TWISTED FATES

Chills.

That was the first thing that ran through me when the cold night air brushed against my skin and slid straight into my nerves. I pressed the accelerator harder and felt the speed rise, my heart syncing with the engine beneath me.

This was my favorite feeling in the world, the rush, the silence mixed with sound, the way the night wrapped around me like it understood me. No one telling me what was right or wrong, no one watching, no one judging.

Just me, breathing freely, existing freely, riding like nothing else mattered.

I love riding bikes at late night. It was not always part of the plan but it became one. Dad never allowed me to ride, not during the day and definitely not at night so sneaking out became my little rebellion.

The house would sleep, the lights would go off and I would slip away with my heart racing before I even started the engine.

My older brother got his first bike back in high school and he lived on that thing. I used to watch him jealous and fascinated, my fingers itching to touch the handle and me, the girl who always loved challenges and danger, fell in love instantly with that pretty machine.

I was lucky though. My brother was kind to his pretty little sister. He taught me how to ride a bike and even how to drive a car, patient and proud like he knew I was meant for this. Still, bikes were different. Cars felt safe, controlled but bikes felt alive.

When I ride, I feel like I am part of the road, part of the wind, part of the night itself. Every turn feels personal, every speed change feels like a decision only I get to make.

The road was almost empty. Only a few vehicles passed by, their headlights flashing briefly before disappearing again. I was lost in my thoughts when suddenly a loud engine roared behind me, deep and powerful. Before I could even look properly, five or six bikes rushed past me in a blur of sound and motion, their presence sharp and bold against the quiet road.

A smile crept under my helmet without me realizing. Challenge accepted. I twisted the accelerator and chased them, my bike responding eagerly. I caught up quickly, matching their speed with ease. When I got close, they slowed down and I lifted my hand, waving casually like this was nothing new for me.

Two of them pulled up the screen of their helmets, clearly impressed. One of them laughed and said, “Yo bro, you are so damn good.” They stopped their bikes and still staring at me like I was some kind of surprise.

I pulled my helmet screen up slowly and met their eyes. “Thanks for the compliment bro,” I said, my voice calm, confident. For a second, no one spoke. They looked at each other, then back at me, like their brains needed time to process what they were seeing. I could almost hear their thoughts crashing into each other.

“Y-you are a girl?” one of them finally said, shock obvious as he pulled his helmet down fully to look at me again.

They mistook me as aman.

Sigh.

His tone was not rude, just stunned, like he had not prepared for this outcome at all. I tilted my head slightly, amused by their reaction.

“Yep,” I said simply. Their silence stretched for a moment, thick and awkward and I could tell this was the part where most girls would feel uncomfortable. But I did not. I felt powerful, standing there in my riding gear, my bike still humming softly beneath me.

One of them laughed nervously and shook his head, saying something about how insane my riding was but soon they laughed, not softly, not kindly but loud enough to fill the empty road. One of them leaned against his bike and said, “Girls are having new kinks these days I see,” and the other three burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing they had heard all night.

Their voices echoed in the dark and for a second I just watched them, my hands steady on the handle, my heart calm. Only one of them stayed quiet, the one who had not lifted his helmet even once. He did not laugh, did not speak, just stood there facing me, unreadable.

I slowly put my helmet screen back down, hiding my expression, though I was smiling. I tilted my head slightly and said, “Is that what you think,” my voice light but sharp enough to cut. They laughed again, more confident now, thinking they had already won something. I let the sound pass through me, letting them believe whatever helped them sleep at night.

Then I straightened up and spoke again, “How about a race?” I said casually and their laughter paused for half a second before exploding louder. One of them waved his hand dismissively and said, “Go home kid, this is not your playground.”

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on the tank, my voice calm, controlled. “Scared?” I asked simply. That word did more damage than shouting ever could. Their laughter faltered, eyes narrowing, shoulders stiffening. One of them scoffed and said, “Of you??” clearly offended.

That was exactly what I wanted.

I lifted my head and said, “No,” then pointed toward the road ahead, “Scared of losing to a girl you just mocked.” Silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. I could feel their egos cracking, their pride screaming louder than their engines. One of them cursed under his breath, another straightened up, suddenly serious.

