Chapter 15

JENNIE POV:

Jennie woke up at 7:00 a.m. with a sense of impending doom that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with a gold-embossed envelope sitting on the marble kitchen island.

It had arrived yesterday. It didn’t need a stamp. It didn’t need a return address. The weight of the paper alone screamed Kim Holdings.

Dinner. Tonight. 8:00 p.m. Sharp. The Residence.

In her family, “The Residence” was never just a house. It was a courtroom. And if her parents were calling a session this soon after the housewarming party, it meant the “Billionaire Aquarium” phase of the experiment was over. They were moving into the “Public Execution” phase. Or, as her mother liked to call it: Wedding Planning.

Jennie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The beige marble mocked her. She looked tired, her eyes a little too wide, her skin a little too pale. She looked like a woman who had spent the last three hours of the night thinking about the “Physics of the Lean” instead of the physics of a corporate merger.

“It was just a couch,” Jennie whispered to the mirror. “It was a movie about cars and family. You were tired. She was warm. It’s biology, not a betrayal of your life’s philosophy.”

The mirror didn’t answer. It just showed her a woman who was slowly losing her grip on the steering wheel.

By 8:30 a.m., she was in the kitchen, her armor back on. A sharp, cream-colored power suit. Hair slicked back into a ponytail so tight it felt like a facelift. She was the CEO again. She was the Heiress. She was not the girl who had drooled on a charcoal hoodie.

Lisa wandered into the kitchen at 8:45 a.m.

She looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards and then told she won the lottery. Her hair was a bird’s nest. She was wearing a giant, oversized t-shirt that said NASA and a pair of boxers. She looked domestic. She looked comfortable. She looked like a heart attack in a box.

“Morning, wifey,” Lisa rasped, her voice still heavy with sleep.

Jennie didn’t look up from her tablet. “You’re late. The agenda started fifteen minutes ago.”

“The agenda can wait for caffeine,” Lisa muttered, heading straight for the industrial espresso machine. “The machine and I have a spiritual connection. It knows my pain.”

Jennie finally looked up. Lisa was leaning against the counter, waiting for the machine to hiss. She looked so relaxed it was offensive.

“My parents called,” Jennie said, her voice dropping the temperature of the room by ten degrees.

Lisa didn’t move, but her shoulders stiffened. The “rebel” mask didn’t slip, but the “human” one peeked through. “The Residence?”

“The Residence.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

Lisa finally turned around, her cup in hand. The humor was gone from her eyes. “Wedding dates?”

“And venues. And guest lists. And probably a discussion about which designer gets to turn our fake lives into a three-day media circus.”

Lisa took a long sip of her coffee. “Cool. So, a normal Friday night.”

“Lisa, be serious.” Jennie stood up, her heels clicking sharply on the stone. “They’re going to push for a date. A real one. Not a ‘sometime next year’ date. A ‘the-stock-market-needs-this-by-spring’ date.”

Lisa walked over, the space between them shrinking until Jennie could smell the coffee and the vanilla on her skin. Lisa didn’t stop until she was leaning against the island, right next to Jennie.

“Then we push back,” Lisa said quietly.

“You can’t just ‘push back’ against my father, Lisa. He doesn’t see people. He sees quarterly reports.”

“Then we become a report he can’t read,” Lisa countered. She reached out, her fingers ghosting over the sleeve of Jennie’s blazer. “We did okay at the housewarming. We did okay on the walk. We’re a team, remember? Rule Number… whatever we’re on.”

Jennie looked at Lisa’s hand. She remembered the warmth of that hand from the night before. She remembered the way it felt when Lisa tucked that hair behind her ear.

“Rule Seven,” Jennie whispered. “The Team Protocol.”

“Exactly,” Lisa grinned, the spark returning to her eyes. “We go in, we smile, we pretend to care about peonies versus roses, and we buy ourselves as much time as possible. I’m excellent at stalling. It’s my third best quality.”

“What are the first two?”

Lisa leaned in, her eyes dancing. “My hair. And my ability to annoy you into a frenzy.”

Jennie rolled her eyes and pushed past her. “Go get dressed, Manoban. If we’re going to a war, you at least need to look like you can afford the ammunition.”

The Residence was a sprawling estate on the outskirts of the city. It was a fortress of glass, steel, and repressed emotions.

As the car pulled up the long, winding driveway, Jennie felt the familiar weight of the Kim name settling onto her chest. Beside her, Lisa was unusually quiet. She had traded the NASA shirt for a sharp, tailored navy suit. No tie. Just a crisp white shirt and that “I-might-steal-your-watch” smile.

“You okay?” Lisa asked, her voice low.

Jennie adjusted her cuff. “I’m fine. It’s just a dinner.”

“Liar. You’re holding your breath again.”

Jennie exhaled sharply. “It’s just… they’re going to be looking for cracks. Especially after the housewarming. My mother has a PhD in finding the things I’m trying to hide.”

