Episode 2: Bound by Paper, Moved by Gesture

🌿 Episode 2: “Bound by Paper, Moved by Gesture”

(Setting: Suwichan Group Main Estate & Bangkok society event circuit)

Theme: Official engagement, public pressure, and Eirawan’s subtle, unwavering care.

The papers were signed.

The Suwichan and Piriyakorn families had both made the announcement earlier that morning — a joint press release sent to every business outlet and society columnist across Thailand.

“A Union of Two Lineages: Eirawan Suwichan & Freya Piriyakorn to Be Wed”

Freya read the headline three times before setting her phone down on the polished marble counter of her dressing room. Her reflection stared back from the wide mirror — porcelain skin, soft curls styled to perfection, a blush-pink dress carefully chosen to flatter her youth without overshadowing her elegance.

She was expected at the Suwichan Estate in two hours — for an official engagement ceremony, a private one, with just both families and their inner circles.

No cameras.

But the outside world already buzzed.

“She’s only twenty-two?!”

“Why did Khun Eirawan agree to marry so young a partner?”

“Another strategic move by the Suwichans?”

“She’s pretty. But can she keep up with Eirawan’s empire?”

Freya had read them all. Some stung more than others. She wasn’t supposed to care — but she did. Deep down, it hurt to feel like just a pawn in another dynasty game.

A knock.

“Khun Freya,” her secretary called. “The car is ready.”

—

The Suwichan main estate was located just outside of central Bangkok, where high hedges shielded the compound like fortress walls. Traditional sloped roofs crowned the multi-wing mansion, but inside, everything was sleek, curated, and modern in the way only old money could afford.

The moment Freya stepped out of the car, the butler opened the grand teak doors. Eirawan was already waiting in the foyer.

Black. Again.

Tailored. Again.

But this time, her blouse was ivory silk. And there was a pin — a pale jade ornament shaped like a blooming lotus, subtly fastened at her collar.

Freya froze.

The pin.

“I like jade,” she had once said casually, when they had met.

Eirawan noticed things.

And she remembered.

“You look appropriate,” Eirawan said, taking a step forward. It sounded like a compliment, if you listened with the right heart.

Freya gave a wai, soft-spoken. “Thank you for having me.”

“You’re not a guest,” Eirawan replied. “Not anymore.”

—

The ceremony was simple.

Freya’s mother tied the phuang malai garland around their wrists, murmuring blessings of harmony and trust. Eirawan’s father read a statement, outlining the values of both families and what their marriage symbolized.

Business was never far from the words.

Legacy. Alliance. Balance.

Eirawan’s fingers never left Freya’s wrist during the entire reading.

When it ended, the two stood before a gold plaque, engraved with both surnames intertwined — Suwichan x Piriyakorn.

Freya stared at it, unsure how to feel.

It was… beautiful. But it didn’t feel like her name belonged there yet.

Later, when everyone had dispersed for tea and small talks, Freya found herself alone in the koi garden. Her heels sank slightly into the pebble path. The air smelled of jasmine and wet stone.

Then came footsteps.

“You walked off,” Eirawan said behind her.

Freya turned. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t like this place?”

Freya shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just… everything feels like I’m watching a version of myself in a magazine.”

Eirawan didn’t answer immediately.

Then, she stepped closer — so close, Freya could smell the light trace of sandalwood from her suit.

“You don’t have to become anyone else,” she said, voice low.

Freya blinked. “I thought that’s what this arrangement needs.”

“I don’t marry ornaments,” Eirawan said. “I marry people who carry themselves. Even if the world isn’t ready.”

A pause.

“You are softer than me,” she added. “And more unsure. But I see how you hold yourself when you’re quiet. You’re aware. You’re listening. You think before you speak.”

Freya swallowed. No one had ever put her silence into something… worthy.

“I won’t protect you from everything,” Eirawan said then. “But I won’t leave you to fend for yourself, either.”

Freya’s eyes burned. “Why are you being kind?”

Eirawan tilted her head.

“Because you’re mine,” she said simply. “And I’m not cruel to what belongs to me.”

Freya stared at her, breath caught.

No affection laced the words. No romantic softness. But the warmth was there, coiled tightly behind her control.

Like she meant every syllable.

—

Later that week, a small scandal broke out.

Someone from Freya’s past — an old classmate — posted a photo of them from university, half-drunken smiles, arms around each other in party light. The caption read:

“Can’t believe this angel is about to marry into cold stone. You deserve better.”

It blew up.

People speculated. Called her foolish. Some praised her beauty, while others called her a social climber.

Freya didn’t reply. But she did cry — quietly, curled into her duvet, clutching her phone with fingers trembling from restraint.

And then the doorbell rang.

Freya’s secretary answered. Seconds later, Eirawan stepped in — without warning, without a single assistant or guard.

Her expression: thunder.

She went straight to Freya’s room.

“You didn’t have to come,” Freya said, wiping her face quickly.

“You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t want to— I wasn’t sure you would—”

Eirawan crossed the space, sat beside her on the edge of the bed.