Chapter Text
The morning chill filtered through the frosted glass windows of the Lee mansion, bringing with it the weight of yet another day where nothing would change. The wall clock read seven when Lee Jihoon woke up, as always, before the servants. He liked to enjoy the few minutes of silence before the sound of hurried footsteps, harsh voices and empty demands filled the hallways. Lying on his bed, Jihoon reached out to pet the small white body curled up next to him. Mr. Fluffy, his long-haired cat with eyes as blue as melting ice, purred loudly at the loving touch of his owner.
"Good morning, Mr. Fluffy," Jihoon murmured, a soft smile appearing on his lips. That was the only moment of the day when he felt seen. Really seen. The rest of his existence in the Lee household was a tangle of demands, looks of contempt, and sharp words that seemed to have the sole purpose of reminding him of how much of a mistake he was.
After dressing discreetly—no flashy fabrics, like the ones his mother chose for her older brothers—Jihoon went down for breakfast. The table was lavish, as always. Fresh fruit, buttered bread, imported jams. But even amidst the luxury, the air was poisoned by arrogance.
Lee Jaewon, the eldest son, looked up when he saw his younger brother approaching and arched an eyebrow in disdain.
"Ah, look at that, the fourth waste has appeared," he said in a sharp voice, not even hiding his mockery.
"Good morning," Jihoon replied in a whisper, sitting at the end of the table, as far away from his brothers as possible.
Lee Hyun snorted. "You could at least try to be useful to the family, Jihoon. We've all done our part. Jaewon married a count, Soah married an influential baron... and you? Not even a decent proposal."
"Maybe if he wasn't so dull," Lee Soah commented, idly stirring her tea with her silver spoon. "He doesn't even look like an omega. Where's his charm, his ambition? He looks more like a shy maid than Lady Lee's son."
The words, though expected, still stung. Jihoon felt the lump in his throat grow tighter. But, as always, he maintained his composure. He felt that if he showed weakness, it would only give them more ammunition.
The door opened with a bang, and Lady Lee Haein walked into the room. Her dark hair was pinned up perfectly, and her posture was as straight as a marble statue.
“Jihoon, we need to talk about your future,” she said bluntly, sitting at the head of the table. “I’ve already written to the Marquise of Gyeongwon. She mentioned that there’s a young alpha heir returning from Europe. This might be your chance.” Jihoon lowered his eyes. “Mom, I—” “There are no ‘buts,’ Jihoon,” she cut him off. “You’ve been a burden for years. You’re way past the age of being useful. Your brothers have done their jobs with flying colors. You—you embarrass me.” The silence that followed was like a sentence.
Not even his father, Lee Hwan, who was present at the table, intervened. He was too busy staring at his plate, as he always did when the guilt became unbearable. After breakfast, Jihoon walked slowly upstairs to his room, his heart heavy.
Mr. Fluffy jumped from his armchair and ran to meet him, meowing softly. He picked him up and buried his face in his white fur. "I know... I also think it would be better if I wasn't here."
But even in the midst of his sadness, Jihoon had something his brothers didn't: empathy. And maybe... just maybe... that was more valuable than any marriage to a count.
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Jihoon spent the rest of the morning holed up in his room, sitting at his desk in front of the window overlooking the gardens. The Lee mansion was large, stately, impeccably maintained by the servants—but barren of affection.
There was beauty, yes, but it was a cold, impersonal beauty, as if every flower in the garden had been pruned to please the eyes of strangers rather than those who lived there. With Mr. Fluffy curled around his feet, Jihoon dipped the tip of his quill in ink, trying to compose a thank-you letter to the town tailor who had kindly adjusted one of his rare coats. Writing was one of his few joys, even though no one ever responded to his letters. It was his way of existing gently in a world that returned indifference to him.
At noon, a maid knocked softly on the door to announce that lunch would be served. Jihoon reluctantly went downstairs. He knew the gossip would start again. During the meal, the brothers talked animatedly about their luxurious dinners, social events, and invitations to balls that Jihoon had never been included in.
