The black van rolled to a stop in front of the broadcasting station, and before the driver even had time to open the door, I was already regretting agreeing to this.
Well—agreeing was the wrong word. I'd been dragged. Bribed. Threatened with roses so strong they made my head spin until I gave in.
The second Woo-jin stepped out of the car, the world erupted.
Flashbulbs burst like fireworks, blinding me even from inside. Reporters shouted his name, microphones thrust out as if one of them might actually capture his stupidly perfect laugh. He waved at them, dazzling, like a prince greeting his people.
And then, of course, he had to yank me out too.
The screams doubled the moment I set foot on the pavement. I froze under the assault of lenses zooming in on my face. For years, I'd lived in comfortable anonymity, my red hair and green eyes nothing more than odd quirks that set me apart quietly. Now? They were currency. Tabloid fuel.
"Smile," Woo-jin whispered, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me against his side like we'd rehearsed this a thousand times. His grip was warm, firm. Unyielding.
"I'll kill you," I muttered through clenched teeth.
"Do it after the cameras," he whispered back, his grin never faltering. "It'll look passionate right now."
I plastered on what I hoped was a neutral expression. Judging by the squeals from the reporters, it looked like I'd just agreed to spend eternity gazing into his eyes.
God, I wanted to disappear.
The backstage wasn't better.
Stylists swarmed the moment we stepped through the doors, tugging at my clothes, smoothing my hair, dusting powder on my face before I could protest. Woo-jin sat there like royalty, pink hair being tamed into glossy perfection, while he winked at me through the mirror.
"You look good under studio lights, honeybear," he teased, lips quivering. "Don't be surprised if you trend tonight."
"Trend?" I scoffed, glaring at my reflection. "The only thing trending will be my obituary once I strangle you."
He laughed, tilting his head toward the stylist. "See? Even when he threatens murder, he's charming."
The stylist giggled. Giggle. At a death threat.
Unbelievable.
The stage lights were worse than the cameras outside.
The second we stepped out, the audience screamed like we were rockstars instead of… whatever this farce was. I sat stiffly beside Woo-jin on the plush sofa, my legs crossed, my face carefully blank. Woo-jin, meanwhile, sprawled like he owned the place, one arm draped casually across the back of the sofa behind me.
The host grinned wide, clearly thrilled to have scored Korea's golden actor and his mysterious husband. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Kang Woo-jin and his partner, Jung Dae-hyun!"
The audience erupted again. I resisted the urge to crawl under the sofa.
"So, Woo-jin," the host began, eyes twinkling, "you've been famously private about your personal life. Everyone was shocked when you suddenly announced your marriage. Tell us—how did you two meet?"
Without missing a beat, Woo-jin laced his fingers through mine and squeezed. "Fate," he said smoothly. "We met by chance, and from the moment I saw him, I knew he was the one."
The audience melted. People actually clutched their chests.
Meanwhile, I choked on my own saliva. Fate? The man had manipulated me into signing a marriage contract!
I yanked my hand free, but Woo-jin only chuckled, covering it up by resting his hand on my knee instead. "He's shy," he explained to the host, like I was some bashful bride.
I wanted to die.
"Who confessed first?" the host asked.
"I did," Woo-jin said instantly. Then, with a sly grin, he leaned close enough for the cameras to catch every word. "But he fell first."
The audience squealed like he'd just proposed live on air.
I nearly threw up.
The questions only got worse.
"What's married life like?" the host asked.
Woo-jin sighed dramatically, like he was about to perform Shakespeare. "He nags me like an old man, but then he spoils me at night. It's balanced." He winked at me.
Screams. Cheers.
My face burned. I gritted my teeth, then leaned toward the microphone. "Living with him is like living with a lovesick puppy who never learns where to bark. He is crazy and obsessed and I do not love him."
The room went silent for a beat. Then, laughter erupted. Actual laughter. The audience thought I was joking.
Woo-jin's hand tightened on my knee under the table. His smile didn't waver, but his eyes cut sideways, sharp as glass.
By the time the host said, "Now, the fans have one request," I knew I was doomed.
The audience chanted before I even heard the words:
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
My blood ran cold.
