When Love Becomes Forbidden

The roar of luxury cars passing through Seoul's busy streets reflected off the window glass, adding to the cold atmosphere inside the cabin, which seemed silent despite the outside hustle. Jeong Moza sat quietly in the back seat, her weary eyes gazing at the rapidly flashing cityscape, unable to absorb the beauty of the skyscrapers towering as if trying to touch the clouds. The metropolitan city felt foreign, vastly different from the simple and humble Busan.

Busan was the home that once made her feel alive-a place where she grew up, shared laughter with friends, and spent tranquil mornings in a small bakery always fragrant with sweet aromas. There, the sound of crashing waves and the sea breeze were constant comforts. But now, all of that was just a memory, drifting away like a beach slowly fading from the view of a sailing ship.

Moza took a deep breath, trying to calm her aching heart. Her mother, Jeong Jiso's decision to remarry Han Seokjin-a successful entrepreneur with a stellar reputation in Seoul-had changed her entire life. A simple yet painful reason: her biological father, whom she once loved, had betrayed their family, leaving Moza and her mother with a devastation hard to repair. "Hopefully, this is a good start for me and my family," she thought.

"Moza, are you okay?" Jiso asked, her voice gentle yet full of concern as she noticed her daughter daydreaming beside her.

Moza turned slowly, trying to hide the turmoil in her chest. She carved a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Mom," she replied softly.

Jiso held her daughter's hand tightly, as if wanting to transfer strength that might no longer exist within her. "I know how you feel right now. But you have to believe that your new father will be a good figure for us. He wants to make us happy, Moza."

Something tightened in Moza's chest upon hearing those words. How could she trust someone she didn't even know? However, seeing the hopeful look in her mother's eyes, Moza knew that Jiso's happiness was now the only reason she tried to stay strong. After all the wounds they had experienced, perhaps Jiso indeed deserved a new love.

Moza swallowed the emotions that nearly overflowed, then nodded slowly. "I believe, Mom."

Yet, behind those words, there was a promise she made to herself-that she would no longer let her heart be hurt by fragile love.

Upon arriving at their new home-or rather, Han Seokjin's modern palace-Moza felt her steps grow heavier as one of Seokjin's bodyguards carried their luggage inside. The polished marble floor reflected her footsteps, while a grand crystal chandelier hung majestically from the ceiling, like an unattainable jewel. Everything exuded a cold luxury, far removed from the warmth of the simple home she had once lived in back in Busan.

"Your life will get better from here, Moza," said Jeong Jiso with an optimistic smile. She walked confidently toward the towering front door, followed by two bodyguards with upright postures. "Seokjin oppa is very kind and wants us to be happy."

Moza gave a small nod, unable to share her mother's optimism. The word happiness felt foreign and distant to her right now.

The large door opened automatically, welcoming them into a spacious hallway adorned with elegant decorations. The expensive scent of the room filled Moza's nose. Before she could process it all, the sound of firm footsteps drew her attention.

A young man emerged from inside the house. His face was handsome and stern, with a strong jawline and perfectly styled black hair. His sharp yet cold gaze seemed to repel anyone who dared approach. The black leather jacket he wore gave off a rebellious vibe, indifferent to the world. His brows furrowed slightly, silently questioning the identity of the two women standing before him.

"Daniel," Han Seokjin called warmly from behind the young man. "This is Moza, your new sister," he continued, patting his son's shoulder.

Daniel spared only a brief, expressionless glance, enough to make the room feel even colder. "I have class. Excuse me," he said curtly before walking away without waiting for a response.

Moza raised an eyebrow, watching Daniel's retreating figure. "Like an ice cube," she murmured softly to herself.

"It seems your son isn't comfortable with our presence," Jiso said with a hint of insecurity.

Han Seokjin chuckled lightly at Moza's nearly inaudible comment. "Sorry, that's just how he is," he said, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere. "Come in, there's a lot we can talk about."

"It's okay, dear. I only came now because I wanted to make sure Moza feels comfortable. If she isn't ready, I don't want to push her," Jiso said gently, her tone still laced with concern.

Seokjin smiled slightly and nodded understandingly. They moved into a spacious living room with plush sofas and a table filled with an assortment of luxurious snacks.

"Your name is Moza, right?" Seokjin glanced at her warmly, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Moza looked at Seokjin and nodded softly. "Yes, my name is Moza."