“Fine,” one of them said, irritation dripping from his voice, “Where?” I smiled under my helmet and replied, “The old highway curve near the warehouse, first one to reach the streetlight past the bend wins.” It was not an easy route though, sharp turns, narrow lanes, no room for mistakes.

The silent one finally moved, adjusting his grip on the handle, still not lifting his helmet. He did not say a word but his bike roared to life, deep and controlled. The others followed, engines starting one by one, the night suddenly alive again. I turned my bike toward the road, positioning myself beside them.

I looked ahead, feeling the familiar calm settle into my bones. The engines started, the air vibrated and in that instant, the race began.

Most of them were behind me now, their engines loud but distant, chasing instead of leading. Of course they were. I had been doing this for almost six years now, sneaking out, learning roads, memorizing turns, understanding speed like a language. Not to flex, but I was good at this. Really good. The bike felt like an extension of my body as I leaned into curves, my movements smooth, fearless, natural.

The road blurred as the cold air slapped against me harder, my heart steady instead of wild. Their headlights stayed behind, shrinking with every second. I smiled under my helmet, focused, calm, enjoying the control.

Then suddenly another engine roared behind me, deeper, stronger, closer than the others. In a flash, a bike sped past me, cutting through the air like it had been waiting for this moment. My eyebrows lifted in surprise, excitement sparking instead of irritation.

Finally, someone interesting. I tightened my grip and increased my speed, chasing him without hesitation.

I closed the distance quickly, pulling up beside him near the curve. For a split second, I lifted my helmet screen and waved at him like we were old friends meeting on a quiet street . Before he could react, I pulled the screen back down and pushed harder, leaving him behind as the final stretch opened in front of me.

The finish point appeared, the streetlight glowing ahead like a promise. I crossed it first, slowing down only after I was sure. A few seconds later, one bike arrived, then another, their engines sounding almost tired now. I stopped and rested my foot on the ground, waiting calmly like the win was already expected.

I removed my helmet slowly, letting the night air kiss my face. My hair fell free, tangled slightly from the ride. I ran my fingers through it, pushing it back, breathing steady, heartbeat relaxed. Then I looked up at him. The man who had almost kept up. He still had his helmet on but this time he lifted the screen, his eyes locked on me, intense, unreadable, focused only on me.

I tilted my head and smiled, genuine and teasing at the same time. “Don’t feel down little boy, you were so damn good too,” I said lightly, like I was praising a worthy opponent. For a moment, he did not move, just stared, like he was trying to memorize my face, my voice, this moment.

I put my helmet back on before anything else could be said. The engine started beneath me, familiar and comforting. Without looking back again, I rode off into the night, leaving behind stunned silence, bruised egos and one pair of eyes that I knew would not forget me anytime soon.

•

I tiptoed into the mansion, my body still humming with leftover adrenaline, my lips curved in a smile that refused to fade. The night clung to me like a secret, the cold air still trapped in my lungs, my heart light, free. I had almost made it past the hallway when a sudden grip caught my ear and ruined my perfect escape.

“Ouch,” I hissed, instinctively swatting at the hand even before turning around. Of course it was Ivan. He stood there with crossed arms and that familiar expression that screamed I caught you again. His fingers tightened just enough to remind me he was still my older brother.

“Again, buttercup,” he said, shaking his head. “You went on a night ride.” His voice tried to sound angry but I could hear the concern hiding underneath. I laughed softly, the sound spilling out because I was still too happy to pretend guilt.

“First of all, let go of my ear Ivan,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Second, I am in a really, really good mood right now, so let us not turn this into a lecture.” I tilted my head at him, my smile bright, almost pleading. After a second, his grip loosened, though his stare stayed sharp.

“I am four years older than you,” he reminded me, pointing a finger like it was an important rule. “Don’t call me by my name,.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Okay, old man,” I replied sweetly, earning a scoff from him. Then my tone softened. “Please forgive me for disappearing again. You know I did not do it to worry anyone.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “I just needed it.”

He sighed, the tension easing as his hand moved to rest on my shoulder, warm and protective. “Ivy, you still should not sneak out at night,” he said. “At least tell me next time. I would come with you. I would rather be there than imagine you riding alone.”

