Chapter Text
It all happened so fast. Martin doesn't remember where it began, but now was too late. He sat there at the family table. They were in their house in Canada. Martin was born in South Korea. He spent some of his life here in Canada and a part of it in South Korea.
His dad sat beside him with his phone open and pointed towards Martin, showing him a picture of the man he will soon be married to.
Yes, married to.
He couldn't believe his dad would do this and what's even more unbelievable how his mom is okay with it.
Martin stood up in an angry manner. "You guys are insane!" He shouted. "I will never agree to an arrangement marriage! It was enough that I had to give up my music for your stupid company and now this? No!" He stood firmly as he protested for his freedom of choice.
Love was an important thing for Martin. He wanted to be loved, he craved it even. But an arrangement marriage was definitely not the way to do it.
His dad sighed and closed his eyes. "It's settled," he calmly said. "I already talked with the kims."
On the other side of the world, Juhoon sat there paralysed. He wasn't sure if what he heard was correct, but he caught the word arranged marriage. His parent tried explaining how it isn't bad at all and they themselves had an arrangement marriage and they're happy and content.
Juhoon knew he can't disobey them. He could say how he doesn't want it, I mean it's clear from his face. But once his family sat their mind on something then there's no other way happening but theirs. This was how his whole life was. Each and every step was planned. Being an heir to a legacy was important. The kims owned a sophisticated restaurant and food chain. They were the leaders of the market and they want to innovate. That was his dad's vision. And what was more than a perfect option for this than the Edwards family? The perfect western blend, and without being far from home since The chairman's wife is Korean. Their son was the perfect mix.
The Edwards owned a chain of restaurants in Canada that was a blend of Western and Korean fusion. But the Kims had a higher vision than just that, they had a whole plan. A newly created legacy that will make sure both families will stay at the top of this game. And of course, the first step is the legacy needing to be shared in the most legal way possible. Which is marriage. Because marriage is a contract at the end of the day.
~~~
Juhoon excused himself after dinner. He couldn't utter a word to his parents and they knew it wasn't approval, but it also wasn't acceptance. His face was pale, like all the life had been sucked out of him. His hands were involuntary shaking. His heart was pounding out of his chest. His head light as a feather from the dizziness.
He sat there, in his bedrooms floor paralysed, lifeless, senseless. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare, but this was real life. It wasn't enough that he had given up his art for his parents to take over the business? Wasn't it enough that he given up any sport he took a liking to, to take over the business? Nothing was ever enough. They just took and took and took. Like a tornado that had no plans on stopping, only getting stronger and greedier the more it took things.
The silence in Juhoon’s room was heavy, the kind that makes your ears ring. Across the ocean, in a much louder room in Canada, Martin was experiencing the opposite: a storm of words that felt like glass shards.
"The Kims aren't just 'business partners,' Martin," his father said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly smooth corporate tone. "They are the key to the global market. This merger isn't just about food; it’s about stability."
"Stability?" Martin let out a harsh, dry laugh. "You mean control. You took my guitar, you took my soul, and now you want to sign over my literal body to some stranger in Seoul? Does he even know? Does he even care?"
His mother finally spoke, her voice soft but laced with a pragmatic coldness that hurt worse than his father’s shouting. "He is a good boy, Martin. Juhoon is disciplined. He understands duty. Perhaps he can teach you that love isn't always about butterflies and songs. Sometimes, love is a shared empire."
Martin didn't answer. He couldn't. He grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the expensive hallways of his so called home. He needed air, but the Canadian winter air felt like it was freezing the tears on his face before they could even fall.
~~~
While Martin was pacing the snowy streets of Toronto, Juhoon remained on his floor, staring at a mahogany bookshelf filled with business management texts he never wanted to read.
He reached out a trembling hand and pulled a small canvas from behind a row of thick encyclopedias. A painting of a bird mid-flight. He had drawn it when he was fifteen, right before his father told him that artists don't inherit thrones.
A notification chimed on his phone, sitting discarded on the rug. It was an email from his father’s secretary.
Subject: Itinerary for Seoul-Toronto Delegation
Attachment: Profile_Martin_Edwards.pdf
With a hollow pit in his stomach, Juhoon opened the file. A photo loaded. It was a candid shot of a young man with messy spiky hair, laughing while holding a guitar. He looked vibrant. He looked... loud. He looked like everything Juhoon had been forced to bury deep inside himself.
