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seongwars · 1 month ago

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𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life. Word Count: 7.8K Warnings: you were a bet trope, misogyny, men being disappointing, angst, swearing, inaccurate depictions of the era (sorry history buffs 😭)

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a/n: it's here! the rewritten version of Ardently, now known as Wallflower! Note that those who signed up for Ardently's taglist will be tagged here, but let me know if you'd like for me to remove you!

feedback on this new version is also appreciated

"I’m joining a convent!" you declared dramatically, clutching a small sack packed with nothing but a pair of sensible shoes, and a shawl for your new monastic life.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother snapped, reaching for your arm as you darted past her with surprising agility, fueled by equal parts adrenaline and spite.

“I will not be trapped under the same roof as him!” you shouted, narrowly avoiding Anna, the head maid, who was attempting to form a human barricade by the parlor door.

“The sisters of Saint Hala will understand my plight! They’ve taken in women for less!”

Joe, the head butler, a sweet old man, tried to sidestep your wild trajectory near the staircase, but you spun past him with an impressive maneuver. He groaned, pressing a hand to his lower back as you darted away, Anna and your mother hot on your heels.

You burst out the front door and onto the gravel path. Anna was close behind, huffing as she struggled to keep her bonnet in place, while Joe followed at a more measured pace, muttering about the indignities of old age. Your mother, however, stalked after you like a woman possessed, her voice rising above the commotion.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense! “You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

You whipped around briefly, clutching your sack like a shield. “You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

“I’m asking you to behave like an adult!” your mother shot back.

“I am an adult!” you retorted, darting further down the path. “One who is capable of making her own decisions!”

Behind you, the haphazard mob of your mother, Anna, and Joe screeched to a halt, their gasps of exertion mingling with the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“What now?” you barked, spinning around to glare at your entourage, your chest heaving from the effort of your escape.

“My lady!” Anna squeaked, her voice strained. “My lady, wait!”

The answer came in the form of an unfamiliar silence. Slowly, you realized the mob wasn’t staring at you—they were looking just beyond you.

Confused, you turned toward the gates, and there he was.

Choi San was standing just a few feet away, halfway down the steps of his family’s carriage. He stared at you, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes wide with confusion as he took in the spectacle: you, breathless and disheveled, holding your pitiful sack like a runaway, while your mother, Anna, and Joe formed a panting, disorganized trio behind you.

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the breeze through the estate’s trees.

San blinked, clearly at a loss for words. His hand lingered on the edge of the carriage door as if he were debating whether stepping back inside would be the more sensible option.

“M-Ms. Kang?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft and cautious, entirely devoid of the insufferable smugness you had expected.

Your face flushed a furious red, caught somewhere between humiliation and indignation. You had not run halfway down the estate path, your mother, Anna, and Joe in hot pursuit, just to be confronted by him of all people.

“You!” you spluttered, pointing a shaky finger in his direction, the sack swinging precariously at your side.

“Me?”

“Mr. Choi!” your mother shrieked suddenly, pushing past Anna, her skirts swishing dramatically.

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

“She’s running away!” Anna exclaimed, clutching her chest as though this scandal was enough to make her faint.

“Block the path, tackle her if you must, anything to stop this madness!” Joe groaned, rubbing his aching knee.

Without giving anyone a chance to act, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your little sack was clutched tightly in your arms, its contents jingling faintly as your feet crunched against the gravel.

Behind you, the chaos reached its peak—San calling your name in confusion, Anna’s faint protests, Joe muttering curses about his knees, and your mother’s furious shrieks of indignation.

But none of it mattered. You had escaped. For now.

You hadn’t always loathed Choi San. At twenty, you’d even been drawn to his charm, captivated by the effortless confidence he exuded. But that admiration was short lived, turning into bitter resentment after he lured you into a reckless wager, a cruel game fueled by his arrogance that left you humiliated and betrayed.

4 Years Earlier

“Why the doom and gloom?” Wooyoung asked as he plopped into the seat across from San. He leaned back, stretching his legs out comfortably, as he took a swig of his scotch.

San shot him a glare, the kind that would make lesser men falter, but Wooyoung only raised a brow, unfazed. San’s jaw tightened, and he gripped his glass more firmly.

“I’m not,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Wooyoung scoffed. “What’s going on? Did someone step on your pride or just your heart? Oh wait,” he feigned realization, snapping his fingers.

“It’s Dami, isn’t it?”

San’s jaw clenched visibly at the jab, and for a moment, he contemplated chucking the glass across the room just to see Wooyoung flinch. But he didn’t. It had been weeks, weeks since Dami’s defection to Lord Jeon, yet the sting of her rejection still burned like an open wound.

San, the youngest and only son of Viscount Choi, had an uncanny knack for charming everyone he met. His charisma was well-known, making him the center of attention in any room. He wore his rakish reputation with pride, his flirtations harmless enough to keep him out of scandal but tantalizing enough to make him the subject of constant speculation.

And for a time, his charm had captured the heart of Han Dami, the daughter of a baron and the envy of every debutante. Together, they had been the couple of the season—the talk of every ballroom, the object of admiration and envy alike.

But that was before.

Before she abruptly ended things with him, San had entertained dreams of romance. A sweeping love story that defied the harsh realities of their world. But love alone was never enough. He lived in a world where practicality reigned, and expectations of passion often crumbled under the weight of ambition and survival.

