𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁 for @heirdrop
even before the king’s club, juyeong knows of kim yul. of course she does; the constellation of affluent children revolve around a handful of familiar stars. yet, she’d never really made an effort to hold a conversation with him, out of some misplaced loyalty to his half-brother, who inexplicably held her heart in the palm of his hand. even when they were both in the king’s club, they’d merely orbited around each other, interactions limited to polite smiles and curt nods. in fact, she doesn’t think that they’ve even exchanged more than five sentences with each other. well, kang juyeong may be a bitch, but she is a loyal one.
it changes when seunghan appears in 2016. juyeong knows that she made her bed when she pretended to not know him, as though their history had been nothing but a wistful, starry-eyed reverie they’d both dreamt up. juyeong also knows that only in another universe, one where she isn’t the exalted heiress of mbc and he isn’t the son of his mother, do they have even a silver of a chance. yet, despite the stark reality laid bare in front of her, there’s a searing jealousy that festers in the pit of her stomach, scorching through her veins like acid when seunghan gives that fucking smile to someone that isn’t her.
what sharper weapon than the treachery of blood & kin? no blade cuts deeper than the one wielded by the one closest to you, and juyeong intends to exploit this razor-sharp edge to maim him as much as he has to her. and so, she finds herself sauntering to the one and only kim yul, lashes fluttering heavily against her lids, smile syrupy and cloying. “hi, yul,” she greets, voice honeyed as she tilts her head slightly, letting her gaze linger a second too long to be platonic.
hand lightly brushing against his arm before she leans in just a touch, faintest trace of his cologne mingling with the air between them. she brings her lips close to his ear, a delicate and intimate motion all too disproportionate given their non-existent relationship. "you look good tonight," she murmurs, soft and inviting with a tinge of conspiratorial sweetness. her gaze, however, divulge her motive as they drifting pointedly towards a different direction, a silent signal of the charade she has choreographed.