By the time Woo-jin burst into my apartment—whistling off-key and spinning his keys like he was auditioning for some slapstick comedy—I had already set the trap.
This is going to work. Last time the divorce failed but I got another plan. I know for sure this time it won't.
The papers sat on the coffee table, perfectly stacked, pen placed neatly on top.
He spotted them right away. "Ooh. Important documents? Don't tell me it's your will. Should I be flattered that I'm inheriting everything?"
"Sit," I ordered, pointing at the couch.
He cocked his head, lips twitching in amusement. "Bossy today, aren't we? Is this going to turn romantic or terrifying like last time?"
"Neither," I snapped. "Just sit."
To my shock, he obeyed—though he sprawled across the cushions like he was posing for a photoshoot, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Just what the hell does he think he is?. "Alright, husband. Enlighten me."
Husband? He is true but I hate that word coming from him.
I shoved the papers toward him. "A contract."
His eyes lit up. "Finally! A proper marriage contract? I knew you'd come around—"
"No." My voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "A survival contract. Your survival. Read it."
He arched a brow, intrigued, then picked it up. "Survival contract? You're spoiling me already."
"What the hell." I looked at him confused.
And with the exaggerated drama only an actor could muster, he began to read aloud.
"Clause One: No touching me without explicit verbal permission."
I crossed my arms. "Correct. No surprise hugs, no hand-grabbing, and definitely no—"
He gasped theatrically, cutting me off. "Explicit permission? Honeybear, I didn't know you were into roleplay contracts. Thanks for letting me know." He wink his eyes making me feel disgusted.
My face heated instantly. "That's not—!"
"Clause Two," he continued, milking every word, "No pet names, including but not limited to: honeybear, sweetheart, darling, baby, and sunshine." He clutched his chest like I'd shot him. "But those are the pillars of my devotion."
"Your devotion feels like harassment," I muttered.
He ignored me, reading on. "Clause Three: No showing up at my workplace, home, or any public place without prior notice or invitation." He looked up, eyes twinkling. "So you want me to… send you formal RSVP cards?"
"No just no. What universe are you living in?"
"Where my husband is devoted to me."
I wanted to fling the nearest pillow at his smug face.
"And Clause Four," he finished, trying not to laugh, "You will sleep on the couch until the divorce is finalized."
"Exactly," I said, satisfied. "Sign it, and we can finally live like civilized adults until this farce is over."
For once, he went quiet. He set the paper down, leaned back, and tapped his chin in mock contemplation.
Then, slowly, he smirked.
"Or," he said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, "we could use my contract instead."
I froze. "...You just carry contracts in your pocket?"
"Of course," Woo-jin said, unfolding the paper with the flair of a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. "A good husband is always prepared."
"You are not my husband—" I paused. "Yeah unfortuna-"
He cut me off, holding the sheet high like it was sacred scripture. "Clause One: Daily good morning kiss mandatory. No excuses, unless you're in a coma. And even then, I reserve the right to kiss you awake like Sleepy Beauty."
I lunged for the paper. He dodged easily, springing off the couch with all the grace of someone who had rehearsed this chase in his head a thousand times.
"Clause Two!" he announced, spinning just out of my reach. "Public acknowledgment of our love at least once a week. Bonus points if you call me handsome in front of witnesses."
"Are you insane?!" I shouted, chasing him around the coffee table. "Never mind you are insane."
"Clause Three," he continued, flipping the page with infuriating calm, "You're not allowed to ignore my calls or texts. Ever. Unless you're dead. In which case, I expect a ghostly voicemail."
I groaned, nearly tripping over the rug. "You're deranged!"
"Clause Four!" he bellowed, sprinting toward the kitchen counter, his laughter echoing off the walls. "Sharing a bed is non-negotiable. The couch has been banished from our holy matrimony."
"Give me that paper, Woo-jin!" I finally managed to corner him near the fridge.
But instead of looking panicked, he smirked. "Clause Five: In the event of attempted paper theft, husband A—meaning you—owes husband B—meaning me—one long, uninterrupted kiss as penalty."
I froze. "You made that up just now!"
"Incorrect," he said smugly, tapping the page. "It's written in bold. Would you like me to read the fine print?"
Before I could tackle him, he bolted again, holding the contract above his head like some cursed trophy.
"This is not a game!" I shouted, tearing after him.
"Marriage is the most serious game of all, honeybear!"
My blood pressure skyrocketed.
By the time I finally grabbed his wrist and wrestled the paper from him, I was panting like I'd run a marathon. He, of course, was grinning ear to ear, barely winded.
I stared down at the stupid document, ready to rip it into confetti.
But Woo-jin leaned in close, his voice suddenly softer, darker. "Ca
reful. Tear that up, and you might regret it."
I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching over the paper.
He put is back into his jacket.
"Anyway! Dinner?" he asked, way too casually.
I blinked at him, stunned. "You just threatened me with eternal ownership and now you want… noodles?"
"Exactly." He reached out, pinching my cheek. "My husband thinks best when he's fed."
I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Touching is clause number two," he said smugly.
"Clause number—?!" My voice cracked again.
He just chuckled, pulling a pen from his pocket. "Tell you what. If you really hate this contract, then prove it."
Suspicion prickled down my spine. "How?"
"By signing here." He flipped open the paper and thrust it under my nose, finger pointing at a neat little line at the bottom.
I narrowed my eyes. "Why would I—"
"Because this one," he interrupted smoothly, "is a disclaimer. You're rejecting the entire contract. Signing it means you're free. No loopholes. No games. Just freedom."
My chest tightened. Freedom. The word itself was a drug.
"...That easy?" I asked slowly.
He smiled sweetly. Too sweet. "That easy."
I snatched the pen before he could say anything else, scribbling my name so hard the paper nearly tore. "There. Done. Goodbye, forever."
Woo-jin's grin widened like a cat who'd just caught the fattest mouse alive. He folded the paper neatly, slipped it back into his jacket, and leaned down until his lips brushed my ear.
"Congratulations, husband," he whispered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "You just signed my version."
I froze. "...What?"
He tapped his pocket. "Clause one: daily good morning kiss. Clause two: you can't leave me. Clause three—well, you'll find out tonight."
My blood ran cold. "You tricked me?!"
"Correction." He smirked, eyes glinting with triumph. "I outsmarted you and you are a complete fool."
I lunged for his jacket, but he danced back, laughing like a maniac. "Too late! It's legally binding now. You're mine."
"Woo-jin!" I shouted, chasing him around the apartment as he waved the paper over his head like a victory flag.
"You can't undo fate, honeybear!" he yelled back, dodging the pillow I threw at him.
And that was how my brilliant plan to finally divorce him ended with me accidentally signing a contract that chained me to him even tighter than before.