Seojin leaned back in his chair, his mind restless. His assistant stood nearby, watching him carefully.
"Tell me," Seojin muttered, his voice low, "why do you think Yui came back? What does she really want?"
The assistant hesitated before replying, "Mr. Lang… perhaps Miss Yui thought she couldn't live without you anymore. Maybe that's why she returned so suddenly."
Seojin's lips curved into a bitter smile, but his eyes darkened. Could it really be that simple?
That night, the silence of his apartment corridor echoed with his footsteps. He rang the doorbell softly, and soon enough, Nari Hana opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Mr. Lang… I mean, Mr. Seo," she corrected quickly, her voice trembling. "Why are you here so late? Shouldn't you be with Miss Yui? She just came back from abroad. I thought you'd want to spend time with her."
She turned quickly, heading toward her room to escape his gaze. But before she could disappear, Seojin grabbed her wrist firmly and pulled her back. His eyes blazed like fire, the usual icy blue now burning with unspoken emotions.
"You'll call me Seojin, only Seojin," he demanded, his voice rough. "In front of everyone else, it's Mr. Seo—but to you, only Seojin. Understand?"
Nari's heart pounded. Her lips trembled as she lowered her gaze. "Why… why does it matter what I call you?"
Seojin leaned closer, his tone deep and piercing. "Because it matters to me."
Her eyes welled up with tears. She struggled, whispering, "Why would it matter… why would it hurt me to see you with Yui? I shouldn't feel anything at all." She wiped her tears quickly, forcing herself to stay strong.
But Seojin tightened his grip, his jaw clenched. "Don't lie to me, Nari Hana. You did feel something, didn't you?"
She shook her head frantically, her voice breaking. "No… no, Mr. Seo. Why would it matter? You and I—our marriage is only a contract. In just one month, it will end. After that, you're free. You can go wherever you want, marry whoever you like… even Miss Yui. Why should I care?"
Her words sliced through him, sharper than any blade. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. And then, without warning, he pulled her closer, crushing his lips against hers.
Nari's eyes widened, her body stiffening as she tried to push him away. But Seojin's kiss was desperate, burning, laced with fury. Slowly… unwillingly… she melted into it. Their breaths mingled, their hearts racing in chaos.
He bit her lower lip, not out of passion but anger—anger that she dared to deny her feelings. Pulling back only slightly, his hand cupped her face, forcing her to look into his blazing eyes.
"Tell me the truth," he growled softly, his forehead resting against hers. "When you saw me kiss Yui… did it not tear you apart inside?"
Nari Hana's hands trembled so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears blurred the world into a smear of light and shadow; the cold bathroom tiles bit through the soles of her feet. She lifted her chin and forced her eyes to meet his.
"No," she whispered, voice raw. "It makes no difference to me. This is a contract marriage—nothing more. I have no right over your life, or your choices. I have no right to you."
Her words were meant to be armor. Instead they cut like glass.
Seojin's expression went still for a heartbeat—then something dangerous sparked behind his icy blue eyes. He reached for her, and before she could pull away, his hands closed around hers. His voice was low, harsh with a temper she hadn't seen before.
"Fine," he said. "Then be my official contract wife. From today." There was a finality to the sentence that left no room for argument.
He kissed her then—abrupt, possessive, a claim rather than an embrace. It was not gentle. He pressed his mouth to hers with a force that stole the air from her lungs. Nari froze, panic and shame clashing inside her; her body protested even as old, complicated warmth flickered through her chest. He bit her lower lip, hard enough to sting. When she tried to wiggle free, he tightened his grip on her hands until she could not move them.
"Stop," she tried to say, but it came out muffled beneath his kiss.
He shifted from her mouth to her neck, his teeth pressing at the delicate skin there, leaving hot, angry crescents as if staking a claim. He tugged at the fabric at her shoulder, fingers fumbling with the seam as if he wanted more—more possession, more proof that she belonged to him.
Then the phone on his desk rang, sharp and relentless. Seojin jerked back with an irritated hiss and snatched it up. For a split second he glared at Nari—eyes flashing—then he answered.
"Hello?" he barked.
A voice crackled on the other end, cold and familiar enough to make Seojin go still. "Mr. Lang. Remember me?" the caller said. "I'm the one who arranged your attack. I blew up your car. I planned the truck. You survived—again. But I'm watching."
Seojin's face drained of color. He straightened, fingers white on the phone. The room filled with a new kind of silence—one threaded with danger.
Without a word to Nari, he strode to the side table, grabbed his black coat, and slipped it on with the same swift, efficient movement he used when putting on a mask. He didn't look at her as he moved. His voice, when it came, was a clipped command. "Get ready. Stay here."
