Lines Crossed - Volume 1 Chapter 48 Feeling Confident And Being Confident Not The Same.
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- Volume 1 Chapter 48 Feeling Confident And Being Confident Not The Same.
I checked my shirt as I walked down the hall, the big bold black letters that said my own name Seungwoo were not just a stylistic choice because of ego, but was a subtle imprinting on the people who entered the home. A place that revolved around the person who lived in it. Showed brazen confidence and the understanding that they wouldn’t back down. That they could accomplish anything, be anything and was proud of that fact.
It didn’t matter that sometimes staring at the large English letters of my own name was sometimes daunting and scary. And the fact that if you looked around, there was nothing to show warmth or love. Not a single touch of personality in the entire place. It adorned the hall by two large mirrors on either side of my name.
The last pit stops before popping out into the grand living area and the accent wall there. I fussed with my hair in the last mirror, despite knowing I looked good I still felt uneasy.
Knowing you look amazing. And feeling amazing all the time were two totally different feelings.
Yet I had to wear them both whether or not I felt them. I knew I looked good, I always did.
It was my very job description to be desirable, to look good. Because that was my duty as the face of this company. Because of it, I had to always be prepared for my style to be emulated for the masses. Whatever designer brand I wore was always an endors.e.m.e.nt of some sort. When you worked for the top Ad company in all of Korea, you needed to look the part. It was not only polite, but they expected it. You needed to show them why they absolutely had no choice but to choose you to work with. So that’s what I did. Dripping from head to toe in nothing less than thousands of dollars.
I was careful and nervous wherever I went. It was a privilege I was born into and worked hard to keep effortlessly.
Yet, nothing made me more nervous than these meetings.
Because they were the most precious and important ones in my life.
This client was precious and special.
I sighed, realizing I was stalling too much, and I was doing it because I was too worked up to go out, and knowing I had to wasn’t helping anything.
I wanted to stall for more time, but stalling wasn’t an option.
Because I was never late.
I sighed before putting on my normal schooled indifferent expression and walking out to the open two level split foyer with balcony.
Miran stood elegantly poised as if the world had stopped. Her long dark, almost jet black hair, curled and coiled around her shoulders before cascading down her back. A small strand of it clung to her exposed collarbone and I gulped.
She wore a knee-length smoothed to your curves off-shoulder gown. It was classy and elegant and something a woman in her late twenties to early thirties would wear to a special event. Yet she wore it like a daily skin she dawned. A skin that fit her beautifully, even if I hated it.
She was always like this, immaculately dressed as if she were the wife of the president. In, first lady outfits that showed off her status. Not a secretary AD advisor to the president of an affluent conglomerate.
She wore the status beautifully better than most even though not born into it, she had worked to attain it. And it was a status that never felt like she was reaching for it unjustly, but that she deserved every bit of privilege she had.
Sometimes when I stared at her I forgot she was younger than me, younger and more nave. She always did everything she could to act more than her age and because of that one could easily slip up and think she was more wise and in years than even I was. Though really none of us acted our ages. Life hadn’t afforded us the pleasure. For her I wish it had. She had the choice but something had stopped her from wild, from the crazy she could have been enjoying, instead a beautiful, poised queen was the only thing you could and would see It made my heart ache.
When had the girl I loved stopped acting like that kid in the skimpy outfits enjoying her teenage life? That girl I tied a shirt around their waist. Gotten jealous when someone other than me called her name.
When someone other than me got to protect her?
When had she changed into that regal queen before me?
My hand itched to brush the hair away.
To just lean forward and kiss her deeply, drinking from the sweet, shiny gleam on her smooth peachy cream skin. I wanted to brush my fingers across it, feel the supple bounce of her tender flesh beneath my hand. Kiss those pretty pink lips, savoring them like the addiction she was. The feeling of those dark brown eyes that you could slip into, a stream of chocolate you wanted to fall into.
She stared at the intricate mural lost in its workings.
I watched her, my mind spilling with the urge to know what she could be remembering?
What that tree and its falling pink petals invoked in her.