I was walking in circles in my apartment, grinding my teeth. I was busy overthinking about the situation I'm in and what was shocking that my husband, Kang Woo-jin — who I hated more than broccoli — hadn't bothered me once today. No smug comments, no "you're my alpha," nothing. Almost… sulking.
Pathetic.
This was the same man who, last time, had looked heartbroken when I stopped midway doing it— as if I'd just kicked a puppy. Well, too bad. It was his fault for making me drunk under his pheromones in the first place. I ignored him as best as I could. I hated omegas anyway.
Then he appeared, wearing a cream knit sweater tucked into tailored beige trousers, paired with spotless white sneakers. He looked sharp and casual but expensive-looking. I almost choked. Where the hell does he think he's going to dress like that?
"Hey, honeybear." His voice was singing and teasing.
Ugh. Again with that damn nickname. I'd long since given up telling him to stop.
"Where are you all dressed up?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"I'm going to work." He gave me a sly grin, adjusting his watch like he was shooting a commercial.
"Oh? So you're not useless anymore?" I sneered. "Funny. Yesterday you said you were broke."
Woo-jin took a few slow steps toward me, that ridiculous calm smirk on his face. "Why? Worried I'll starve? Or worried I'll spend all your money?"
"I just don't want to end up paying your bills again," I shot back.
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Ah, my cruel alpha. You really do hate me."
"I do." I didn't even hesitate.
But instead of flinching, he laughed — soft, deep, annoyingly warm. "Good. I'd hate to be bored."
I moved to brush past him, but he caught my wrist lightly, not tight — just enough to make me stop. "Last time you stopped halfway," he murmured, leaning in close, his scent creeping around me like warm syrup. "Do you know how annoying that was?"
My face betrayed me and without thinking I yanked my hand free. "Not my problem. Maybe take a hint." I sadly coldly. "You wanted to take responsibility so don't revolve it on me.
Woo-jin tilted his head, his playful expression slipping for just a moment into something sharper. "Careful, honeybear. If you keep teasing me like this, I might start thinking you're doing it on purpose."
"Get over yourself," I snapped.
"Can't," he said cheerfully, already walking toward the door. "I'm obsessed." Then, with that infuriating wink: "Don't wait up. Or do. I like it when you sulk."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me standing there — furious, confused, and maybe just a little… flustered.
The door slammed behind him, and for a moment I just stood there, staring at the wood grain like it had personally offended me.
"Work," I muttered. "Yeah, right."
Woo-jin, working? The man who couldn't even even move from the bed and laze around the whole day more like he was on a date. That's great, I'll make it seems like he's cheating and we can get a divorce. But still, he didn't seem like he was going for a date but my curiosity caught over me.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out. If he thought he could play mysterious, he clearly didn't know who he was married to.
The trail wasn't hard to follow — his pheromones was annoyingly flattering me. Those scent of roses. I tracked him to a sleek glass building downtown. A crowd had already gathered outside, holding signs and phones.
"Woo-jin! Over here! Look at us!"
"Oppa! Saranghae!"
"Take a selfie, please!"
…Wait. What?
I pushed through the fans until I saw him — Kang Woo-jin, my ridiculous husband, standing under a giant light rig while assistants buzzed around him. Someone dabbed powder on his nose. Another adjusted the fall of his sweater.
He wasn't going to work. He was shooting a commercial.
"Alright, Woo-jin, ready for the next scene?" the director called.
Woo-jin flashed that cocky, heart-melting smile I'd seen a million times — but never directed at me. His blue eyes shone and reminded me of the moonlight. "Always ready," he said, voice smooth as velvet.
I ducked behind a stack of equipment, watching in disbelief as my so-called "useless" husband transformed on cue. He laughed on command, leaned against a fake café counter like he'd been born to sell lattes, winked at the camera like it was his lover.
He was good. Too good.
And then — because fate apparently hates me — his eyes flicked past the camera, straight to where I was hiding. His lips curled upward, that same infuriating grin. He knew I was there.
During the break, he walked straight toward me, ignoring the assistants calling his name. "Honeybear," he drawled softly, low enough that only I could hear, "stalking me already? Can't stay away?"
"In your dreams." I stepped out from behind the boxes, glaring. "So this is your job? Playing pretty boy for coffee commercials?"
He leaned close, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating off him. "Playing?" he murmured. "No. This is me."
"And what exactly are you selling?" I shot back.
His grin turned sharp, teasing but edged with something dangerous. "Me, of course."
Before I could even finish, someone called his name again. Woo-jin straightened, gave me a wink, and went back toward the set — like he hadn't just left me there in shock and strangely… unsettled.