The assistant appeared at the doorway in an instant, polite concern etched on his face. "Sir, may I—"
Seojin ignored him, palms already wrapped around the car keys. He strode from the apartment like a man heading into battle, the city lights swallowing his silhouette as he swung into the waiting car.
From the balcony, Nari watched him go—watched until tail lights vanished into the night. The ache in her chest was a raw, living thing. She reached to touch her neck and recoiled at the sting of warm blood as she saw the marks—two crescent moons pressed dark against her skin, the imprint of his teeth. Her lips still tingled from his bite.
Her hands shook. Rage flared bright and hot, tangled with shame and a fierce, barren grief. She stumbled back to the bed, throat raw, and grabbed the small knife from the drawer where she kept it for late-night peeling and paperwork. The blade flashed in the lamplight; cold, brutal, real.
Seated on the edge of the bed, she pressed the cool steel to her palm to focus herself. "You can't use me," she whispered into the empty room—an oath half-broken by the tremor in her voice. "Not until I want it. Not until I choose."
Anger folded into something darker—determination. Her fingers curled around the locket at her throat until it bit into her skin. She thought of the caller's words, of the truck and the explosions, of the life that had been nearly taken so many times. She thought of the contract she had signed, the million won that had bought her mother's surgery and sold her freedom for six months—then the new clause that had turned her prison permanent.
"Seojin Lang," she breathed, voice small and dangerous all at once. "If you think you can own me by law or by force, you are wrong. I'll make you see me. I'll make you love me—or I'll make you pay."
Her breath hitched as she tried to make the vow steady in the hollow of her ribs. She did not know which of those terrible promises would be truer in the end. All she knew was that she was done being invisible, done being the girl who quietly endured. Whether she would become his salvation or his ruin was a road she planned to walk herself.
She set the knife down with trembling care, wiped the blood and the salt of her tears from her face, and, for the first time in a long while, let plans begin to form behind her eyes—calm, careful, and cold as the steel in her hand.
Nari Hana sat on the edge of her bed, the small knife resting cold and heavy in her palm. For a moment she simply stared at it, then—to her own surprise—a half-smile curved her lips. The steel in her hand steadied something inside her; whatever came next, she would meet it on her feet.
Far away, the city lights blurred into streaks as Seojin's car ate the highway. His knuckles were white on the wheel, mind running a rapid, dangerous loop back to the caller's voice. He could still hear it, low and calculated:
"Mr. Lang… I heard you got married. Your wife is very… enticing." The voice had paused, almost amused. "By the way, one thing — whoever she is, Yui… her life may be in danger. If you can save her, then save her. Bye."
The line cut like a jagged edge. For a second Seojin sat frozen, every muscle taut. Whoever had called knew more than was safe — and they had made it personal. A trap? A provocation? The words her life may be in danger burned cold under his skin.
He jammed his foot against the accelerator and called Yui, fingers shaking. No answer. He tried again. Voicemail. He tried again. Silent refusal. Each unanswered ring turned his panic hotter.
Back in her room, Yui heard her phone buzz and deliberately let it go to voicemail. A slow, practiced smile spread across her face. She'd expected him to come rushing, and she delighted in the pull she still held over him. She moved with deliberate care: a quick shower to flush away the day's dust, hair wrapped and then unbound, fingers selecting a dress that was all silk and danger. She dressed like an actress stepping onto a stage, exaggeratedly composed, then planted a faint, perfectly timed bruise on her lip and a small mark along her arm. A drop of glycerin in her eyes coaxed all the sorrow she needed into wet, believable tears.
"Please, Lang," she whispered to herself, half-prayer, half-invocation. "Come save me."
When the bell rang, she practiced the exact tremble in her hand, the exact ragged sound on her breath. She drew the curtain and opened the door with perfect vulnerability. Seojin filled the threshold like a force of nature.
He grabbed her without ceremony, eyes scanning her face for injury. "What happened? Are you hurt?" His voice was sharp with alarm.
Yui stumbled forward into his arms, letting the tears leak in timed spurts. "Lang… someone attacked me. They tried to— they tried to hurt me." Her voice broke, precisely broken. She clutched at him as if anchoring herself to his strength, then leaned into the moment, letting him shelter her with the fervor she'd manufactured.
Seojin's jaw tightened; fury flamed at the edges of his restraint. He closed the door as if sealing out the world, then carried her into her room and laid her on the bed as if checking for real wounds. He hovered over her, protective and raw, and for a heartbeat the apartment felt real, immediate, human.
Yui curled her fingers around his sleeve, eyes hollow with wet pleading. "Please, don't leave me tonight. He might come back." The line between real fear and the performance blurred and she used it to hold him there.
Seojin stayed. He sat on the edge of the bed, the air between them taut with things unsaid. For all his armor — the wealth, the control, the calculated coldness he wore like a second skin — she had pulled him into a small, dangerous softness.