Lisa reached over. It wasn’t a “candid” move for a photographer. It wasn’t a performance. She just took Jennie’s hand and squeezed it.

“Then don’t hide anything,” Lisa said. “Just be the difficult, selectively refined, terrifying woman you are. I’ll handle the rest.”

Jennie looked at their joined hands. “You’re very confident today.”

“I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“I actually like the way you look when you’re being mean to me. It keeps me entertained.”

Jennie shook her head, but she didn’t pull her hand away until the driver opened the door.

The dining room at The Residence was even more formal than the penthouse. It was a room designed to make people feel small. The table was a dark, polished wood that reflected the light of the massive chandelier like a black lake.

Jennie’s parents were already seated at the head. Lisa’s mother and stepfather were there too, looking like they had just closed a deal on a small country.

“Sit,” Jennie’s father said. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command.

Jennie sat. Lisa sat beside her.

The first course was served in a silence so heavy you could hear the bubbles in the champagne. Then, the hammer dropped.

“May 12th,” Jennie’s mother said, as if she were announcing the time of day.

Jennie froze, her spoon halfway to her soup. “Excuse me?”

“The wedding date,” her mother continued, dabbing her mouth with a silk napkin. “May 12th. It aligns perfectly with the Q2 earnings call. The media interest will peak right as we announce the new logistics platform.”

Lisa let out a soft, low whistle. “May? That’s only five months away, Mrs. Kim. I haven’t even picked out my favorite color of glitter yet.”

Jennie’s father looked at Lisa, his eyes like two pieces of cold flint. “The timeline is non-negotiable, Lisa. The market requires stability. A long engagement looks like hesitation. Hesitation looks like weakness.”

“Weakness is a big word for a wedding,” Lisa said, her voice remaining remarkably calm. “I thought weddings were about… you know. Love. Or at least the convincing illusion of it.”

“Love is a luxury for people who don’t have empires to run,” her stepfather added.

Jennie felt the familiar burn of anger in her throat. She looked at the table, at the expensive silver, at the faces of the people who had raised her. They weren’t looking at her as a daughter. They were looking at her as a closing argument.

“May is too soon,” Jennie said, her voice steady.

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Jennie, we’ve already contacted the venue in Tuscany. The deposit is being wired tomorrow.”

“Then wire it back,” Jennie snapped. “We haven’t discussed this. We haven’t even looked at a guest list.”

“The guest list is being handled by the PR teams,” her father said. “Your job is to be there. And to look like the future of the company.”

Jennie felt a hand touch hers under the table. Lisa’s hand. It was a grounding presence in the middle of the storm.

“With all due respect,” Lisa said, and Jennie knew that tone. It was the ‘Strategic Territorialism’ tone. “We’re the ones living in the penthouse. We’re the ones doing the walks. We’re the ones who have to live this ‘future’ you’re talking about. If we rush this, the public will see through it. They aren’t stupid.”

“They see what we tell them to see,” Lisa’s mother said.

“Not anymore,” Lisa countered. “Social media is a different beast. If Jennie and I look stressed, if we look like we’re being marched to the altar by a firing squad, the stocks won’t go up. They’ll crash. Because stability isn’t just about a date. It’s about the vibe.”

Jennie almost choked on the word vibe in her father’s dining room.

“The vibe?” her father repeated, looking at Lisa like she had just spoken in tongues.

“The vibe,” Lisa nodded seriously. “People want to believe we’re actually into this. And for that, we need time. We need to be seen together more. We need to build the narrative. May is a rush job. It looks like a shotgun wedding for a business deal.”

Jennie jumped in, finding the opening Lisa had created. “Lisa is right. If we do this in May, the focus will be on the merger, not the union. We need to wait until at least September. Give the public time to fall in love with ‘us’ as a couple. Not as a transaction.”

The room went silent. Jennie’s father looked from Jennie to Lisa. He was calculating. He was weighing the risks.

“September,” he mused. “That would put the announcement in Q3.”

“Exactly,” Jennie said. “Right before the holiday season. The ‘Wedding of the Century’ to end the year on a high. It’s much more efficient.”

Her mother looked displeased, but her father gestured vaguely with his hand. “We will consider it. But the planning starts now. We have three designers flying in next week for the dress consultations.”

Jennie felt her stomach drop. “Three?”

“We need options,” her mother said. “And the jewelry. The Manoban family has a vault we need to discuss.”

The dinner continued, but the air had changed. They had won a small victory, but the war was escalating. The talk shifted to guest counts, to press blackouts, to the logistics of a three-day event in Italy.

Jennie felt like she was watching her life being dismantled and rebuilt by a group of architects who didn’t care if the house was livable, as long as it looked good on a brochure.

She felt Lisa’s hand tighten on hers under the table.

Lisa leaned in, her shoulder brushing Jennie’s, her voice a tiny whisper against Jennie’s ear.

