I didn't sleep that night. How the hell could I?
Every time I closed my eyes, the scene from the interview replayed in painful detail. The chanting crowd, the flashing lights, Woo-jin's smug grin as he leaned in—and the way my hands shoved him away, my voice slicing through the silence: "He's just a lovesick puppy."
The look on his face haunted me. For a split second, I'd seen it: a crack in his perfect mask. Not anger, not amusement, but something… raw. Then he smoothed it over, and by the time we were backstage, he was back to his usual act. Teasing, dangerous, impossible.
I stared at my reflection in the dark window. My red hair looked black and my green eyes hollowed with exhaustion.
Enough was enough.
I sat at my desk, flipping through old files, my fingers trembling until I found what I needed: the marriage contract. The ridiculous, binding piece of paper he'd tricked me into signing. My chest tightened as I pulled it free, but I shoved the feeling aside.
"Divorce," I whispered. The word tasted like iron in my mouth. "Although failed first time but not second time I hope."
I pulled out a blank template I'd downloaded weeks ago—just in case. My hands shook as I filled it in, every stroke of the pen a declaration of war. Woo-jin's name looked strange in black ink, so ordinary compared to the chaos he caused.
By the time I finished, my signature scrawled angrily across the bottom, the clock read 3 a.m. I set the papers aside, staring at them until my eyes blurred.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow, I'll end this farce.
Woo-jin was already awake when I shuffled into the kitchen the next morning. He was barefoot, humming some pop song under his breath as he flipped pancakes like this was a normal marriage and not a circus. His pink hair was messy, his oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder.
"Good morning, honeybear," he said brightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Coffee's ready. Want syrup or whipped cream today?"
I dropped the divorce papers onto the table with a loud smack.
His humming trailed off. Slowly, he set the pan aside, wiping his hands on a towel before strolling over. He picked up the papers, skimmed them, then looked at me with wide, mock-shocked eyes.
"Oh my gosh." He gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. "A love letter? You really do adore me!"
My jaw clenched. "Sign them."
He blinked innocently. "Sign… my fanmail?"
I slammed my palm down on the table. "The divorce papers, Woo-jin!"
For a moment, he just stared. Then his lips curved into a grin so wide I wanted to punch it off.
"Ayoo what," he said, dragging the word out like an old grandma. "My husband stayed up all night just to write me this? I'm touched."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He leaned across the table, lowering his voice. "Do you want me to autograph it for the fans too? We could auction it—first 'divorce attempt' by Korea's hottest couple."
I grabbed the papers back, furious. "This isn't a joke!"
"Neither is my love for you," he shot back without missing a beat, eyes glinting mischievously.
"I want out," I said, my voice flat. My hands were clenched so tight my knuckles burned white. "You've humiliated me for the last time. This—" I shook the papers in his face "—is over."
"Reputation, Reputation Reputation. What a painful word."
Woo-jin tilted his head like I'd just told him the pigs can fly. Then, as if on cue, he burst out laughing. Not polite laughter, not nervous laughter—loud, obnoxious, belly-deep laughter that echoed around the kitchen until I wanted to scream.
"Stop laughing!" I snapped.
He wiped a fake tear from his eye. "You're… you're killing me, honeybear. Divorce? Really? What's next—are you going to sue me for excessive handsomeness?"
"This isn't a game!" I slammed the papers down again. "Sign it."
Instead of obeying, he slid into the chair across from me, folding his arms on the table like a child settling in for story time. His grin was infuriating.
"Why would I sign away the best thing that's ever happened to me?" he asked sweetly. "Do you think I'm that dumb?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You tricked me into marrying you. You stalk me. You ambush me in public. You're suffocating me, Woo-jin. I want my life back." I felt exasperated.
For once, his grin faltered. Just a crack. Then, just as quickly, it returned, sharper than ever.
"Your life back?" he repeated, tapping his chin. "But your life is with me now. We're the nation's favorite couple. Haven't you seen the hashtags? #TheManWhoHatesAllOmegasIsMarriedToOne is trending number one."
I shoved the papers closer to him. "I don't care about hashtags."
He smirked. "But you care about me."
"No, I don't."
His eyes glittered. "Liar."