“Look,” Wooyoung began, waving a dismissive hand. “Wallowing doesn’t suit you. If you’re so hung up on her, why not make her regret it? Win someone else over. Let her see what she gave up.”

San’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against his glass. The idea was ridiculous, childish, even, but it wormed its way into his mind nonetheless. Wooyoung, ever the instigator, saw it instantly. The faint flicker of hesitation in San’s eyes, the way his pride clashed with caution.

“If you’re so confident, give me a name, and I’ll prove you wrong,” San finally said.

“The Wallflower.”

“Wallflower?”

“Miss Kang Y/N,” Wooyoung elaborated, his grin widening.

“Sister to the Earl Kang. You’ve seen her—always hiding in the corners, avoiding conversation like it’s a plague. Invisible to most. Certainly not your type.”

Your debut season in society was a whirlwind of excitement and trepidation, a delicate dance between anticipation and the subtle pressure to conform. As the younger sister of Earl Kang Yeosang, you entered the glittering world of the ton with a blend of expectation and apprehension.

While others were preoccupied with securing advantageous matches or making influential acquaintances, your thoughts frequently wandered to the world of literature. You dreamt of a future where you would hold your first published book in your hands—a future that seemed distant amidst the societal demands of the present.

San scoffed, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. “Since when have I needed a type to charm a lady?”

“You’ll find no eager glances or fluttering fans with this one. She’s not desperate for attention. She’s reserved. Thoughtful. The sort who can see through a man’s empty words.”

“What’s the wager?”

“If you can truly win her over, I’ll fund that expedition you’ve been pestering me about for months,” Wooyoung replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He secretly hoped San would fail—an expedition of such grandeur was bound to cost a pretty penny.

San’s lips curved into a confident smirk. “Consider it done.”

A wave of laughter and cheers erupted in their circle of friends. The challenge had been laid out, and San’s self-assured response had ignited a buzz of excitement. He would prove Dami wrong. If she had chosen security over passion, then he would show her and everyone else that he was still the man every woman desired.

After all, what harm could there be in making a wallflower blossom?

The first attempt San set out to woo you, was at a hunt hosted by his family. The day was crisp, with a low mist hanging over the expansive grounds of the manor, a sprawling estate nestled against the autumnal countryside. The air is filled with the distant sounds of hounds barking, horses snorting, and the low murmur of conversation from the assembled guests.

Amid the cluster of gentlemen in their riding coats and polished boots, you spotted San, seated atop his stallion. His posture was relaxed yet commanding, drawing more than a few admiring glances from the assembled ladies.

San caught your gaze from across the clearing and nudged his horse in your direction. Your heart began to pound against your ribcage, each beat growing louder, more insistent, until it drowned out the distant chatter of the other guests.

You were suddenly, acutely aware of the many eyes turning to watch this unexpected approach—mamas murmuring behind their fans, young ladies whispering behind gloved hands, and even the gentlemen casting curious glances. You could almost hear their thoughts: Why is he riding toward her? What does he mean by it?

“Ms. Kang,” San greeted as he reigned in his horse beside you, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar, infuriating hint of amusement.

"What a welcome surprise."

You tilted your head slightly, fighting to keep your voice steady even as your fingers nervously fiddled with the leather handle of your riding crop.

“Mr. Choi,” you replied, allowing a thin, polite smile to play on your lips, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, away from the rest of your party.”

“And yet, here I am. Fate has a strange way of bringing people together, don’t you think?” San’s voice was smooth, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Or perhaps it’s your…habit for being everywhere at once,” you insinuated, taking a jab at his reputation.

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he took in your demeanor. He had expected you to be as shy and reserved as the rumors suggested, but you defied those expectations entirely.

“Will you be watching from the sidelines like the rest?” San asked, a teasing edge in his voice that softened into genuine interest.

“Or might you be bold enough to take part in the hunt yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “I might surprise you, Mr. Choi. I’m not one to sit idly by when there’s excitement to be had.”

San’s confusion quickly turned to intrigue. “I look forward to seeing you out there,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of quiet confidence. He gave you a slight, respectful bow of his head before guiding his horse back toward the group.

You caught the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he rode away, and a wave of frustration mingled with something warmer, something unwelcome, swept through you. You turned your horse away forcing yourself to ignore the whispers and sideways glances, and made your way over to where your brother and the rest of the hunting party had gathered.

It was unusual for women to join the hunt, an activity traditionally dominated by men, but you had never been one to follow convention. Ever since you were a child, you had accompanied your father on his excursions, slipping away from the stuffy drawing rooms and the tiresome embroidery lessons to ride beside him. Your father had always encouraged your spirit, delighted in the way you held the reins with such determination, the way you matched him stride for stride through fields and forests.

The horns sounded, a clear, commanding call that echoed across the fields. The hounds sprang forward, their lean bodies surging across the estate, their howls filling the air with a primal energy. You urged your own horse to move, feeling the familiar rush of excitement as the wind whipped against your face, the ground blurring beneath you.

San hadn’t expected to see you mounted on a horse with such a determined look in your eyes. The sight was a stark contrast to the reserved demeanor you usually displayed at social gatherings. As he watched you ride, he saw you weaving through the other hunters with practiced ease, your movements fluid and confident. The way you handled your horse, guiding it with subtle commands, spoke of a skill honed over years.

