwindled to a mere stub, his final exhale mingled with the evening breeze, a symbol of conclusion. He flicked the remains away, the glowing ember dissipating into darkness. "Well, my unintentional overhearing has come to an end. Shall we return?"

You nodded, a mix of annoyance and something else settling within you. The two of you turned to leave the balcony, making your way back to the warmth of the dining room. The moment you stepped inside, you were met with the knowing glances of your parents, their exchanged looks laden with unspoken implications.

With an inward sigh, you were about to find your seat when Wonwoo's actions surprised you. He pulled out your chair, a gesture both unexpected and oddly courteous. The corners of your lips twitched, an amused yet sceptical glint in your eyes. "I can sit down on my own, you know."

His lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze meeting yours with an air of playful challenge. "I'm aware. But isn't it polite to assist a lady?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a chuckle, despite yourself. "Chivalry isn't dead, I see."

As you settled into your seat, he took his own place across the table. The room was steeped in the echoes of your exchange, an unspoken understanding threading between you. The dance of words, the spark of banter—iit was a tapestry woven from different threads of emotion.

The clinks of silverware and hushed conversation enveloped the room once more, a symphony of togetherness and shared moments. Amidst it all, you and Wonwoo exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the dance you'd shared, a dance that had brought you both a little closer, even in the midst of your verbal jousting.

The evening had unfolded like a symphony of shared moments and whispered laughter. As the dinner drew to a close, the air held a blend of both familiarity and anticipation.

Mr. Jeon's eyes held a mixture of admiration and genuine warmth as he leaned forward, his words an echo of sincerity. "Y/N, my dear, your accomplishments are nothing short of remarkable. I sometimes wish I had a daughter like you."

A smile played upon your lips, a mixture of humility and gratitude. Beside him, Mrs. Jeon's gaze was softer yet equally sincere. "Indeed, dear, though we might not have had a daughter, there's always room in our hearts for someone as exceptional as you."

The words lingered in the air, like petals of praise carried by the wind.

And now, the time had come to bid adieu. Outside, the night awaited, and as the group made their way to the grand entrance of the mansion, the atmosphere was charged with the bittersweet awareness of departure.

A soft breeze brushed against your cheeks as you stood beside your parents. One by one, your parents exchanged pleasantries and farewells with the Jeon couple. When it was your turn, a sense of both anticipation and trepidation took hold.

Wonwoo's approach was graceful, his every step resonating with a quiet confidence. He first pressed a tender kiss upon your mother's hand, a gesture steeped in old-world charm. Then he shook your father's hand with the kind of firmness that conveyed respect.

And then, it was your turn. The air seemed to hum with charged energy as his eyes locked onto yours. The anticipation was palpable, and you felt his thumb gently trace the outline of your knuckles, a touch that sent ripples of sensation down your spine.

However, unlike how he bent to kiss your mother's hand, He raised your hand to his lips, but just as the moment seemed poised to unfold into something more profound, you made a choice. With a swift shift of your hand and a mischievous smile, you transformed the kiss into a handshake. His chuckles joined yours, a moment of shared amusement that danced like fireflies in the night.

The sound of his engine roared to life, a powerful crescendo that echoed the energy of the evening. Both cars began to glide down the drive, the mansion's gates awaiting their passage.

...

The road stretched before him, each mile carrying him further away from the evening that had etched itself deeply into his thoughts. The engine's low rumble echoed through the empty streets, a symphony of solitude that seemed to resonate with the weight on his mind.

You. The name seemed to echo in the quiet chambers of his thoughts, a refrain that he couldn't escape. Those eyes, your eyes, had held a certain fire that intrigued him, an ember of challenge that stirred his curiosity. The conversation he had unwittingly overheard in the corridor replayed in his mind like an elusive melody, each word resonating with a melody of its own.

As the penthouse came into view, its sleek lines and imposing presence a beacon in the night, he parked his car with the precision of someone accustomed to control. The lift carried him to his sanctuary, the living room, an oasis of shadows and scattered moonlight. The vast window transformed the cityscape into a tapestry of twinkling stars and luminous hues, a world outside the reach of his contemplations.

A figure graced the couch, legs crossed in a display of elegance that masked the complexity beneath. Eleanor Calder, a name that carried the weight of a past he couldn't quite shed, was a habit he yearned to break. He approached, the tension between them palpable, words unspoken yet hanging in the air like a tempest.

