The moment the shredded divorce papers hit the trash, I knew there was only one path left.
Escape.
Not another round of screaming in the kitchen. Not another battle of wills that ended with him smirking and me seething. If Woo-jin refused to sign, then fine. I'd remove myself from this equation.
He couldn't trap me if I wasn't here.
So, I waited. I waited until Woo-jin had flopped dramatically onto the couch with his phone, scrolling through his fan café and humming some tunes off-key. He looked comfortable enough—his cheek squished against a pillow, pink hair sticking up in every direction, one leg dangling off the armrest like a cat who thought he owned the world.
I slipped into my room, closed the door silently, and dragged my suitcase out from under the bed.
The sound of the zipper made my pulse race. Too loud. Too obvious.
I froze, listening.
No footsteps. No cheerful voice calling "Honeybear, whatcha doing?"
Good.
I started shoving clothes into the suitcase as fast as I could. Shirts, pants, socks—anything I could grab. No folding. No sorting. Just get it in and get out.
The entire time, my heart hammered against my ribs like a warning bell.
This was my chance.
I stuffed in toiletries, my laptop, and the photo frame I kept turned face-down on the desk. The one with my parents, back when life was simple and not… this circus.
I tugged the zipper closed, held my breath, and—....
"Whatcha doin', honeybear?"
The suitcase slipped from my hands and thudded onto the floor.
I spun around.
There he was. Leaning against my doorframe, arms folded, grinning like the devil caught me red-handed.
Woo-jin tilted his head. "Is this a game? Pack-the-bag-as-fast-as-you-can?"
My throat dried up. "Get out."
He ignored that, sauntering in and plopping down on the edge of the bed. He bounced once, making the mattress creak, and smiled at me like I was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all week.
"Going on a trip? Without me? Rude."
"I said get out."
He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Don't tell me… are you trying to leave me?"
I zipped the suitcase shut and yanked it upright. "Congratulations. You finally figured it out."
His grin only widened. "That's adorable."
I shoved past him, dragging the suitcase toward the living room.
Behind me, Woo-jin called, "Don't forget your toothbrush!"
I ignored him.
By the time I reached the front door, my palms were sweaty against the handle. Freedom was one twist away.
I pulled the door open.
Then the weight vanished.
I looked down.
My suitcase was gone.
"Looking for this?"
I whipped around.
Woo-jin stood a few feet away, holding my suitcase over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, his grin bright and infuriating.
My blood boiled. "Give that back!"
He tutted, wagging his finger. "Now, now. Running away without telling your husband? That's very naughty, honeybear."
I lunged for the suitcase. He sidestepped easily, laughing.
"You're insane!"
"Mhm, probably. But I'm also fast." He darted around the living room, dragging my suitcase with him like we were playing some twisted version of tag. "Catch me if you can!"
I nearly screamed.
This wasn't an escape. It was a nightmare.
And judging by his laughter echoing off the walls, Woo-jin was enjoying every second.
I lunged again. Woo-jin spun out of reach like a dancer on stage, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the suitcase.
"This isn't a joke!" I shouted, my voice raw with frustration.
"Of course it is," he chirped. "Everything's funnier when you're involved." He hugged the suitcase to his chest like it was a teddy bear. "And besides, you'll miss me the second you step outside."
"I won't."
"Liar." He smirked.
My fists shook. "Woo-jin, I swear if you don't hand that over, I'll—"
"What?" His grin widened. "Divorce me?"
My jaw clenched.
He chuckled, then—without warning—unzipped the suitcase and dumped the entire contents onto the floor. Clothes and toiletries scattered everywhere in a sad little pile.
"There," he said cheerfully. "Problem solved. No luggage, no leaving."
I gaped at him. "Are you out of your mind?!"
"Yes," he said sweetly, crouching down and picking up a crumpled shirt. He folded it with exaggerated care and carried it back to my dresser. "But I'm very tidy."
"What are you doing?"
"Unpacking," he said like it was obvious. He grabbed another shirt. "You pack, I unpack. Teamwork makes the dream work!"
I stormed forward, shoving him away from the dresser. "Stop touching my stuff!"
"Why?" He hugged the shirt to his chest, pouting. "You said you wanted space. I'm just… reorganizing that space."
"Reorganizing?!"
"Yes! Color-coordinated drawers! You'll thank me later."
I wanted to tear my hair out. Every shirt I shoved into the suitcase, he whisked away and tucked neatly back where it belonged. Socks? Gone. Jeans? Folded. Toothpaste? Back in the bathroom.
We must have looked insane: me frantically packing, him grinning and undoing all of it with the efficiency of a maid on caffeine.
Finally, I snapped. I grabbed a random box from the closet, stuffed it with clothes, and slapped tape across the lid. "There! Try unpacking that!"
Woo-jin blinked. Then, with a bright smile, he grabbed a marker from the desk and scrawled across the box in huge letters:
PROPERTY OF WOO-JIN
I stared. "You did not just—"
"Now it's official," he said proudly, holding the marker like a weapon. "Everything here belongs to me. Including you."
My face burned hot. "You're delusional!"
"Delightfully delusional," he corrected, tapping the marker against his chin. "It's part of my charm."
I grabbed another box, faster this time. He followed like a shadow, scribbling "WOO-JIN'S" on the side before I could even tape it shut.
"Stop that!" I snapped.
He beamed. "Never."
We wrestled like that for what felt like an eternity—me fighting for escape, him turning every attempt into some twisted comedy routine. At one point, he even balanced on top of a sealed box, grinning down at me like a smug cat on a throne.
"Woo-jin!"
"Yes, honeybear?"
"Get. Off. My. Box."
He leaned forward, wiggling his brows. "Our box."
I nearly lost my mind.