“I know you would,” I said quickly, nodding. “And I appreciate it, I really do.” I paused, choosing my words carefully while keeping my tone light. “But you know dad. He does not like me going out like this. He would never let me do what I love doing, never understand why it gives me peace.” I shrugged, forcing a small laugh. “So night becomes my only option.”

I looked up at him then, eyes honest but playful. “So please,” I said gently, “just let this slide. I am happy right now, do not take that away from me.” A small grin tugged at my lips. “You already know everything.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head, rubbing his face like this was a battle he had lost long ago. I took that as my cue.

“Goodnight,” I said quickly before he could change his mind, spinning around and heading toward my room, my steps light, my heart still racing from the ride and the freedom I was never willing to give up.

I entered my room quietly and closed the door behind me, letting the soft click echo in the silence. Throwing the shoes and jacket away, I slipped into bed, the sheets cool against my skin and closed my eyes, hoping sleep would come easily.

It almost did. But just as my breathing slowed, a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I thought of my father, of the countless arguments, the sharp words thrown back and forth like weapons.

I missed him, not the man he was now but the one he used to be years ago. The one who laughed with me, who listened, who made me feel safe. That version of us felt like a memory from another life, something I could no longer reach no matter how much I tried.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my thoughts tangled and restless. My freedom felt like something I once held in my hands but somehow lost, slipping away like sand no matter how tightly I tried to grasp it. Ever since my mother left, the warmth of parental love had faded into something cold and distant.

Ivan was the only light in that darkness. My brother had always been there, steady and protective, never asking me to change who I was. He cared in quiet ways, in late night talks and unspoken understanding. He was my anchor, my safe place in a world that felt too heavy. Yet even with him beside me, I often felt like I was standing alone, facing everything by myself.

To others, I was barely noticed. I felt like a shadow moving through crowded spaces, a presence that existed but was never truly seen.

I had never truly had friends, never experienced the kind of effortless bond others talked about so easily. I did not know what it felt like to be chosen, to be wanted in someone’s life. Most days, I felt like a ghost, drifting through moments without leaving a mark, searching for a place where I could finally rest.

Tomorrow, I would step into a new university, standing at the edge of my master’s, closer to independence than ever before. My thoughts slowly softened, blending into dreams and I drifted into sleep.

•

The dining table was already occupied and the atmosphere felt tight, stiff, almost suffocating like always. No one spoke. The only sounds were the soft clinks of spoons against plates and knives scraping. I took my seat quietly, keeping my eyes low, already knowing what was coming.

My father looked up at me, his gaze sharp and cold. “Do not create a scene in your new university,” he said firmly. “You have already ruined my image enough by showcasing your stunts. I’ll not forgive you this time if you cause any trouble.” His words landed, heavy and familiar. He was not talking about my future or my happiness. He was talking about himself, as always.

“Return home as soon as your classes end,” he continued. “Do not roam around like a wanderer and I shouldn’t catch you pulling those stunts again.” His tone made it clear that this was not advice, it was an order. Maintaining a good image mattered, not for me but for him. I stayed silent, my jaw tight, my appetite gone before I even touched my food.

As soon as he left the dining table, the air shifted slightly. Ivan looked at me and smiled, that warm, comforting smile he always saved just for me. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me in a quick hug.

“Today is my sister’s first day,” he said cheerfully. “So I will be dropping you at the university. How does that sound, buttercup?” He narrowed his eyes playfully and for a moment, my eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. I nodded eagerly, holding onto that small joy.

But happiness never stayed long with me. A maid entered the hall and bowed slightly. “Young Master,” she said politely, “Sir has told me to inform you that you will be leaving for Ilsan with him right now.”

The words echoed in the room. I felt my smile slowly fade and when I looked at Ivan, his expression had fallen too. He murmured a soft sorry, squeezing my shoulder before rushing out. I stood there for a second, collecting myself, then quietly grabbed my bag and left for the university on my own.

When I arrived at the university, it felt like every eye turned toward me at once. I could feel the stares, curious, judging, lingering. My presence seemed to catch attention without me trying and I hated it. I headed straight to the office to get my schedule.

“Uhm, Miss Romanov?” a woman dressed in a black and white outfit called out. I nodded in response.

She said with a polite smile. “Welcome to SNU, Miss Romanov. Here is your schedule and other details. Professor Hyun will lead you to your class.”

