A Contract Written in Silence

The pen felt heavier than it should have. Yuna stared at the blank line on the contract, her name printed neatly below it, waiting. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant noise of traffic outside the glass walls. Everything felt too still—like the world was holding its breath along with her. This is the present, she reminded herself. This moment. This decision. Yet her mind refused to stay here. Across the table, Jin Ho watched her. His gaze was intense—sharp, unreadable, unwavering. He hadn't spoken in the last five minutes. He didn't need to. The way his dark eyes stayed fixed on her hand, on the pen hovering just above the paper, said more than words ever could. Yuna swallowed. She could feel his presence like a weight pressing against her chest. Not threatening. Not comforting either. Just… inescapable. Yuna finally exhaled. The pen touched the paper. The sound of ink against the contract felt louder than it should have—final, irreversible. Her hand moved steadily, even though her chest felt tight, even though every instinct inside her screamed that once she signed, something would be lost forever. Yuna Han. Her name stared back at her. Done. She placed the pen down carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter what little control she had left. For a second, nothing happened. Then Jin Ho stood up. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he pushed it back. The sound made her flinch. She didn't look up immediately, but she could feel him moving—slow, deliberate—circling the table. Each step brought him closer. He stopped directly in front of her. Yuna raised her head. They stood barely a foot apart now, the glass walls of the office reflecting the tension between them. His face was calm, composed—but his eyes were something else entirely. Dark. Calculating. Almost satisfied. Jin Ho reached out, took the signed contract, and slid it neatly into his folder. Then he leaned in. Not close enough to touch her—but close enough that she could feel his presence, his breath, the power he carried so effortlessly. He tilted his head slightly, studying her face like she was a decision he'd already made long ago. A slow smile curved his lips. Not warm. Not kind. It was sharp. Controlled. Almost cruel. "Good choice," he said quietly. The words felt less like reassurance and more like a verdict. Before she could respond—before she could even process the chill that ran down her spine—he straightened, turned on his heel, and walked away. The office door closed behind him with a soft click. Only then did the room breathe again. And only then did the past come crashing in. How did I even end up here? The question echoed in Yuna's head the moment the office door closed behind Jin Ho. She remained seated, staring at the spot where he had stood just seconds ago. The glass walls. The polished table. The contract that had just rewritten her life. How did I get from there… to here? Her thoughts drifted backward, pulled by memory instead of logic. NEXT DAY The alarm rang at 5:30 a.m. Yuna groaned softly and rolled onto her side, staring at the cracked ceiling of her childhood bedroom. The paint had begun peeling years ago, but no one had ever bothered fixing it. There were always more important things—school fees, electricity bills, groceries. She pushed herself up anyway. As the eldest daughter, sleeping in was never an option. The house was already awake. The smell of overboiled tea filled the narrow kitchen, mixed with the faint sound of the television playing morning news no one was actually watching. "Yuna!" her mother's voice called. "Get up properly. You'll be late again." "I'm up," she replied, tying her hair into a low ponytail. She stepped into the kitchen just in time to see her younger brother snatch the last buttered toast from the plate. "Hey!" Yuna protested. "That was mine." He grinned, already chewing. "You can eat later. I have tuition." Their mother shot Yuna a sharp look. "Let it go. You're older. Adjust a little." Adjust. She always did. Yuna poured herself a cup of tea and drank it standing, the bitterness settling on her tongue. Her mother moved around the kitchen, tired but efficient, already planning the day aloud—expenses, neighbors, relatives who needed help. "Did you hear back from any job?" her mother asked casually, without looking at her. "Not yet," Yuna said. A sigh. Not angry. Just disappointed. "Keep trying," her mother added. "We're counting on you." Counting on you. The words followed Yuna as she slipped on her worn shoes and stepped out into the morning heat. The metro station was crowded, as always. Yuna stood pressed between strangers, her bag clutched tightly to her chest. She stared at her reflection in the glass—tired eyes, neutral expression, someone who looked like she belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. She had dreams once. Writing stories late at night. Imagining characters who escaped their lives. Believing that talent would somehow be enough. Reality had been less kind. The train screeched to a halt, jolting Yuna back into the present. She stepped onto the platform, the noise and crowd washing over her, but her mind was elsewhere—stuck on the same thoughts that had followed her for weeks. Another interview. Another chance. Another no. As she walked toward the building, past security and glass doors that reflected a version of herself she barely recognized, the voices returned. "You don't have enough experience." "We need someone who can handle pressure." "Passion is good, but it's not enough." She pushed them away and took a deep breath. Just try. One last time. The interview room was small and too bright. Three people sat across the table. A man in his forties flipping through her résumé. A woman with sharp eyes and a tablet. Another man, younger, already looking unconvinced. Yuna sat straight, hands folded tightly in her lap. "So," the woman began, "you're applying for the Assistant Director position." "Yes," Yuna replied. The older man looked up. "You've never worked on a set before." "No, sir," she said honestly. "But I've studied direction, screenplay structure, and production workflow. I've assisted in student projects and short films." The younger man leaned back. "That's not real industry experience." Yuna met his gaze. "Everyone in this industry had a first day." Silence. The woman tapped her pen. "Why should we choose you over someone with experience?" Yuna's throat tightened, but she spoke anyway. "Because I'll work harder," she said. "Because I pay attention. Because I don't see this as just a job." They exchanged brief looks. "What do you think an Assistant Director actually does?" the older man asked. She didn't hesitate. "Coordinates the shoot," she said. "Keeps the schedule on track. Manages communication between departments. Protects the director's vision while handling the chaos behind the scenes." The woman raised an eyebrow. "And you think you can handle that pressure?" Yuna nodded. "I've handled pressure my whole life. I just never got paid for it." For a moment—just a moment—she thought she had reached them. Then the younger man sighed. "You're clearly passionate," he said. "And talented." Her heart lifted. "But," he continued, "this role isn't for freshers." The word hit harder than she expected. "We need someone who can step in immediately," the woman added. "No learning curve." The older man closed her file. "We'll