The word hit me like a slap. I forced myself not to flinch. "Sign it, Woo-jin. Or I'll—"
"You'll what?" He leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, eyes locked on mine. "Move out? Good luck. Reporters camp outside the building like squirrels hoarding nuts. Quit your job? I'll just buy the company and make you my secretary. Marry someone else? Hah." His grin widened. "As if anyone else could handle you."
My chest heaved. "You're insane."
"Mm. Maybe. But I'm your insane."
I wanted to scream. Instead, I shoved my chair back and stood, glaring down at him. "If you won't sign, I'll take this to a lawyer."
"Oooh, scary," he drawled, clutching his cheeks like a horror movie actress. "Should I faint now, or later?"
"You think this is funny?"
He shot me finger guns. "Funniest thing I've seen all week."
I was shaking now, with anger or exhaustion I couldn't tell. I grabbed the papers, ready to storm back into my room, but his hand shot out, catching my wrist.
"Dae-hyun." His voice changed. Just like that—lower, steady, almost sharp. The kind of voice that made the air shift.
I froze.
He wasn't grinning anymore.
"You think you can leave me?" he asked quietly. His fingers tightened around my wrist, not painful, but unyielding. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, burned with something darker. "You really think I'll let you go?"
Those pheromones hit me then—spilling into the room, cloying and heavy, wrapping around my lungs until every breath felt like swallowing syrup.
"Stop it," I hissed, moving my hand back. "Don't you dare use that on me."
He leaned closer, voice a whisper against my ear. "Then stop saying things you don't mean."
My heart hammered. "I mean every word."
Silence. His grip loosened, but he didn't move away. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock and my uneven breathing.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the heaviness lifted. Woo-jin leaned back, grinning again like nothing had happened.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "since my husband is filing for divorce, does that mean I don't have to do the dishes anymore?"
I was exasperated and then yell at him. "You—!"
"Or should we split the assets?" he continued, ticking points off on his fingers. "You keep the apartment, I keep you. Seems fair."
I wanted to throw something at his head.
"First of all, it's my apartment." I paused staring at him. "Woo-jin, I swear—"
But before I could finish, he plucked the papers from my hand, spinning them around like a prop in a magic show.
"These are very official," he mused. "Very serious. Very adult." He winked. "Too bad I'm not signing them."
"Why not."
"I'll frame this so every night, you'll remember how much you failed at leaving me."
"Give it back." I reached across the table.
He yanked the pages out of reach, eyes sparkling. "Uh-uh. You can't just slap me with the D-word and expect me to hand the weapon back."
"Woo-jin, I'm not joking—"
"Neither am I!" he interrupted brightly. He clutched the papers to his chest, pouting. "These are precious. My husband's first love letter."
I nearly choked. "Love letter?!"
"Mm-hm." He fluttered his lashes. "It says, 'Dear Woo-jin, I love you so much I want to create drama in our marriage just so you'll hold me tighter.' Romantic, isn't it?"
I shot a death glare at him. "That's not— you're crazy! A demon from hell!"
He gasped theatrically, eyes wide. "Oh, you noticed? Finally! After months of living together, you admit it." He leaned across the table, lowering his voice like he was confessing a crime. "But between us, isn't it kind of hot?"
My face flustered then again I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to block out the migraine clawing its way into my skull. "I can't do this. I literally cannot do this anymore."
"You can," he said sweetly. "You married me, remember? No refunds, no exchanges."
"I never wanted this marriage in the first place!" I snapped.
He froze. Just for a second. Then his smile returned—too sharp. "Ouch. My poor fragile heart." He mimed stabbing himself with the corner of the papers. "Guess I'll just bleed to death here on the kitchen floor."
"Good. Less noise. More peace. No depression."
"Cruel!" He flopped dramatically onto the table, limbs sprawled like a corpse. "Truly, this marriage is toxic. A tragedy for the ages. Shakespeare would weep."
"Shakespeare would strangle you. When did you become a poet all of a sudden?"
He peeked at me from under his arm, grinning. "But you wouldn't. You love me too much."
I barked a bitter laugh. "Love you? You're a lovesick puppy who doesn't understand the word no."