A thrill shot through him, an electric spark that danced along his skin, igniting a sense of admiration and curiosity. He found himself captivated by this facet of your personality, one that defied the quiet, unassuming image you were rumored to project.

Perhaps the wallflower has a brazen side to her, he mused.

The hounds had picked up a scent, their excited barks echoing through the forest. The riders spurred their horses forward, the thrill of the chase driving them on. You urged your horse to keep pace, the wind whipping through your hair as you navigated the dense underbrush.

Suddenly, a fallen branch blocked your path. You guided your horse to leap over it, the powerful muscles of the animal bunching beneath you as it soared through the air. You landed smoothly on the other side, the impact barely jarring as your horse’s hooves met the ground with practiced precision.

A triumphant smile spread across your face, the exhilaration of the jump coursing through your veins. As you regained your stride, you noticed San riding alongside you, his eyes alight with admiration.

“Impressive,” he called out, his tone genuinely warm and filled with respect.

You gave him a small nod, acknowledging the compliment with a modest smile. The thrill of the moment spurred you on, and you surged forward with your horse, the wind whipping through your hair as you raced ahead.

San matched your pace effortlessly, but confusion crossed his face once again. He had expected a verbal response, perhaps a playful retort or a shared laugh. Instead, your silence left him puzzled, wondering if he had misread the situation.

Eventually, the hunt drew to a close. The hounds had cornered their quarry, and the riders began to gather, their faces flushed with excitement. You dismounted, your legs slightly unsteady from the exertion. San was at your side in an instant, offering his arm for support.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, his voice soft and sincere. “Perhaps we could ride together again sometime,” San suggested, his tone hopeful.

You chuckled softly, trying to steady your racing heart. “That would be improper without a chaperone, Mr. Choi,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you pulled your hand away and turned to make your way back to your brother and mother.

San watched you go, a thoughtful smile lingering on his lips, knowing full well that he had caught a glimpse of something rare and untamed—a side of you that he would very much like to see again.

⊹

The day after the hunt dawned quietly, the morning light filtering through your window in soft, golden rays. You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of the day when a knock sounded at the door. One of the housemaids appeared in the doorway, looking slightly flustered.

“Miss, a delivery has arrived for you,” she announced, her eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

“A delivery?” you repeated, setting down the book you were pretending to read. “For me?”

She nodded eagerly and stepped aside, revealing a young footman holding a large, exquisite bouquet of flowers—pink roses, rhododendrons, and geraniums, artfully arranged with sprigs of greenery and delicate baby’s breath.

You took the flowers gingerly, surprised by their weight and the intoxicating scent that enveloped you. For a moment, you were at a loss, glancing down at the arrangement with a mixture of confusion and wonder. Who could have sent these?

Your eyes caught sight of a small card nestled among the blooms. Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled it free, turning it over to read the neat, elegant script written on it:

“For the lady whose grace and spirit during the hunt were truly a sight to behold. –S.”

You could almost hear his voice in the words—the familiar teasing lilt, that infuriating hint of amusement that seemed to color everything he said. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, but you quickly suppressed it, unsure of how you truly felt. Flattered? Irritated? Amused? Perhaps a confusing mix of all three.

“What is this?” your mother asked, appearing in the doorway.

“A gift,” you replied, “from Mr. Choi.”

Your mother’s eyes widened slightly, and she stepped forward, her hands clasping together in front of her.

“Mr. Choi?” she repeated, her tone colored with intrigue. She paused, a contemplative look crossing her face, and you could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “That is… unexpected.”

“Indeed,” you murmured, glancing back at the flowers.

“Well,” she asked, her tone almost teasing, “will you respond?”

You sighed, feeling a familiar mix of exasperation and affection for the woman who always seemed to know how to unsettle you. You flopped back onto your bed, the springs creaking under your weight.

“I suppose I should thank him,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

Your mother’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, a mischievous smile plastered across her face. “He has made quite a gesture, after all. It would be rude not to acknowledge it.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” you said, sitting up again.

Moving to your writing desk, you dipped your quill into the inkwell. As the nib touched the paper, you paused, considering your words carefully. You knew you would have to strike a balance—a note that was gracious, but not too encouraging; polite, but with just enough edge to keep him guessing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should add something more, some playful remark that would remind him that you weren’t so easily won. But then, deciding that less was more, you signed your name with a flourish and sealed the letter with a small, satisfied smile.

“Mr. Choi–I must thank you for your most unexpected gift. Your thoughtfulness is noted. I trust you enjoyed the hunt as much as I did. Until we meet again.”

The Cromer Fair was a lively affair, bursting with color and sound. Brightly painted stalls lined the village green, offering everything from delicate ribbons and bolts of fabric to candied apples and steaming pies. The fair for all its charm, had become another stage for the intricate theater of high society.

Your family’s arrival, marked by the gleaming carriage, did not go unnoticed. Heads turned as you stepped down from the coach, drawing more attention to the elusive Wallflower. For weeks, whispers had circulated throughout the ton, their interest piqued not by scandal or intrigue, but by your notable absence from social gatherings. Your avoidance of the spotlight had, ironically, made you the subject of intense curiosity.