keep your résumé on record." Yuna forced a smile. "Of course." She stood, thanked them, and walked out with her back straight. Only when the elevator doors closed did her shoulders slump. Passion isn't enough, she thought bitterly. It never is. Another polite rejection, another forced smile, another walk back to the metro with her shoulders a little heavier than before. She is sitting on a bench outside, scrolling through her phone, calculating how long her savings would last. That was when the message arrived. The name on the screen made her chest tighten. Jin Ho Come to this address. We need to talk. No explanation. No context. Just a location—and a name she hadn't expected to see again. The park was unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon. Tall trees lined the walking path, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Somewhere nearby, children laughed, and an old couple sat on a bench feeding pigeons. It felt like a place untouched by urgency—by contracts, money, and consequences. Jin Ho stood near the railing that overlooked the lake, his back to Yuna when she arrived. "You chose a strange place to meet," she said, stopping a few steps behind him. He turned slowly. "Neutral ground," he replied. "No walls. No pressure." She almost smiled at the irony. "You said you wanted to talk," she said. "So talk." Jin Ho nodded once. "You don't need to work at any other company," he said calmly. "You can work with me." "With you," Yuna repeated. "Or for you?" He met her gaze. "Both." She crossed her arms. "I told you already—I want to do this myself. I want a job I earn." "You've been earning rejections," he said, not unkindly. "That won't change." "That's not true," she snapped. "I just need time." "Time costs money." She looked away, jaw tight. "I don't want shortcuts," she said quietly. Jin Ho studied her face. "Think again." She frowned. "About what?" "About your brother's fees," he said evenly. "About your mother pretending everything is fine." "About rent. Groceries. Bills." Her breath caught. Images flooded her mind—her brother asking for tuition money, her mother counting notes late at night, the unspoken weight she carried every day. Her fingers curled slowly at her sides. "I don't want charity," she whispered. "This isn't charity," Jin Ho replied. "It's work. Real work." Silence fell between them. The wind brushed past, carrying the smell of grass and water. Finally, Yuna exhaled shakily. "Fine," she said. "Okay." His eyes sharpened slightly. "You're sure?" She nodded, even though her chest felt heavy. "Yes." Jin Ho pulled out his phone and stepped aside. "Ms. Choi," he said calmly when the call connected. "Assign Yuna Han a position immediately." Yuna's eyes widened. "Director," he continued. "Film division. Effective today." She stared at him. "Yes," he added. "I'll send the details." He ended the call and turned back to her. He extended his hand. "Welcome to KSM Entertainment," he said. "Director Han." For a moment, she just looked at his hand. Then she took it. His grip was firm. Steady. "Thank you," she said softly. Something in her stomach twisted suddenly. A loud, unmistakable growl broke the moment. Yuna froze. Her face burned. "I—sorry." Jin Ho raised an eyebrow. Then, to her surprise, he smiled—just slightly. "Let's eat," he said. "I actually worked out today," she said quickly, embarrassed. "I can—" He didn't listen. Instead, he took her hand and gently—but firmly—pulled her along. "Hey—!" she protested. "Lunch first," he said. "Arguments later." He led her to a black car parked nearby, opened the door, and guided her inside before she could protest again. Then he slid into the driver's seat. "You're driving?" she asked, surprised. "Yes," he replied, starting the engine. The car pulled away smoothly, the park disappearing behind them. Yuna leaned back against the seat, heart racing—not from fear, but from the sudden realization that her life had just shifted direction. Completely. The restaurant was quieter than Yuna expected—and somehow that made it worse. The tables were spaced far apart, white cloths laid perfectly flat, cutlery aligned with careful precision. The waiter stood beside their table, tablet in hand, expression neutral but eyes already impatient. Yuna stared at the menu. Too many words. Too many unfamiliar names. Her fingers hovered over the page, then stopped. She flipped it once. Then again. The waiter shifted his weight. "I—" Yuna started, then stopped. "Just a minute." Jin Ho watched her without speaking. The waiter glanced at his watch. Her cheeks burned. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm just—" "I'll pay extra," Jin Ho said calmly, not even looking at the waiter. "Give her time." The waiter blinked, surprised. Then nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir." Yuna's embarrassment deepened. "I didn't mean to waste your time," she whispered, eyes still on the menu. Jin Ho leaned back slightly. "Order." She swallowed. "I don't know what to choose." "Then read," he said. "I can wait." The waiter's side-glance made her chest tighten. Finally, overwhelmed, she closed the menu and slid it toward Jin Ho. "You order," she said quickly. "Anything is fine." He didn't take it. "You should order," he said. "Don't worry." Her fingers tightened on the edge of the menu. She felt ungrateful. Awkward. Small. The waiter cleared his throat. Jin Ho looked up. "Bring the entire menu." Yuna coughed in shock. "No—no, that's not—" "Bring it," he repeated. "No, no," she said quickly, opening the menu again as if it might escape. "I'll choose. I will." She scanned the page desperately. Then she saw it. "Kimbap," she read softly, relief washing over her face. The waiter nodded immediately. "Good choice." She looked at Jin Ho, unsure. "That's okay?" "For me too," he said. The waiter smiled, finally relaxed. "Yes, sir." Soon the food arrived—neatly plated kimbap, side dishes arranged carefully, soup placed between them. Yuna stared at the fork and knife. She picked them up, awkward, clumsy. The kimbap slipped slightly. Jin Ho noticed. "Chopsticks," he said to the waiter. The waiter hesitated. Then nodded and returned with them. Jin Ho picked them up and started eating naturally, deliberately—slow, unbothered. People at nearby tables glanced over. Yuna followed his lead, lifting her chopsticks, hands trembling slightly. "It won't fill your stomach if you just stare," he said calmly. "Eat." She did. The warmth of the food settled something in her chest. She felt… oddly grateful. And strangely sad. "You'll come to my home," Jin Ho said suddenly. She looked up too fast. "Okay." He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. "So," he said casually, "you want to come to my home that badly?" Her breath caught. "That's not—" she stopped, realizing. "No. That's not what I meant." He studied her face. "I'm just fulfilling the contract," she said quickly. "For one year. I'll be with you because that's what we agreed. Nothing else." No romance. No misunderstanding. "We shouldn't fall in love," she added quietly. "This is just an agreement." He nodded once. "Good." No smile. No reaction. He picked up his chopsticks again and continued eating. She followed. They finished in silence. When the bill arrived at the end, Jin Ho took it without looking at the amount and placed his card on the tray. Yuna watched the movement. Another line crossed. Another step she couldn't undo. The car slowed as it turned into Yuna's neighborhood. The buildings here were older, closer together, paint faded by time and weather. Streetlights flickered on one by one as evening settled in. Jin Ho didn't comment. He didn't look around with curiosity or judgment. He simply drove. Yuna watched the familiar streets pass by through the window. This place felt smaller now. The car came to a smooth stop in front of her house. Jin Ho switched off the engine. "You'll come to the office tomorrow," he said. "Nine a.m." She nodded. "I will." He glanced at her once. "Be on time." "I will." No goodbye. No unnecessary words. She opened the door, stepped out, and stood on the pavement. The car pulled away almost immediately, disappearing at the corner like it had never been there at all. Yuna remained still for a moment, listening to the fading sound of the engine. Then she turned toward home. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open. "I'm back," she called. Her mother was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. She turned, surprised. "You're home early today," her mother said. "How was the interview?" Yuna didn't answer immediately. She took off her shoes, stepped inside fully—and then, unable to hold it in anymore, she smiled. A real smile. "I got the job," she said. Her mother froze. "What?" "I got it," Yuna repeated, her voice shaking now. "I really got it." Her brother, who had been lying on the floor scrolling through his phone, shot up instantly. "You got selected?" he shouted. "Yes." He screamed. Actually screamed. He jumped onto the sofa, bouncing like he'd won a championship. "She got the job! She got the job!" he yelled, pumping his fists in the air. "Stop shouting!" their mother scolded automatically—but her eyes were already shining. "What job?" she asked, walking closer. "Where?" Yuna swallowed. "KSM Entertainment," she said carefully. "Film division." Her mother's eyes widened. "That big company?" Yuna nodded. "Yes." Her brother jumped off the sofa and hugged her tightly. "I knew it! I knew you'd do it!" Their mother covered her mouth for a moment, overwhelmed. "Thank God," she whispered. Her mother wiped her hands on her apron, smiling through tired eyes. "I'll prepare your favorite dinner " she said softly. "I am already full today." Yuna shook her head quickly and stepped forward, hugging her mother tightly. Her mother froze for a second—then hugged her back, holding on a little longer than usual, as if afraid the moment might slip away. Yuna pulled back before her emotions could spill over. "I'm going to rest," she said. Upstairs, she changed into her night suit, the familiar cotton fabric grounding her. The house was quiet now. Too quiet. Her mother and brother had already fallen asleep, their breathing steady, peaceful. But Yuna couldn't sleep. Not tonight. She slipped on her slippers and stepped outside. The street was dimly lit, the air cooler than before. Shops were closed, shutters pulled down, the world slowed to a near standstill. She walked without direction, hands tucked into her sleeves, letting the silence wrap around her. For once, no one needed anything from her. Suddenly— thud. She bumped into someone. "Oh—sorry," the man muttered quickly, already walking past her without another glance. "It's okay," she said, though he was already gone. Yuna stood there for a moment, then continued walking until she reached a small park nearby. She sat down on a cold metal bench, exhaling slowly. The city lights flickered in the distance. Her life… was finally looking up. Not perfect. Not easy. But different. She leaned back, staring at the dark sky. I forgot how to be happy, she thought. I was so busy surviving. A small smile touched her lips. Maybe this wasn't happiness yet. Maybe it wasn't excitement or dreams coming true. But it was peace. And for the first time in a long time— That felt enough. The next morning— Yuna's eyes flew open. 8:30 a.m. Her heart stopped. "What—?!" She jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket, grabbing the first clothes she could find. No breakfast. No tea. No thinking. She ran. The metro was crowded, her breath uneven as she squeezed inside, checking the time again and again. I'm late. I'm late on my first day. She reached the office building, rushed through security, and slipped into the elevator just as the doors began to close. Ding. She exhaled. Then— The doors opened again. A tall figure stepped inside. The air changed instantly. Jin Ho. The CEO. He stood beside her, perfectly composed, eyes forward. No greeting. No glance. Just his presence—cold, controlled, overwhelming. Yuna stiffened, staring straight ahead. Whatever, she told herself. I'll survive. The elevator stopped. He stepped out first. Didn't look back. Didn't say a word. The doors closed. Only then did she breathe. Moments later, she was seated at her desk. No— Not a desk. A glass cabin. Her name was engraved neatly on the door. Director Yuna Han Her eyes widened. A team stood in front of her—writers, assistants, production staff—waiting. "This is your team, ma'am," someone said. "Your task is to write the story and direct the project." Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. This is real, she thought. "Before we begin," she said, her voice steady, "I want to know everyone properly." One by one, they introduced themselves. Names. Roles. Years of experience. Nervous smiles. Curious eyes. Yuna listened carefully, nodding, memorizing—not just their titles, but their presence. When the last person finished, she exhaled softly. "I know this is unexpected," she said honestly. "And I know some of you might be wondering why I'm here." No one spoke. "But I don't want to work above you," she continued. "I want to work with you." Something shifted in the room. She picked up the file resting on the table—a neatly bound script. "This is my story," Yuna said, holding it out. "Not final. Not perfect." She placed copies in front of them. "I need your honest review," she said. "Tell me what works. Tell me what doesn't. Argue with me if you have to." A few surprised glances were exchanged. "I don't believe good work comes from one person alone," she added. "If we're doing this, we do it together." She paused, then allowed herself a small, sincere smile. "Read it," she said. "If you like it—if you believe in it—then we'll take it to the CEO." Silence. Then— A woman from the writing team flipped open the first page. Another followed. Chairs shifted. Pages turned. Yuna waited. Hands folded. Heart steady. "This isn't just my project," she said quietly. "It's ours—if you want it to be." She bowed her head slightly. "Let's do our best." No applause. No loud reactions. But something far more important filled the room— Respect. And for the first time, Yuna felt it. Two hours later. The glass cabin door opened. Yuna looked up instantly. Her entire team walked in together, each of them holding the same file—the script—now filled with sticky notes, folded pages, and penciled marks. They placed the files carefully on the table in front of her. Her heart tightened. She stood up slowly. "Did you… not like it?" No one answered. They exchanged glances with one another—silent, unreadable. The seconds stretched. Then— One by one, they lifted their hands. A simple gesture. Thumbs up. Smiles followed. Relief hit her so suddenly that she had to grip the edge of the table to steady herself. "You scared me," she breathed out softly. A writer