The clock ticked louder than usual.
Ashling paced barefoot across the living room, the hem of her loose house dress brushing her calves. The glass walls looked out over the dark garden, Seoul's skyline glowing faintly in the distance.
On any other night, she might still be at Hyundai, buried in reports, running numbers until the city lights blurred. But not tonight. Tonight she was restless, circling the room like a caged bird, the phone always within reach on the coffee table.
Kwang was still out on set, shooting late. She hated being alone when her nerves coiled like this.
The phone rang.
She jumped, snatched it up. "Hello?"
"Good evening, may I speak with Mr. Kang Young Kwang and Mrs. Ashling?" The voice was bright, professional.
Ash frowned. "This is Ashling. What is this about?"
"We're calling on behalf of HeatMatch Global," the woman said. "According to our records, your marriage contract is reaching its twelve-month term. We'd like to confirm if you still wish to proceed with dissolution, or—"
Ashling's lips parted, irritation flashing. HeatMatch. That ridiculous contract. Before she could form a reply, her body betrayed her.
A sudden jolt ripped through her abdomen. She gasped, stumbling, and then warmth spread down her leg.
The phone nearly slipped from her hand.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" the voice asked, suddenly sharp.
Ash pressed her palm against the wall, breathing fast. A wild, incredulous laugh escaped her. "I don't know anything about your contract," she managed between breaths. "But my water just broke. Can I call you back?"
She dropped the phone onto the couch, heart racing, the absurdity of the moment crashing into reality.
Twelve months. A fake marriage. A contract that should have ended. And here she was, barefoot in her living room, on the brink of the truest beginning.