“Keep eating the fish, Jen. Don’t let them see you’re fading.”

Jennie took a breath and picked up her fork.

By the time they got back into the car, Jennie felt physically ill. The weight of the evening, the dates, the dresses, the constant, suffocating pressure of being a Kim—it was all too much.

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

“You okay?” Lisa asked, her voice soft. No jokes this time. No sarcasm.

“I hate them,” Jennie whispered.

Lisa didn’t answer immediately. She just sat there in the darkness of the car. “I know.”

“They don’t care, Lisa. They really don’t care. I’m just… I’m a figurehead. I’m a piece of jewelry they’re moving from one box to another.”

“You’re not,” Lisa said.

Jennie opened her eyes. Lisa was looking at her, her face illuminated by the passing streetlights.

“I am,” Jennie said. “Look at tonight. They didn’t even ask us. They just handed us a calendar and told us when our lives were over.”

Lisa reached out, her hand finding Jennie’s in the dark. This time, she didn’t just squeeze it. She laced her fingers through Jennie’s.

“Your life isn’t over, Jennie. It’s just… complicated. But you’re not alone in that box.”

“It’s not your box, Lisa. You can walk away. Your family isn’t like mine. They’re cold, but my father… he’s a different kind of monster.”

“I’m not walking away,” Lisa said firmly. “I signed the paper too. I’m in the aquarium with you. And if they want a show, we’ll give them a show. But we do it on our terms. September was your idea. That was a great move.”

Jennie let out a shaky breath. “I just wanted to buy us time.”

“Then we have time. Five more months than they wanted. That’s a win, Jen. Take the win.”

They were quiet for the rest of the drive. The car hummed along the highway>

When they arrived back at the penthouse, the “Billionaire Aquarium” felt different. It didn’t feel like a cage tonight. It felt like a retreat. The glass walls weren’t trapping them in, they were keeping the rest of the world out.

Jennie walked into the living room and immediately kicked off her heels. She hated those shoes. She hated the suit. She hated everything about the “Jennie Kim” the world saw today.

Lisa followed her in, shedding her jacket and tossing it onto the green beanbag.

“I need a drink,” Lisa said, heading for the kitchen. “Not champagne. Not something that costs more than a car. I want… I want a juice box. Do we have juice boxes?”

Jennie actually laughed. A real, tired, genuine laugh. “In this house? We have organic pomegranate nectar and sparkling mineral water from a cave in France. We do not have juice boxes.”

“Tragic,” Lisa sighed. “I’ll settle for the water.”

Lisa came back with two glasses of water. She handed one to Jennie. Their fingers brushed, and the air in the room suddenly felt very thin again.

Jennie took a sip, her eyes never leaving Lisa’s.

“Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Lisa tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “For what? Being a ‘premium luxury headrest’?”

“For being on the team,” Jennie said. “I don’t think I could have done tonight without you.”

Lisa’s expression softened. She stepped closer, the space between them vanishing until Jennie could feel the heat radiating off her.

“Jennie Kim saying thank you? That’s twice in one week. I should check the sky for falling stars.”

“Don’t ruin it,” Jennie whispered.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lisa reached out. Her hand hovered near Jennie’s face, hesitant for the first time. Then, she slowly brushed her thumb against Jennie’s cheek.

“You’re doing great, Jen,” Lisa whispered. “They think they’re winning, but they have no idea who they’re dealing with.”

Jennie leaned into the touch. Just a fraction. Just enough to acknowledge that the “Physics of the Lean” was still very much in effect.

“And who are they dealing with?” Jennie asked, her voice breathy.

Lisa’s thumb moved to the corner of Jennie’s mouth. Her eyes were dark, intense, and focused entirely on Jennie.

“They’re dealing with us,” Lisa whispered.

Lisa leaned in. For a second, Jennie thought she was going to do it. She thought Rule Number Four was about to be burned to the ground in the middle of their living room.

But Lisa stopped just an inch away. She pressed her forehead against Jennie’s.

“Go to bed, Nini,” Lisa breathed. “It’s been a long day.”

Jennie closed her eyes, the scent of Lisa—vanilla, expensive coffee, and something purely Lisa—filling her senses.

“Goodnight, Lisa,” Jennie whispered.

“Goodnight, wifey.”

Jennie turned and walked toward her wing. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She could feel Lisa’s gaze on her, a warm, steady presence that followed her all the way to her door.

She walked into her bedroom and closed the door. She leaned against it, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She looked at her hand. The ring was still there. The diamond was cold, but the skin where Lisa had held it was still burning.

May 12th.

The date was etched into her mind now. But as Jennie looked out at the Han River, she didn’t feel the same cold terror she had felt at dinner.

Because Lisa was right. They weren’t lab rats. They weren’t ghosts.

They were a team.

And as Jennie climbed into her bed, she realized that for the first time in her life, she wasn’t just surviving the architecture of her life.

She was starting to live in it.

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