Jaewon spoke proudly of the sapphire necklace he had received from his husband. Soah complained about the humid weather that ruined her hairstyles, and Hyun told how he had humiliated a beta lady at an afternoon tea party by wearing the same dress twice.
“You really need to learn to stand up for yourself, Jihoon,” Soah said between sips of wine. “If you keep acting like a shadow, no one will want to marry you.”
“Unless you find a desperate widower,” Hyun added with a wry smile.
Jihoon didn’t answer. He just looked at his plate, where the mashed potatoes looked more appetizing than the surroundings. Mr. Fluffy, discreetly hidden under his chair, rested silently, as if sensing his owner’s discomfort.
After lunch, his mother called him to the music room. Not that Lady Haein enjoyed music; It was just another formality that required her omega children to have refined talents to impress potential suitors. Jihoon sat down at the piano with trembling hands.
His fingers rested on the ivory keys, and the melody he played was soft, melancholic, almost a lament trapped in the notes. He played not for others, but for himself. To ease the constant knot he felt in his chest. "More vivacity, Jihoon," his mother ordered. "That kind of melody only attracts failed suitors."
When he finished, Lady Lee neither praised nor criticized—she just turned and left the room, as if he were a useful but boring piece of furniture. Alone again, Jihoon stood there, his eyes closed, listening to the echo of the last note die away.
Mister Fluffy jumped on the bench next to him and curled up on his thigh, forcing a soft purr. "You understand me, don't you?" he murmured.
"You never ask me to be different. You never look at me like I'm... wrong." In the afternoon, he discreetly went out to the back garden, where no one in the family bothered to walk. The roses there grew unpruned, free. The scent was stronger, more real.
Jihoon sat under a still-bare cherry tree and watched the sky between the branches, Mr. Fluffy perched on his lap. These moments, however brief, were all he had. A pause between demands. A breather between looks that diminished him.
Later, at night, he heard through the half-open door of the main hall his mother and father arguing about the cost of keeping Jihoon in the house. "He should be married by now!" whispered Lady Haein furiously. "Do you know how much it costs to keep an adult omega without a title on his side?" "It's not like it's his fault he was born that way," his father replied wearily. "All the others worked out. Why did he have to leave... like that? Too sensitive, without initiative, without brilliance!"
Jihoon closed the door slowly, as if he were avoiding being hurt by words that had already cut him many times before. He went to bed early, the cat nestled on his chest, listening to the ticking of the clock marking another day ended in silence.
But before falling asleep, he stroked Mr. Fluffy's neck and whispered:
"If I ever leave, you'll come with me, okay?"
And for a moment, the cat's purr seemed like a promise.
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The next morning, the sun filtered through the curtains as if apologizing for being born in a house where nothing flourished freely. Jihoon was finishing taking care of Mr. Fluffy's fur—who received the brushing with a dignified air and eyes half-closed in pleasure—when a sharp knock on the door made him shiver. It was one of the maids, with a slightly uncomfortable look.
"Lady Lee asked you to come down to the hall immediately, young master." Jihoon swallowed hard and nodded, standing up silently. He was used to invitations that seemed more like orders. He went downstairs with cautious steps and, upon entering the hall, found the entire family gathered—something that rarely happened outside of meals. Lady Haein smiled, which in itself was an omen of misfortune.
"I have excellent news," she announced, with the ambitious gleam in her eyes that only appeared when there were titles or noble alliances at stake. “Duke Han of Hwaryeong is hosting a ball next week, and… we’ve all been invited.”
“Everyone?” Lee Jaewon asked with a pleased glow. “Including Jihoon?”
“Yes,” his mother replied, a hint of regret in her voice. “It’s an excellent opportunity for him to finally meet respectable alphas. I’ve already arranged with Madam Yoon to have his attire tailored to him. Nothing too flashy—we don’t want to create false expectations—but enough to not embarrass the family.”