“Ms. Kang!”

The sound caught your attention instantly, and there he was—San, standing just a few paces away, his expression alight with something close to joy. His smile was so easy and genuine that you felt the corners of your own mouth tugging upward, almost involuntarily.

He bowed slightly, though the gesture carried more charm than propriety. “I feared the fair would pass without the honor of seeing you.”

“Lady Kang,” he greeted your mother, his voice polite and measured.

“Choi,” Yeosang acknowledged curtly, his tone cool and formal. He inclined his head slightly, though there was no warmth in the gesture.

“Kang,” San replied, his eyes briefly meeting Yeosang’s before returning to you. There was a subtle challenge in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that hung in the air. Perceptive bastard, Yeosang thought as he rolled his eyes.

“How lovely it is to see you here, Mr. Choi!” your mother exclaimed with a lilting laugh, the kind she reserved for smoothing over the awkwardness of situations she had orchestrated.

“Perhaps, a stroll might be in order? The fair has so much to offer, and it would be a shame to miss it.”

Before you could respond, she continued, “Yeosang, dear, you’ll accompany your sister and Mr. Choi, won’t you? As her brother, it’s only proper.”

You and Yeosang exchanged a glance, dread mirrored in both your eyes. It wasn’t the usual look of sibling camaraderie but a shared expression of silent protest aimed squarely at your mother. You had no desire to go promenading with San, and Yeosang had even less interest in being dragged along as a chaperone.

“Of course,” he replied stiffly, his tone making it painfully clear this was not his preference.

“Wonderful!” your mother declared with a clap of her hands. “Make the most of it, dear. I’m certain Mr. Choi will make an excellent companion.”

“Mother!”

“Oh look, if it isn’t Duchess Jeong!” your mother interrupted without missing a beat, waving gracefully at Duke Jeong’s mother across the grounds. Before either of you could argue further, she glided away, leaving you and Yeosang standing frozen in her wake.

San looked to you, his dark eyes alight with curiosity and amusement, but your thoughts were already elsewhere, drawn by the promise of the fair’s treasures. As the three of you set off, he fell into step beside you.

“Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to see, Ms. Kang?”

You hesitated, glancing at your brother, whose expression seemed to silently dare you to say something frivolous. Deciding honesty wouldn’t hurt, you allowed a hint of excitement to creep into your tone.

“I heard there’s a merchant with books from overseas,” you admitted. “With illustrations from distant lands.”

“Is that what excites you?” San’s lips curved into an easy smile, though his gaze lingered on you with a mix of curiosity and something else. Something more…thoughtful.

“Absolutely,” you replied, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Books are reliable and make their intentions clear. They don’t waste your time and if they bore you, you can close them and move on.”

There was a deliberate pause as your gaze lingered on his face, a silent question dancing in your eyes. Was he testing you, or simply trying to gauge how far he could go?

He leaned in slightly, as if daring to close the distance between you. “So, you prefer something that can’t surprise you? That can’t push you to think or feel beyond the words on the page?”

“Books surprise me all the time. They’re just more considerate about it. They don’t linger when they’re no longer wanted.”

His laughter came, soft and deep, but his gaze remained fixed on yours.

“And yet, you still let me linger.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected retort, a telltale heat spreading that you struggled to suppress. You turned your head slightly, pretending to take an interest in a nearby stall, but the way your fingers fidgeted together betrayed your composure.

Just ahead, the foreign book merchant’s stall came into view, and you felt relief. Seizing the opportunity, you quickened your pace, using the excuse to put some distance between you and the weight of his attention.

“Here we are,” you announced, your tone just a bit too bright as you gestured to the vendor’s display. Books of every size and color were arranged in carefully balanced stacks, their worn spines hinting at untold stories and distant lands.

You stepped closer to the shelves, your fingers brushing over the embossed titles, pausing occasionally to pull a volume free and examine it. Your expression softened as you opened a leather-bound book, your eyes skimming the faded ink with quiet reverence.

San watched as you picked up another volume. The quiet focus in your movements seemed to draw him in, as if the bustling fair around you had melted into stillness. There was something captivating about the way you moved as though nothing else existed but the books in front of you.

Despite your best efforts to regain control of your thoughts, you could feel his presence just behind you. It made your steps falter slightly, and you cursed inwardly at your inability to maintain your cool.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked. Your gaze flitted to his, your heart betraying you with a slight quickening.

“I wasn’t aware silence was such a novelty,” you replied, attempting to mask your unease with a touch of humor.

“It is, coming from someone who usually has such pointed opinions.”

You rolled your eyes, handing him the book you’d just examined. “Hold this,” you said, your tone brisk but not unkind.

San blinked in surprise but complied, taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed against the worn leather cover as he glanced down at it. Before he could comment, you had already moved on, scanning the shelves with a discerning eye.

“It seems books hold the secrets of the universe?” he teased lightly, approaching your side.

“They do, in a way,” you replied without looking at him, your attention fixed on the spines in front of you. Your fingers danced over the titles until you selected another volume, pulling it free and flipping through the pages.

“Every book is a door to somewhere new. You never know what you’ll find until you open it.”

“I see,” he murmured, though whatever witty retort he had in mind dissolved the moment you placed a second book atop the first in his arms. He chuckled softly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he watched you move with determination.

