The glass towers of Lee International sliced into the clouds like they owned the sky. Claire Yoo Areum stood at the foot of it, her reflection warped in the glossy facade. The air felt thinner here, heavy with the weight of money. It wasn't just a building. It was a fortress built for men like Evan Lee Hyunsik….untouchable, arrogant, and drowning in wealth that could buy and sell entire lives.
Claire's fingers tightened on her handbag strap as she stepped through the revolving doors. She had never been inside this place before, and she had no desire to be. Every inch screamed excess. White marble floors reflected the crystal light from chandeliers the size of small cars. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and something sharper…ambition, maybe.
A receptionist behind the sleek black counter looked up immediately. Her tone was practiced warmth. "Miss Yoo, welcome. Mr. Lee is expecting you."
Expecting her. As if she'd made this appointment herself.
Before she could reply, an assistant in a tailored black suit appeared at her side. "Miss Yoo, Mr. Lee will see you now."
Of course he would. She hadn't been given a choice. The summons had come with a car, a driver, and the kind of tone that didn't invite questions.
The assistant led her to a bank of elevators. The ride was silent, except for the hum of machinery lifting her higher and higher until the city was nothing but toy cars and ant-sized pedestrians. Claire's reflection in the mirrored panel showed a woman holding herself together with thin thread, black blouse, straight skirt, minimal makeup. She had dressed for defense, not display.
The doors opened directly into a private floor. It was quiet here, unnervingly so, the kind of quiet that felt deliberate, as though even sound needed permission.
His office stretched wider than her entire apartment, glass walls revealing a panoramic view of Seoul's skyline. The late-morning light spilled in, touching the edges of the black walnut desk and the pale leather chairs. He stood at the window, back to her, hands in his pockets. Even from behind, he was the definition of calculated control, broad shoulders beneath a black suit, posture precise, hair perfectly in place.
"Miss Yoo," his voice carried across the room without him turning. Smooth. Low. The kind of voice that could talk people into signing things they shouldn't. "Sit."
She crossed the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor, and took the seat opposite his desk. That desk was empty except for a single folder placed neatly in the center, like it had been waiting for her.
Evan finally turned. His face was sharper than she remembered from the news. Eyes dark enough to make her feel pinned in place, like he could read every thought she was trying to hide.
"I'll get to the point," he said, sitting down. "I want you to marry me."
Claire blinked. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, this was not one. "Excuse me?"
He slid the folder toward her. "A marriage contract. Terms, conditions, timeline. Everything is outlined. It will be mutually beneficial."
She didn't touch the folder. "You can't be serious."
"I don't waste time on jokes." His gaze didn't waver. "You hate men like me. That's why I chose you."
She almost laughed, but it came out as a scoff. "That's your selling point? You want to marry someone who despises you?"
"Precisely. You're not like the women I usually meet. No flattery. No schemes. No pretense." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And you can't be bought… at least, not easily."
Claire leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "If you think I'd marry a man like you, you're delusional."
"I think," he said slowly, "that you'll consider it when you realize what's at stake."
Something in his tone made her stomach tighten. "And what exactly is at stake?"
Evan's expression didn't change, but the air in the room felt heavier. "Your family's company. The one your father is trying to keep from bankruptcy. The one your ex conveniently pulled out of when he found someone… more ideal."
Her jaw clenched. He had done his homework. Too much of it.
"You'll have time to read the contract," he continued, as if her silence was agreement. "But the wedding would be quick. Quiet. For one year, and then we walk away. You'll get your company back. I'll get what I need."
"And what exactly do you need?"
His mouth curved…not a smile, but something colder. "A wife my enemies won't expect."
She stared at him. "You're insane."
"No. I'm strategic."
Her eyes flicked to the folder. A single sheet peeked out with neat lines of text and the faint gleam of an embossed seal. She didn't reach for it. Touching it felt like touching a trap.
Evan leaned back in his chair. "Think of it as a transaction. You keep your family from falling apart. I get an asset no one sees coming. It's cleaner than most business deals."
"And if I refuse?"
He tilted his head slightly, as though considering whether she was worth the truth. "Then you watch everything your father built crumble before the end of the year. Your choice."
Claire stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping lightly against the floor. "I'll think about it."
"You'll have until Friday," he said, his voice even. "After that, the offer disappears."
She walked toward the door, her heels steady despite the storm in her chest. But just before she stepped out, she froze.
Evan's voice carried after her…not to her, but to whoever was on the other end of his phone.
"Make sure her father doesn't sign anything until she agrees. I want her to believe she has no other choice."
Her hand tightened on the door handle. She didn't move. Her heart pounded in her throat.
In that moment, she knew two things for certain: Evan Lee Hyunsik was as dangerous as he was rich… and saying no to him was going to cost her more than she could imagine.
She left without a word, the click of the door closing behind her sounding far louder than it should have. The assistant outside glanced at her curiously, but Claire didn't stop. She didn't trust herself to speak.
By the time she stepped back into the elevator, her palms were damp. The city came back into view floor by floor, each passing level bringing the weight of his words down harder.
She told herself she would never agree. She told herself she could find another way. But deep down, a small, sharp voice whispered the truth. She was already running out of options.