Finally, I gave up. I grabbed one suitcase, stuffed whatever I could inside in thirty seconds flat, and bolted for the door.
This time, he didn't stop me.
He just stood there, leaning against the wall with that infuriating smile. "Have a nice trip, sweetheart. Don't forget to write."
I slammed the door behind me before he could say anything else.
For the first time in months, I felt the cold rush of freedom.
But it wouldn't last.
I should have known better.
The cab jolted to a stop outside a dingy little hotel on the other side of town. I paid the driver with trembling hands and hauled my suitcase inside.
The place wasn't much—peeling wallpaper, a sour smell of mildew—but it was away from him. That was all that mattered.
I dragged the suitcase onto the bed and ripped it open, already planning how to survive the night. Tomorrow, I'd find something better. Tomorrow, I'd—
I froze.
Inside the suitcase were not my folded shirts. Not my jeans. Not the framed photo of my parents I'd stuffed between them for safety.
It was his clothes.
The smell hit me instantly—warm spice and faint cologne. His sweaters. His hoodies. Even one of his ridiculous stage costumes, sequins glinting in the cheap yellow light.
My stomach dropped.
"No. No, no, no—" I clawed through the pile, desperate for even one thing that was mine. A sock. A notebook. Anything.
Nothing.
Just him.
Everywhere.
I sank onto the bed, clutching one of his hoodies in disbelief. How—when—? He must have swapped them. While I was distracted, I thought I'd won.
Rage burned hot in my chest. That smug bastard. He planned this.
I threw the hoodie across the room like it was poison, but the smell lingered, suffocating. My escape had been reduced to a mockery—a suitcase full of Woo-jin's scent, Woo-jin's presence, Woo-jin's claim over me.
A knock came at the door.
My blood ran cold.
No. It couldn't be.
Slowly, I crept to the door, every nerve in my body screaming. I pressed my ear against the wood. Silence.
Then—soft humming. Familiar. Off-key.
My stomach twisted.
I yanked the door open.
And there he was.
Woo-jin leaned casually against the doorframe, holding my actual suitcase in one hand, the missing photo frame tucked under his arm. His grin was radiant, eyes glittering with triumph.
"Looking for these, honeybear?"
I could barely breathe. "How—"
He pushed past me without waiting for permission, dropping the suitcase onto the bed with a heavy thud. My suitcase. My clothes. My life.
He placed the photo frame carefully on the nightstand, brushing nonexistent dust from the glass. Then he turned, hands on hips, and beamed.
"You didn't think you could really run away, did you?"
My throat burned. "You're insane."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "But I'm also right. You belong with me. Anywhere you go, I'll be there too."
I backed away, fists trembling. "You can't—this isn't—"
He stepped closer, cutting off my words with a finger pressed to my lips. His touch was warm, deceptively gentle.
"Shhh. Don't ruin the moment. It's romantic if you squint."
"Romantic?" My voice cracked against his hand. "You stalked me, stole my things, sabotaged my—"
"Escape attempt," he supplied helpfully. "Yes. And you looked adorable trying. Like a little hamster stuffing seeds in his cheeks."
I wanted to scream, to claw his smirk right off his face. But my body refused to move, pinned by the intensity in his green eyes.
His smile softened, just for a second. Dangerous. Almost tender.
"You'll figure it out eventually, honeybear," he murmured, brushing his thumb along my jaw. "You're mine. Always."
He pulled back suddenly, his grin snapping back into place like a mask. "Now, let's order room service! I'm starving."
And just like that, he made himself comfortable on the bed—on my bed—while I stood frozen, suitcase forgotten at my feet, heart pounding like a trapped bird.
Freedom had never felt so far away.
Woo-jin sprawled across the bed like he owned it, flipping idly through the room service menu as though we were on vacation. His shoes were off, his ridiculous socks patterned with cartoon strawberries, and he looked settled. Like this dingy hotel room was suddenly his stage.
I stood by the door, hands curled into fists. "You can't just follow me everywhere."
He peeked over the menu, eyes sparkling. "I can, actually. And I'm very good at it. Actor of the year, remember?"
I grit my teeth. "I'm serious, Woo-jin."
"So am I." He tossed the menu aside and sat up, expression shifting in a heartbeat. The teasing smile dimmed, replaced by something sharper. "You think you can divorce me. You think you can run away. But both times, you failed. Want to guess why?"
I stayed silent, every muscle taut.
His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "Because deep down, you don't really want to leave me."
The words slammed into me harder than I expected.
I snapped, slamming my palm against the wall. "You're delusional! I hate you!"
He rose smoothly from the bed, crossing the room in two strides. Before I could retreat, his hand braced the wall beside my head, caging me in. His blue eyes burned, close enough to drown me.
"Say it again," he whispered. "Say it until you believe it. Say it until it stops shaking your voice."
My breath hitched. Damn him. Damn the way he always turned the ground beneath me into quicksand.
I shoved at his chest. He didn't budge.
"Move," I hissed.
"Or what?" His grin curved, sharp and dangerous. "You'll run again? Honeybear, I'll always find you."
And then, as if to seal the promise, he leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of my ear.
"You can't escape me. Not now. Not ever."
The words clung, colder than chains.
But just before his lips could touch mine, I shoved him with everything I had. Hard. He staggered back, surprised but laughing, clutching at his chest like I'd wounded him in the most dramatic scene of his career.
"Cold," he sighed. "So cold. But don't worry, love—I like a challenge."
He winked, snatched the TV remote from the nightstand, and flopped back onto the bed like nothing had happened.
"Now, be a dear and order me some fried chicken, will you?"
I stared at him, trembling, the echo of his words still burning in my ear.
You can't escape me.
Not now. Not ever.
The thought curdled in my stomach like poison.
And for the first time, I realized—he might be right. I need to find a way to break free from his embrace.