“Isn’t that Mr. Choi?” a whisper came, the words carrying despite the attempt at discretion.

“Is he courting Ms. Kang?”

San stiffened, his shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact. The muscles in his jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax. With a subtle shift, he angled his body to shield you from view, though his eyes flicked instinctively towards you.

You remained blissfully unaware, lost in the pages of your chosen book, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Whether the murmurs reached you or not, you gave no indication of noticing.

“They make for such an unusual…pair,” the other woman chimed in, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

The first woman hummed in agreement. “Quite a step down from Dami, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dami was the diamond of her season,” the second woman added, a faint laugh in her voice, “but this…” She let the words hang, heavy with judgment.

“Perhaps she’s just…a distraction,” the first concluded with a theatrical sigh.

San’s grip on the books tightened slightly, the sharp edges pressing into his palms as their words sank in. He should have brushed them off, reminded himself of the role he was playing and the purpose behind it all. Yet their voices grated against him; not because of their dismissal of him, but because of the way they belittled you.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be anything more than a convenient prop, proof of what Dami had walked away from.

But as you turned to show him the book, your eyes lit up with excitement. In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about Dami or the wager with Wooyoung.

All he could think about was you, standing before him, and how fond he was growing of you.

San leaned back in his chair, the rich scent of smoke curling around him like a veil. He held his cards in one hand, his other hand bringing the cigar to his mouth for a slow, deliberate puff. The ember at the tip glowed brighter as he inhaled, a flicker of fire against the dark backdrop of the room.

“How goes the wallflower?” Lord Park Seonghwa asked. The question was casual, almost offhand, but the sharp glint in his eye suggested he was more interested in the answer than he let on.

San studied his cards, his fingers tapping lightly against the worn edges. After a moment of silence, he flicked his gaze up to meet Lord Park’s.

“She’s…intriguing,” San replied at last, his voice carrying a hint of something more than mere curiosity. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it swirled and dissipated into the room.

“Not as shy as others say she is. I’d say she has more thorns than petals.”

“Thorns can be dangerous, my friend,” Wooyoung mused, his gaze sharp as he considered San’s words.

“Especially when they’re hidden beneath such a delicate facade.”

San’s smile didn’t waver, though a shadow passed over his features, too fleeting for most to catch. “Delicate things also have a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

Wooyoung raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“Might I remind you gentlemen that you’re playing with fire?” Duke Jeong Yunho interjected smoothly, his eyes never leaving the cards in his hand.

“Kang Yeosang doesn’t take kindly to anyone who crosses his family.”

The room fell into a tense silence, save for the fire crackling softly, its light flickering in Yunho’s eyes as he finally looked up. The warning was unmistakable in his expression, a quiet but undeniable threat hanging in the air.

San’s gaze remained fixed on his cards, his mind clearly elsewhere as he processed Yunho’s warning. The Duke studied him for a moment longer than necessary, the silence thick challenge. It was a standoff of sorts, where neither words nor gestures were needed to communicate the rivalry between them.

Finally, with a slight nod, Yunho returned to his cards, signaling the end of the conversation. But the tension lingered, palpable and unresolved, hanging over the room.

As the days turned into weeks, San found himself increasingly torn between the thrill of the dare and the reality of his growing affection for you. He hadn’t expected you to be so different from what he imagined.

“Mr. Choi–do you believe that ducks have the ability to ponder their existence?”

He stared at the words for a long moment, both amused and intrigued by the sheer randomness of the question, before dipping his pen into ink.

“Miss Kang—I assure you, if ducks ever stopped to ponder their existence, they would undoubtedly seize control of us all. That is, of course, assuming they’re capable of getting their ducks in a row.”

When this began, it was easy. You were charming in your own way, but he hadn’t been looking for depth. He hadn’t anticipated someone passionate, whose sharp wit and quiet strength captivated him.

San adjusted his cravat in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, his reflection offering no solace for the turmoil within. He knew he was treading dangerous waters. The more he allowed himself to feel, the harder it became to maintain the facade.

He feared what would happen when the truth inevitably came to light; that his intentions had been born not from affection, but from a petty wager and desire to vindicate his pride. That he had approached you not as the woman you were, but as a means to an end.

The thought haunted him. You deserved better than the lies he’d told, better than the man he had been when this all began. And yet, as much as he wanted to walk away and spare you the eventual heartbreak, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

More of your company. More of your attention. More of you.

The familiar strains of the musicians tuning their instruments floated through the ballroom. From the gilded mirrors that lined the walls to the chandeliers dripping with crystal, every detail of the Kang ballroom was a testament to opulence and sophistication.

San, ever the charming gentleman, was acutely aware of the eyes that followed his every move. His colleagues and other potential admirers watched with barely concealed interest, some with jealousy, others with curiosity. They knew he was playing a game, but none knew the rules, least of all you.

As his gaze swept across the crowded room, searching for any sign of you, the lively chatter and watchful eyes faded into the background. Uncertainty crept in as he wondered where you had disappeared to.

Determined to find you, he stepped forward, his eyes darting toward the balcony doors and the faint glow of the gardens beyond. Perhaps you had retreated to steal a moment of solitude. The thought of you standing alone beneath the stars sent an inexplicable urgency coursing through him.

