Chapter Text
Mingi was never fond of much in life.
He had it all, so to say. Dealt the good card in life, spell-kissed by fate Herself.
But he was
Miserable.
Grumpy.
Cold.
Grade-A bastard.
Mingi, I hope you fucking choke and die on caviar.
It didn't bother him much how people thought about him—he still slept like a peach at night—but it frustrated him how much people spoke about him. Whispered glances when he walked into the room, indignant replies and speculated gossip about how he was turning twenty-six and he was still not wedded.
So they are no longer two, but one flesh.
Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.
But Mingi was a man of one mind and soul. Harmony and connection was a battlefield he had no training for—a fight he had already lost. Disdain was the fractured way of his soul. Already hellbent on spending life alone, no tailor to his suit; no radiator in his bed.
“You're looking awfully happy today.” His sister, Minhee—ever-so stuck up that it physically left the scent of rot in your throat—looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. “Oh, do smile sometime, Mingi! Your life can't be that dreadful.”
Why? Because he had a Ferrari SF90 as a birthday present from his grandma? Because he had every meal cooked for him by a 3-Michelin star chef? All the clothing in the world he could ask for? It was benail, all of it. Rich people still choked up and died from cancer, they still got torn apart—a true story, RIP Auntie Joohwa—they still found life miserable.
“You're looking as snotty as ever.” The table was already set, stacked dishes of breakfast food—fruit fresh from the garden, nothing store-bought or from a can. A maid stood aside, head bowed; ready to serve, preparing for an attack. Mingi took his seat, opposite his sister, and stared down at his porcelain plate. “Where is father?”
“Dead.” Minhee was plucking a green grape from the vine, red lips pursed and diamond ring glinting in the artificial light of the chandelier. “That's what you'd like to hear, right?”
He didn't entertain it. Minhee had been like this for a while—a cat with its claws extracted. She was okay when they were children, although people like Mingi and Minhee never really believed in that whole ‘family value’ debacle. Marriage had turned her even more sour at the edges, even if she acted like she ‘loved’ her husband, Alpha Mark. “Ha, very funny.” He plated some fresh salmon, nose turning up at the cream cheese spooned into a small dish—lactose intolerant and all. “I need to speak to him.”
Minhee hummed, “he's not happy with you, Mingi.”
When was he?
“Is it impossible for my dear sister to answer a simple question or has that dimwit man of yours rotted your brain already?” He tilted his head, bringing the glass of juice to his mouth and sipping idly. Minhee snarled, hand tightening into a fist and Mingi smiled loosely—hit a nerve.
“He's out. Looking for someone to marry you, but seeing as how you're a massive prick, he's having to resort to that abysmal centre where they'll ‘match’ you with some low-grade, bad blood Omega.”
Ah. Mingi didn't show much surprise at that, biting into his food. It was to be expected, after all. The traditional way of wedding a Song was to outreach, to see what partnership would bring unity and wealth. Minhee was married to Mark, from the Lee family. His father was the founder of a pharmaceutical conglomerate, and their unity had ensured the Song family getting a foot into the world of medicine—not like a banking family had any good intention in the world of medicine. Yet, outreach for unity with Mingi in question had been like trying to arm-wrestle a Gorilla; pathetically pointless it was laughable.
‘Oh, Mingi? Your oldest son? Well, my daughter is a… sensitive soul, I'm afraid that wouldn't work.’
‘My son likes people that smile.’
‘Hah. That cold bastard? Never in a million years.”
Safe to say, every attempt at partnership had been shot down with a machine-gun. The rejection didn't hurt Mingi, it warmed him. His reputation preceded him, and he was glad of that. But his father turning to an outreach centre was a little… Insane. Places like that festered bad blood and dirt—people fated to be nothing but gum on your shoe.
“They won't find a match.” He said it like it was final, like he knew already. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, computerised thoughts that had gone haywire. They would find a match, father will make sure of it.
Minhee smiled, like she knew something he didn't and stood up, straightening her dress out. “It'll be sweet, Mingi. Like your own pet pig! Just make sure it doesn't tread mud through the hallway.” A wink, and she was leaving. Mingi allowed it—he possessed no patience for her anymore, not even a second glance or a word.
He would not let a pig in his bed.
Marriage was just paperwork to appease the crowd. It itself held no weight, no magnitude of conviction or worth. It meant nothing to people like Mingi, a boy who had grown up seeing how his mother and father rarely ever touched, or kissed. How they'd smile for the camera before their faces turned to stone and they were stepping away from one-another, like disease ran through their blood. His mother, before she was a Song, was a Kim. A family built in architecture and building management, rich to their feet and overloading in properties all around the world. Mingi’s father had been eighteen when he married his wife. A unity that led to the very house he called home.
Breakfast was finished in a state of quietness and he hardly paid attention to the maid that scurried to clear his plate up. Placid and obedient—a bore really, he did quite enjoy when they looked at him with hatred in their gaze. A little fun in his day. But after his last outburst when a cleaner was caught badmouthing him, they all kept it zen—hidden in their rat holes.
Walking down the quiet hallway, he was watched by portraits of his ancestors, a lineage of wealth down to the very first one. Faces calm and eyes dead—an artist couldn't paint what wasn't there. Was that the price for wealth? A permanent winter? It was old money that never thawed—silver locked in a glacier; untouched by time. “Fuck you all too,” he whispered into the air, hands shoved into his pocket.
It wouldn't be too long until his father would be home to announce some great news—he did not venture into the town for nothing. He'd return with exactly what he set out to get: an Omega for Mingi. Whether female or male, short or tall, fat or thin. It didn't matter. The oldest Song could not remain unmarried, even if he had to marry bottom-barrel-scum. No partner at his side subsequently equalled a show of weakness, like it suddenly rendered Mingi unable to commit to his duties if his bed wasn't warmed by another soul.
Tedious. Mundane. Was this the real world or Cinderella?
Ignoring the guard at the door, he pushed open the doors to the home, the cold air a welcoming feeling. Nothing but silence greeted him—that is what he loved the most about living so remotely, the house situated in the countryside, accompanied by gleaming fields and serenity. A large courtyard was the forefront of the home, gravelled and well-kept—they had a gardener on roster—with a steaming car collection to the left.
Wealth personified. A flashy show of it, but the Song family did no less.
Walking around the house, he kicked up some stones on the floor, sneered slightly at a bird on the fence. Pesky things. He didn't like nature—innate and physical nature. He didn't believe in doing what was expected of him.
‘You're an Alpha, Mingi. People will look up to you for guidance, for reassurance, and you must be ready to give it. It is expected of you, sweetheart. You will wed and mate an Omega, you will be their solid stone, their other half. You're a leader.’
Stupid. It was all so stupid. Mingi did not feel like leading anyone, he did not want people relying on him. He'd take over the company when it was time, and he'd keep it strictly business—even if his father liked to pretend he did any differently.
He will wed and mate an Omega, but he will not love it. Love—a fallacy. A weakness. An unnecessary motive in the game. It'll sleep separately from him, and it'll be present when necessary before doing whatever it wants. If that is going on a shopping spree, or spending all day inside, Mingi does not care. A hair out of his bed is a good night's rest.
Mingi will never, ever fall in love.