I stayed hidden behind the equipment, arms crossed so tight my shoulders ached, watching Woo-jin slip perfectly back into character. He was too smooth, too flawless — like the camera existed only to worship him. It made me wonder, was this all an act too?
The director called, "Cut! Perfect! Moving on!" and everyone applauded. Woo-jin bowed charmingly, thanked the staff, and flashed that soft-boy smile that made half the girls on set squeal.
Disgusting.
When filming wrapped, I turned to leave — no way was I letting him catch me hanging around — but I wasn't fast enough.
A hand grabbed my wrist before I reached the stairwell. "Leaving already? Not even a 'good job, honeybear' for your hardworking husband?"
"Let go," I hissed, trying to shake him off. "Don't cause a scene."
"Oh, now you care about scenes?" He tugged me gently but insistently toward the back exit. "Perfect timing. I need a ride home."
"I didn't even drive here for you—"
But somehow, ten seconds later, I was in the passenger seat of my black expensive car, glaring at him while he whistled like we were on a picnic.
"You really followed me all the way here?" Woo-jin said, starting the engine. His voice was teasing, but his eyes stayed on the road, sharp and unreadable. "Admit it — you missed me."
"I wanted to see what kind of scam you were running," I snapped. "Turns out you're just a dancing puppet for coffee brands."
"Ah," he said lightly, "so you were jealous."
"Of what? You smiling at cameras? Pathetic."
He laughed — low, amused, far too confident. "You know, last time you stopped midway doing it, I thought you were just being angry that I.provoked you. But now…" He glanced at me briefly, something sly in his eyes. "…I think you like torturing me."
"Don't flatter yourself." Instead I was flattered.
"Too late." He slowed the car at a red light and leaned in just enough that I could feel his breath near my ear. "You keep pushing me away, but you're always right where I can find you. What does that tell me?"
"That I should get a restraining order?"
Woo-jin grinned, unbothered. "That you're obsessed with me."
I laughed, looking out the window, but my pulse was annoyingly loud in my ears. "Me obsessed? Look at you, you are dying to dominate me."
There was a glint of something sharper under all that teasing, something that told me he wasn't going to keep playing the harmless clown forever.
"I'm just finding a way to divorce you. Seeing if you were cheating."
He didn't response. It was unlike him.
As we pulled into the parking garage, he cut the engine and turned to me fully, his expression softer now — but no less intense. "Honeybear," he said quietly, "stop pretending you hate me so much. It's boring."
I opened the door to get out, but his hand landed on my knee, holding me still — not roughly, just firmly enough to make my breath catch.
"Next time you stop me midway," he murmured, voice playful but edged with heat, "I won't let you. I'll make sure we have a kid."
"That will never happen. So shut your mouth or I'll make you regret it."
When we got home, I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. Woo-jin just trailed in behind me, whistling like we'd been on a date.
"Don't make yourself comfortable," I snapped, kicking off my shoes. "You can buy yourself your own apartment with all that coffee commercial money."
"Ah, finally treating me like a rich husband." Woo-jin flopped onto the couch, stretching like a cat. "I knew you cared."
"I'm serious." I stood over him, arms crossed. "Move out. Today. I'll have the locks changed if I have to."
"Why, should I? Who are you to boss me.!"
"It's my money you are enjoying."
He propped his chin on his hand, looking up at me with that infuriating grin. "If I move out… who's going to tell your mom that her perfect child can't even keep her husband happy?"
My stomach dropped. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I would." He swung his legs off the couch, standing so close I had to tilt my head to glare at him with my poisonous green eyes. "Imagine her face when I tell her you threw me out. Tsk. So disappointing."
"You're bluffing."
"Try me," he said simply. The teasing tone was still there, but underneath it, something sharp gleamed in his eyes.
I shoved past him toward the kitchen. "Go ahead. I'll tell her myself first."
"Then I'll tell her you stopped me midway during your rut and …," Woo-jin called after me, voice full of laughter.
I blushed just thinking about it. My mom will humiliate me.
"Should I mention how heartbroken I looked? She'll probably take my side."
I spun around, face burning. "You're disgusting."
"And you're fun when you're angry." He followed me, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Face it, honeybear. You're stuck with me. You throw me out, I tell your mom. You keep me here, I annoy you to death until you love me. Either way, I win."
I grabbed a glass just to have something to throw, but he plucked it neatly out of my hand before I could hurl it. "Careful," he murmured, suddenly closing again. "Wouldn't want to break anything… except maybe your stubbornness."
I hated him. I really hated him. And the worst part? He knew it — and didn't care.
What the hell should I do now? I hate him – all omegas to be exact.
"There's only one way, I'll find a way to divorce you." I yelled at him.
But he laughed. He literally laughed like he just won the game, like he is the king with the crown.
"Divorce me, if you can." The same words he repeated. Why did I feel like I lost?