Just as he started toward the edge of the room, a hand brushed against his arm, halting him mid-step.

“San.”

The familiar voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned, startled to find Dami standing before him. Her expression was poised but not unreadable.

"May I have a word?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over her shoulder in a final, searching sweep of the ballroom. A part of him wanted to dismiss her, to follow the thread of instinct that urged him to find you instead. But Dami’s presence demanded his attention, her tone leaving little room for refusal.

“Of course.”

⊹

The evening had been a whirlwind of forced smiles and polite exchanges, each interaction more draining than the last. The laughter and chatter of the crowded ballroom felt like a cacophony, grating on your nerves, and you had long since grown tired of the superficial conversations.

Seeking a moment of solitude, you slipped through a side door and into the garden, a quiet sanctuary away from the prying eyes of high society. You wandered along the gravel paths, the scent of night blooms filling the air. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a world where you weren’t bound by the rigid rules of propriety, where you could be free to live and love as you wished.

But that fleeting peace was abruptly interrupted when you heard voices nearby, muffled but unmistakably familiar.

“Was it worth it? Putting on this little act, dragging her along?” Dami’s voice was soft, almost sweet, as she glanced up at San with a tilt of her head.

“Don’t tell me you actually started to feel something for her.”

The silence that followed was excruciating, heavy and suffocating, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. You leaned closer, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of what you were hearing, your breath hitching at the implications.

San froze, his body stiffening as if the question had struck him physically. His chest tightened, the weight of her words twisting in him like a blade. The confident smirk he had worn earlier faltered, dropping his gaze to the dim glow of the lanterns flickering around them.

“No.”

The single word cut through the air, sharp and final, and it shattered something inside you.

Dami’s lips curved into a triumphant smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

“We both know you don’t want her. You never did. You wanted to forget me. That’s all this was.”

Her gloved hand slid down his arm in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate. “What’s stopping us from trying again?”

“No more pathetic little wallflower,” she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Terribly awkward and unsociable. The type doomed to spinsterhood.”

San let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and hollow as he shook his head. But he didn’t pull away from her touch.

“What did Wooyoung bet you?” Dami pressed, her curiosity sharp and pointed.

“That’s between us,” he teased, amused.

Your heart sank as you listened, your world crumbling around you. The man who sent you flowers, who had seemed to share a connection, had been playing a game all along.

How could you have been so foolish? How could you have let yourself believe that someone like him could genuinely care for someone like you?

You could feel the tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. But as you stood there, the anger began to build, simmering beneath the surface until it was impossible to contain.

You couldn’t let San believe that his betrayal would go unnoticed, that his actions would have no consequences. With a surge of resolve, you stepped out from the shadows, making yourself known.

“Is this true?” you demanded, your voice quivering and strained.

You locked eyes with San, the man who had been at the center of it all, the one who had so effortlessly made you believe in the possibility of something more. But there was no explanation that could undo what he had done.

“Y/N. I–” he stammered, his voice faltering as he grappled with the gravity of the situation.

“How dare you toy with my feelings because of your bruised ego? How dare you lead me to lay bare my vulnerabilities only to use them as fodder for your amusement?”

San flinched at the venom in your words, his face paling as the full impact of what he had done became impossible to ignore.

“Y/N, please—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. “Don’t try to justify this. Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t what it seemed. Because I heard you. I heard everything.”

For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, your chest heaving with the force of your emotions.

“You’ve shown me exactly who you are.”

With one final look at San, you turned on your heel and walked away. You would not run, you would not flee into the night like some wounded animal. You would survive this. You would rise above it.

And you would show them all that you were not a wallflower to be trifled with.

“The Choi estate was partially burned last night,” Yeosang announced, stepping into the drawing room. His voice was tinged with urgency as he approached, the unopened letter a silent plea for attention.

You ignored your brother and instead flipped the page of your book with deliberate nonchalance. “Send them my regards,” you bristled, your tone biting even as you maintained the pretense of calm.

Yeosang sighed, clearly grappling with how best to navigate this unexpected development. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as one of his tells when he was deeply troubled.

“They’re seeking refuge with extended friends and relatives while the estate is restored,” he explained softly. His eyes lingered on you, gauging your reaction as he placed the envelope on the table before you. The Choi family’s wax seal, a delicate emblem of the mountains and skies, seemed a fragile echo of their former prestige.

“Y/N,” Yeosang’s voice softened, almost pleading.

“Brother,” you replied, finally looking up from your book. The skepticism in your voice was as much a defense mechanism as the sarcasm you’d laced it with.

“They’re desperate,” Yeosang admitted. “The accident has left them with little choice.”

“How unfortunate,” you replied flatly. “Perhaps the Viscount should have ensured his household wasn’t a tinderbox waiting for disaster. Foolishness, it seems, runs in their blood.”

The words were more cutting than you had intended, but you didn’t regret them. The Choi’s predicament, though dire, was of their own making, and the idea that they would try to drag your family into their mess infuriated you.

“The Viscount is invoking a favor as a friend to father.”

“Our late father’s generosity does not extend to negligence or recklessness,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And it certainly does not extend to housing strays.”

The tree branch creaked under your weight as you settled higher up, your legs dangling lazily over the edge. The letter from the Choi family had been too much to bear, its contents so suffocating that you bolted, preferring to become a sister of St. Hala to sharing a roof with Choi San.