“Thank you,” I replied briefly, taking the papers. I followed the professor, aware of the way his eyes occasionally flicked toward me like he was trying to read something he did not understand.

The moment we entered the classroom, the noise died down. Conversations stopped. Chairs stopped moving. All eyes turned toward me again.

“Class,” Professor Hyun announced, “I would like you to welcome our new student, Ivy Romanov, who has just joined us. Ivy, please introduce yourself and tell us a little about your background and interests.”

I stood there, expression blank, heart steady. “I’m Ivy Romanov,” I said. “I do not do small talk and I’m not here to make friends. Do not bother trying to be friendly, I’m not interested. Stay out of my way if you do not want any trouble.” My voice was calm and controlled. Whispers broke out instantly but I did not care.

I was directed to sit at the back of the classroom , thankfully one seat was left at the last and nobody was seated there, I don’t have to share my seat with anyone. I could hear the whispers from a group of students nearby.

“She is so weird.”

“Did you see how she just stares?”

“She looks like a psycho.”

Is this the first time I’m hearing this? No. And I don’t care what they say behind my back, as long as they mind their own business.

Just then, the door creaked open. Something shifted. I heard soft gasps, excited whispers.

“Oh my god, it is him.”

“Heartthrob of the university.”

“I wish I was his girlfriend.”

I shook my head lightly when I heard the whispers around me again but I was not focused on any of them. Their voices blurred into meaningless noise. Just then, I felt someone reaching toward the empty seat beside me. The moment the figure sat down, the whispers dropped instantly, like someone had pressed mute on the entire room.

And then it hit me, a rich, deep cologne, warm and intoxicating, filling my senses without warning.

“What the hell, is not she lucky?”

Someone whispered behind me, so he was the one they were talking about. I lifted my head slowly, my eyes moving left, then right, scanning the room, pretending indifference. Then I looked straight ahead again, my expression unreadable.

Wait.

Something pulled at me. I slowly turned my head toward my left again . Sitting there was a boy dressed in a black hoodie, a cap pulled low over his head. Dark locks of hair fell forward, hiding his eyes, making it impossible to read his expression. I could not see his face properly yet his presence felt heavy somehow.

The professor began explaining our schedules and class routines. I leaned back slightly, my back hitting the desk behind me with a soft thud. Instinctively, my gaze drifted toward him again. His posture was straight and relaxed. A moment later, he leaned back too, probably bored by the instructions.

Then it happened.

He moved his head.

He turned his face toward me and looked at me, directly, openly, for six or seven long seconds. Not a glance. Not curiosity. A stare. Calm, unreadable, intense. Then, just like that, he looked forward again as if nothing had happened.

I sat there, completely still, not daring to move an inch. My eyes remained fixed on his figure, my mind strangely blank. What had just happened in those few seconds? Why did my breath hitch for no reason at all?

I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to breathe normally. But my heartbeat had already betrayed me, loud and uneven, echoing in my ears. I did not understand it and that bothered me more than anything else.

He was so pretty.

Not in a soft or fragile way but in a way that pulled attention without asking for it. His overall look was captivating and undeniably charismatic and I was not lying to myself about that. Even with his face partly hidden, there was something about him that felt deliberate, effortless like he knew the effect he had without needing to prove it.

I hated that I noticed.

The next lecture arrived quickly but the day was still mostly filled with introductions and unnecessary talk. Names, rules, schedules, all of it blended together. I listened, nodded when needed but my focus kept slipping away.

No matter how hard I tried, I found myself stealing glances at him again and again. I did not know why but there was this strange urge to see his face, not just a glimpse this time but properly.

It irritated me.

I was not someone who got distracted like this, especially not by a stranger. I clenched my jaw and finally closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath, frustrated with myself more than anything.

The third lecture ended and soon it was time for lunch. Everyone started leaving the lecture hall. I stayed seated, my eyes following him as he stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out without looking back.

I did not move. I just sat there, watching his figure disappear through the door, something heavy settling in my chest for reasons I refused to understand.

I eventually made my way to the cafeteria, the noise hitting me the moment I stepped inside. Laughter, conversations, the clatter of trays, it all felt too loud because I was not used to it. I scanned the room and found a corner table far from the crowd.