Woo-jin turned to me slowly, like a predator savoring the kill. His hand slid up, cupping my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheek. His pink hair caught the stage lights, his smile infuriatingly soft, practiced to perfection.
"Don't run, honeybear," he murmured, low enough that only I heard. "If you push me away, they'll think we're divorcing."
"That's what I want." I smirked.
"I'm sure your mother will-"
"Shut up." I cut him off.
My heart pounded. His face was so close. The cameras zoomed in. The audience held its breath.
And then I shoved him back. Hard.
Gasps. Actual screams. The host froze mid-smile. Woo-jin stumbled, caught himself, and for one terrifying second, his mask slipped. His smile faltered. His eyes darkened.
"I told you," I said, my voice carrying clear through the studio, "he's just a lovesick puppy. Don't take his nonsense seriously."
The silence was deafening.
Then awkward laughter trickled through the crowd, some clapping nervously, others whispering. The cameras panned between us like vultures circling a carcass.
"I hate all omegas and you all know that. Why the hell would I love him?"
Woo-jin recovered in an instant, chuckling, sliding back into place beside me. He rested his hand lightly over mine on the sofa, even though I immediately tried to shake him off.
"He's shy," he told the host smoothly. "He doesn't like PDA. But I assure you, he loves me very much."
The audience awed again, bought completely.
But his smile? His smile was too sharp.
And when he leaned in, lips brushing my ear just out of the microphone's reach, his whisper made my stomach twist.
"Wait until we're off camera, honeybear."
When we finally made it backstage, I yanked my arm out of his grip and rounded on him. "What the hell was that?!"
He looked infuriatingly calm, adjusting his blazer in the mirror. "Entertainment. The audience loved it."
"I humiliated you!" I snapped. "Called you a lovesick puppy in front of the entire country!"
He turned then, eyes glinting with something sharp and unreadable. Slowly, he walked toward me, each step deliberate, until I was backed against the dressing table.
"And yet," he murmured, lowering his face until our noses almost touched, "you still made me look irresistible. Even when you try to destroy me, you make me shine."
I shoved him back, my heart pounding. "You're insane, yandere!!."
He smirked, tilting his head. "No, honeybear. I'm in love."
His pheromones flooded the room, dizzying, intoxicating, wrapping around me like chains. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe through the burn in my chest.
But I didn't answer him.
Because if I did, I might never escape.
I shoved him again, harder this time. "Back off, Woo-jin. I'm not your toy to parade around."
For once, his grin slipped. Not gone, but dimmed—like the moon sliding behind a cloud. His eyes searched mine, and for a flicker of a second, I thought I saw something raw. Something unguarded.
Then it was gone.
Replaced by that infuriating, velvet-smooth smile.
"You really do like putting me in my place, don't you?" His voice was low, steady, dangerous in the way a calm sea hides storms beneath. "But, honeybear… you'll regret doing it on camera."
My chest tightened. "Is that a threat?"
He leaned in again, close enough that I could smell his rose-scented pheromone in the air, wrapping around me until my lungs burned. "A promise."
I slapped his hand away, forcing myself to stand tall despite the trembling in my knees. "You don't own me, Woo-jin. No matter how many cameras you trick. No matter how many lies you tell."
For once, the silence between us was heavy. He didn't laugh. Didn't tease. He just… looked at me. Studied me like I was something he couldn't quite solve.
Then, slow as ever, he tilted his head, a dangerous smirk curving his lips. "Maybe not yet. But the world already thinks you're mine. And that's what matters."
I opened my mouth to snap back, but a sharp knock rattled the dressing room door.
"Mr. Kang! Mr. Jung! We need you for some photos before you leave!" a staff member called.
Woo-jin's smirk widened as if the universe itself was on his side. "Duty calls," he murmured, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve before striding toward the door.
Just before he left, he paused, turning back slightly. His pink hair caught the backstage lights, his expression unreadable.
"Oh, and honeybear?" His voice was silk, but the undertone made my skin prickle. "If you ever call me a lovesick puppy again, I'll make sure you beg me to prove you wrong."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me trembling and furious, my reflection in the mirror pale and green-eyed and burning with something I refused to name.