chuckled. "We were deciding how to say it." Another added, "It's raw. Emotional. And very honest." A woman from the team nodded. "It needs polishing—but the core is strong." Yuna swallowed, her eyes shining. "So… you're willing to work on it?" "We already are," someone said. "And we think this should go to the CEO." Her chest filled with something warm. "Okay," Yuna said after a moment. "Let's go together." The executive floor was quieter than the rest of the building. Jin Ho stood near the window when they entered, hands in his pockets, the city stretching endlessly behind him. He turned slowly. His eyes went straight to Yuna. "You've decided," he said. Yuna stepped forward and placed the script on the table. "Yes," she replied. "We have." He glanced at her team. "All of you agree?" They nodded. Jin Ho picked up the script, flipping through the pages without hurry. Silence filled the room again—thick, deliberate. Then he closed the file. "This will work," he said. Yuna's breath caught. "But," he added, looking directly at her now, "only if you're ready to finish it properly." "I am," she said without hesitation. He stepped closer—not to intimidate, but close enough that only she could hear. "Then don't waste time," he said quietly. "Finish the drama." The words brushed her ear like a challenge. Someone from the team laughed softly, breaking the tension. Yuna straightened immediately, professional again. She bowed. "Thank you, sir." Jin Ho nodded once. "Get to work." She turned and left with her team. As soon as the door closed behind them, quiet laughter erupted—relieved, excited, energized. Yuna smiled faintly, then raised her hand. "Alright," she said. "We need to work." They nodded, instantly focused again. Back in her room, Yuna sat at her desk, the script open in front of her. He agreed, she thought. Now comes the harder part. She looked up. "Since the story is approved, we need to think about casting." Her assistant stepped forward. "Supporting roles won't be difficult. But for the main leads—we have to choose perfectly." Yuna leaned back, thoughtful. "Yes," she said quietly. "They'll carry the entire story." She looked at her assistant. "Bring me the records." "Records?" the assistant asked. "Previous-year performance reports," Yuna said. "Actors and actresses currently under contract with KSM Entertainment." The assistant nodded immediately. "I'll bring them right away." As the door closed, Yuna stared at the script again. This was no longer just a dream. It was happening. And she intended to do it right. The tablet vibrated softly in Yuna's hands as she scrolled through the actor profiles. Headshots. Filmographies. Awards. Public images carefully curated to perfection. Most of them blurred together—handsome faces, practiced smiles, predictable reputations. She exhaled quietly. Why does none of this feel right? A sudden ripple of noise cut through the floor. Laughter. Excited whispers. Then—gasps. Yuna looked up instinctively. The hallway outside her glass cabin was no longer calm. Staff members who had been walking with purpose had slowed, some stopping entirely. Phones appeared in hands. Assistants nudged one another. And the women— Especially the women— Straightened their posture, fixed their hair, smiles blooming like reflex. "Is that—?" "No way…" "He's here today?" "Oh my god." Yuna frowned slightly and stood, moving toward the glass wall. Then she saw him. He walked through the corridor with unhurried confidence, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his long coat. Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline. His presence didn't demand attention— It commanded it. The noise didn't come from him. It came from the world reacting to him. Every step he took seemed to bend the atmosphere around him. Conversations hushed as he passed. Heads turned. Eyes followed. Admiration, curiosity, awe—written openly on every face. Yuna felt something still inside her. Not excitement. Recognition. Her gaze dropped instinctively to the tablet still in her hand. She scrolled once. Then stopped. Her breath caught. The photograph on the screen stared back at her. Same eyes. Same posture. Same unmistakable presence. She looked up again—back at the man walking past her cabin. Then back at the screen. Actor Profile Name: Kang Jae-min Age: 29 Contract: KSM Entertainment Titles: "Nation's First Love" (former), "Box Office King," "Critically Acclaimed Performer" Reputation: Cold. Professional. Selective. Known for: Intense screen presence, emotional restraint, method acting Weakness: Rarely accepts romance scripts Her fingers tightened around the tablet. So it's him. As if on cue, her assistant rushed in, breathless. "Director Han," she whispered urgently, eyes shining. "That's Kang Jae-min." Yuna didn't look away from the glass. "I know." The assistant leaned closer, voice dropping further. "He returned from overseas yesterday. Everyone thought he wouldn't take another project this year." "He's… extremely popular," the assistant continued. "Especially among female fans. But he's very private. No scandals. No dating news in years." The hallway slowly returned to normal as Kang Jae-min disappeared behind the executive office doors. Inside Jin Ho's office, the air was quiet—familiar, controlled. Jin Ho stood near the window, reviewing something on his tablet when the door opened. He didn't turn immediately. He didn't need to. "Hyung." The single word was enough. Jin Ho looked up. For a brief second—just one—the cold CEO mask slipped. Then Kang Jae-min walked in fully, shutting the door behind him. They stared at each other. Two men who ruled entirely different worlds. One built empires. The other commanded hearts. And yet— Nothing about this moment was formal. Jin Ho stepped forward first. Jae-min followed. They met in the middle of the room and pulled each other into a tight hug—strong, unspoken, full of history. Not polite. Not restrained. Real. Jin Ho's hand pressed briefly against Jae-min's back. "You're late," he said quietly. Jae-min scoffed against his shoulder. "You always say that." They pulled apart. Jin Ho studied him—healthier than before, calmer, but still carrying the same sharp intensity. "You look better," Jin Ho said. "Because I stopped running," Jae-min replied. Then, with a faint smirk, "And because you finally stopped chasing me." Jin Ho exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. Outside the glass cabin, Yuna's assistant stood frozen, watching the interaction through the transparent walls—eyes wide. She leaned toward Yuna, whispering urgently. "They're… close." Yuna glanced up. "How close?" The assistant swallowed. "Best friends. Since they were ten years old." Yuna stilled. Ten. That explained everything—the trust, the access, the way Kang Jae-min walked into the CEO's office like it was his own home. Back inside— Jae-min dropped onto the sofa, stretching his arms lazily. "So," he said, glancing around, "you finally decided to work again instead of hiding behind meetings?" Jin Ho raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who disappeared overseas." "I needed air." "You always do." Silence settled—not awkward, just familiar. Then Jae-min looked at him properly. "Let's have a small get-together," he said suddenly. "Just us. Our friends." Jin Ho didn't answer immediately. He turned back toward the window, the city reflecting faintly in the glass. "How long has it been?" Jae-min added. "Since we all sat