"Good evening, Wonwoo." Her voice was honeyed, a mixture of familiarity and ambiguity that had once ensnared him.

"Evening," he replied curtly, his gaze fixed on her as he took in her features illuminated by the faint glow. Glossy hair framed an alluring countenance, pouty lips, and eyes that held secrets of their own.

"How was the dinner?" Her question cut through the silence like a dagger, a reminder of the evening that refused to relinquish its hold.

"Fine," he replied tersely, the monosyllabic response a shield against the tides of memories.

"Is she as pretty as they say?" Eleanor's question was laden with a blend of curiosity and a hint of insecurity.

He let out a soft breath, the temptation to reveal his thoughts just shy of his lips. "Beauty is subjective," he said with a flicker of a smile.

She leaned closer, a sultry grin playing on her lips as she attempted to close the distance. "What about us, Wonwoo? Aren't we a beauty worth cherishing?"

His hand gently stopped her advance, a silent refusal that hung in the air. Her frustration surfaced, her lips trailing to his neck with a bite of aggression that carried echoes of their past.

"Why don't you like me anymore?" Her voice held a tinge of desperation, a question born from the shadows of uncertainty.

"You made your choice," he replied, his voice a mix of resignation and detachment. "Now you have to live with it."

Her retort was laced with bitterness, a blend of anger and longing. "That's never stopped you before."

The sound of shattering glass punctuated her exit, the remnants of a vase littering the ground as she left his presence. A sigh escaped him, a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

Slipping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he loosened his tie and unbuckled his belt, the insignias of formality discarded as he sought solace in his sanctuary. With practised ease, he dialled Chan's number, a weary smile tugging at his lips as he heard the groggy voice on the other end.

"Late night, Chan?" he quipped, his voice tinged with amusement.

"You may think I don't have a life outside of you, but I do have a routine, you know," Chan responded with a hint of mock annoyance.

Without missing a beat, Wonwoo shifted gears. "Get the construction company under a pseudonymous name, the one we'll be using for the Oasis project, to contact me. There's something I want to discuss."

The connection remained for a moment, a silent agreement shared in the darkness. As the call ended, a wistful smile played on his lips, a plan unfolding in his mind.

The path of water droplets on glass mirrored his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the city lights that danced beyond the window. And as he moved towards the sanctuary of his private space, his mind held a singular focus that burned as brightly as the moonlight.

....

The morning embraced you with its crispness, each step propelling you forward along the winding path of the park. The rhythm of your breath is synchronised with the rhythmic beat of your heart. Amidst the rhythmic cadence of your run, your thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the chime of your phone. With a brief pause, you pulled the device from your pocket, and the voice of your assistant, Rachel, filled your ears like a familiar tune.

"Good morning, Rachel. Early morning?"

"Morning, boss. It's about the Vanguard Builders project. They're refusing to work under the current terms of the contract. They want adjustments made to accommodate our engineers, and there seems to be a lack of cooperation between the architects, engineers, and workers. It's turning into quite a mess."

The tinge of irony that life often offers "Weren't they the highest bidders for this project? Why the sudden defiance?"

"Beats me," Rachel replied with a hint of exasperation.

"By the way, who's heading the Oasis department now?" You inquired, a sense of curiosity weaving through your words.

"William Holmes," Rachel promptly answered. "Here's a fun fact about William Holmes: Jeon Wonwoo and he graduated in the same class."

The gears of thought spun in your mind, pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

"Rach," you mused, "who's the owner of Vanguard Builders?"

"Well, the acting head is Roland Thomas," she began.

"And the real owner?" you pressed further.

There was a pause before she answered, the realisation dawning on both of you simultaneously. There were a few clicks on the keyboard. "It's a subsidiary of JJ Group," Rachel replied.

"Jeon Wonwoo." You echoed the name with a mix of astonishment and determination.

"Rach, put the project on hold," you commanded, your tone unyielding yet composed. "And get in touch with his office. I need an appointment as soon as possible."

With a nod that only you could sense through the call, you concluded, "I'll see you at the office."

As you continued your run, the weight of the situation settled on you. What was it about that particular project, that particular place, that had him so resolute in its pursuit? With each stride, you felt the anticipation and tension growing, a prelude to the battle that lay ahead.

Upon returning home, you couldn't shake off the sense that this was going to be a long and intricate day.

....

