Chapter One Hundred Nineteen: The Promise Between Sisters
Arshi stood by the window of her small apartment, the morning light catching the diamond on her finger, making it sparkle like captured starlight. Jihan watched her from the doorway, his heart so full it ached.
She hadn't said yes to a wedding.
Not yet.
"I can't," she had whispered last night, her hand still in his, the ring warm against her skin. "Not without her. We promised, Jihan. We promised we would get married together—wear white dresses and walk down the same aisle and cry at each other's weddings. I can't do it without her."
He had held her while she cried, her tears soaking into his shirt, her body shaking with the weight of a grief that never fully healed.
He understood.
He didn't like it, but he understood.
---
The Courthouse
The ceremony was small. Quiet. Just the two of them, a judge, and two witnesses Jihan had pulled from the hallway.
Arshi wore a simple cream dress—not white, because white was for the wedding, the real wedding, the one she would have when her sister stood beside her. Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders, and her hands trembled as Jihan slid the ring onto her finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the judge said, smiling. "You may kiss the bride."
Jihan kissed her.
Soft. Gentle. A promise.
"I will find her," he murmured against her lips. "I will find your sister. And when I do, we will have the biggest wedding this city has ever seen. Everyone will know. Everyone will celebrate. Your sister will be there, standing beside you, crying happy tears."
Arshi pulled back, her eyes bright.
"You promise?"
"I promise." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Now, let's go meet my parents, wifey."
She laughed, the sound watery but real. "Already wifey?"
"You signed the papers." He grinned, tugging her toward the door. "You're stuck with me now."
---
The Meeting
His parents were waiting in the drawing room of the family estate—a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of Seoul, surrounded by gardens that bloomed even in the cold.
His mother rose first, her eyes soft, her smile warm. She crossed the room and took Arshi's hands in hers, studying her face with an intensity that made Arshi's heart pound.
"So you're the one," his mother said. "The woman who has made my son forget how to be bored."
Arshi blinked. "I—"
"He talks about you constantly." His mother's smile widened. "It's exhausting. Delightful, but exhausting."
Behind her, his father chuckled, rising from his chair. He was tall, like Jihan, with the same kind eyes and the same quiet confidence.
"We've heard a lot about you," he said, extending his hand. "All good things. Though Jihan did mention you have a tendency to throw scissors at him when he's being insufferable."
Arshi's face went red. "I—that was one time—"
"Three times," Jihan corrected cheerfully. "The florist scissors, the kitchen shears, and that time you grabbed the letter opener."
"I was stressed!"
His mother laughed, pulling Arshi into a hug. "Welcome to the family, dear. We've been waiting for you."
____
– Later That Night
The knock on my study door was soft, almost hesitant.
I didn't look up from the papers spread across my desk—financial reports, security briefs, the endless business of running an empire. "Come in."
The door opened.
Jihan stood in the doorway.
His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hair damp like he'd just stepped out of the shower. But his eyes—his eyes were bright. Brighter than I'd ever seen them. Lit up with a happiness that seemed to radiate from his very bones.
"Taehyun."
I set down my pen, leaning back in my chair. "You look like you've been crying."
"I haven't been crying." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "I've been… emotionally compromised."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not." He walked toward me, his steps unsteady, like he wasn't quite sure his legs would hold him. "I need to—I need to thank you."
I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
He stopped in front of my desk. His hands were shaking. His jaw was tight. His eyes—his eyes were wet.
"For her."
I went still.
"For Arshi." His voice cracked. "For offering me a gem. For handing me something I didn't know I was searching for." He swallowed hard. "I can't express what I've got. She's incredible. She's—she's everything. I'm so in love. I never imagined myself like this. I never—"
His voice broke.
He walked around the desk, and before I could react, his arms were around me, pulling me into a tight, desperate embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered against my shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
I froze.
I wasn't good at this—at touch, at comfort, at the kind of intimacy that didn't involve violence or control. But Jihan was shaking. His shoulders were trembling, his breath uneven, his grip on me like I was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Let me hold your feet," he said, his voice muffled. "Let me—"
"Shut up." I patted his back awkwardly, my hand hesitating before settling against his shoulder blade. "You're literally crying over a girl."
"She's not just a girl." He pulled back, his eyes red, his cheeks wet. "She's my whole universe. You wouldn't understand. You're too tough."
"I'm not tough."
"You're a robot." He laughed, the sound wet and broken. "You don't feel things."
I thought of you. Of the diary in my drawer. Of the way your name felt like a prayer on my lips. Of the nights I'd spent staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, every word, every glance.
"You will," I said quietly. "When you fall for someone."
Jihan wiped his eyes, sniffing. "I already have."
"I meant when you fall for someone who doesn't know you exist."
He stared at me.
"Jihan." I leaned forward, my voice low. "I found her."
His breath caught. "What?"
"Your wife's sister. I found her."
The color drained from his face. "Where? How? Where is she now?"
I looked down at my hands. At the scar on my palm—the one I'd gotten from the broken glass of that Roman car.
"She forgets everything after the accident. The crash—it caused severe amnesia. She doesn't remember who she is. Doesn't remember her sister. Doesn't remember me." I paused. "A couple found her. Took her in. Became her parents."
"Fake parents," Jihan said.
"Fake parents," I agreed. "They hid her. Kept her from anyone who might recognize her. They were going to sell her to a man—a business partner. An arranged marriage to secure their debts."
Jihan's hands curled into fists.
"She's studying at Seoul University now. Psychology student." I met his eyes. "And I… I appointed myself as a professor at her university. To get close to her. To protect her. To figure out how to bring her home."
Jihan was silent for a long moment.
Then: "Take her back."
"I'm trying—"
"Take her back." His voice was fierce, insistent. "My wife wants her at our wedding. She's been waiting for years—years, Taehyun—to see her sister again. To have her stand beside her. To see her in a wedding dress." He stepped closer, his eyes blazing. "Don't fail her again."
My jaw tightened.
"I won't." The words came out rough, scraped raw. "I will never fail her again. I promise."
Jihan studied me for a moment. Then, slowly, his expression softened.
"I trust you, brother-in-law."
I blinked. "What?"
"Brother-in-law." He grinned, the tension breaking. "You're going to marry her. My wife's sister. We're going to be family."
"I'm not—" I shook my head. "I'm just going to save her. Give her family back. Nothing else, Mr. Park."
"Challenge accepted." Jihan's grin widened. "You're already blushing."
"I'm not blushing."
"You're absolutely blushing. I can see it. The great Kim Taehyun, reduced to a blushing schoolboy."
"Get out of my study."
He laughed, walking toward the door. But he paused at the threshold, looking back at me over his shoulder.
"Thank you," he said again, softer this time. "For everything."
"Go home to your wife."
"I will." He smiled—bright, unguarded, full of a happiness I envied more than I wanted to admit. "And you—you go find yours."
He walked out.
The door closed behind him.
And I sat alone in the dark, your diary in my hands, your words echoing in my chest.
I will never fail you again, Angel.
I promise.