together without scripts, cameras, or contracts between us?" Jin Ho's jaw tightened slightly. Then he nodded once. "Fine," he said. "We'll do it." Jae-min smiled—not the public smile, not the practiced one. The real one. "Good," he said. "I'll arrange it." As Jae-min stood to leave, his gaze briefly shifted—toward the glass cabin across the hall. Toward Yuna. Their eyes met. Just for a second. Recognition flickered. Interest. Something unreadable. Then he turned away, slipping his hands into his coat pockets as he exited. Inside her cabin, Yuna exhaled slowly. She didn't know why—but she felt it. This wasn't just casting. This was the beginning of something far more complicated. And far more dangerous. Yuna's phone vibrated softly on the desk. She glanced at the screen. Mi-rae Hello. Come to this place. If you don't— I will kill you. Her blood ran cold. The message included a location. Her fingers tightened around the phone. This isn't a joke. She forced her face to stay calm as her assistant approached. "Director Han, should I—" "I have to step out," Yuna said quickly, already standing. "Something urgent. I'll be back soon." The assistant hesitated. "Is everything okay?" "Yes," Yuna lied smoothly. "Just personal." She grabbed her bag and left the office without looking back. THAT NIGHT The restaurant lights glowed warm against the dark street. It was quiet—almost too quiet for a Friday night. Yuna stepped inside cautiously. Then she saw her. Sitting at the corner table. Black jacket. Hair tied back. Arms crossed like she'd been waiting forever. Her best friend. Yuna stopped walking. "You really came," the woman said, lifting her eyes. Yuna let out a shaky breath. "So this is how you call me now?" Her friend leaned back. "Sit." Yuna sat—but didn't relax. Silence stretched between them. Then Yuna laughed bitterly. "Have you forgotten I exist? Or do you only remember me when you feel like threatening murder?" Her friend scoffed. "You're dramatic." "You literally threatened to kill me." "I knew that was the only way you'd come," she said flatly. "You've been avoiding me for months." Yuna's jaw tightened. "I was busy surviving." "Oh please," her friend snapped. "You vanished. No calls. No replies. And suddenly—" she gestured vaguely, "—you're a director at KSM Entertainment?" Yuna looked away. "Life happened." Her friend leaned forward, eyes sharp but wounded. "No. You happened. You decided I wasn't part of your life anymore." "That's not true." "Then where were you," she asked quietly, "when I needed you?" The question hit harder than the threat ever could. Yuna swallowed. "I was drowning," she admitted. "And I didn't want to pull you down with me." Her friend's expression cracked—just a little. "You don't get to decide that for me," she said softly. "I was your best friend. Not a burden." The waiter came by. Neither of them ordered. Yuna finally looked at her properly. "You scared me," she said. "I thought something terrible had happened." "It did," her friend replied. "You left." Silence again. Then Yuna sighed, exhausted. "I didn't forget you. I just… didn't know how to face you when I had nothing to show for my life." Her friend laughed quietly. "Idiot. I never cared about what you became." She paused. "I cared about whether you were okay." Yuna's eyes burned. "I'm trying," she whispered. "For the first time… I really am." Her friend studied her face for a long moment. Then she pushed a glass of water toward her. "Drink. You look like you haven't eaten properly in weeks." Yuna gave a weak smile. "Still bossy." "Always," she said. Then, more gently, "Don't disappear again." Yuna nodded. "I won't." Outside, the night hummed quietly. And for the first time since that threatening message— Yuna felt safe. Yuna lifted her glass slowly. The restaurant lights shimmered in the liquid, turning it gold for a moment before it settled again. Yuna lifted her glass slowly. The restaurant lights shimmered in the liquid, turning it gold for a moment before it settled again. Yuna took a sip, the warmth sliding down her throat, loosening something she hadn't realized had been clenched inside her for months. Across from her, her friend leaned back in her chair, studying her openly now—no anger left, only familiarity. Some friendships didn't need constant presence. They only needed honesty. Across the city, the night pressed gently against the tall glass windows of the private club. Muted music pulsed beneath the conversation—not loud enough to intrude, but steady enough to remind everyone that life was moving beyond this table. Soft lights spilled across polished wood and leather seats, catching the edges of glasses and familiar faces. Jin Ho sat with his back straight, one arm resting loosely on the table. The city lights reflected faintly in the dark liquid of his untouched glass. Around them, their friends had gathered—men and women who had known each other since university days, since before fame and power had reshaped their lives. Laughter drifted from one end of the table as someone complained about traffic, another teasingly arguing over music choices. It was easy. Unforced. Kang Jae-min picked up his glass first. "To being back," he said casually, lifting it slightly. "And not running this time." A few brows lifted. Someone scoffed. "About time," one of them muttered. Jin Ho raised his glass without smiling. "To you staying." Their glasses met. The sound echoed softly, blending into the low hum of the club. Jae-min took a drink, then leaned back, stretching his legs out comfortably, like this place—like Jin Ho—was familiar territory. "It's strange," he said after a moment, eyes drifting around the table. "How nothing really changes. Same city. Same faces." His gaze settled briefly on Jin Ho. "Same you." Jin Ho took a slow sip. "You're different." Jae-min smiled faintly. "Because I stopped pretending I didn't care." A woman seated nearby snorted. "You've always cared. You were just bad at admitting it." Another friend chuckled. "Bad? He was terrible." Jae-min lifted both hands in surrender. "I was young." "You're still young," someone shot back. Laughter rippled through the group. Jin Ho didn't respond—but he didn't deny it either. His eyes lingered on Jae-min just a second longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them. One of the friends leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "So," he said, "who dragged the great Kang Jae-min back into the country?" Jae-min smirked. "I came on my own." "Liar." Their attention shifted—subtly, instinctively—back to Jin Ho. Jin Ho set his glass down with a soft click. "He made his own choice." "Mm," the woman hummed. "That's not what it looked like when you two hugged like you were reuniting after a war." Jae-min laughed quietly. "We survived worse." The music shifted, deeper now. The table grew momentarily quieter—not awkward, just reflective. "Stay this time," one of them said softly. "All of us are tired of goodbyes." Jae-min's smile faded into something real. "I will," he said. "I'm done running." Jin Ho met his gaze, steady and unreadable. "Good," he said. Around them, the club continued to breathe—glasses clinking, voices rising and falling, lights dimming and brightening in slow rhythm. Old friendships settled back into place. And beneath the laughter and music— Something long unfinished finally began to heal.Jin Ho returned to his apartment long after the city had fallen quiet. The moment he