●Silk, Stares, & Strange Familiarity
I didn't get why he had to buy half the mall for one wedding.
"I only need one dress," I hissed under my breath as Taehyun handed yet another shopping bag to the poor assistant trailing behind us. "One. Singular. Not an entire fashion line."
He didn't even blink. "You'll try all of them and pick one. The rest stay in your closet."
"My closet can't breathe."
"Then I'll build a new one."
I stopped walking. "Do you hear yourself?"
He just kept strolling, hands in his pockets, totally unaffected, like he was discussing the weather and not financial war crimes against my completely minimalistic lifestyle.
By the time we hit the heels section, I'd pretty much given up. The saleswoman brought out so many designer boxes my eye actually started twitching. Taehyun simply sat back on the sofa, manspreading like a king, and gestured for me to sit.
I glared at him but sat anyway, letting the saleswoman place a glittery stiletto in front of me.
"Walk," he said.
"I'm not your soldier."
He leaned forward, eyes amused. "No. But you're mine."
I didn't have a comeback because my brain forgot all vocabulary for two full seconds. So I silently obeyed, mostly out of self-defense because those heels genuinely looked like weapons.
We were arguing over which gown suited me better midnight satin or the champagne lace when a familiar voice called his name.
"Taehyun?"
We both turned.
Jihan stood a few steps away, surprise flickering into a smile. And beside him… was her.
His wife.
I'd only seen her from far during the invitation day, but now, up close, she was breathtaking. The kind of graceful beauty that made the air pause for a second. Her eyes, though… they were warm but shadowed. Like she was carrying an entire ocean behind their calm surface.
Taehyun went unnaturally still.
For a moment, his expression was unreadable ,stiff shoulders, tight jaw. Jihan noticed but didn't show it. He was composed, but his wife… she looked at Taehyun first.
And then at me.
Not casually. Not politely.
She looked at me like I was an echo of someone she'd lost.
I took a breath and stepped forward with a smile. "Hi, I'm..."
"I know," she said softly, interrupting without meaning to.
Her voice trembled at the end, like something inside her cracked by accident. Jihan placed a hand on her back gently.
"My wife is a little shy," he said, giving me an apologetic smile.
I didn't mind. I just nodded, still trying to read the sadness that flashed in her eyes before she masked it.
I introduced myself anyway, trying to lighten the awkwardness. "I'm Taehyun's wife, unfortunately for him."
Jihan laughed. Taehyun didn't.
His wife didn't either. She just kept staring, like something in my face tugged at an old memory she absolutely didn't want to touch.
We spoke politely for a few minutes. I cracked jokes, Jihan responded kindly, Taehyun kept sending her these unreadable glances, and she… kept staring at me when she thought no one noticed.
At one point, as we were about to part, our hands brushed slightly when she moved past me.
She flinched. Not in disgust more like in shock. Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, staring at me like my touch sent a jolt right through her bones.
Jihan wrapped an arm around her shoulders immediately, protective but gentle.
"We'll see you both at the wedding," he said.
Taehyun gave a stiff nod.
As they walked away, I watched her glance back one last time.
Not with hatred.
Not with jealousy.
With longing.
And grief.
I stood there, holding three dresses against my chest like an idiot, whispering to Taehyun once they were gone, "Was that… weird? Or am I socially broken?"
He didn't answer.
His gaze was fixed on the direction they disappeared.
Not in love.
In worry.
And something like… fear.
Later,
By the time we got home, I was still mentally calculating how many kidneys I'd need to sell to pay back the price of one of the heels.
But Taehyun? He was in an unreasonably good mood.
He dropped the bags on the couch and clapped his hands once. "Try them."
I stared. "Try what?"
He tilted his head at the dresses like it was obvious. "All of them."
"All?" I repeated slowly, blinking. "As in… every single one?"
"Yes." He leaned back against the armrest, stretching his legs shamelessly. "Runway style. I'll rate you."
I squinted at him. "You're not normal."
"Never claimed to be."
I huffed and disappeared into the bedroom with the first dress.
First Dress◉
Black off-shoulder fitted gown.
I stepped out, awkwardly pushing my hair back.
He didn't blink. "9/10."
"That fast?"
