Chapter 9

JENNIE POV:

Jennie did not sleep.

Not because she was excited. She was many things—annoyed, exhausted, over-caffeinated, and deeply suspicious—but she was definitely not excited. She didn’t sleep because her brain decided that 3:00 a.m. was the perfect time to replay every single thing Lisa had said on that balcony.

“Feelings are definitely happening.”

Jennie groaned into her pillow and kicked the silk sheets.

“Shut up, Lisa,” she whispered to the empty room.

The problem with Lalisa Manoban wasn’t just that she was loud or smug or physically offensive to the eyes. The problem was that she was starting to be right. Jennie hated it when people were right about her, but she especially hated it when the person being right was a woman who thought “mango with chili powder” was a balanced meal.

By 10:00 a.m., Jennie was standing in front of her floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at her reflection like she was preparing for a duel.

She chose a structured, oversized charcoal suit. It looked professional. It looked expensive. Most importantly, it looked like a shield. If she was going to look at a penthouse she was being forced to live in, she was going to do it looking like a woman who could buy the entire building and fire everyone in it.

At 10:55 a.m., she was downstairs.

At 11:00 a.m. sharp, a very familiar, very loud sports car pulled up to the curb.

Lisa rolled down the window. She was wearing dark sunglasses and a leather jacket over a simple white tee. She looked like she had just walked off a movie set, which Jennie found deeply disrespectful to everyone else trying to live a normal life.

“Look at that,” Lisa said, checking her watch. “11:00. On the dot. Do I get a prize?”

Jennie opened the car door and sat down. “Your prize is that I haven’t called my lawyer to cancel your existence yet.”

Lisa grinned, shifting the car into gear. “So aggressive this early. I missed you too, wifey.”

Jennie reached for the coffee in the cup holder. It was there. Hot. Exactly her order.

She didn’t say thank you.

She just took a sip and looked out the window.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The penthouse was located in a glass tower that looked like a giant middle finger to the rest of the city’s architecture. It was the kind of building where the lobby smelled like “old money and secrets.”

The elevator ride up to the 50th floor was silent.

Jennie watched the numbers climb.

Lisa hummed a song under her breath.

When the doors opened, they stepped directly into the unit.

Jennie stopped.

Lisa stopped.

The space was… ridiculous.

It wasn’t a home. It was a museum.

Polished white stone floors. High ceilings. Walls made entirely of glass that overlooked the Han River. It was so bright it felt like standing inside a diamond.

“Wow,” Lisa murmured, taking off her sunglasses. “It really is a billionaire aquarium.”

Jennie walked into the center of the living room. Everything was curated. The furniture was minimalist and probably cost more than a small island. There wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos. No books. No soul.

“I hate it,” Jennie said flatly.

Lisa walked over to a giant velvet sofa that looked like it belonged in a palace. She flopped onto it, stretching her long legs out. “I don’t know. The couch is pretty nice. I could definitely nap here while you’re being ‘selectively refined’ in the kitchen.”

Jennie turned to her, arms crossed. “We are not napping here. We are surviving here. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Lisa tilted her head. “Because I plan on doing both.”

Jennie ignored her and started walking toward the wings.

Like her father had said, it was a duplex design.

To the left: Wing A.

To the right: Wing B.

In the middle: The shared disaster.

“I want the left side,” Jennie said immediately.

Lisa stood up and followed her. “Why do you get the left?”

“Because it has the better view of the sunset.”

“I like sunsets,” Lisa argued, stepping into Jennie’s space.

“You like sleep,” Jennie countered. “The right side faces the sunrise. You’ll wake up earlier. It’s a win for your productivity.”

Lisa narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to manipulate me for my own benefit? That’s low, Kim.”

“It’s efficient.”

They walked into Wing A—Jennie’s new territory.

The bedroom was massive. The walk-in closet was larger than most people’s apartments. But when Jennie walked into the bathroom, she froze.

She stared at the wall.

Then she turned to Lisa, who was leaning against the doorframe.

“Beige,” Jennie whispered.

Lisa burst out laughing.

It was true. The marble in the master bath was a soft, sandy beige.

