Chapter 4 Ryeong estate

 

A week passed by quickly and almost every night the red velvet lounge saw a familiar face.

By the fifth night, it was a pattern—one Bri knew she shouldn’t indulge in, but couldn’t stop.

She stepped into the club again, suit immaculate, tie loosened just enough to look casual, like she belonged. The bouncer gave a familiar nod. The manager waved her through. The dancers clocked her right away.

The woman who only wants Candy.

Bri took her usual booth in the corner. Dim lighting. Best sightlines. Same drink.

“Is she working tonight?” she asked the waitress without looking up.

“She is.” The girl smiled, recognizing the routine. She didn’t ask if Bri wanted anyone else.

Of course not.

Bri watched. Quietly. Obsessively.

Whether Candy was dancing under red lights or balancing a tray with drinks on it, Bri followed every movement. The way her hips shifted beneath tight fabric. The bare flash of her waist. The subtle tension in her shoulders when men leaned too close.

She never looked Bri’s way. Not once. But Bri kept tipping. Hundreds.

And no one else would do.

Even when dancers flirted. Even when they sat beside her, draped arms over her shoulders. She gave them polite smiles and short answers. Her eyes never left Candy.

The fantasy wasn’t about touching. Not anymore. It was about control. Obsession. That one night—that brief, hot, spiraling night—had branded itself into Bri’s mind.

She didn’t know her name.

She didn’t need to.

The mystery was part of it.

But that night, the spell broke.

As Candy approached the table—her steps stiff with something closer to irritation than performance—Bri set her drink down and looked up, calm and unreadable.

Candy leaned down, face inches from hers, lips tight with tension.

“I’m not giving you another private dance,” she said, just loud enough for Bri to hear. “If that’s what you keep coming here for, please stop.”

The words surprised her.

Bri blinked, tilting her head slowly. “Why?”

Her voice was low. Even.

Candy flushed. Not angry now—embarrassed.

She glanced around, then leaned in, breath brushing Bri’s cheek. Her voice was low. Quiet. Honest.

“That’s the problem. I liked it. Too much.”

A pause. Then:

“This is my job. And you…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip, voice rough. “You make me feel things I can’t afford to feel here. I’m scared I’d say yes to more than I want to.”

Bri inhaled slowly.

Her mind raced—but not with logic.

She could still feel the girl on her lap. Hear the way she’d gasped. The way her body had melted under every word. Every strike. The high-pitched please that hadn’t been spoken aloud—but vibrated in her bones all the same.

Her fists clenched.

Every part of her wanted to say, then say yes. Wanted to whisper, I’d take such good care of you. Wanted to press her back into the wall and kiss her until she forgot where she was.

But instead...

She stood.

Tall. Composed. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need to touch to dominate.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly.

She reached into her coat, pulled out a final wad of cash, and placed it on the table without looking at it.

“For your time.”

Then she walked away.

The lights of the club flashed across her back.

Zara stood frozen, still leaning slightly over the table, heart racing.

She didn’t even know the woman’s name.

Just the weight of her stare. The sound of her voice.

A couple of uneventful days passed, but neither of them could shake the feeling—especially Bri. Candy remained a constant afterthought, like a taste that lingered on the tongue, souring all the rest.

The iron gates of the Ryeong estate creaked open at the buzz of her arrival. The house beyond looked like something out of a luxury magazine—grand, old money. Ivy curled up polished white columns. Light from massive windows spilled across a manicured courtyard, where a koi pond shimmered beneath an overgrown cherry blossom tree.

Bri pulled her sleek black coupe up the circular drive and cut the engine. She sat for a beat, then adjusted the collar of her slate-gray blazer and retrieved the high-end gift bags from the back seat.

As she stepped out, the scent of jasmine blossoms hit first—thick and sweet. Then came the waft of buttered pastries carried from the house, chased by faint classical music drifting from hidden speakers just beyond the threshold.

There was no other way to survive these visits but to show up armed—with composure, overpriced wine, and limited expectations.

The front doors, framed in brass and carved mahogany, opened before she reached them.

“Miss Ryeong,” the butler greeted her with a practiced bow, already reaching for the Louis Vuitton bag in her left hand. “May I take these?”

She nodded, keeping the bottle of vintage wine and the small bouquet of rare winter camellias. Appearances. Always appearances.

As she stepped inside, polished marble floors gleamed beneath her feet, the scent of jasmine and polished wood thick in the air. Light flooded from chandeliers and clerestory windows, casting the grand staircase in gold.

And then—

The noise.

She barely stepped into the room before a toddler squealed and toddled her way, sticky fingers reaching up. A baby’s fussy coo followed, echoing off the glass. And just like that, the brunch was in full swing—Dad. Stepmother. Chen Long. Cindy. Their small dynasty of heirs.