Jihoon felt his stomach churn. What was a social event to his brothers sounded like a carefully orchestrated ambush to him.
“Mom, I… I don’t think I should go,” he muttered, his eyes downcast.
Every face turned to him in astonishment, then derision.
“Don’t you think you should?” Soah repeated, laughing incredulously. “You have to go. Or are you going to wait for an alpha to magically appear at your window?”
“Maybe he’s expecting a fairy tale,” Hyun scoffed. “With a sensitive prince and wildflowers.”
“That’s why no one takes him seriously,” Jaewon said coldly.
But Jihoon didn’t care about the laughter. What hurt was the reason behind his fear. He’d heard stories. Stories that circulated through the whispers of maids or in secret letters from unhappy omegas: about old noble alphas, widowed three times over, with hungry eyes and polite smiles, who turned young omegas into shadows of their former selves.
He knew that was the fate that awaited him if he were sold—because there was no other name for it—to one of these men.
“Mother, please,” he insisted, his voice firmer. “I don’t want to be… handed over to one of those old, cruel alphas. The ones who’ve already been through three or four omegas and are still looking for one more to show off as a trophy.”
Lady Haein stared at him coldly, as if his words were inconvenient.
"You're in no position to refuse anything, Jihoon. We provide you with shelter, food, clothing. It's time to give something useful in return."
"I'm not a commodity," he whispered, but no one heard. Or maybe no one wanted to hear.
His mother turned to the maid.
"Tell Madam Yoon that the costume fitting will be this Thursday. And tell Jihoon that if he doesn't go to the ball... he doesn't have to occupy this roof anymore."
Silence. Thick and sharp.
Back in the room, Jihoon hugged Mister Fluffy to his chest. The cat, always so calm, seemed restless too, his blue eyes staring into space as if sensing the future.
"I don't want to go," he whispered in the darkness. "I don't want to become another one of the spoiled ones."
Mr. Fluffy purred, but not in comfort—as if to also say that, unfortunately, he had no choice.
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On Thursday afternoon, Madame Yoon’s room was filled with the scent of new fabrics, floral perfumes, and expectations shaped by needle and thread. It was a private room in the west wing of the Lee mansion, where only the most respected tailors in the capital were allowed to work. Jihoon entered silently, feeling as if he had stepped onto a stage where he had not been invited to perform.
Madame Yoon was waiting for him with a measuring tape hanging around her neck, her eyes running up and down his body with a mixture of professionalism and judgment. She was a middle-aged woman, efficient and without patience for sentimentality.
“Come. Take off your shirt,” she said bluntly. Jihoon obeyed, shrugging his shoulders as he did so, as if trying to make himself smaller than he was. As she adjusted pins in the fabric against his body, he looked at himself in the three-leaf mirror.
And there, standing before his own image, he saw the reflection of an omega who had never fit the expected mold. He was noticeably shorter than his brothers, and also lighter. His body didn’t display the sculptural elegance that tailors loved to highlight so much on omega models about to get married. But there was something about him that was harder to define. Something that couldn’t be seen at first glance, but that caught the eye.
His hair was a light, fine brown that, from certain angles—especially in the soft light of that room—seemed to glow with a pinkish hue. Like the sunset reflected in clear water. His eyes were large and dark, the color of that foreign fruit he had once tasted in secret from the kitchen: jabuticaba. Black, deep, almost wet. And they had something... warm.
Yes, Jihoon wasn’t elegant. But he was handsome. Handsome in a calming way. That made the chest feel lighter. His face was serene, his expressions always soft, almost like the brushstrokes of a painting too delicate for the noisy salons of society.
Madame Yoon adjusted his sleeves with ruthless precision.
“You have small shoulders. It makes traditional cuts difficult,” she murmured. “But maybe… yes, with a higher collar, and the right fabric… Hm. The silhouette could work if you don’t move too much.”
Jihoon didn’t answer. He’d heard variations of that phrase all his life: if you talk less, if you walk more gracefully, if you pretend to be like everyone else… maybe it would work.