Outside, headlights carved the street. Unknown watchers moved in the city's folds. Someone, somewhere, was orchestrating pieces on a board no one else fully saw yet. Seojin, who lived by control, felt the first prick of a map rewriting beneath his feet.
And inside, two people held the fragile illusion of safety—one convinced of its truth, the other fueling it with artful lies.
Nari, watching from a distance she could not name, pulled the locket free and rolled it between her fingers, thinking of the knife and the plan, thinking of the caller and the truck and the way everything dangerous had a way of finding them. She whispered to the quiet room:
Yui's tears had long dried, but she didn't stop clinging to Seojin. Again and again she whispered, "Don't leave me tonight." At first, he resisted, trying to reason with her. But the false tremble in her voice, the bruises she had staged, and her desperate insistence finally wore him down.
"I'll stay," Seojin muttered at last. He didn't lie beside her, though. He pulled a pillow to the sofa and stretched out there instead.
For Yui, that was enough. Her lips curved in satisfaction even as a trace of annoyance flickered—he was close, but not close enough. Still, the fact that he had rushed to her, chosen to remain in her presence, was victory enough for the night. She lay under the blanket, clutching it tightly, heart drumming with a twisted joy.
Her mind drifted back to the call she'd answered earlier. The mysterious voice had been smooth, commanding, almost hypnotic:
"Seojin will come to you. When he does, follow exactly what I tell you. Do this, and he'll stay by your side."
Yui had obeyed. And here he was. She bit her lip, smile blooming in the dark. "Thank you, mysterious man," she whispered. "Because of you… Seojin came running to me." Excitement fizzed in her chest. She buried her face into the sheets, giddy, and finally let sleep pull her under.
Morning light.
Across the city, Nari Hana stirred awake in her quiet room. She reached for the space beside her bed instinctively, but it was empty—Seojin had not returned. A sharp ache pricked her chest, but she forced it down. Instead, she showered, wiping away every trace of softness from her features.
Her reflection in the mirror looked fragile, almost breakable. "Enough," she whispered to herself. "No more innocence."
A slow, deliberate smile touched her lips as she laid out the pieces of her new armor: a handcrafted white coat embroidered with golden threads and touches of deep blue, an inner shirt pressed crisp beneath it, diamond earrings that caught the morning sun, a bold red-and-white handbag, and heels that clicked with authority. Her hazel eyes, sharpened with kohl and framed with light makeup, gleamed with something new—power, perhaps, or defiance.
When she stepped out of her room, the maids froze. Their chatter rose in whispers.
"Is that really Miss Nari Hana?"
"She's… breathtaking. Look at those diamonds—when has she ever worn something like that before?"
Downstairs, even Assistant Ji nearly lost his balance, spilling hot coffee on the floor before fumbling an apology. "M-Miss Nari Hana… forgive me… you look… very different today." He rushed to open the car door for her, blinking as if she were a stranger.
Nari Hana merely tilted her head, lips curved with poise. "Different is good, Ji."
When the car rolled to a stop outside the company, she stepped out with an elegance that turned every gaze her way. Conversations faltered; employees whispered behind hands.
"Wow… is that really her?"
"She looks like a queen."
"Forget queen—she's hot!" one younger employee muttered, earning a sharp elbow from his colleague.
Inside, heads turned as she crossed the lobby. Even the steady rhythm of her heels sounded like a declaration.
From his office cabin, Seojin emerged with Yui beside him, her hand looped possessively around his. The moment his eyes found Nari Hana, his steps slowed. His usual calm fractured into something unguarded, raw—like a man seeing her for the first time.
Seojin's gaze lingered too long. And Yui noticed.
Tai rushed over, nearly squealing. "Nari Hana! You're… you're stunning today. Absolutely stunning!"
Nari Hana only offered a light smile, but her eyes flicked straight past Tai—landing first on Seojin, then sliding deliberately to Yui. Yui stiffened under the weight of that look.
"Miss Nari," Yui snapped, jealousy dripping from every syllable, "this is an office, not a fashion show. You should know better. Everyone here wears formal clothing, not—whatever that is. Don't forget, you're just an employee."
A hush fell over the space. Employees leaned closer, hungry for the drama.
Nari Hana's smile didn't falter. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Seojin, her voice calm but sharp enough to cut.
"Correction, Miss Yui," she said smoothly. "I'm not just an employee. I'm Mr. Seo's…"
The words hung heavy in the air, unfinished but enough to send shockwaves. Gasps rippled across the office; eyes widened, gossip brewed like wildfire.
Seojin's face darkened, torn between anger and something else entirely. Yui's grip on his hand faltered.
And Nari Hana? She only lifted her chin higher, her transformation complete—not the quiet, naive woman of yesterday, but someone dangerous, bold, and utterly unafraid.