She hesitated before saying carefully, “But… do you really have to carry that alone? You’re their son, their brother—not the head of the family.”
The words hit deeper than I expected, rubbing against something raw inside me. I wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t understand—to push back. But the truth was, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
Didn’t she know those were the exact words I wanted to say to my father? If only I could find that bastard.
I cleared my throat, eager to change the subject. “Anyway… want to check outMoulin Rougetonight? Cabaret in Paris is supposed to be quite the spectacle, right?”
Seo-yeon gave me a long look, her expression a mix of quiet disappointment and something else—was it understanding?
“Sure,” she finally said, not wanting to push further. “We can check outMoulin Rougetoo.”
The mood lifted after brunch as we headed to the Rodin Museum. We cracked jokes about the statues’ poses, laughing atour own silliness, but even through the humor, I had to admit—they really were stunning.
Later, we took a break at yet another charming open-terrace café. Despite the cold, Parisians sat outside, unfazed, sipping their coffee and people-watching like it was a full-time job.
On our way to theMoulin Rouge, we passed through Pigalle—a district that felt… different. Sex shops lined the streets, their neon signs flashing shamelessly. Even though prostitution was technically illegal in Paris, the area definitely had a red-light district kind of vibe.
As we passed a five-story building crammed with every kind of adult novelty imaginable, I glanced at Seo-yeon. She looked… intrigued. She tried to play it cool, slipping into her usual princess mode, but the faint flush on her cheeks gave her away.
Being the gentleman I am, I took her hand lightly. “Let’s check it out.”
Her face went up in flames. “What? No way!” She instinctively tugged her hand in the opposite direction.
But by now, I was starting to understand her. So, without a word, I strolled straight into the building. Sure enough, she followed—half-grumbling, half-amused, her face still bright red.
So cute.
Leaning in close, I whispered into her ear, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Hey, Seo-yeon… how about we buy each other a gift here? Something we could use tonight.”
Risky? Definitely. This could backfire spectacularly.
But after everything that happened last night, something had shifted. Whatever this is—whatever we are—it’s not going back to how it was before.
Her mouth fell open, one arm already raised, ready to launch one of those adorable little attacks I’d grown familiar with. Deciding I deserved it, I let the hit land on my arm with a grin before casually wandering deeper into the store.
She called my name in a low voice, but there was an unmistakable hint of panic in it.
I took my time browsing, ignoring the fact that she was probably burning holes into my back with her stare. After about ten minutes, I finally picked something I was pretty sure she’d enjoy using tonight and headed to check out.
She was already waiting near the exit, arms crossed, all frowns. But her eyes—those gave her away. Beneath the pretense of disapproval, I knew she was actually enjoying this.
“Did you find something interesting for me?” I grinned, but she just huffed and didn’t respond.
I took her hand again as we crossed the street towardMoulin Rouge, grinning like an idiot, letting the neon lights and buzzing energy of Paris sweep us away.
AtMoulin Rouge, the cabaret show was spectacular, all flashing lights, extravagant costumes, and hypnotic performances. A flute of champagne in my hand, I let myself sink into the moment, almost—almost—forgetting whatever number was left in my bank account.
I realize that in the past few days, I haven’t been checking my balance as obsessively as I usually do. Maybe I don’t want the reminder. Maybe, just for a little while, I want to pretend I don’t have the weight of an entire household on my shoulders.
And then, Seo-yeon’s words from brunch resurfaced in my mind.But… do you really have to carry that alone?
It was such a simple thing to say. Obvious, even. And yet, I couldn’t remember the last time I had let myself consider that possibility. Because that’s not how it works—not in my family.
Not in most Asian families, really. Money wasn’t something you talked about—it was just understood. The eldest son steps up. The one who can provide, does. No questions, no complaints.
Except… maybe Idohave complaints.
I had sacrificed my own education so my sister could go to university. I had taken job after job, poured everything into keeping things afloat—while my mom just let me take on the role of the provider.