shut the door behind him, the weight he carried all day finally settled into his shoulders. He loosened his tie, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and walked straight into the bathroom. The shower started with a sharp hiss. Hot water poured over him, sliding down his back, washing away the noise, the meetings, the faces—but not the thoughts. He stood there longer than necessary, eyes closed, hands braced against the tiled wall, letting the steam blur everything except the ache sitting deep in his chest. When he finally stepped out, he changed into a simple black night suit. The apartment was silent. Too silent. He lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, hoping sleep would come quickly. It didn't. Instead— Darkness shifted. The sound of screeching tires tore through his mind. Headlights. Shattered glass. A sudden, violent impact. "Mom—!" His younger self sat trapped in the back seat, hands shaking, tears blurring his vision. Blood. Smoke. The twisted metal of the car. His father's voice—cut short. His mother's hand—slipping from his grasp. "DAD—!" The world collapsed in on itself. Jin Ho jolted awake. His chest heaved as he sucked in air, gasping, disoriented. Sweat clung to his skin. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Safe. Alive. Alone. He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and drank it in long gulps, his hand trembling slightly. The clock glowed faintly in the darkness. 3:17 a.m. Sleep didn't return. Across the city— The taxi slowed in front of a quiet apartment building. Mi-rae paid quickly and stepped out first, holding the door open as Yuna stumbled beside her, exhausted beyond words. "Careful," Mi-rae murmured, looping Yuna's arm over her shoulder. Yuna barely responded, her eyes half-closed, her body heavy with a tiredness that reached her bones. Mi-rae unlocked the door and guided her inside, switching on a soft lamp. "Oh God," she whispered, easing Yuna onto the bed. "You're completely drained." Yuna inhaled sharply, like she'd been holding her breath all day—and finally let it go. Mi-rae pulled the blanket over her carefully, brushing a strand of hair away from Yuna's face. "Sleep," she said gently. "I've got you." Yuna's breathing slowed. Within moments, she drifted into sleep—deep, unguarded, the kind that came only when the body had nothing left to give. Mi-rae watched her for a while, then turned off the light. The room fell quiet. Two people. Two different places. The same night. And neither of them truly at rest. NEXT MORNING The first rays of sunlight barely touched the city skyline when Jin Ho's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—an unfamiliar number. "Grandmother," he muttered, his voice tight. A moment later, his expression hardened. "Understood," he said curtly, ending the call. Yuna's phone rang just as she stepped out of her apartment. It was Jin Ho. "Come to the mansion. Now," he said, voice calm but commanding. "I—what happened?" she asked, already sensing urgency. "Just come," he replied. "It's important." Moments later, Yuna stood in front of the massive gates of Jin Ho's mansion, heart racing. The security guards barely flinched as she passed; the sheer scale of the estate made her feel small, almost insignificant. Jin Ho was waiting at the entrance, impeccably dressed, his expression unreadable. "Good morning," Yuna said cautiously, trying to hide her curiosity. He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the grand driveway, where the early morning light glinted off the polished marble. They walked in silence, each step echoing. Finally, Yuna couldn't hold it in. "What's going on?" Jin Ho stopped, turning to face her fully. His dark eyes held a rare, flickering tension. "Grandmother wants me to get married. As soon as possible." Yuna blinked. "What? Today?" "Exactly. That's why I brought you here," he said, voice flat. "You need to make sure she doesn't ask me any more questions about marriage. Understand?" Yuna opened her mouth, unsure what to say. "Wait—you want me to…?" "Yes," he interrupted, firm. "I need your help. Just stay composed. Play your part." She looked at him, startled and unsure, but the seriousness in his eyes left no room for argument. "Okay," she said finally, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts inside her. "I'll do it." Jin Ho nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Follow me." As they walked toward the mansion, Yuna couldn't help but notice the sheer grandeur surrounding her—the manicured gardens, towering pillars, and the hum of quiet servants moving with precision. And yet, all she could focus on was the man beside her and the strange, impossible task she had just agreed to. This wasn't a film set. This wasn't a rehearsal. And somehow, she knew—it was about to get far more complicated. INSIDE THE MANSION The doors swung open before Jin Ho could announce himself. "JIN HO—!" A small but powerful force came rushing toward them. Before Jin Ho could react, his grandmother pushed him aside with surprising strength. "Move," she snapped. Yuna barely had time to blink before— She was pulled into a tight hug. "Ahhh," Grandmother sighed dramatically, patting Yuna's back. "Finally. A human being." Yuna froze. Her arms hovered awkwardly in the air before slowly wrapping around the older woman. "G-Good morning, ma'am," Yuna managed. Jin Ho stared. Absolutely stunned. "Grandmother—" "Silence," she said without looking at him. "You've had years to talk." She pulled back and held Yuna at arm's length, examining her face closely. "Pretty," she said. Yuna blinked. "Thank you…" Grandmother nodded once, satisfied. Then she turned sharply to Jin Ho. "You," she said, pointing her cane at him, "have been avoiding marriage like it's a disease." "Grandmother—" She ignored him completely. Instead, she grabbed both Yuna's and Jin Ho's hands at once. Before either of them could protest, she dragged them down the hallway. "Ma'am—!" Yuna gasped. Jin Ho didn't even try to stop her. He knew better. A door opened. They were pushed inside. The door slammed shut. Click. Locked. Yuna jumped. "Did she just—" "Yes," Jin Ho said calmly. "She did." Outside the door— "Spend time together!" Grandmother shouted. "Talk! Fight! Fall in love—I don't care!" Yuna's face turned red. "WHAT?!" "And be ready in one hour," Grandmother continued cheerfully, "We have a family get-together today." Her footsteps faded. Silence. Yuna slowly turned to Jin Ho. "This is not part of any contract," she muttered. Jin Ho glanced around the room—spacious, warm, sunlight pouring in through tall windows. "Consider it," he said calmly, "an emergency clause." She peeked at him through her fingers. "And what exactly are we supposed to do in one hour?" He paused. Then—very slightly— Smiled. "Convince my family we're real." Yuna dropped her hands. "…We are going to die." Outside the locked door, Jin Ho's grandmother smiled to herself. "Finally," she muttered. "Some progress."The silence that followed felt heavier than the locked door itself. Yuna stood near the window, arms crossed, staring anywhere but at Jin Ho. Sunlight spilled across the polished wooden floor, warm and deceptive—like this was a normal morning and not the strangest situation of her life. Jin Ho loosened his cufflinks slowly. "You can sit," he said calmly. "Grandmother locked us in, not arrested us." She shot him a look. "You're enjoying this too much." A corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm surviving it." He turned and walked toward the adjoining bathroom, stopping at the doorway. "I'll take a quick shower," he added, matter-of-fact. "We'll need to look convincing." Yuna blinked. "You're—now?" "Yes." Before she could respond, he stepped inside and closed the door. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the room. Yuna exhaled sharply and dropped onto the edge of the sofa, pressing her palms to her face. Get a grip, Yuna Han. Steam slowly fogged the glass panel of the bathroom door. The sound of water hitting tile echoed softly, steady and unhurried. Jin Ho, meanwhile, stood beneath the spray, eyes closed, letting the heat wash over him. But his thoughts were anything but calm. Her presence—so close, so unexpected—had unsettled something he'd kept locked away for years. This was supposed to be simple. Controlled. Temporary. And yet— He turned the water off and reached for a towel, wrapping it around his shoulders. The mirror reflected a man composed on the surface, but his eyes told another story—alert, calculating, restless. He dressed quickly: a crisp white shirt, dark trousers, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. When he stepped out, the room smelled faintly of soap and warmth. Yuna looked up instinctively. And froze. He wasn't trying to impress her. That was the most dangerous part. Hair still slightly damp. Shirt fitted effortlessly. Calm confidence radiating from him like a quiet storm. "You're staring," he noted. "I'm not," she said instantly—then realized she absolutely was. She stood up too quickly. "I should—get ready too." "There's an attached room," he said, pointing. "Use it." She nodded and rushed inside, closing the door a bit harder than necessary. Inside, Yuna leaned against the door, heart pounding. This is ridiculous, she thought. Why am I nervous? She washed her face, changed into a simple, elegant dress one of the staff had prepared—nothing extravagant, but refined. When she stepped out, Jin Ho was buttoning his cuff, posture relaxed. His gaze lifted. And paused. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "You look… Great," he said after a beat. She raised an eyebrow. "That's the best compliment you've got?" he replied. "Yes." She laughed despite herself. For a brief second, the tension softened—just enough to feel dangerous. The grand dining hall was already alive when they entered. Long table. Crystal chandeliers. The low murmur of voices carrying history, wealth, and authority. Conversations stopped the moment they walked in. Jin Ho's grandmother beamed like she'd just won a war. "Ah! There you are," she announced loudly. "Everyone—look properly." Yuna felt dozens of eyes land on her at once. Evaluation. Judgment. Curiosity. Jin Ho did something unexpected then. He placed his hand lightly at the small of her back. Not possessive. Not performative. Just… steady. Her breath caught. "This is Yuna," he said calmly. "The Women I got married to." Gasps rippled through the room. Aunties whispered. Uncles leaned back. Cousins stared openly. "And this," Grandmother added proudly, "is the first sensible decision he's made in years." Yuna bowed politely. "It's an honor to meet you all." A tall man with sharp eyes spoke first. "What does your family do?" Yuna answered honestly. "My mother runs a small tailoring business. My brother is a student." No shame. No apology. Jin Ho glanced at her—not surprised, but attentive. Grandmother waved her cane lightly. "Enough interrogation. Sit. Eat." They took their seats. Dinner progressed politely at first—too politely. Questions came layered with intent. How they met. How long they'd known each other. Why now. Jin Ho answered most of them, smoothly redirecting when needed. Yuna followed his lead, calm on the surface, alert underneath. Then— A senior uncle cleared his throat. "Yuna," he said slowly. "Tell us about your father?" . "My father's name," she said slowly, "was Han Jae-seok." The air shifted. Yuna hesitated—just a fraction. "My father passed away," she said carefully. Silence. The effect was instant. Chairs scraped back. Aunties gasped. Someone actually stood up. "What did you say?" a man shouted. Grandmother froze. Jin Ho turned fully toward Yuna. The uncle slammed his palm on the table. "That's impossible." Another voice—angrier. "Han Jae-seok is dead." "Yes," Yuna replied, confused now. "He died years ago." "How DARE you!" a woman cried. The room erupted. "Do you know who he was?" "Do you know what he did to this family?" "Jin Ho—step away from her!" Yuna stood abruptly. "I don't understand—" The uncle pointed at her like she was a crime. "Han Jae-seok was our enemy." The word landed like a gunshot. Enemy. "He destroyed this family's name." "He cost us everything once." "And now—" his voice shook with fury, "—you want to marry his daughter?" Jin Ho's blood ran cold. Enemy's daughter. Yuna's face drained of color. "No," she whispered. "You're wrong. My father was—" "Enough!" someone shouted. "How can you marry our enemy's daughter?!" The accusation echoed through the hall. Jin Ho stepped forward instantly, positioning himself between Yuna and the room. "Stop," he said—quiet, controlled, lethal. The noise died immediately. He turned to Yuna. Her eyes were wide, shattered—not guilty, not deceitful. Just… blindsided. . Then he faced his family again, voice iron-clad. "No one speaks to her like that again." "But Jin Ho—" the uncle began. "I said stop." Silence. Jin Ho took Yuna's hand. Firm. Protective. Unquestionable. The mansion was unnaturally quiet. A vast hall stretched endlessly, marble floors gleaming under golden chandeliers. At the center of it all sat a man in his early fifties, calm, composed—dangerously so. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, his posture relaxed as he leaned into the leather chair like a king on a throne. Two bodyguards stood on either side of him. Silent. Watchful. Outside, a black luxury car waited at the entrance. The doors of the mansion opened slowly. The man stood up, adjusting his cufflinks, his presence commanding the space without effort. The bodyguards moved in sync, forming a protective wall around him. As he walked toward the car, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. No reaction. No hesitation. He slid into the back seat. The door shut with a heavy thud. The engine roared to life. And just like that— the game had begun. He checked his watch. A slow breath. Then, in a low, firm voice, he spoke. "Enough waiting," he said. A pause. "Start the car." One of the bodyguards immediately lifted the walkie-talkie. "Yes, sir." The man's eyes hardened—not angry, not emotional. Just decided. "It's time," he added quietly. The bodyguards exchanged a brief glance. Whatever was about to happen… There was no turning back now.The mansion lawn was eerily calm. Soft garden lights lined the stone pathway, casting long shadows over the trimmed hedges and silent fountains. The night air was cool, deceptive—too peaceful for the storm building inside her chest. She stopped walking. "Jin Ho," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. He turned slowly. She swallowed. "Is it true?" A beat. "Who are you?" "And what is everyone saying about your family?" For a moment, he only stared at her. Then— In one swift motion, his hand shot out and wrapped around her neck. Her breath caught instantly. "This," he said coldly, pulling her closer, his eyes burning