“Father. Madam Chen. Brother. Cindy.” Bri bowed low, politely, before offering the wine to her father, the camellias to her stepmother, and crouching to hand off the gifts to the children. The toddler, Yu, took to the wrapping paper more than the toys. The baby, Lin, wailed in protest at being awake.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” her father boomed, already motioning for her to sit. “You must hold Lin! She’s finally smiling now—look!”

Before she could politely object, the squirming bundle was placed in her arms. She looked down at the baby with polite interest. The baby cooed. Sure, it was cute. But a pang hit her—not guilt, not yearning. Something... detached.

This wasn’t her blood. This wasn’t a child born of a true Ryeong.

This was Chen Long’s family and to her he was just the son of the women his dad was with but as far as there empire to her he was nobody.

Cindy, ever graceful, smiled at her. “Since you don’t have little ones of your own, they’ll look up to you like a second mom. It’ll be good practice, right?”

Bri’s smile tightened.

“I’ll do my best not to scar them.”

Chen Long chuckled from across the room, brushing invisible lint from his monogrammed cuffs. “Not all of us are born nurturing,” he said with faux warmth, though his eyes sparkled with smugness. “But you’ll figure it out, Sister. Maybe you’ll even surprise us and settle down one day.”

She looked down at the baby in her lap and replied before she could stop herself:

“The girl I’m seeing... she wants children. Seeing your little brood, I’m suddenly not as reluctant.”

Silence.

Her father blinked.

Her stepmother’s teacup froze mid-sip.

Even Yu stopped crawling.

Then her father laughed—a loud, hearty guffaw that echoed through the marble.

“You rascal! A woman? You’re finally committing to someone?”

He couldn’t help but look at his daughter with a mixture of wonder—and doubt.

Bri groaned. “Why are you so surprised?”

“Because I know you.” He patted her head. “I love you, but there’s been more than one young lady hurt by your actions that I’ve had to smooth over. And you don’t talk about the future unless you mean it.”

He paused, gaze sharpening.

“Kid, a future means loyalty. Faithfulness. Commitment. I won’t tolerate nonsense.”

He met her eyes, serious now.

“No daughter of mine will make a woman a mother outside of wedlock. Nor will I let adultery stain our family name. Don’t play around with lives, Bai. Don’t disrespect a woman—or a child—by starting a family for the wrong reasons.”

Then, softer:

“If you mean it—I’m happy. More than happy. But if you don’t…”

He let the silence say the rest.

The blood drained from her face.

“Dad, I— I didn’t mean it like that.” She swallowed. “It was just a joke. A thought for the future. Nothing’s set in stone.”

He sighed, heavy. “Then let it stay that way until it is. This old man still has standards.”

Her stepmother’s soft laugh broke the tension. “Bo Ryeong, don’t hound her. She’s twenty-five—it’s good she’s dreaming of a future. Let her bloom.”

Bri didn’t look up.

That voice always sounded too sweet. Too measured. Her stepmother might say: “Our Bai-Bai is growing up.”

You're not my mother. The thought came sharp and fast. Always did.

but Bri only nodded, held back the barb, careful not to let her jaw clench too hard.

She knew exactly what Madam Chen wanted—to ensure her son and grandchildren carried the Ryeong name into the next generation. If Bo Ryeong passed today, Bri wouldn’t put it past the woman to have her written out of the will before the funeral wreaths were dry.

“You should bring her to the next family trip,” Madam Chen said. “We’d love to meet the girl who tamed you.”

Before she could argue, her father leaned in, kissed her temple, and beamed.

“It’s settled. I’ll even buy her a gift. I’m proud of you, Bai. I knew you’d surprise me.”

And just like that, the lie had a heartbeat.

Chen Long leaned back in his chair, swirling his mimosa.

“Try and stay faithful, Sister. Dad might actually disown you if you string this poor woman along.”

Bri sneered at the Weasley of a man. “You’re hilarious, as always.”

That little shit-stirrer spoke as if he and his friends at work weren’t spotted in the same venues she, Lucas, Jared, and Lee loved to hang out in. At least they had the decency to fuck around single, while plenty of Chen’s friends had wives and kids.

Hurriedly, Bri ate her food, answered her father’s questions about her health, her life, and work. She even mustered fake interest for Chen Long’s family.

And finally—her filial piety, filled to the brim—she could escape the madhouse.

She stood, brushing off invisible lint. “This was… lovely. I’ll be going.”

The marble floors clicked beneath her designer shoes as she walked herself out.

She slid into the driver’s seat of her black Porsche 911 GTS, the engine purring as the brushed-leather wheel met her grip. With one hand, she tugged the door shut. The other hit ignition.

And just like that, she left her father’s estate, barely giving it a glance through the windshield.

The brunch buzz still clung to her skin like citrus and anxiety.

She didn’t have a woman.

She didn’t have a plan.

And now she had a damn invitation to a family trip where her absence would only make the lie worse.