She held out a light-colored suit, a pale cream, almost ivory, embroidered with silver thread and accented with sky blue—his mother’s chosen color, as always. Jihoon slipped it on carefully. The fabric was soft, expensive, cool against his skin.
In the mirror, his image was transformed. It was as if they were trying to make him someone else. A doll to please discerning eyes. A disguise for an omega who would never mold easily.
Madam Yoon took two steps back, considering.
“It’s not ideal, but it will do.”
Jihoon nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"If you smile a little more," she added with thinly disguised disdain, "maybe someone will even notice you."
He remained silent. He knew that the "someone" she was referring to was not a date, a lover, a choice. It was a buyer.
When he returned to the room, Mr. Fluffy was waiting for him on the bed, perched like a silent judge. Jihoon sat down next to him and stroked his soft ears.
"You'd notice me, wouldn't you?" he whispered with a sad smile. "Even if I was wearing a potato sack."
The cat purred and nuzzled his hand in response.
Jihoon lay down on his side, the starched collar still hurting his neck.
The prom was coming. The dress was ready. But his heart wasn't.
And deep down, he knew: no one there wanted who he was. Just what they could mold from it.
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The Lee family mansion was slowly gaining a new rhythm as the ball approached. Even though they weren’t the hosts, they behaved as such: maids ran from one side to the other with trays, fabrics, and invitation papers in their hands, while Jihoon’s brothers immersed themselves in long sessions of bathing, perfumes, jewelry, and vanity.
“Are you going to wear that sapphire brooch?” Soah asked, eyeing Hyun’s accessory with a cynical smile. “I thought it was from the time when people still wore frills.”
Hyun responded with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated laugh. “Good to know you still mind my shine, my dear.”
Jaewon crossed the hallway as if he were parading to an imaginary court, dragging with him a perfume so sweet that it made the air almost unbreathable.
“That French count—the new widower—will be there,” he announced. "They said he's looking for a more mature omega, someone who knows how to run a household... he's a tough alpha to deal with."
"Then you can cross Jihoon off your list," Soah snapped, letting out another venomous chuckle.
These words, spoken almost like air, always found Jihoon—even when he pretended not to hear. He spent his days like a shadow in the hallways, trying to be small, discreet, invisible.
But it was never enough.
Like a silent guard, Mr. Fluffy followed him around the house with elegant steps and his tail raised in disdain for everything around him. He was the only soul in the place who didn't seem to expect Jihoon to be anyone else.
The day before the ball, Lady Haein entered his room without knocking, as she always did. Her gaze swept the space with disdain before landing on her son.
"Duke Han has confirmed his attendance. His wife died last winter, so he's a name... available and quite coveted." She said it like someone mentioning a rare piece of furniture.
"You'll make sure to be introduced to him." Jihoon felt his chest tighten.
"He... isn't he the same one who married the Minister's niece three years ago?" "Yes. She passed away. A shame. But the title remains." His mother stared at him coldly.
"You may not be the omega I wanted... but you can still be useful." She left, leaving the door open—as if not even her privacy was something worth respecting.
Alone, Jihoon curled up in the armchair by the window, with Mister Fluffy on his lap. The cat purred softly, as if it knew how much his touch was needed. "There she goes... trying to push me towards a man who buried his last wife before spring," he whispered, nuzzling his face into the cat's soft fur. "Is this how the story of an omega like me ends? A contract, an alliance, a golden cell?"
Outside, the city was also getting ready. The streets were already buzzing about the ball—the most anticipated event of the month. Florists were overwhelmed. Seamstresses were working long shifts into the early hours of the morning. And everyone was talking about possible encounters, alliances, scandals. It was a spectacle.
But for Jihoon, it was just another trap disguised as a dream.
While everyone was counting the minutes with anxiety, he was counting them with fear.
Because deep down... he knew that the ball wasn't about dancing.
It was about who would leave with a new owner.