The first thing I saw when I opened my phone that morning was Woo-jin's face.
Not unusual. He was an actor, after all—ads, clips, interviews—he was everywhere. But this time, it wasn't some glossy photoshoot or movie trailer.
It was us.
A shaky, grainy phone video taken yesterday in the office.
Woo-jin, grinning like the devil himself, leaning over my desk. His voice, smug and velvet: "Why not? You're my husband. I missed you."
Then the collective gasp from my coworkers. My face is burning. Me dragging him into the hall like a madman.
I wanted to throw my phone across the room.
Hashtags glared at me from every corner of social media:
#WoojinMarried?!
#HoneybearCouple
#OfficeRomance
#JungDae-hyunWhoHatesAllOmegasHasAnOmegaHusband
Even worse—memes. Dozens of them. My horrified face had already been immortalized with captions like:
"When your husband shows up at work unannounced."
"He said 'honeybear' 😭😭😭"
"This is peak rom-com energy and I want it."
I buried my face in my pillow. "I'm going to die."
Woo-jin, of course, was humming in the kitchen. Cheerful. Loud. Completely unbothered. Busy cooking dinner like he got the promotion.
By the time I arrived at the office, the damage was already done. People didn't even bother whispering—they just stared openly, as if expecting me to sprout angel wings or confirm the rumors with a dramatic kiss.
"Oh my god, it really is him," someone whispered as I walked by.
"Do you think they've been secretly married for years?" another hissed back.
"Look at him—he totally has that 'celebrity's husband' vibe."
I wanted to crawl under my desk and never come out.
The director called me into her office before I could even sit down. She shut the door with a heavy sigh.
"Sir Jung… care to explain?"
"There's nothing to explain," I said flatly.
She raised an eyebrow. "The entire internet thinks Kang Woo-jin is your husband."
"Rumors," I muttered.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, whether it's true or not, you need to keep your personal affairs out of this workplace. Understand? We can't have reporters camping outside because of your… situation. On top of that you are the president of this company."
"Situation." As if I'd chosen this. As if I'd invited that pink-haired lunatic to barge into my office like it was his movie set.
"Yes, ma'am," I ground out.
When I finally sat down at my desk, coworkers swarmed me under the pretense of casual conversation.
"So… Do you watch Woo-jin's movies?"
"Did you two meet on set? Or… was it an arranged marriage? Oh my god, is it a chaebol thing?"
I stared at my computer screen, praying for spontaneous combustion.
By noon, my temples throbbed. My phone buzzed nonstop. I muted every app, but it didn't matter—people were already whispering around me, eyes darting, grins knowing.
And then, just as I thought maybe—just maybe—I'd survive the rest of the day quietly—
Chaos.
Screaming outside the building. The kind of screaming reserved for idol concerts and celebrity sightings. My stomach plummeted.
I didn't even have to look. I knew.
I groaned, dropping my forehead against the desk. "Please. No."
"JUNG DAE-HYUN!"
The shout carried through glass and concrete, familiar, smug, unbearably loud. My coworkers bolted to the windows. Gasps, squeals, shrieks. Someone ran to the lobby.
I sat frozen.
Because outside, in front of my building, stood Kang Woo-jin in full disguise—or rather, his version of a disguise: oversized sunglasses, casual blazer, and holding the biggest bouquet of roses I had ever seen. The kind of bouquet that required two hands and upper body strength to carry.
And he was grinning like a cat in cream.
I considered hiding under my desk until nightfall. Maybe if I stayed very, very still, Woo-jin would get bored and leave.
That hope lasted all of five seconds.
Because the next thing I knew, my phone buzzed with a message:
Crazy childish yandere : Come outside, honeybear 💕
I nearly threw the device into the trash.
The chorus of gasps and squeals from the lobby was already growing louder. I could practically hear him posing for the paparazzi. Reporters barked questions, cameras clicked like machine guns.
Dragging myself to the window, I peeked through the blinds.
There he was—looking like he'd just stepped out of a drama poster, roses in hand, hair styled, suit perfectly tailored. Sunglasses did nothing to hide him. He was a star, and he knew it.
My coworkers crowded behind me.
"Is that… Kang Woo-jin?!"
"Oh my god, he's even more handsome in person!"
"Wait, those flowers—are they for you?"
I backed away from the glass. "Nope. Not for me. Wrong guy. He's probably here for someone else."
"JUNG DAE-HYUN!"
The entire floor heard it. My soul exited my body.
There was no escape. If I didn't go down, Woo-jin would probably march up here and drag me out himself. So I took a deep breath, muttered several curses under it, and marched to the lobby.
The moment I stepped outside, a wall of flashes nearly blinded me. Reporters surged forward, microphones shoved in my face.
"Are you really married to Kang Woo-jin?"
"How long have you two been together?"
"Is this why he's been refusing romantic roles lately?"
"Are you planning to go public with your relationship?"
I wanted to be stabbed by their words.
And then Woo-jin saw me. His entire face lit up like sunrise. He pushed through the crowd with ridiculous ease, bouquet in hand, and presented it like we were in some cheesy drama.
"There you are, honeybear." His voice was soft, tender, the kind of voice that melted entire fanbases. And right now, it was aimed at me.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Reporters nearly fainted. Fans squealed.
I hissed through clenched teeth, "What the hell are you doing here?!"
"Surprising my husband," he whispered, just for me. Then, louder—dramatic, for the cameras: "He's shy, but isn't he adorable?"
Shy?! Adorable?!
I wanted to strangle him.
The roses were shoved into my arms before I could react. He leaned in, pressing a kiss dangerously close to my temple. The crowd exploded. Screams, claps, a reporter shouting, "True love!"
My entire face was on fire. "Woo-jin—" I tried to shove the bouquet back at him, but he only tightened his grip on my wrist, grinning wider.
"Smile for them, babe," he murmured. "If you scowl, they'll think we're fighting."
I was scowling. I wanted to scowl forever. But the cameras were relentless, and the thought of the business partner seeing me brawl with an A-list actor in front of the press was enough to make me grit my teeth and force something resembling a smile.
It probably looked more like a grimace.
"See?" Woo-jin announced proudly, holding my hand up like he'd just won a prize. "He's smiling for me. Isn't he the cutest husband in the world?"
The crowd screamed louder. Someone actually started chanting our names together like we were a celebrity couple brand.
I wanted to disappear.
Reporters shouted more questions, but Woo-jin ignored them all, tugging me closer. His arm slid around my shoulders, locking me against his side like I belonged there.
"Come on," he whispered against my ear. "Let's go home."
Before I could argue, he was already steering me through the crowd, shielding me from microphones with his body. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, and somewhere deep inside, I knew this circus wasn't going to die down anytime soon.
Because Woo-jin didn't want it to.
He thrived in it.
And now I was trapped in the middle of his stage.