Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
MICHAEL
“Last day?” a voice said, suddenly startling me out of my focused state.
Kaz dropped onto a chair, peering up at me from the nurse’s station.
I glanced at him from where I stood at the counter. “It is indeed,” I replied, finishing up a few exit orders.
Luckily for me, the few patients I’d operated on over the last week were stable and the past hour had been uneventful. And I could think that now without having to deal with the potential repercussions of saying it was too quiet.
“Just a few more minutes, and I'll be out of your way,” I added.
He let out a dramatic sigh, tapping his fingers on the desk. “At last, we shall be free from our misery.”
“Please. I was the best part of your shift,” I shot back.
Kazim and I met a few years back when he started working on 12E as an ICU nurse, where I was a senior trainee in cardiothoracic surgery. We’d quickly become mates after bonding over our shared love of football and graphic novels.
He huffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Such a humble man you are, Dr. Young.”
“Never claimed to be one,” I replied as I finished writing my last set of orders and inserting the prescription into the patient’s file. I stacked the binders and moved to put them back, but eventually Kaz stood up and grabbed them from my hands.
He must have noticed the confused look on my face. I usually only took one chart at a time, but knowing I couldn’t be late to tonight’s dinner, I’d taken all the ones I’d needed at once.
A rather foolish move, as it turned out.
Kaz rolled his eyes. “You’ve been here ten years and you still don’t know where these go,” he chided, placing them back in their proper slots.
“Hey, at least I tried,” I protested, feigning indignation.
He scoffed playfully, standing beside the counter. “And you pride yourself on being the best.”
“I am the best. At fixing people’s hearts,” I replied, leaning next to where he stood and checking my watch. “Not that I don’t enjoy your delightful company, but my shift is now officially over.”
His expression suddenly turned serious. “There’s nothing I could say to convince you to stay, is there?”
If it were up to me, I would have never left at all.
I pushed that thought away and gave him a cheeky smile to lighten the mood. “You could just say I’m the best cardiothoracic surgeon you’ve ever worked with and you’re going to miss me terribly,” I quipped, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Oh, piss off,” he replied, though I could see the corners of his mouth twitching in a suppressed grin. He shook his head. “Just don’t be a stranger when you’re off being a big-shot consultant at Amanar.”
“Is that a compliment?” I teased as I headed for the lifts at the end of the hallway.
“You’re too full of yourself,” he called out.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I pressed the down button. “Just don’t miss me too much,” I called over my shoulder just as the doors opened.
“The only thing I’ll miss is your collection,” he shouted back, referring to my extensive library of graphic novels, as I stepped inside the lift.
I waved him goodbye before the doors closed. Once on the third floor, I headed for the doctor’s lounge and sank into the worn armchair I’d come to love lounging in over the years. I looked around the room I’d spent the last decade of my life in—from sleepless and frustrating nights to fond memories of successful days of surgeries.
I wasn’t much of a sentimental person, but leaving this place wasn’t something I was looking forward to. I had chosen to work here, another small rebellion against my father’s wishes. Just like my sleeves of tattoos were or choosing a different specialty than what he’d expected me to pick.
But this time, I didn’t have any other choice than to abandon the place I’d put ten years of work in for a new environment. Not when the infamous birthday was approaching.
It wasn’t the novelty of Amanar that made me dread the change, it was the fact that I couldn’t continue ignoring my duty. Not that the late night phone calls I got every other week to patch up someone weren’t already a reminder enough that my life wasn’t totally mine.
Although I wanted the consultant job, sometimes I wished I…
My 5:30 p.m. alarm rang, pulling me out of my thoughts and reminding me that I needed to get out of here. I discarded my used teal scrubs into the designated laundry bin and changed into the suit I’d kept in my locker. My flat was on the way to my parents, but with London traffic, I didn’t want to chance being late.
Or I’d never hear the end of it.
Besides, if I stepped foot inside my place, the temptation to cancel our family’s annual holiday dinner would become even more unsurmountable. We usually held the tradition on Christmas day, but this year, my parents were flying to my father’s hometown in Korea for the holidays to visit my grandmother and attend to some business.
I was a street away from my parent’s place when my phone rang, my sister’s caller ID displayed on the dashboard. “Alice, you okay?” I asked, worried.