In the seclusion of his office, Wonwoo perched on the corner of his desk, a solitary figure framed by the expansive window that offered a view into the bustling world beyond. His gaze was drawn downward, watching the city's heartbeat throb in the form of fast-paced cars and the hurried lives of its inhabitants. The city's rhythm was a stark contrast to the moment's stillness, his thoughts a tempest swirling in the calm.

As if sensing the weight of his contemplation, the door creaked open, and Chan, with a sprightly demeanour, stepped into the room. A subtle dance marked his steps, a rhythm of his own that added a touch of buoyancy to the space. With a cordial smile, Chan informed him about the call from your assistant.

"Sir, Ms. L/N's assistant called. They want to arrange a meeting," Chan shared, his words carrying an undertone of intrigue.

Wonwoo turned slightly, his gaze shifting from the window to rest on Chan. "What time did they suggest?"

"Anytime that's convenient for you, sir," Chan replied.

A calculating glint sparked in Wonwoo's eyes, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Tell them this. I don't want to meet her in my office. Arrange for a meeting at the restaurant in my hotel. Inform the staff there that I'll be dining with her. Confirm the details with her, of course."

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, and Wonwoo found himself musing about the unbinding knots of destiny. As Chan nodded and left to carry out his instructions, Wonwoo's thoughts continued to wander. The game was afoot. The city continued its rhythm outside the window, and Wonwoo knew that within its cadence, a melody of possibilities was beginning to emerge.

....

A monstera plant stood sentinel by the door, a hint of nature's wildness juxtaposed against the sleek, orderly decor. An aquarium to your left provided a soothing contrast, an aquatic symphony of colours and life.

Rachael's entrance echoed with purpose, her heels punctuating the marble's silence. "Boss," she addressed, her tone threaded with urgency, "Mr. Jeon has agreed to the meeting, but not in his office. He's opted for the hotel's restaurant, Lyden."

You muttered an exasperated "son of a bitch" under your breath. Wonwoo's manoeuvring was a subtle art that kept you on your toes. The enigma surrounding his intentions was matched only by his persistence.

The thought crossed your mind—was he trying to be overly familiar, or was this merely a strategic ploy? His determination to procure the land was palpable, but his methods—oh, his methods—remained enigmatic.

Sighing, you confirmed the dinner for 7. The sooner you navigated this web, the quicker you could retreat to familiar ground. And marriage—well, that was a topic that had lost its novelty.

...

As twilight painted the canvas of the city, you found yourself within the opulent embrace of the Lyden Hotel—a sanctuary of luxury nestled in the heart of urban chaos. The clutches of your office attire remained steadfast, for the effort to change felt extraneous. Lavender notes wafted in the air, a soothing touch to your racing heart, and the art that adorned the lobby resonated with the lively atmosphere. The hotel's colour palette resonated with hues of purple and lavender, a tranquil dominance that contrasted with the usual gold and red. The gleam of lamps and chandeliers, cast in ethereal white instead of conventional gold, danced around you as an attendant, average in height and likely in his mid-40s, approached. His warm smile invited you to navigate this orchestrated rendezvous, his presence a gentle anchor to the surging tides of anticipation. But then a presence sidled up to you, and you met those dark eyes again. Wonwoo, your enigmatic companion, surveyed you with an intensity that mirrored your first encounter. A tinge of humour danced on his lips, shared only with you. He leaned in slightly, his voice laced with a jesting tone.

"You know, Ms.L/N, I've heard rumours that Swiss chocolate is so irresistible that it once convinced a diplomat to give up an entire country just for a taste."

You chuckled, playing along. "Is that so? Well, Mr. Jeon, I've also heard whispers that Swiss watches are so accurate that they can predict the future."

He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Predict the future, you say? I must have missed that feature on my watch."

"It's a hidden setting, only activated when you're running fashionably late," you replied with a grin.

His laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the restaurant, creating a melody that seemed to synchronise with the beating of your heart. "Ah, so that's the secret! I'll have to try it out sometime."

"Mr. Jeon," the manager began, addressing Wonwoo, "I apologise for the wait. And you must be Ms. L/N. Please, this way, your table is ready."

As the evening unfolded, a tapestry of conversation weaved between you. They served wine, but you abstained, aware of your responsibility on the road. Wonwoo, that audacious man, prodded you "You know, Ms.L/n, I've heard rumours about these smile police," he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes. "Apparently, they're quite strict when it comes to ensuring that everyone's lips are on an upward curve." You saw through his whimsical façade, demanding to know his true intentions.