How convenient it must be for them, you mused bitterly, to seek sanctuary now, when it was their own schemes that had caused this debacle.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horses' hooves, faint at first, then growing louder as they drew closer. You peered through the branches and spotted Yeosang and Yunho riding toward the estate.

You swung your legs back over the branch, debating the best way to descend without completely embarrassing yourself. Grabbing your sack, you decided to toss it to the ground first but miscalculated when it veered too far to the right and smacked Yeosang in the head.

“Y/N!” your brother barked.

Ignoring his swears, you began shimmying down the tree, carefully testing each branch to balance your weight. But as usual, fate had other plans. Your foot slipped, and you let out a startled gasp, flailing for the nearest branch. Gravity claimed you, sending you tumbling through the air until a pair of strong arms caught you mid fall.

“Careful there, Lucifer,” Yunho laughed, steadying you in his arms.

You blinked up at him, momentarily dazed. His arms were firm around you, and the absurdity of the situation hit you all at once. You, tangled in Yunho’s arms, looking thoroughly disheveled from your grand escape attempt.

“Foiling my plans to destroy the heavens, as always,” you groaned, your face flushing with embarrassment as you pulled yourself away from him.

“If this is your idea of a divine rebellion, might I suggest conquering climbing first,” he chuckled.

Yeosang dismounted his horse with quiet fury, stalking towards you. He held your sack, his knuckles white against the worn fabric, as if it were the root of all his troubles.

“Running away?”

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin defiantly despite the fact that your hair was likely a mess and your clothes bore the evidence of your failed escape.

“Yes,” you replied coolly, “but I thought it only polite to bid you and Yunho farewell before committing myself to St. Hala.”

His grip on the sack tightened, his knuckles standing out starkly as he muttered under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why am I related to this lunatic?” He exhaled sharply, as if forcing himself to rein in his frustration.

“Do you ever stop to think, or is recklessness a natural talent of yours?”

You glared at him, refusing to back down. “I could say the same about you, brother, for not understanding the brilliance of letting vipers into the nest.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary to fulfill a promise between father and the viscount! Do you know what it meant to father to keep his word? A bond of trust that defined him and our family!”

“And yet here you are, jeopardizing all of it by letting them crawl closer! A promise to the viscount doesn’t mean we have to blindly—”

“There she is!”

Both of you froze as your mother swept onto the scene, flanked by Anna, and her husband Jason, the head groundskeeper. Jason’s expression left no doubt he was prepared to intervene if necessary, unlike poor Joe.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, darting behind Yunho in a desperate attempt to escape. But Jason, faster and far stronger than Joe, easily caught up to you. His firm grip closed around your arm, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Not another word,” your mother hissed, her voice icy enough to freeze the air around her.

Yeosang, who had momentarily been forgotten in the chaos, muttered something unintelligible, as your mother grabbed your free arm with an iron grip.

“I’m not going back there!” you shouted, your voice echoing across the grounds as Jason and your mother began dragging you toward the estate.

Behind you, Yunho chuckled softly, falling into step with the chaotic procession. His easy going demeanor only added to your frustration.

“Yunho, don’t just stand there!” you snapped, trying to twist out of Jason’s hold. “Help me!”

From the drawing room, San watched the commotion unfold, his arms crossed, though the faint smirk that once might have graced his lips was absent. Instead, his expression was tense, his brows drawing together as his dark eyes followed your every move.

There had been a time when he might have chuckled at the sight, teasing you later about your theatrics or making some sly remark about your temperament. But now, the thought of doing so felt hollow, wrong even.

He told himself you hated him, and maybe you did. Maybe you always would. And yet, as much as he tried to accept that as his punishment, the thought of it gutted him.

All he could think about was ways to reach out to you, ways to fix what he’d broken. But how could he even begin? What could he possibly say to undo the harm he’d caused?

He found himself hoping desperately that fate might grant him a second chance. A chance to make amends, to prove that he was more than his mistakes.

Because if it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself.

Two

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ssvas1966 · 2 years ago

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Mantra Deekshe - Swamy Gautamanandaji Maharaj

It was a long pursuit of scriptural studies, mostly with breaks and internal turmoil’s, doubts, side tracking of the goals, which finally culminated into me taking a practical step in the form of MANTRA DEEKSHE, which happened exactly one month ago. This was like a total turnaround from a mere pursuit of philosophical studies, for satisfying the intellect and the ego, into a simple practice of spirituality which looks amazingly powerful than all the studies put together. It is a new beginning and a very big step in my LIFE. A small back ground as to what and all happened till now….

I started my earliest studies with Ramayana and Mahabharatha during my child hood days and also a bit of Bhagavadgitha. Lord Ram was my favourite deity and Aaradhya Daiva. I was attracted to the teachings of Lord Gautama Buddha and tried to understand him through the practice of Vipassana. As an ardent follower of Naturopathy as a way of life and admirer of Yogic Sciences, did some studies in these aspects of life. I got firmly rooted in the Indian way of natural life and Yoga as a method for a healthy living. Deeply inspired by Mahatma Gandhi I had full faith in the nature’s ability to heal itself. In the meanwhile, I had the privilege of studying Homeopathy for some time (for the sake of my children) and highly appreciated its curative abilities at very subtle levels of body and mind.