My little sister and I had a close relationship and we texted each other almost everyday, but she only phoned me if something was wrong.
“Please don’t hate me,” she replied, and my gut sank.
I let out a heavy sigh because I already knew what she was going to tell me.
“You’re not coming to tonight’s dinner,” I grumbled, my fingers tightening against the steering wheel of my Rolls-Royce as I took a left turn.
“I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t leave you alone with our parents, but I’m still stuck in Edinburgh. I was supposed to arrive an hour ago, but there was a mechanical failure with the train and they’re still working to fix it.”
Alice’s classes had wrapped up earlier this month, but she’d stayed back for a little longer so she could explore before heading home for the winter break. My sister had moved to Scotland back in August to start her first year at uni. She was pursuing a degree in education to become a primary school educator which was an ideal fit for her since she loved babbling.
I still found it hard to believe that my baby sister was now in uni. I still vividly recalled the day my parents had brought her home and I’d held her in my arms for the first time.
“It’s fine,” I lied, knowing that if she knew how I truly felt, it would only add to her guilt. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. They’re nearly finished with the reparations. But I won’t make it back to London until much later tonight.”
“Do you need me to pick you up?”
“No, that's alright. Dad said he would send Alby to pick me up.” Albert was my father’s personal butler and his family had been with the Youngs for years.
“Okay. I can’t promise I’ll be there when you arrive, but do text me when you make it home.”
“I will. I’m sorry again—I will make it up to you.”
I shook my head. “You’re fine. Just get here safely. I’ll speak to you later, alright?”
“Later.”
She hung up just as I parked in my designated spot outside of my parent’s main property and turned off the engine. I lingered in my car for a moment, gathering whatever energy I could muster before I had to face our father alone.
Usually, with Alice around, my father was decidedly more agreeable. She also led most of the conversations at the table and steered the attention away from me, with my mother chiming in occasionally. Which meant I could just quietly sit there and nod in agreement when needed.
But without her here, I was already dreading how this night would turn out.
A knock on my window jolted me out of my thoughts. I glanced over to my right to find Albert standing outside, his hands behind his back. He opened my door before I could reach for the handle.
“Good evening, Seungwon,” he greeted me by using my Korean name—a rarity, as only a handful of people did since my father and I shared the same one.
I stepped out of my car and fastened my suit jacket, light snow beginning to fall around us. Snow in London in late December was relatively rare, but perhaps we’d have a white Christmas this year.
“Good evening, Albert,” I replied. “How are the kids and Kareena?”
Albert had been married to his wife Kareena for twenty-five years and they had the two most precious daughters, Divya and Rhea, who were five and seven respectively.
Kareena was an exceptional baker who owned a small bakery in Camden Town and when I was younger, he would sneak in some of her pastries whenever my father’s back was turned since my dad thought sugar would hinder the growth of my brain.
“They’re well, sir. Thank you for asking,” he said, closing the door behind me and gesturing for me to walk ahead of him.
I paused for a moment, taking in the stucco-fronted townhouse where I’d spent my teenage years. I was born and raised in Busan until we had to move here. I once used to love this place, until I realized my true role in this family and I’d grown to dread it.
I climbed the two steps, and the second I reached the porch, the grand black wooden double doors swung open. “My darling son,” my mother greeted with her arms outstretched, her face beaming.
I stepped inside, removing my shoes and changing into house slippers. I leaned down to give her a hug before planting a small kiss on her cheek. “Hi, Mum. You okay?” I asked, pulling out of her embrace.
“Yes, darling. I’m much better now that you’re here.” She placed a hand on my cheek, and I leaned into her soft touch.
“I’m happy to see you too,” I replied, offering her a smile.
She gave my cheek a gentle tap before I followed her down the broad hallway that led to the heart of the house. I glanced over my shoulder to thank Albert in the process, but he’d already slipped away, probably to the staff quarters on the lower ground of the house.
Once we made it to the main entrance hall, my father came down the sweeping staircase, its steps carpeted in a rich, emerald-green fabric. His hand glided over the mahogany rail of the iron banister he’d had imported when he’d built this place.