"I do quick math. Next."
Second Dress◉
Emerald green, slit to the thigh.
He leaned forward a bit. "8.5."
"Why less than black?"
"Because I don't like men breathing around you in that slit."
I made a face and changed again.
Third Dress◉
Royal blue mermaid gown with a low back.
He squinted. "9.2. Turn around."
I flipped him off mentally and changed again before he had a reason to throw a comment.
Fourth Dress◉
Champagne silk, minimal and elegant.
He just stared for a moment. "…9.7."
"You're too specific."
"I'm a perfectionist."
Fifth Dress◉
The white one. Flowing, soft, not overly dramatic but something about it made me feel… bridal. I hesitated before stepping out.
When I did, he went still.
Didn't blink. Didn't smirk. Didn't speak.
Just stared.
Then, after what felt like a year, he exhaled. "10."
I rolled my eyes to hide how my heart thumped. "So which one am I wearing?"
He didn't hesitate. "White."
I froze. "White?"
"Yes."
"But you made me try every single dress for what?"
"Needed to confirm."
"Confirm what?!"
"That white was the best."
My mouth fell open. "You could've said that in the beginning!"
"I wasn't sure. Also," he added, annoyingly calm, "wedding dress code is white."
I stared at him. "Dress code?"
He nodded.
"You're telling me,after I spent an hour changing??"
"Forty-three minutes," he corrected, looking entirely too amused.
"after I spent my emotional stability and dignity trying everything .NOW you mention the dress code is white?!"
He had the audacity to shrug. "You look cute when you're mad."
I threw a pillow at him.
He caught it, smirking. "You can throw the heels too. I'll still pick the white one."
"I hate you."
He leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "You'll marry me anyway."
I glared. "I'm wearing green."
"You're wearing white."
"We'll see."
"We will." He smirked. "On the wedding day. In your white dress."
I stomped back into the room dramatically, yelling, "I'm hiding it!"
He called back, "I already sent it to the dry cleaners so you can't!"
I threw another pillow from the doorway.
He laughed like a demon.
At night,
I pinned the last strand of my hair, checked my eyeliner one more time, and stepped back from the mirror.
The makeup was soft dewy skin, a hint of blush, a subtle gloss. The white dress fit perfectly, flowing but shaped, elegant without trying too hard. My hair fell over one shoulder in loose waves. The heels were making me question my life choices, but they matched.
I took a breath. Then called out, "Taehyung. Come here."
His footsteps were unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The door opened.
He walked in mid-sentence, "We need to leave in ten min—"
Then he stopped.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
His jaw clenched first. Then his eyes narrowed, slowly dragging from my heels to my face like I'd committed a crime.
I raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
Nothing.
"Say something," I pressed, suddenly nervous for reasons I refused to admit.
He stepped closer instead.
Another step.
Then another.
Until there was barely space left to breathe.
"Taehyun!"
"That," he said, voice low, "is not bridesmaid. That's a warning."
I frowned. "What does that even?"
He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "You walk in wearing this and every man will forget there's a bride."
My heart stuttered. "It's just a dress.."
"It's not the dress," he said, eyes dropping to my mouth, "it's you in it."
I swallowed. "We're getting late."
He didn't care.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, slow, deliberate. "You look like you belong to me."
"That sounds territorial."
"Good," he said flatly.
I tried to move past him. "We need to leave in..."
Before I finished, his hand caught my waist and he kissed me.
Not gentle.
Not soft.
Not something meant to preserve makeup.
I pushed at his chest. "My lipstick..!"
"Was in my way," he muttered against my mouth.
I tried to protest again but he swallowed it, one hand sliding up my spine, the other cupping the back of my neck as if I might think of escaping.
By the time he let go,
I wiped my mouth and glared. "You ruined it."
He looked at my lips, thoroughly satisfied. "Now you look like mine. Reapply if you dare."
I pointed a warning finger. "You're insane."
He smirked. "Brush your hair back. I want your neck visible."
"We are already late."
"Then hurry," he said calmly, absolutely unbothered.
I stomped toward the vanity, mumbling curses, and he just watched me through the mirror ,eyes dark, hands in pockets, like he hadn't just tried to devour me before a wedding.