He sat up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Correction: I understand it. I just choose to ignore it when it comes from you."
My pulse jumped. "That's not something to brag about!"
"It is when it's adorable." He reached across the table, poking my cheek. "Look at you, all red and flustered. If this is what divorce talk does to you, maybe we should file every week."
I slapped his hand away. "I'm serious, Woo-jin. I want out."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm. Out of the marriage, or out of those pajamas you've been wearing for two days?"
"Woo-jin—"
"Because if it's the second one, I volunteer to help." His grin was pure sin.
I shot to my feet, snatching the papers from his lap when he wasn't expecting it. My heart pounded with adrenaline. I had them. Finally.
But before I could step away, his hand closed around my wrist again. Gentle, but firm.
"Dae-hyun."
That voice again. Low. Dangerous.
I froze, papers trembling in my grip.
He rose slowly, eyes locked on mine. No grin this time. No teasing sparkle. Just quiet, terrifying certainty.
"You can wave those papers around all you want," he murmured. "But the truth is simple. You're mine. You've always been mine. And no court, no lawyer, no piece of paper will change that."
His scent hit harder this time, flooding the kitchen until my lungs ached. My knees weakened, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
I yanked my wrist free, glaring at him through the haze. "I'll make you sign if I have to drag you to court myself."
His smile returned then—soft, almost tender. "You're cute when you're violent."
"Shut up!"
He didn't. Of course he didn't.
Instead, he plucked the papers from my shaking hand and, without breaking eye contact, tore them cleanly down the middle.
The sound was deafening.
"No—!" My voice cracked. I lunged for the scraps, but he let them flutter to the floor like confetti.
"There," he said brightly, dusting off his hands. "Problem solved."
"You— you bastard!" My chest heaved. Rage, frustration, helplessness—it all boiled over at once. "Do you get off on ruining my life?"
"Yes." His answer was instant, shameless. "Every single day."
I stared at him, words lost.
He leaned in, close enough for me to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, close enough that the roses tangled around my senses until escape felt impossible.
"You'll never divorce me, honeybear," he whispered. "Because no matter how hard you fight, you'll always end up right where you are now." His gaze flicked to my lips, then back up. "With me."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
For one terrifying moment, I thought he would kiss me.
But instead, he pulled back, grinning like the devil himself. "Now, breakfast? Or should we start drafting your second 'love letter'?"
I wanted to strangle him.
I stood there, staring at the shredded papers on the floor, my chest heaving like I'd run a marathon. The room felt smaller. Tighter. The air was sticky with roses– his pheromones, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't get a full breath in.
Woo-jin, of course, looked delighted. He crouched, pinched one torn piece between his fingers, and held it up to the light like it was priceless art.
"Such beautiful handwriting," he sighed. "Truly heartfelt. A shame it ended up in pieces."
"Give me that," I yelled, swiping at the scrap.
He pulled it back just in time, laughing. "So feisty. Are you sure you want a divorce? Because this is the most passion I've seen from you in weeks."
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. "You're impossible."
"Mhm," he hummed, tucking the scrap into his pocket. "But I'm your impossible."
The sheer audacity of this man made me want to scream into the void. Instead, I turned on my heel and stormed toward my room. I needed space. I needed air. I needed—
"Dae-hyun."
His voice stopped me cold.
I didn't want to turn. Every instinct screamed at me not to. But I did.
He was leaning against the counter, arms folded, eyes locked on me. The grin was gone again. What replaced it was quieter, heavier.
"Run all you want. Threaten me. Hate me." He paused, and those pheromones thickened, curling warm and suffocating around my chest. "But you'll never leave me."
Something in me snapped. "Watch me."
I slammed my bedroom door so hard the frame rattled. My hands shook as I braced them against the wood, fighting for steady breaths.
From the other side, his laughter rang out—bright, smug, and terrifyingly sure.
"Sweetheart," he called, voice dripping with amusement, "I'll start planning our second honeymoon. You can bring the next set of divorce papers as a souvenir."
My vision swam with rage.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
But as his humming drifted down the hall—soft, cheerful, utterly unbothered—I couldn't ignore the truth slamming through me.
For now, I was still trapped.
Caged by his disgusted scent of roses, where I wish it disappear.