His appraising gaze roamed over me and though we had yet to exchange a word, I already knew he had something to critique me over.
A man’s suit conveys to everyone in the room who they’re dealing with.
Stand up straighter, no one will take you seriously otherwise.
Fix your hair, you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed.
His usual remarks echoed in my mind until he came to stand beside my mother, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“ Abeonim ? 1 ,” I greeted him with a curt nod.
“ Adeul ? 2 ,” he responded, his tone cool.
He wore his signature and impeccably tailored black suit, a stark contrast to my mother’s light pink vintage Chanel two-piece tweed suit. The Youngs didn’t believe in casual family dinner. Being dressed up, even at home, was part of our world.
My father used to tell me it was for the sake of potential impromptu guests and we needed them to never see us vulnerable. I never truly believed his explanation, but defying my father hadn’t been on my list of priorities.
Well, that was until I turned eighteen and went to uni.
“Shall we move to the dining room?” my mother suggested with a bright smile, attempting to lighten the tense silence. She wrapped her arm around my waist and I placed mine around her shoulder. “I made some of your favorites and by the looks of you, you need it.” She always complained about me not eating enough.
I pulled her closer and planted a kiss on top of her head as we made our way past the stairs, down the long corridor, and into the reception room overlooking the south-facing terrace that led to the vast gardens.
The dining room, draped in dark wood-paneled walls, was illuminated by a grand, ornate chandelier, a soft warm glow casting over the room. The ceiling was adorned with intricate moldings and decorative flourishes, mirroring the room’s furnishing.
At the center stood the long, dark wooden dining table, its edges carved in delicate patterns. The high-backed chairs around it were upholstered in cream fabric, embroidered with baroque designs, their dark wooden frames matching the table.
My father followed closely behind us, and I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, his heavy sigh of disapproval indicative enough that my mother and I were being too informal for his taste.
Displays of affection were never much his thing.
How my loving mother tolerated him was a mystery to me, but despite his serious and cold exterior, I knew my father loved her—another rarity in our world.
Despite their arranged marriage, my parents had broken the curse the others had been plagued with and had gradually fallen in love with each other over the years. I’d often caught my father’s casting tender glances at my mum, or the subtle touches they shared when they thought no one was looking.
My father took his place at the head of the table while my mother sat to his right and I settled in to his left. We mostly enjoyed each course in silence, my mother occasionally probing me about work and ordering me to eat more, while my father merely nodded when she attempted to engage him in our conversation.
This was precisely why my sister was essential at these dinners.
Eventually, after an excruciating hour, the staff came to clear our plates. I prepared to excuse myself for the rest of the evening when my father spoke for the first time since he greeted me at the door.
He wiped the corners of his lips with the cream napkin and stood, discarding the linen on the table. “Meet me in my office,” he ordered, striding out of the room without sparing me a glance or addressing me directly, but I knew he’d summoned me.
I let out a resigned sigh and ran a hand over my mouth.
My mother patted my hand on the table and I immediately knew what she would say. “Don’t take his demeanor to heart,” she started, her expression softening. “He means well.”
Her words were always meant to be reassuring and comforting, but it never worked. I knew why she came to his defense, he was her husband after all. Yet sometimes I wished she knew everything to understand where the strain between my father and I stemmed from.
However, I didn’t voice any of that to her as I squeezed her hand once and left.
The chosen spouses of members weren’t privy to the House and what it entailed, unless extenuating circumstances dictated otherwise. Families coveted being married into one of ours because of the power and wealth that was inherited with the title of being attached to us.
But none had a clue of how deep our influence ran.
My father’s office was situated on the third floor, so I opted for the lift to avoid making him wait—an oversight he would surely add to his list of grievances. Once upstairs, I made my way down the corridor, passing two large rooms that housed my father’s library, until I reached the last door.
I fidgeted with the gold ring on my left pinky finger, engraved with the House’s crest, a symbol each of us wore.
After taking a deep breath, I finally knocked on his door.
“Come in,” my father called out.
I entered and closed the door softly behind me. He sat behind his large, ornate desk, positioned at the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows flanked the space, each framed by rich, royal blue velvet drapes trimmed in gold, that pooled onto the floor and complemented the dark wooden accents that lined the room.
