Possessive Over You

The clanging of metal against metal echoed through the three-bedroom apartment, piercing the early morning calm.

Everyone inside already knew what it was. They were used to it. In this house, that dreadful sound had a name — the wake-up bell.

Mia groaned from her room. Irene buried her face in her pillow. But resistance was useless. The sound grew louder until it filled every corner of the house.

When they finally stumbled down the stairs, half-asleep, they found exactly what they expected — Zee, standing in front of the TV, a saucer pan in one hand and a cooking spoon in the other. She was still in her nightwear, hair messy, face glowing with mischief.

“Good morning, ladies!” she announced cheerfully. “Sorry for dragging you from your islands of fascinating dreams. But duty calls!”

“Can you please go straight to the point?” Mia muttered, rubbing her eyes.

“Sure, sure.” Zee grinned. “But first—happy morning to you both! Did you sleep well?”

Mia yawned. “What are we talking about today?”

Zee’s eyes twinkled. “Today’s topic is something entirely different. No politics, no religion, no finance, no fitness, no gossip.”

“Then what’s left to discuss?” Irene groaned. “Can’t we just go back to bed?”

“Be still, Lady Irene of England,” Zee said with mock grandeur, raising her spoon like a scepter.

Mia snorted. “Lady Irene of England actually suits you.”

Irene shot her a tired glare. “Stop it.”

“Attention, ladies!” Zee called, clapping her hands. “Focus, please.”

Both women sat up slightly straighter, though their patience was wearing thin.

“So,” Zee continued dramatically, “today’s topic is something I find deeply personal.” She paused for effect. “Poverty and joblessness.”

The girls froze, staring at her.

“Yes,” Zee went on, placing a hand over her chest. “My personal definition of poverty? Simple. Me.”

And just like that, she dropped the pan and sank to the floor.

“Oh, Zee,” she cried to herself. “You are Korea’s poorest! Everyone else found jobs last month, but here you are—broke, unstable, and doomed!”

She sniffled loudly. “When was the last time you recharged your phone by yourself?” she asked, then answered in a whisper, “Years ago.”

Then came another round of sobbing.

Mia and Irene exchanged bewildered glances.

“Do you think she’s acting again?” Irene whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Mia said softly. “Not this time.”

They rushed toward her, unsure whether to comfort her or laugh.

---

When Zee woke up hours later, her face felt swollen from crying. Her head pounded. She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. Same messy hair, same puffy eyes — same unemployed girl.

She assumed Irene and Mia had already gone to work, but when she walked into the kitchen, they were both there, chatting over coffee.

“Irene? Mia? You’re still home?” she asked, blinking. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“And leave who to take care of you?” Mia teased.

“About earlier…” Zee rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry for acting so stupid. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You said it yourself,” Mia mumbled, earning an elbow from Irene.

“Forgive me?” Zee pleaded with a pitiful smile.

Irene opened her arms. “Come here.”

Zee walked into the hug, her lips curving into a small smile.

“You’ll be fine,” Irene said softly. Then, with a mischievous spark in her eye, she added, “And you know what? We should go out tonight.”

Zee blinked. “Out?”

“There’s an imperial ball at Dela Quins tonight,” Irene said, wiggling her brows. “A billionaire’s party. Might just suit your taste for high class.”

Mia gasped dramatically. “You mean the Dela Quins? Owned by Darien Quin himself?”

“The very one,” Irene confirmed.

Zee’s heart skipped a beat. She’d seen Darien Quin’s name on every magazine cover, every news channel. The kind of man who could buy a company before breakfast.

“Well…” she began slowly, trying to play it cool. “I suppose we deserve a little night out.”

---

Evening – Dela Quins Hotel

The grand ballroom glittered like a galaxy — gold chandeliers, marble floors, laughter that echoed like music.

Edwin Evans, ranked seventh among The Tabloid’s most eligible billionaire bachelors, was hosting the ball. And the man everyone hoped would attend — the number one, Darien Quin — was nowhere to be seen.

Still, the guests arrived in waves of perfume and designer suits. Cameras flashed. Champagne flowed.

Two hours in, Zee, Irene, and Mia finally made their entrance.

Zee wore a fitted black mermaid dress that hugged every curve, her long blonde hair cascading down her back. Her beauty didn’t need much help — a touch of gloss, a hint of eyeliner, and she was stunning.

Irene’s red gown glowed under the lights, matching the warmth of her skin, while Mia’s sleek black gown and crimson heels gave her an elegant edge.

As they stepped into the grand hall, they looked less like three ordinary roommates and more like three women born for the spotlight.

Zee’s eyes swept over the glittering crowd — and for a brief second, she felt something stir inside her.

Maybe tonight would be the beginning of something new.