My formal study of Vedic literature commenced during 2010 when I started my initial studies in Prasthana trayas through Chinmaya International Studies. It was not exactly a scriptural study and I got a glimpse through the Foundation and Advanced Course in Vedantha, as expounded by Adi Shankara. The huge knowledge base in the form of Bhashyas, Sutras to Vedic lore deeply stirred my intellectual hunger and set a direction for my further studies. A glimpse of the advaitic thought mesmerized me and I got deeply attracted towards it.

This initial attraction for “Advaitha” became stronger when I studied Complete works of Vivekananda and his vision about our ancient culture opened up a new vista of knowledge. I could easily correlate the teachings of Shri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, through his devout and courageous, monastic student Swamy Vivekananda. It is not a co incidence that I started this journey in “Ramakrishna Ashram”, Basavanagudi, Bengaluru long back during my High school days in 1980s. I used to regularly visit this place and the divine rock on which Mata Shri Sharada Devi sat and meditated. I never knew that one day I would be part of this great lineage through the process of Mantra Deeksha.

I was very sceptical since beginning about following any particular method / order in the path of spirituality. I never felt that I should follow someone or something, which might be due to egoistic ideas of self-realisation through own efforts. My recent visit to Ramanasramam, in Tiruvannamalai kindled my desire to strongly cling on to one particular method as there are too many roads leading to the same place. I had a strong feeling that the journey so far was only theoretical and as that of a bystander without any real progress, except for accumulation of knowledge and confusing ideas. Though it all looked very peaceful and steady, my inner core was with turmoil and waiting for any small provocation. This made me send a mail to Swamy Gautamanandaji Maharaj and within a few hours I got a firm reply also !!

As a preparation to this great event scheduled for 30-09-2019 I had to follow certain procedures which began nearly a month before. After registering my name, I started reading three simple but powerful books on the “Holy Trio” – Shri Ramakrishna, Sharada Maa and Swamy Vivekananda. We were also instructed to study a book “Spiritual Initiation – What it is ?”. This book is a compilation of material culled from the three articles written by Swami Bhuteshananda Maharaj, former president of the Ramakrishna Order, and lucidly explains the need of guru in leading the spiritual aspirants along the spiritual path by giving a formula called mantra repeating which they can reach the Supreme Goal. It is a very handy material for those thinking of taking spiritual initiation. Most of my doubts got cleared with this and I determined to plunge into this great journey.

On the appointed day, I went early in the morning with specified things for Deeksha programme. Cheerful devotees were there already helping us in setting things right. There was a small briefing previous evening by the Secretary Swamy as to the dos and don’ts for the “D” day. My mind was full of reverence and anxiety for a new beginning. About 105 aspirants were there, including 45 students starting a new journey. We were asked to keep our things in a very orderly manner and sit at the appointed place. Every step to be followed for the next six hours was told in great detail. We had to stay put for the instructions and completely pay attention to the procedures. It was the hall mark of disciplined monastic order getting reflected in this simple but significant ceremony of the Ramakrishna Math. We have to very systematically follow the steps and it was to the precision that things happened like in a dream.

Swamy Gautamanandaji Maharaj was very kind and patient, explaining the whole process in minute detail and inspiring us to follow a new path of glory. His melodious but firm voice and reassuring smiles in between took me to a different plane, and our flight had just taken off with his energies backing all of us. What exactly happened between 6.30 am to 11.30 am cannot be described in words, but there was an elevation of our minds and the Japa journey has begun. Through out the program, I was completely engrossed with devotion and there was a subtle excitement about the new journey.

Swamy Gautamanandaji Maharaj also took Mantra Deekshe in RK Math, Basavanagdi, Bengaluru in 1956 and it was our great privilege to follow this lineage. Shri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa – Swamy Brahmananda – Swamy Veereshananda – Swamy Gautamananda …. (Brahmananda, born Rakhal Chandra Ghosh, was one of the direct disciples of Ramakrishna and the first president of the Ramakrishna Math and Ramakrishna Mission. He was born in Sikra Kulingram near Basirhat, Kolkata. Ramakrishna recognised him as his 'spiritual son'. He became the first president of the mission.).

Its one month now and the practice of Japa is going on with a particular pace and I am sure there will be more to come. During the last one month, I also read “Japa Yoga” by Shivananda which was found to be having very useful and practical tips. I tried to understand the Aratikram of RK Math and read a book by Swamy Harshananda “Aaraatrika Gaanagalu” which explained the meaning and significance of i) Khandcana Bhava Bandhana, ii) Om Hreem ritham iii) Sarva mangala mangalye iv) Prakratim – paramam, four stotras during Sandhayarathi. I had only heard them during Aarathi and got fascinated with the rhythm and melody of the Stotras and now I got a chance to understand the significance and meaning.

This is just a small narrative of the divine experience I had, a month ago and I wrote this to express my deep gratitude for Pujya Swamy Gautamanandaji Maharaj who very lovingly initiated us into this Holy order of Ramakrishna Math. The journey has begun in a real sense and a distinct link got established with this small step.

Shri Gurubhyonamaha – Hari Om Tatsat - Shri Ramakrishnarpanamasthu.

S SRINIVAS

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