''What is it that you truly want, Mr. Jeon?''

With a practised lean and a wry grin, he revealed his interest—your Oasis project.

You chuckled.

The weight of his intent hung in the air as he proposed a partnership, a 30-70 arrangement.

You, unperturbed, countered his proposition with grace.

''How about 40%?''His reaction was a study in composure—stillness giving way to a wry smile. He inquired ''What's the catch?'', arching an eyebrow.

The pasta found its way to your mouth, providing you with a moment's reprieve. Washing down with water, you said, "Would you like to marry me, Jeon Wonwoo?"

A few hours ago

"Rach!" you grumbled, rubbing your temples. "Rema's on line two." A quizzical look passed between you as to why she would call the office line, and then realisation dawned—you'd left your phone on the dresser, charging.

Rema's voice trickled through, laced with fatigue and worry. As she detailed the developments, a storm brewed within you. The lawsuit, the custody battle—the magnitude of it all pressed against your chest.

"They're claiming your lifestyle is unstable," Rema informed, her voice tinged with sympathy.

You scoffed. "Define unstable."

"Frequent moving, long absences, and—well, they highlighted the lack of a husband."

"Bullshit," you spat. "I don't recall the law stating that a single woman can't adopt her ward, bestowed upon her by the child's parents."

Rema's understanding tone resonated with the receiver. "I know, Y/n."

The conversation pivoted to the notion of marriage, and your disbelief was palpable. "So, I should get hitched just for a legal battle? That's absurd."

"Y/N, I'm your lawyer," Rema asserted, her voice unwavering. "I can't suggest illegal activities. But I can ponder the 'what ifs.'"

Your mind whirred, emotions settling into resolution. Closing every avenue that the Bulavia family sought to exploit. Even if it means Jeon Wonwoo,

Present

His reaction was a symphony of amusement,his eyes glinting with intrigue. He leaned back, beckoning you to elaborate.

"I don't like owing anyone," you began. "It seems I'm in a bit of a predicament. I find myself in need of a husband. If you agree—"

A grin played on his lips as he interjected, "So, when do you want to get married?"

You spluttered, momentarily caught off-guard. He was swift in his response, crafting a clever solution out of thin air. "You said you wanted a husband, and there's pressure on me to find a wife. Killing two birds with one stone" He shrugged and said, "Do enlighten me, Ms. L/N. I'm curious to hear about these circumstances that demand such a drastic solution." and you did. ...

In the car, As you drove Wonwoo to his place, the air was laden with silence, your thoughts whispering secrets only the wind could hear. The plans for Noel, your mutual benefit—it all tumbled through your mind. The contract, the call, and your parents

"Are you always this persuadable?" you inquired, your words filling the silent car.

"Only when it involves a beautiful lady in distress," he retorted, causing you to roll your eyes.

As you navigated through the city streets once again, you spoke of Noel, his significance, and the impending legalities. Wonwoo remained thoughtful, his demeanour subdued. With his apartment in sight, his voice resounded, seeking answers.

"So, he's not your son?" he queried, a sliver of vulnerability seeping into his tone.

"No," you affirmed. "Your informant was not as efficient as it seems, but he's like a son to me."

His curiosity blossomed further. "Do your parents know about it?"

You chuckled. "About what?"

"About Noel," he reiterated.

"No," you confessed, "they believe he was with Noella and Joshua that night, as they couldn't attend the funeral."

He nodded in understanding, his thoughts churning in the silence. . As he watched your car fade into the distance, a sense of purpose filled him. The evening's discussions had ignited a fire of determination within him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialling his mother's number.

As the line rang, his thoughts swirled like the city lights below. The memories of his grandmother, a regal and wise woman, were as vivid as ever. She had worn a unique ring—a family heirloom—that he had admired since childhood. He could still hear her stories, her voice rich with history and love.

The call connected, and his mother's warm voice flowed through the line. "Wonwoo, dear, how are you?"

He smiled, her voice a comforting balm. "I'm well, Mama. I was actually calling to ask Do you know where Grandma's ring is"?

tbc

A/N: Phew! its was a long chapter, hope you all liked it. Please drop your feedback in the comments or reblogs with tag or in the inbox as it motivates me and help makes the fic better.

msh

#seventeen #kpop fluff #kpop angst #fanfiction #aquamarine #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #kpop smut #jeon wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #hoshi #wonwoo #joshua hong seventeen #jeonghan

115 notes · View notes