Juhoon traced the screen with a shaking finger. "Martin," he whispered, the name feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.
He wondered if Martin was angry. He wondered if Martin hated him already. In the cold logic of their parents' world, they were just two pieces of a puzzle being forced together to create a picture of perfection. But as Juhoon looked at the boy in the photo, he didn't see a business partner. He saw another victim of the tornado.
~~~
The flight to Seoul was a blur of high-altitude silence and cold shoulders. Martin refused to eat, refused to talk, and kept his noise-canceling headphones clamped over his ears like a physical barrier between him and his parents.
When they finally touched down at Incheon, the humidity of Korea hit him like a physical weight, reminding him he was thousands of miles away from the life he actually wanted.
They were invited into a private dining room at one of the Kims’ flagship restaurants—a place of glass, dark wood, and the suffocating scent of expensive lilies.
The Kims were already there. Standing. Waiting.
Juhoon stood like a statue behind his father. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like it had been tailored to his skin, his hair pushed back perfectly. He looked like the definition of "corporate heir," but if you looked close enough, his eyes were fixed on a point on the wall just past Martin’s shoulder.
"Chairman Kim," Martin’s father said, stepping forward with a practiced, politician’s smile. "A pleasure to finally bring our families together."
As the parents exchanged stiff, formal bows and pleasantries, Martin stood rooted to the spot. He didn't bow. He didn't smile. He looked at Juhoon, the golden boy he was being sold to and felt a wave of resentment so hot it made his skin itch.
"Martin," his mother prompted, her voice a sharp, low warning. "Greet our hosts."
Martin shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back with a defiant tilt of his chin. "Why? It’s not like I’m here by choice, right? We’re all just here for the 'legacy' and the 'innovative market growth.' Isn't that what you call it?"
The room went ice-cold. Juhoon’s father’s expression didn't flicker, but the air around him sharpened. Juhoon, finally, shifted his gaze. His dark eyes met Martin’s, wide and flickering with a mix of shock and something that looked like envy.
"Martin!" his father hissed.
"What? I'm just being honest," Martin snapped, his voice echoing off the glass walls. "You want me to play the happy groom? Hire an actor. I’m not doing this."
Chairman Kim cleared his throat, a dry, terrifying sound. "Passion is expected in the young," he said smoothly, though his eyes remained hard. "Perhaps the two of them should have a moment alone to... find a common language. We have much to discuss regarding the logistics of the merger anyway."
The parents retreated to a separate lounge, leaving the two of them in the cold dining room. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Martin paced the length of the table, his boots thudding against the polished floor. He turned on Juhoon, who was still standing by his chair, hands folded neatly in front of him.
"Well? Say something!" Martin demanded. "Are you just going to stand there like a mannequin? You’re okay with this? You’re okay with them selling us off like pieces of equipment?"
Juhoon’s throat moved as he swallowed. He didn't move an inch. "It does not matter if I am okay with it," he said, his voice low and raspy. "The decision was made before we entered this room."
"That’s pathetic," Martin spat, stepping into Juhoon’s personal space. He was vibrating with nervous energy, the sunshine usually in his eyes replaced by a stormy, desperate fire. "Don't you have a some self respect? Tell them no! Tell them you won't marry a stranger from across the world just to sell more fusion kimchi bullshit!"
Juhoon finally looked up, his gaze locking onto Martin’s. The cold mask he wore didn't slip, but for the first time, Martin saw the cracks. There was a dull, aching exhaustion in Juhoon’s eyes that matched his own.
"I have spent twenty four years saying 'yes' so that my family’s name remains untarnished," Juhoon said, his voice trembling slightly despite his efforts. "I gave up my art. I gave up my time. Do you think I want this? Do you think I want a husband who looks at me with such... such hatred?"
Martin paused, his breath hitching. The raw honesty in Juhoon’s voice caught him off guard.
"I hate this. I hate that you’re just letting it happen." Martin spoke, his voice filled with rage.
"Some of us do not have the luxury of shouting," Juhoon whispered, taking a single step toward Martin. "Some of us have been taught that our silence is the only thing we own."
For a second, the tension between them shifted. It wasn't just anger anymore, it was the shared, crushing weight of two people realized they were trapped in the same cage, just from different sides.