I stood abruptly, anger burning through my fear."Why do you get to decide everything? My life, my choices, my future—why do you think you own me?"
His eyes locked on mine, intense and unyielding."Because now you wear my name. And I don't share what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sent shivers down my spine.
I hated him.I feared him.And yet, a small, terrifying part of me wondered—Was I strong enough to defy him?
I clenched my fists. "I'm not your property, Ji-hoon. I don't care about your name, your money, or your power. You can't cage me."
His gaze sharpened, the calm mask cracking just enough for me to see the storm underneath. "You think I want a cage? You think I wanted you in this? This is what your sister forced on us both."
"Don't put this on her!" I snapped. "You could have let it go. Called off the engagement. Walked away like a decent human being."
He laughed once—low, humorless. "Walk away? Do you have any idea how much is at stake? The contracts, the alliances, the investors waiting to see me fail?" He leaned forward. "I don't have the luxury of walking away, Ha-eun. And now neither do you."
My stomach twisted at his words. "So I'm just collateral damage?" I whispered.
"Collateral or not," he said softly, "you're mine now."
I swallowed, my heart hammering. "Say that again."
He held my stare. "You're. Mine."
I turned away quickly before he could see the tears threatening my eyes. "You're a tyrant," I muttered. "No wonder my sister ran."
His hand shot out, gripping my arm—not painfully this time, but firmly. "Don't talk about her," he warned, his voice lower now. "Not like that."
I yanked my arm back. "Why? Because the truth hurts?"
He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. "You should eat," he said finally, voice flat again. "You'll need your strength."
"I'm not hungry," I snapped.
"Then starve," he muttered, rising from his chair. "But don't collapse in my house and blame me."
He walked out, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.
I sat back down, my fingers trembling against the edge of the table. The food in front of me blurred. For a long time, I just stared at it, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
The audacity.The arrogance.The way he said you're mine as if it were some sort of sacred vow.
And yet, there had been a flicker—a crack in his armor—when I'd mentioned my sister. He'd gone rigid, like I'd struck a nerve.
Why?
Later That Afternoon
I found myself wandering the corridors of the mansion, needing to breathe, needing space. The walls were lined with portraits of his family—smiling faces, stern patriarchs, elegant women in silk. In every frame, perfection. Power. Legacy.
And me, somewhere in the middle of it now. Unwanted. Unchosen.
I stopped when I heard his voice from behind a half-open door. Low, sharp, speaking Korean too quickly for me to catch every word. But one phrase rang clear:
"Cover the scandal. No leaks."
I froze.
Another voice on the line—a man, deep and respectful. "And the girl, sir? Should we—"
"Handle it," Ji-hoon cut in. "No one touches her. She's under my name now."
A pause. Then: "Understood."
He hung up.
I stepped back, my heart pounding. No one touches her. Was that… protection? Or possession?
Confrontation
He came out of the study a moment later, adjusting his cufflinks. When he saw me standing there, he stopped.
"How much did you hear?" he asked quietly.
"Enough," I said. My voice was steadier than I felt. "Enough to know you're running damage control. Is that what I am to you? A PR problem?"
His jaw ticked. "You're my wife."
"That's not an answer."
His eyes darkened. "It's the only answer you get."
I took a step closer, my chin lifting. "You're not my savior, Ji-hoon. You're my jailer. Don't pretend this is anything else."
His lips curved—not in a smile, but in something colder. "If I were your jailer, Ha-eun, you wouldn't be walking these halls freely. Remember that."
I stared at him, searching his face for some hint of humanity, some crack I could pry open. "Why are you like this?" I asked softly. "Is this who you've always been, or is this just… me?"
For a heartbeat, his expression faltered. "It's not you," he said quietly. Then, more firmly: "Eat something."
And he walked away again.
Nightfall
By the time night fell, my mind was a storm. I sat on the edge of the vast bed, hugging my knees, staring at the city lights through the window. The room felt colder tonight.
I whispered into the empty room: "I'm not yours. Not really."
The door creaked open behind me. I turned. He stood there, leaning against the frame, his shirt undone at the collar.
"Talking to yourself already?" he asked.
I glared. "Get out."
He stepped in instead, shutting the door behind him. "We need to talk."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Then listen," he said. His voice wasn't sharp this time. It was quieter. "I know you hate me. I know you think I stole your life. But you're safer here than out there. If you'd seen what I've seen—"
"I don't care what you've seen," I cut in. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for you."
His eyes flashed. "And you think I asked for you?"
Silence fell like a blade between us.
Then he said, softer, almost to himself: "But here we are."
I swallowed hard. "I want my life back," I whispered.
He looked at me for a long moment. "So do I," he said finally, and left the room.
I sat frozen, his words echoing in my head.So do I.
For the first time, I saw him not as the monster who caged me, but as a man who might be trapped himself.
And that terrified me more than his anger ever could.