“The architecture has no soul!” Lisa shouted through her laughter. “You were right! It’s a tragedy!”

Jennie felt a blush creep up her neck. “It’s ugly. It looks like a hotel in 2005.”

Lisa stepped into the bathroom, looking around. She ran a hand over the stone. “It’s not that bad, Jen. It’s just… neutral.”

“Neutral is a fancy word for boring,” Jennie snapped.

Lisa turned to face her. The bathroom was large, but with both of them standing there, it felt small. Lisa’s smile softened.

“We can change it,” Lisa said quietly.

Jennie blinked. “What?”

“The rules,” Lisa reminded her. “I told them: no one rearranges our lives once we’re in here. That includes the walls. If you want it black, or white, or covered in glitter… we just do it. It’s our cage. We might as well decorate it.”

Jennie looked at her.

Lisa wasn’t teasing. She was looking at Jennie with that steady, calm expression again. The one that made Jennie feel like the floor wasn’t quite as solid as it used to be.

“I don’t want glitter,” Jennie muttered, looking away.

“Fine. No glitter. But definitely no beige.”

The Kitchen Conflict

They moved back to the shared area: the kitchen.

It was a chef’s dream. Dark wood, marble island, top-of-the-line appliances that looked like they required a PhD to operate.

Jennie opened the fridge.

It was stocked.

Perfectly.

Bottled water, organic greens, expensive cheeses, and—

Jennie paused.

She reached in and pulled out a jar.

“Is this… kimchi from that specific shop in Gangnam?”

Lisa leaned over her shoulder to look. “The one you like? Yeah. Probably. Our parents’ assistants are very thorough. They probably have a file on your favorite snacks.”

Jennie set the jar down. The realization that her life was so documented that a stranger knew her favorite kimchi brand made her feel cold.

“I feel like a ghost in my own life,” Jennie said, her voice smaller than she intended.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Jennie kept her back to Lisa. She didn’t want her to see her face. She didn’t want to be “human” right now.

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

It was light. Barely there.

But it was warm.

“Hey,” Lisa said.

Jennie didn’t move.

“Look at me.”

Jennie slowly turned around.

Lisa was standing right there. She didn’t pull her hand away.

“It’s a lot,” Lisa said softly. “I get it. Every time I see a contract with my name on it next to yours, I feel like I’m losing a piece of myself too. But Jennie… you aren’t a ghost. Ghosts don’t have ‘selectively refined’ tastes in marble. Ghosts don’t threaten to kill people six times a day.”

Jennie let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Seven times. I haven’t done the seventh yet.”

Lisa grinned. “See? There she is.”

Lisa moved her hand from Jennie’s shoulder to the side of the fridge, effectively trapping Jennie in place. Not in a scary way. Just… in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

“We’re going to make them regret this,” Lisa whispered.

Jennie’s heart did a frantic little dance. “Regret what?”

“Forcing us together. They think they’ve tamed us. They think they’ve put us in a nice little box where we’ll play nice and make them money.”

Lisa leaned in a little closer.

“But they forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” Jennie asked, her voice breathy.

“They forgot that you and I are terrible at following rules.”

Jennie looked at Lisa’s lips. Then back at her eyes.

The tension from the balcony was back, but it was stronger now. It was domestic. It was dangerous. It was the feeling of being home and being in a war zone at the same time.

“I’m excellent at following rules,” Jennie lied.

“Liar,” Lisa whispered.

Lisa reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Jennie’s ear. Her fingers brushed against Jennie’s skin, and Jennie felt a literal spark.

“Rule number four,” Lisa murmured.

“What’s rule number four?”

“No falling in love,” Lisa said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “It would ruin the ‘enemies’ brand we’ve worked so hard on.”

Jennie’s eyes narrowed, the spell breaking just enough for her to find her voice.

“Don’t worry, Manoban. My heart is as cold as this beige marble.”

Lisa laughed and stepped back, giving Jennie room to breathe again.

“Good to know. I’ll keep my heater on in my wing, then.”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

A team of movers started bringing in boxes.

“The transition has begun,” Lisa said, watching a man carry a crate labeled L.M. – CLOTHING – SENSITIVE.

