The Ultimatum
The call came just after dawn, when Kwang was still tangled in sheets and scripts. His manager's voice crackled with tension.
"They've decided, Young Kwang. The producers don't like the… situation."
Kwang rubbed a hand over his face. "What situation?"
"Your marriage."
He sat up, blinking. "That's not a situation. That's a fact."
"They don't care," the manager snapped. "They want it erased. No public mention, no photographs, no wife. If you insist on keeping her visible, they'll cut you from the drama."
Kwang's laugh was short, sharp. "So my wife doesn't exist? That's your solution?"
"This isn't personal," the manager said, though his voice wavered. "They're worried about your marketability. Fans don't want a married man. They want a fantasy."
Kwang's jaw tightened. Marketability. Fantasy. Product. The words burned.
He hung up without another word.
For a long moment, he sat there in silence, the script sliding from his lap. Then he stood, pulled on a hoodie, and called his manager back.
"Book a press conference," he said flatly. "This afternoon. I'll handle it myself."
The Press Conference
The room pulsed with camera flashes. Reporters shouted over each other, microphones thrust forward.
Kwang walked to the podium, expression calm but eyes burning. He bowed slightly, then looked up.
"My name is Kang Young Kwang," he began. His voice carried steady, clear. "I am an actor. I've been an actor for over a decade. I've played doctors, lawyers, sons, villains. And I love my work. But acting is not my life. It is my job. Like being a doctor. Like being a teacher. Like being a driver. It is what I do. It is not who I am."
The room stilled.
"I am also a man. I eat, I sleep, I get tired, I laugh, I bleed. And yes—" he drew a breath, the words deliberate—"I am married."
The reporters erupted, questions flying, cameras flashing so hard it looked like lightning.
He raised a hand for silence. "Her name is Ashling Sullivan. She is my wife. I won't pretend otherwise to sell a fantasy. If that costs me this role, so be it. I would rather be human than a product."
With that, he bowed, stepped back from the podium, and left the stage.
Fallout
By evening, the headlines screamed:
KANG YOUNG KWANG CONFIRMS SECRET MARRIAGE
WHO IS ASHLING SULLIVAN?
ACTOR CUT FROM DRAMA, STUDIO SEVERS CONTRACT
His manager stormed into the condo, face red. "Do you realize what you've done?! Years of work—gone!"
Kwang lounged on the couch, flipping through a script. "Correction. Years of their control—gone."
"They'll blacklist you," the manager hissed.
"Then let them," Kwang said easily. "Better to be jobless than soulless."
The manager groaned, collapsing into a chair. "You're insane. Studios are already calling, though. Netflix, JTBC, even an indie director. They want to meet."
Kwang smirked. "Then we play hard to get. If they want me, they take me as I am."
His manager buried his face in his hands. "I need a vacation."
The Script That Changed Everything
A week later, a plain manila envelope arrived. Inside was a script with no glossy cover, no flashy casting notes. Just a title: The Glass Vein.
It was raw. Dark. Psychological. The lead character was a man unraveling from within, a role that demanded more than a pretty face.
Kwang read it in one sitting, his heart pounding.
He called his manager. "This one. I want this one."
His manager nearly wept with relief. "Finally! Why this?"
"Because it scares me," Kwang said simply. "Because it'll make me an actor again, not a puppet."
Ashling at HQ
While Kwang battled the industry, Ashling was stepping into a battlefield of her own.
On her first day as Director of Marketing & Finance at Hyundai HQ, she walked through the gleaming lobby with her chin high, heels clicking against marble. Whispers followed her.
"Isn't that Kang Young Kwang's wife?"
"She looks so cold…"
"Beautiful, but intimidating."
She ignored them. That was her shield.
In meetings, she was precise, clipped, all numbers and strategy. She dismantled sloppy reports with a flick of her pen. Her reputation as an "ice princess" spread fast.
But beneath the frost, moments slipped through.
One evening, she noticed interns still typing frantically at their desks. She returned an hour later with paper bags of kimbap and drinks. "Eat," she said simply. "No one works well hungry."
Another day, an analyst froze mid-presentation, fumbling slides. Ashling quietly leaned over, adjusted the projector, and whispered, "You've got this." The analyst finished strong, cheeks flushed with relief.
Once, she even knelt in the hallway to help a secretary gather spilled papers, smiling faintly. "Careful. Floors here eat documents for breakfast."
Word spread. The princess wasn't ice at all. She was steel—sharp, unyielding, but warm at the core.
Daily Rhythm
Every morning, Kwang drove her to HQ. Every evening, he waited at the curb, leaning against his car like a scene out of a drama.
Sometimes, he lingered inside her office. He'd sprawl on the sofa, flipping through her finance reports like scripts, humming nonsense while she worked.
"Stop distracting my team," she scolded once, catching her staff sneaking glances.
"I'm your moral support," he grinned.
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth softened.
At night, when they returned to his Seoul house with its wide garden and warm lights, Ashling would retreat to her room, claiming exhaustion. But more and more often, she found herself lingering in the kitchen while he reheated leftovers, trading small talk that somehow stretched into hours.
One evening, as they left HQ, the city glowing behind them, Kwang slipped his arm lightly around her shoulders. Not possessive. Just there.
"I may be jobless," he said with a grin, "but I've never been happier. For once, Ash, I'm not acting. I'm living."
Ashling glanced at him, her heart betraying her with its quick stutter.
She didn't say anything. But for the first time since the contract began, she let herself wonder what the next nine months might hold—if living could keep feeling this real.