Mafia and Duty.

"Graduation"

(Nina)

After the graduation ceremony, I went to the hall Joon had rented for the celebratory dinner. My dress was a long, cream-colored, shiny silk gown with a plunging V-neck and gold accessories. As soon as I stepped off the stairs, I was photographed nonstop until I entered the hall. Knowing he was already there waiting for me, I suppose talking to important people, since this was all just a cover, a show for everyone except the underworld.

When I entered the enormous hall decorated in shades of gold, blue, and white, there was a crowd of men in impeccable suits and women in shimmering gowns, all eager to pay their respects and ingratiate themselves with Miss Jeon's great achievement—that is, me. But they weren't there for me, not really. I don't know any of these people, just a few mobsters hiding behind their businessman facades.

Not even my family is here today.

This is what I am, just the wife of the most famous CEO in Korea, and in the underworld, the plaything wife of one of the most dangerous mobsters in the world, the now leader and head of the Jeon dynasty, the mafia that controls all of Korea.

Did they marry me off to a monster? Maybe.

So yeah, nobody's coming for me. They're basically coming to lick my husband's boots and try to gain some respect. Pigs. They're all fat pigs looking for scraps of vegetables in their rotten food.

My gaze swept across the room, taking in the sumptuous decor and the elite's chatter. The event was a charade, a means to an end. But it served its purpose: to project an image of power and prestige, to keep the wolves at bay. And then, I saw him.

Jeon Joon-jung. My husband. Dressed in his elegant tailored suit, all in black as always. With that aura that could bring anyone to their knees if he so desired. Despite his almost innocent face, his youthful appearance, his piercings and tattoos, and those enormous eyes... those black eyes that could consume you.

I shook my head internally.

He was downstairs, chatting with some bootlicking businessmen, when he caught a glimpse of the camera flashes blinding me as I came down the stairs. I noticed he stiffened when he saw me, ignoring the businessmen while they were still talking to him.

I was a little confused until I realized he didn't entirely like my choice of dress, even though I'd been very meticulous about it. But I suppose the V-neck, showing a bit of my breasts, didn't seem like a good option to him.

Well, f**k it, it was my damn graduation celebration.

Joon has always cared about the image we project to the public; he's always meticulous about making sure I don't look too vulgar or too stiff. I think I made the right choice, so, again, screw him.

The photographers snapped picture after picture, capturing the perfect image of the stunning wife. I've always hated this, but I held my head high with a faint smile. I knew the drill, the charade we had to play for the cameras. To the world, we were the ideal couple: beautiful, successful, and completely in love.

Not for the underworld.

The reality was completely different.

As I approached, everyone greeted me with fake smiles and fake congratulations on my achievement. I hate them all.

It wasn't normal for the wife of such an important CEO to study for a degree, much less graduate, and certainly not in Art. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with the "family" business.

But it's something I asked Joon for, and there really wasn't much discussion when I told him it would serve to demonstrate a certain fantasy of love and respect for each other's tastes to the public eye.

We have a pretty simple agreement: to the world we are the perfect couple, but we can do whatever we want as long as it doesn't damage our image, and that's how it's been since we got married.

I will always be a child to him.

The thought crossed my mind, but I dismissed it. I'll always be something I'm not to everyone. And that, in my world, is okay.

When I approached Joon, the photographers went wild, a flurry of flashes illuminating the perfect image. To the outside world, it was a cause for celebration. But for me, it was a reminder of the delicate dance we had to perform, the fine line between love and hate, between passion and indifference.

Joon kissed me as usual for the photographers and I just went along with it as always, smiling through the kiss.

If they only knew.

—Lots of cleavage. —That's all he said to me before taking my hand and walking to our table.

As soon as we got to the table, I grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one gulp —congratulations to me, I guess— I muttered to myself.

Joon watched me intently, frowning, but I ignored him, pouring myself another glass of champagne. I just wanted to forget this whole charade.

But then I felt his breath on my ear as he murmured in a low, dangerous voice, —Careful. Too much champagne can make you do foolish things.

I tensed up when his large, calloused hand squeezed my knee under the table in a warning gesture, before he whispered back to me in that deep, uncompromising voice, —We wouldn't want to make a scene, would we? Especially not tonight.

I felt him watching me intently to see my reaction, but more than that I felt him looking all over me, his eyes lingering on my cleavage and that made me shudder.

His voice was a low murmur. —Tonight we have an image to maintain. Tomorrow... —His voice trailed off. —Tomorrow you can continue playing with your false independence.

With that, he moved away from me and leaned back in his seat, observing the room with a critical eye. I ignored him and did the same. The guests were engrossed in their conversations, oblivious to the tense atmosphere between us.

False independence... yes, that was basically my life.

I saw him raised his champagne glass, the crystal reflecting the light. —To your graduation. May it open doors for you... and lead you back to me.

The toast hung in the air, a double-edged sword. A celebration of my achievement and a reminder of my place. Because in the end, no matter how far I ran, no matter how high I climbed, I would always belong to him.

I rolled my eyes and toasted with him, what he didn't know is that I already had a few drinks, or half a bottle actually since I started drinking as soon as I left my graduation ceremony.

—As you wish, husband, —I said disdainfully.

He took a sip from his own champagne glass. He set the glass down, which clinked against the fine porcelain, before moving closer to me.

—I told you to be careful. Stop drinking. —he growled in a low, dangerous voice. —And your tongue could get you into trouble on day if you're not careful.

His hand was still on my thigh under the table, his fingers digging into my flesh so hard they might leave bruises. A silent warning, a reminder of the power he held over me.

He will always be in control.

I looked around, taking in the sea of faces turned toward us. They were all waiting for a speech, a toast, a declaration of our eternal love and devotion. And that's what he would do. Definitely.

He stood up and extended his hand toward me, a chivalrous gesture that belied the anger simmering beneath the surface. —Come. Let's give them a show they won't soon forget.

Cretin.

I placed my small hand in his, curling it into his palm. As we stood together, a picture of marital bliss, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I would have to keep up the charade.

Possibly for life. But for now, we had a performance to give.