"You're very beautiful, just like your mother," Seokjin joked in a friendly tone, as if trying to ease Moza's lingering awkwardness and tension.

Moza blushed, though Seokjin's friendly smile was not enough to lift the heavy weight lingering in her heart. She only nodded softly and replied in a low voice, "Thank you, Uncle." The words felt dry, as though each letter carried an unbearable sadness.

But deep down, Moza knew that the hardest part wasn't accepting the grandeur of this house or Seokjin's kindness. Nor was it the glamorous new life offered to her. All of that seemed far easier than facing the stark reality she had to deal with every day-Daniel, her stepbrother, who stood like an impenetrable wall of ice, cold and immovable. A figure who wouldn't even give her the slightest chance to get closer, not even for a simple conversation.

"You can call me Dad. Don't hesitate because I'm your father from now on," Seokjin said with hopeful yet slightly worried eyes.

"O-okay, Dad," Moza stammered, her voice almost choking. The word felt foreign on her lips. How could she address him that way? A man she had just met, who hadn't even made her feel fully accepted.

Jiso, sitting beside Moza, gave her daughter a look full of understanding. "Sorry, Moza is still a bit stiff," she said, clearly uncomfortable.

Seokjin nodded gently and smiled. "That's okay, I understand. No problem at all. Oh, you should rest now. I've prepared a room for Moza. Lena! Please show Moza to her room," Seokjin called his housemaid kindly.

Lena, who had been waiting near the door, immediately nodded and grabbed Moza's luggage, which the bodyguard had previously set down. "This way, Miss Moza," Lena said warmly, though Moza couldn't shake the surreal feeling surrounding everything.

Moza gave a small nod and followed Lena toward the staircase. Every step felt heavy, as if the world around her blurred more and more, pulling her farther away from the life she once knew. Amid the profound silence, Moza finally decided to ask, despite the doubts clouding her heart.

"Auntie, is everyone in this family like that?" she whispered, her voice almost swallowed by the quiet night.

Lena, leading Moza to the upper floor, paused briefly and glanced at her with an unreadable expression. But before she could answer, the atmosphere fell silent again, and Moza realized that perhaps her question would never find a clear answer. Still, her heart continued to wonder whether this new family could truly give her a place among them.

After Lena opened the door and ushered Moza into the room, a brief stillness enveloped them. Moza stepped inside slowly, her eyes scanning the space. Every corner was filled with a luxury she didn't need. Outside the window, a beautiful garden stretched wide, yet somehow it couldn't dispel the persistent feeling of unfamiliarity that gnawed at her.

Observing Moza's tense expression, Lena, sensing her unease, tried to ease the atmosphere. "Oh, sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself," Lena said as she gently closed the door. She stepped a little closer, standing a few paces in front of Moza with a sincere smile. "My name is Lena. I'll be assisting you here. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?" Her voice was soft and attentive, as if trying to make Moza feel more comfortable.

Moza turned toward Lena, slightly surprised by the housemaid's warm demeanor. "Oh, um... thank you for showing me to this room," she said softly, though awkwardness lingered in her tone.

Lena smiled wider, attempting to put Moza at ease. "Of course, Miss. It's my duty here at Mr. Seokjin's residence," she explained warmly, her gaze attentive. "I'll always be available if you need any assistance."

Moza nodded slightly, feeling a bit calmer despite her lingering hesitation. "Thank you, Lena. I'll keep that in mind," she said quietly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

Taking a step back to give Moza more space, Lena reassured her, "It's no problem at all, Miss. You should feel comfortable here. If there's anything you want changed in the room or anything you need, please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm here to help anytime."

Moza's gaze softened slightly, appreciating Lena's thoughtful approach. "Alright, Lena. Thank you very much," Moza responded, managing a small smile even though the heaviness in her heart remained.

Lena gave a gentle nod. "You're welcome, Miss Moza. I'll be just outside if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me." With that, Lena turned and walked to the door, her steps slow and considerate, giving Moza time to rest and acclimate.

Once the door closed, Moza stood silently in the middle of the spacious room, as if the weight of the world pressed upon her shoulders. The sound of her heartbeat was nearly audible amidst the overwhelming stillness. Slowly, her eyes wandered across the room-luxurious furniture, sparkling crystal chandeliers, and neatly hung satin curtains framing the large windows. Everything was immaculate, too perfect, as though it was part of a dream she couldn't quite grasp. Yet inside, all this grandeur felt hollow.

