"I need a wife."
Those four words wouldn't stop echoing in Kang Hye-rin's mind. They looped over and over like a broken recording — not a plea, not affection, just a business decision disguised as speech. Cold, tidy, logical. Like she was a name on a contract, not a person.
She sat by her window, watching Seoul blur beneath the drizzle. Raindrops streaked the glass like silver threads, reflecting the city's endless lights. The noise of traffic below was distant, but inside her chest, everything felt too loud.
Her thoughts betrayed her, wandering back to that day in high school — the laughter, the letter in her trembling hands, and Lee Joon-hyuk's indifferent face as he tore through her courage without even trying. The humiliation she'd buried resurfaced like an old bruise.
Her phone buzzed.
Choi Min-jae: Coffee? My treat. You look like you need fresh air.
She hesitated only a second before typing back. Okay.
Min-jae had that rare quality — the ability to speak without making you feel small. No veiled judgment, no hidden strings. Just warmth that expected nothing in return.
At the café, the air smelled faintly of roasted beans and rain-soaked pavement. He slid into the seat across from her, his smile calm and grounding.
"You don't have to decide now," he said gently. "But don't let anyone make that decision for you. You're allowed to think about yourself too."
His voice carried no pity, just quiet understanding. She found herself telling him what everyone at LJ Group already whispered — about the board, the chairman, the pressure. About Joon-hyuk's proposal that felt more like an order than a choice.
When she finished, Min-jae handed her his business card. "If you ever want someone to read the fine print," he said, eyes warm, "call me. Or if you just need coffee again."
On the bus ride home, she turned the card over and over in her hand. It wasn't grand. It wasn't romantic. But it felt human.
Later that night, she opened the draft contract on her laptop. The clauses stared back at her — cold, unyielding. Her reflection hovered beside the words, older now, but still the same girl who once believed in confessions and cherry blossoms.
Only this time, love looked like a deal waiting to be signed.