“You wanted to see me?” I asked in Korean, crossing the room and halting a few feet from his desk.
A single lamp glowed from the corner of his desk, where he seemed to be reviewing one of his client’s case files, piles of papers neatly stacked across the large expanse of his mahogany desk.
My father was the managing partner at Young International, London's top corporate law firm. He also served as legal representation for Atlas Capital and its employees—a multibillion-pound hedge fund run by the Oualis who were the lineage to the youngest generation of Atlas.
He peered at me over his reading glasses, lifting his gaze from the papers he had in his hands. “Have a seat, Seungwon.” He gestured to the chair across from him.
Doing as I was told, I propped my right ankle on my left knee and rested my hands in my lap. Anxiety slugged in my veins, but I made an effort to suppress it to avoid letting it show.
My father exuded this quiet authority where his mere presence commanded attention. Even his full head of silver-gray hair that was meticulously combed back didn’t have a single strand out of place.
I’d grown up envying him and desiring to be the same. But that admiration had quickly changed the moment I’d turned thirteen and made my debut into society. My relationship with my father had never been conventional, but that year, it changed dramatically as if a switch had been flipped. The father who used to play football with me in our backyard and take my cousin Isaiah and I karting, transformed into this cold, and calculated stranger who fixated on one goal.
Shape me into the perfect Atlas.
My father’s almond-shaped, dark brown eyes, identical to mine, scrutinized me in silence. I stayed quiet, waiting for him to reveal why he’d summoned me.
He dropped his file onto the desk and leaned back in his high-backed chair, upholstered in dark leather, removing his glasses and gently tossing them on the hardwood surface.
“How are you?”
From any other father, this would be considered a benign question. But our relationship, and the society we were a part of rendered it anything but trivial.
“Fine.”
He hummed in response, his jaw set in a hard line at my curt answer. Which I knew he didn’t appreciate. I knew he expected more, but I wasn’t in the mood to pretend I cared tonight.
“Are you ready for your birthday?” he asked, a hint of expectation in his tone.
We were less than two months away from me receiving my Order, which would allow me to Ascend next year on my thirty-third birthday. Although he couldn’t hint at anything regarding the task I’d be given, it wasn’t uncommon for him to do these “check-ins” to ensure I wouldn’t fail him.
God forbid that would happen.
As the eldest Atlas, the burden not to screw up had been placed upon me the moment my mother saw those two pink lines on a pregnancy test. Because my failure would be the ruin of everyone else that came after me.
I arched a brow. “Haven’t you prepared me for it my entire life?”
His jaw twitched. “Watch your tone,” he bit coolly.
I stifled the urge to talk back. Despite how much I really wanted to, it wasn’t polite. I might have my differences with him, but he was still my father.
“I’ll be ready,” I reassured him.
“Good.”
That was the most encouragement I’d get from him.
“If that’s all, would you care if I excused myself.”
He nodded curtly, effectively dismissing me and returning to his files.
I rose from my chair and hesitated, expecting him to say something, but he remained silent. I shook my head ever so slightly, and glanced at him one last time before promptly leaving his office.
I took the stairs and headed to the first floor to my mother’s drawing room to let her know I was leaving. On my way out, she handed me a bag filled with containers of leftovers from dinner along with a large container of kimchi-bokkeum she’d prepared earlier in the week—a recipe my paternal grandmother had taught to her.
With a final goodbye, I slipped out of the room and made my way toward the entrance, Albert already waiting at the door as if he’d sense I would be leaving. The cool evening air greeted me when I stepped outside, a welcome contrast from the stifling atmosphere inside.
As I walked to my car, I couldn’t shake off the tension that clung to me. My upcoming birthday loomed over me like a dark cloud, and with each passing day, the weight of my father’s expectation grew heavier.
I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself, but it was no use. So I climbed into my car and pulled onto the road, navigating the familiar pathway to my flat.
The thought of leaving all of this behind and abandoning my duty had crossed my mind countless times. But I could never bring myself to do it, not when I wouldn’t be the only one affected by my decision.
And the consequences when they’d find me—because undoubtedly, they would—would be irreversible.
1 ? Father (Korean)
2 ? Son (Korean)