She took a few hesitant steps forward, stopping in front of a large mirror mounted on the wall. Her pale face and vacant expression reflected back at her, mirroring the tension she carried. Moza gazed at her own reflection with a mix of confusion and disconnection. Staring back was a young woman who felt like a stranger-a girl unsure of how to navigate this vastly different world.

"I hope this is the beginning of something good for me and Mom," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible, like a fragile prayer drifting into emptiness. The words slipped out slowly, as though they were a hope she was afraid to lose-something she desperately wanted to believe, even though she knew reality was never that simple.

Moza closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself, but it felt as if the world was pressing harder against her chest. Even though the space around her was full of activity, she felt as though she were in an empty room-alone. That feeling, the one that always came and went, returned with overwhelming intensity, regardless of how many people surrounded her.

She tried to ignore it, allowing her breath to flow more steadily, but her body still felt heavy. Her head was full, her mind chaotic-she didn't know where to begin.

Slowly, Moza opened her eyes, trying to snap herself out of the suffocating silence. There was no time to get trapped in this stillness. She had to move. She knew that if she kept getting carried away by this feeling, she would sink even deeper.

With a deep breath, she stood up from the chair and walked slowly toward the open suitcase in the corner of the room. A pile of unfolded clothes cluttered the bottom of the suitcase, some scattered outside, while others lay messily arranged. Without thinking much, Moza began placing the clothes back one by one. She did it mechanically, like someone trying to distract themselves, keeping busy to avoid getting swallowed by the emotions gnawing at her.

Suddenly, her fingers stopped. Moza's hand touched something hard among the pile of clothes-something that felt heavy. When she lifted it, she realized it was a small frame, a wooden one that had grown worn with time. Carefully, Moza looked at the picture inside. There were three faces she had once known so well: her father, her mother, and herself-still a child, with a wide, joyful smile.

Moza stared at the picture for a long time, a deep sense of emotion washing over her. She couldn't avoid the memories that came so vividly, as if the events had just happened yesterday. She remembered clearly when that photo was taken. They had been on a beach vacation, in a place filled with happiness. Her father had hugged her tightly, her mother had smiled gently with eyes full of love. In that picture, their family looked perfect-whole, as though nothing could break them apart.

But reality had turned everything upside down. Reality struck harder than the happiness captured in that photograph.

Moza closed her eyes again, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotions that had suddenly resurfaced. The voices echoed in her mind-the arguments she could never forget. Her father yelling at her mother, the harsh words thrown, the simmering anger. Moza knew it was all too painful to remember. Yet, even though she tried to suppress it, the memory remained etched within her.

"If only Dad hadn't done all that to Mom, maybe we could still be together," she whispered faintly, her voice barely audible. It wasn't just a statement-it was a buried regret. Something difficult to express, but Moza knew she couldn't escape from that reality.

With a heavy sigh, Moza wiped away the tears that had begun to fall unintentionally. She didn't want to show her weakness again. Not today. Not anymore. She looked at the photo frame one last time, then carefully placed it in the drawer, hiding the memory as she always did. Hiding everything in a place out of reach, locked away where no one could ever open it. "I can't be weak," she whispered.

After that, she continued organizing her belongings, trying not to overthink. Once everything was in order, Moza let her body fall onto the bed. She lay on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. The suffocating atmosphere enveloped the room, and Moza felt trapped in an inescapable loneliness.

Moza reached for her phone, attempting to distract herself. She opened a writing app she was familiar with, a space where she could express emotions she couldn't articulate in the real world. There, she felt freer, more connected to people who seemed to understand what she was going through.

Comments from strangers filled the screen-words of support, empathetic messages, and encouragement from people who seemed to know exactly how she felt.

"I've felt this way too. Thank you for writing about it."

"You're not alone; I'm here for you."

"This is beautifully written. Stay strong."

Moza read each message on the screen, tracing words that suddenly felt incredibly precious. Every sentence, though written by someone she had never met, seemed to gently hold her heart. Those words felt like a warm embrace she desperately needed. Even though the real world was cold and empty, this virtual space offered a glimmer of hope. Perhaps in reality, she felt hollow and trapped by haunting memories, but here, in a faceless world, she could sense a connection-even if it was just through words.