Jennie watched her own boxes arrive.

Her life, packed into cardboard.

It felt real now.

She wasn’t going back to her apartment tonight.

She wasn’t going to be alone.

She walked over to one of her boxes and ripped the tape off. Inside were her favorite books and a small, hand-painted ceramic cat she’d bought in Paris years ago.

She held the cat in her hand.

It looked small and colorful against the cold, white stone of the penthouse.

Lisa came over and looked into the box. “A cat?”

“It’s a souvenir,” Jennie said defensively.

Lisa reached in and pulled out a book. She read the title. “Classic poetry? Jennie Kim, are you a secret romantic?”

Jennie snatched the book back. “It’s for the aesthetic. It looks good on a coffee table.”

“Sure it does.”

Lisa went to one of her own boxes. She pulled out a giant, ugly, green beanbag chair.

Jennie stared at it in horror.

“No.”

Lisa dragged it toward the center of the living room. “Yes.”

“Lalisa, put that back in the box immediately. It looks like a radioactive grape.”

“It’s comfortable!”

“It’s an eyesore! It’s ruining the ‘billionaire aquarium’ vibe!”

Lisa sat on the beanbag and looked up at Jennie with a smug grin. “I think it adds character. It says ‘I have money, but I also have a spine.’ You should try it.”

“I would rather die.”

“You say that a lot. You’re still here.”

Jennie looked at the neon chair. Then at the expensive velvet sofa. Then at Lisa, who looked perfectly at home in the middle of the chaos.

And for the first time since the “Marriage Agreement” was pushed across a table, Jennie felt a tiny, microscopic spark of something that wasn’t anger.

It was a challenge.

“Fine,” Jennie said, walking toward her own boxes. “If you’re bringing the grape, I’m bringing my espresso machine. The industrial one. The one that makes a noise like a jet engine.”

Lisa beamed. “Deal. We can be loud and ugly together.”

By 8:00 p.m., the movers were gone.

The penthouse was a mess of half-unpacked boxes and expensive bubble wrap.

Jennie was exhausted. She had spent the last three hours organizing her shoes by color and height, which was the only thing that made her feel like she had control over her life.

She walked out into the living room, expecting to find Lisa.

The room was dim. The city lights were twinkling through the glass walls.

Lisa was sitting on the balcony.

She wasn’t on her phone. She wasn’t joking.

She was just sitting there, looking at the river.

Jennie walked out and stood at the door.

“You’re quiet again.”

Lisa didn’t turn around. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how quiet it is up here.”

Jennie walked closer. The air was cool.

“Is it too quiet for you?” Jennie asked.

“A little,” Lisa admitted. “I’m used to the sound of the street. Up here… it feels like we’re the only two people left in the world.”

Jennie leaned against the glass railing. She looked at the lights. Thousands of people down there. Living lives they chose. Buying groceries. Going on dates. Sleeping in beds they picked out themselves.

“Is that a bad thing?” Jennie asked.

Lisa finally looked at her.

The moonlight caught the angles of her face.

“I don’t know yet,” Lisa said.

Jennie felt that pull again. That magnetic, frustrating, inevitable pull toward the woman she was supposed to hate.

“Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be late for breakfast tomorrow.”

Lisa smiled. A real one.

“11:00?”

“8:30,” Jennie corrected. “If we’re living together, we’re doing this properly. Coffee at 8:30. Agenda at 9:00.”

Lisa groaned, but her eyes were bright. “You’re a monster.”

“I’m the boss,” Jennie said, turning to walk back inside.

“Wait, Jennie?”

Jennie stopped.

“Goodnight, wifey.”

Jennie didn’t turn back. She didn’t want Lisa to see the smile she couldn’t hide.

“Die, Lisa.”

But as Jennie walked to her wing—the one with the beige marble and the sunset view—she realized she wasn’t as mad as she should have been.

She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it.

She was in the penthouse.

She was with Lisa.

And for the first time in her life, the “future” felt like something she might actually want to see.

Even if the marble was beige.

Even if Lisa was annoying.

And even if, deep down, Jennie knew that Rule Number Four—No falling in love—was already in serious trouble.

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