The afternoon sun spilled through the thin curtains, warming the small study room where Meyu sat cross-legged on the floor. Her pen rolled across the open notebook, forgotten, as she leaned back and stared out the window at the quiet garden. A butterfly landed on a leaf, fluttered twice, and left. That was the pace of her life—unhurried, ordinary, unnoticed.
Her tutor cleared his throat. "Meyu, are you listening?"
She blinked and straightened, guilt flashing across her face. "Ah—yes, I am. You were saying something about... fractions?"
The man sighed, shaking his head. "You've been drifting more often lately."
"I'm not drifting," she said softly, twirling the pen between her fingers. "I'm just... thinking. That counts, doesn't it?"
Her tutor gave up arguing, as he always did. Meyu's answers were too simple, too accepting. If something didn't make sense, she let it be. If something was unfair, she let it be. That was Meyu Kael's way—quiet, yielding, and forgotten by most of her family, who were too busy with business and social gatherings to notice her.
The bell downstairs rang, sharp against the silence. Moments later, the door slid open and her mother's voice cut through the room.
"Meyu. Come down."
She rose quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear, and followed. Her mother didn't often call for her directly, and the unusual seriousness in her tone made Meyu's chest tighten.
In the sitting room, her father and older brother were waiting. The air felt heavy, and Meyu knew she had walked into something that wasn't meant for her.
Her brother spoke first, hesitating. "Meyu... something's happened to Aya."
Her heart stumbled. Aya—her older sister, the golden child, the one the family praised and relied on. "What do you mean?"
Her father's jaw clenched. "She's in the hospital. The accident was... worse than we thought. She'll be in a coma for some time."
Meyu's lips parted, but no words came. Aya, who was always strong, who carried the family's expectations—suddenly unreachable.
Her mother's gaze hardened, pulling Meyu back. "This year, Orin Corporation has opened its intern acceptance again. Every family with influence wants a spot. It was supposed to be Aya. But now..."
Meyu frowned, confused. "But what does that have to do with me?"
"You'll go in her place," her father said firmly. "Each family can only send one. If we withdraw, it will stain our reputation. And no one else is eligible."
Meyu felt the weight of their eyes pressing down. Her heart pounded. "Me? But I've never been in a business meeting, I've never even—"
"You'll manage," her mother interrupted coldly. "Do not embarrass us. It's only an internship."
Her brother tried to soften the blow. "Just... follow instructions, Meyu. Keep your head down. No one expects you to shine."
Her mouth was dry. They weren't asking—they were ordering. She lowered her gaze to her hands, fingers twisting together. "...Alright."
The conversation ended there. For them, it was settled. For Meyu, it was the beginning of something she couldn't yet understand.
That night, she sat at her desk, the soft glow of her laptop the only light in the room. Hesitant fingers hovered over the keyboard as she searched for the company—its reputation, its achievements, anything to prepare herself. Page after page scrolled by, until finally, at the top of a headline, a name appeared: Feyu Orin.
The screen filled with results. Articles, interviews, rumors. Yet, the more she read, the less she knew. No clear photos of his face existed—only distant shots, always obscured by shadows or glass. He rarely appeared in public. Some called him a ghost in the business world. Others said he was a tyrant, merciless to his enemies, never forgiving betrayal.
Meyu scrolled through endless headlines: The Genius of Orin. The Untouchable Heir. The Shadow at the Top.
Her lips pressed together. The man sounded unreal, almost mythical.
She whispered into the quiet of her room, "So this is the person I'm supposed to work under?"
Her screen dimmed, her reflection staring back at her—wide-eyed, uncertain, too plain, too ordinary. She laughed softly at herself, shaking her head.
"What's the worst that could happen?" she murmured, her voice small.
But in the silence that followed, even she didn't believe her own words.