After picking up a light meal, a plate of bibimbap, I sat down and began eating, enjoying the rare moment of quiet I had carved out for myself.

I was just starting to relax when someone stopped in front of my table.

“Hi, um, is it okay if I sit here?”

I looked up, my fork frozen mid air. The girl looked friendly enough but I was not here for company. Still, I shrugged. “It is not like I own the seat. Go ahead.”

She sat down immediately, smiling brightly. “Thanks. I am Sofia, by the way. We are in the same class, you know.”

I hummed in response, focused on my food. But she did not stop.

“Ivy Ro-romanov, huh? That is a nice name. You do not look Korean though and your name does not sound Korean either.”

I sighed inwardly, already tired. Without lifting my head, I replied, “I’m not. My father is Russian. My mother was Korean.”

“Oh, that is interesting,” she said, clearly encouraged. “So do you speak Korean? Russian too? What is it like living with-”

I snapped. I looked up sharply, my eyes cold. “We should not talk while eating. So can you just stop talking?”

Her face went pale instantly, her smile disappearing. She lowered her head, clearly startled. The cafeteria noise continued around us but our table fell into an awkward, uncomfortable silence.

She picked at her food quietly, glancing at me now and then with confused, soft eyes like she was trying to understand what she had done wrong.

I finished my lunch quickly. As I stood up, something clicked in my mind. I paused and asked, “Are you an old student of SNU?”

She looked up and nodded, smiling again, relieved.

“Do you know who the boy was that I was sitting with today?” I asked, curiosity rising despite myself.

Her eyes widened instantly. “Yes. Not only me, the whole university knows him. He is the heir of a chaebol family, the son of Kim Sehyun, the trustee of this university.”

I looked at her properly then and asked.

“His name?”

“His name is Kim Taehyung,” she said.

“Kim Taehyung,” I whispered to myself. The way it rolled off my tongue felt unfamiliar, unsettling and oddly significant like I had just learned a name I would not forget.

•

The library was quiet. That’s why I always liked coming to libraries. It felt controlled, distant, safe. I walked between tall shelves stacked with books on economics, management, finance etc.

The aisles were narrow, just enough space for two person to pass at a time. I ran my fingers lightly over the book spines, reading titles, pulling one out, then pushing it back in place. Corporate Strategy. Global Markets. Financial Systems.

I stepped deeper into the aisle, my attention fully on the shelf in front of me. I reached up for a book placed a little higher than eye level, standing on my toes to grab it. At the same moment, I took a step back without looking.

And collided with something solid.

No. Someone.

Before my mind could react, that same cologne wrapped around me again, rich and unmistakable. My chest tightened.

I knew.

It was him.

I froze, then slowly moved forward and turned around. His cap was gone this time. Completely gone. And for a moment, my brain simply stopped working.

He was so pretty, God!

Not the kind of pretty people talked about loudly but the kind that silenced you. His eyes held me first, dark, calm, unreadable yet dangerously deep. Just under one eye, on his cheek, there was a faint mole subtle but impossible to miss once noticed. Another one sat beneath his lips. Small details but they felt intimate.

His hair was ash blonde, softly colored, falling naturally around his face. It suited him too well like it was made only for him. I had never seen a man like him. Not once. Not anywhere.

My lips parted before I could stop myself.

“Ty vyglyadish’ velikolepno,” I whispered without realizing it, the words slipping out like a thought that escaped my control.

He did not react the way I expected. He did not smile. He did not speak. He just stared at me with blank eyes, calm and distant as if he was observing something rather than feeling it. Then his gaze moved past me, over my shoulder.

I liked it.

He reached up, pulled a book from the shelf behind me, held it briefly in his hand then stepped back. No words. No reaction. Nothing.

And then he left.

I stood there between the shelves, my heart pounding too loud for a place meant to be quiet. I let out a slow breath I did not realize I was holding.

What was that?

I pressed the book to my chest, annoyed at myself, confused, unsettled. The air still smelled like him and I again hated how much I noticed it.

This was not supposed to happen.

Not to me.

I have seen beautiful faces before but none of that made me pause like this, none that pulled my gaze and refused to give it back. He was the first man who made me look twice, then longer, then far too deep. Not because I wanted him to see me but because I could not stop seeing him and that scared me more than his beauty ever could.