Her eyes stopped at one username she recognized. That username appeared in nearly every post she uploaded, leaving comments filled with encouragement and thoughtful remarks. Someone who always sent private messages, checked in on her, and offered unwavering support. Someone who patiently listened to every story, every outpouring of Moza's heart that she never shared with anyone in the real world.

Without hesitation, Moza opened the message from that person.

"Hey, are you okay today? I saw your post, and I hope you stay strong. I'll always be here to listen. We're still friends, right?"

The message seemed to touch her heart directly. Moza stared at it blankly for a moment before she felt something rare-a small smile forming on her lips. It came unexpectedly, as though she couldn't believe a smile could still find its way onto her face after so long.

She remained silent, reflecting. In the real world, she felt trapped in a void, surrounded by a loneliness that never seemed to fade despite being around others. The scars of the past, the feelings of loss, and the bitter memories that haunted her seemed impossible to erase. Yet, in this virtual space, far from the judgmental eyes of others, she felt as though someone truly cared. Someone who listened without judging, without seeing who she was, and without trying to change her.

For the first time in a long while, Moza felt a little lighter. There was a comfort she couldn't explain-something that made her heart begin to heal, even if only slightly. She replied to the message, typing with slightly trembling fingers-not from fear, but from a rare feeling: hope.

"Yes, we're still friends. Thank you for always being there."

The message was sent, and Moza felt as if a weight had been lifted slightly from her heart. It might have been just a simple message, but for Moza, it was a small step toward the peace she had long sought.

Not long after, her body began to feel exhausted. Perhaps it was the emotional tension that had built up, or perhaps it was the relief of finally feeling somewhat lighter. She placed her phone beside her and lay back down.

The silence of the room made her feel even calmer. Without realizing it, her eyelids began to close. Her thoughts drifted, and within seconds, Moza had fallen asleep.

Dreams came, but this time, there were no dark shadows following her. There was a peace she hadn't felt in a long time. And at that moment, Moza knew that even though she still felt lonely in the real world, at least here, in this virtual space, someone cared-a comfort that gave her a reason to keep going.

***

Moza woke up with slightly labored breathing. Her eyes blinked several times, trying to adjust to the darkness enveloping her room. Her chest rose and fell slowly as the remnants of a fading dream lingered. The cold night air crept onto her skin, prompting her to pull the blanket closer before glancing at the wall clock. The short hand pointed to eleven.

Silence. So still that she could hear the ticking of the clock. Only the sound of raindrops outside the window broke the quiet. Moza exhaled softly, trying to shake off the drowsiness still clinging to her eyes. She rubbed her flushed face, then got out of bed, feeling the cold floor sting the soles of her feet.

Her stomach was empty. Hunger gnawed at her, overpowering the laziness that tempted her to stay in bed. With sluggish steps, she left the room and headed toward the kitchen. The house was dark, the lights already turned off. Only a dim glow from outside crept across the walls, casting faint shadows that danced with the wind.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Moza opened the cupboard slowly and took out a pack of instant ramen. Her hand grabbed a pot, carefully pouring water before lighting the stove. The blue flame flickered with a loud click, bringing a bit of warmth to the room that felt colder than before. Outside, the rain grew heavier, creating a monotonous symphony that accompanied her solitude.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her. Moza's heart raced. Her throat felt dry, swallowing became difficult. The previously cold and quiet atmosphere now turned eerie and unsettling. Moza didn't dare turn around. She sharpened her hearing, hoping it was just her imagination. But the footsteps came again-closer, heavier, more real.

Her blood ran cold. Every muscle in her body tensed. She could sense a presence behind her, as though something-or someone-was standing there, silently watching her. The chill crept up her spine, making her skin prickle. She kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to look back, afraid of what she might see.

"Don't tell me this place is haunted," she whispered faintly, her voice hoarse, barely audible.

Her hand moved cautiously to the side, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. Her eyes landed on a broom leaning against the corner of the room. Carefully, she reached for it without making a sound. Her fingers gripped the handle tightly, ready to face whatever came next.

The footsteps stopped directly behind her. Moza held her breath. Her body froze. Cold sweat trickled down her temple. The silence grew even more intense, as if the world was holding its breath with her.

Someone... or something... was stalking her in the darkness. And Moza could only wait, not knowing what would happen next.