into hers, "is the beginning." She clawed at his wrist, gasping. "I'm going to take revenge on you," he continued, his voice dangerously calm, "and on your father." Her vision blurred as air slipped away. Then—he released her. She staggered back, coughing, choking, tears streaming down her face. Panic surged through her veins. She turned and ran. But she didn't get far. In seconds, Jin Ho caught up, gripping her arm and lifting her off the ground effortlessly. The garden lights blurred as he carried her back into the mansion. Servants froze. Guards looked away. No one dared to intervene. He took her straight to his room. The door slammed shut. Silence. She stumbled back, struggling to breathe, her throat burning. Jin Ho loosened his tie slowly, eyes never leaving her. He stepped closer. "You really thought I'd let you go so easily?" A pause. "You thought I wouldn't notice?" Her back hit the wall. Jin Ho leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper—dangerous, controlled. "You stepped into my world willingly," he said. "And now," his eyes darkened, "you don't get to walk out." The room felt smaller with every step he took toward her. Her back pressed into the wall, heart hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Jin Ho stood too close now—his presence overwhelming, suffocating. he said coldly. "You don't get to use my family for a story." She shook her head, voice barely audible. "Jin Ho… stop." He didn't listen. His hand reached out, gripping her wrist, pinning it above her head. She struggled, panic flooding her veins, fear flashing across her face. "Please," she whispered. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger mixed with something darker, more dangerous. Then— Knock. Knock. Sharp. Sudden. Jin Ho froze. Another knock followed, firmer this time. "Jin Ho?" a woman's voice called from outside the door. "I know you're in there." His grip loosened. Her wrist slipped free as she pulled away, stumbling back, breath shaking. Jin Ho turned toward the door, jaw clenched. He opened it. A woman stood there—elegant, familiar, and unmistakably close to him. His childhood sweetheart. Her eyes moved past him instantly, landing on the girl inside the room—disheveled, terrified, pressed against the wall. Silence stretched. "I was looking for you," the woman said softly, but her gaze never left the scene behind him. Jin Ho's expression hardened again, control snapping back into place. "Leave," he said to her—low, firm. She didn't argue. She rushed past him, heart racing, and fled the room. The door closed. But something had changed. The woman remained standing there, realization dawning in her eyes. Her Mother and Brother The sky had darkened completely. Streetlights flickered on one by one as evening slipped into night. Her mother stood near the window, phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had called twice. No answer. Her brother paced the room, checking the time again. "She should've been back by now," he said, worry clear in his voice. "She never stays out this late. Not without telling us." Her mother's lips trembled. "Something feels wrong." He grabbed his jacket. "Where did she say she was going?" "She didn't," her mother replied quietly. "She just said… she had work." The word work hung heavily in the air. He picked up his phone, dialing again. Still nothing. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. "I'm going to look for her," he said firmly. "I don't care where I have to go." Outside, the night grew deeper. And somewhere behind mansion walls, she was trapped in a world far more dangerous than her family could imagine. The mansion gates opened with a slow, heavy creak. Headlights cut through the darkness as a vintage black car rolled into the driveway. Servants straightened instantly. Guards lowered their heads. The car stopped. A door opened. Jin Ho's grandfather stepped out. Even at his age, his presence silenced the entire estate. His cane struck the marble once as he walked, each step deliberate, controlled. The air itself seemed to tighten around him. Inside the mansion, the family gathered quickly—uncles, aunts, cousins, elders. Whispers filled the hall like poison. Jin Ho stood near the staircase, unreadable. Yuna stood slightly behind him, confused, shaken, her eyes scanning the room. The grandfather took his seat at the head of the long table. His sharp eyes landed on Yuna. The room went silent. "Who is she?" he asked. No warmth. No curiosity. Only judgment. Before anyone could answer, an aunt leaned forward. "She's the enemy's daughter." The words hit the room like a slap. Yuna stiffened. Another voice followed. "Her father ruined this family." "She doesn't belong here." "She's dangerous." "She came here with an agenda." The accusations piled up—one after another. "She's spying." "She's exactly like her father." Yuna's hands trembled. "I—" she tried to speak, but her voice was drowned out. "Enough," the grandfather said calmly. Silence fell again. He looked at Jin Ho. "Why is she in this house?" Jin Ho didn't hesitate. "She's here because I brought her." A murmur spread through the room. The grandfather's eyes narrowed. "And why would you do that?" Jin Ho turned slightly—just enough to look at Yuna. "Because she's mine." Yuna froze. The family erupted. "What does that mean?" "Don't joke about this!" "You can't be serious!" The grandfather raised his cane slightly. The noise stopped instantly. "Explain," he said. Jin Ho took a breath. "She's my wife." The word echoed. Yuna's world tilted. Her ears rang. Wife? She turned sharply to him. "What…?" The grandfather leaned back slowly. "Proof." All eyes turned to Jin Ho. "Show us the proof," an uncle demanded. "The contract. The documents." Jin Ho's jaw tightened. He couldn't show the contract. Because if he did—everything would be exposed. Yuna stared at him, realization crashing into her chest. This wasn't protection. This was a trap. The grandfather watched closely. "No proof?" he asked quietly. "Then she leaves." Yuna's breath shook. She stepped back. "I never wanted this," she said, voice breaking. "I never wanted him." The room went still. "And my father?" she continued bitterly. "I hate him more than any of you ever could." Jin Ho looked at her sharply. She turned away, her eyes burning. She moved toward the glass doors. Outside, night stretched endlessly. She thought of her mother. She'll be worried. Her brother. He's probably looking for me. Her phone vibrated. A memory flashed— Flashback: Earlier That Evening Jin Ho was walking down the stairs. Yuna stood near the railing, her phone hidden in her palm. She typed quickly. Yuna: If I don't come back tonight, come get me. Please. Her best friend's reply came instantly. Mi-rae: Where are you? Before Yuna could answer, Jin Ho looked back and took her phone away. The hall fell silent again. The grandfather's gaze never left Jin Ho. "If you claim a marriage," he said evenly, "then show the proof." He tapped his cane once against the floor. "The marriage certificate." A pause. "Now." Every eye in the room turned to Jin Ho. For the first time, his composure cracked—just slightly. "I don't have it," he said. A sharp intake of breath rippled through the family. The grandfather's eyes hardened. "No certificate," he repeated slowly, "means no marriage." An uncle scoffed. "Then this is nothing but a lie." Another voice followed. "A trap." The grandfather rose to his feet. "In this house," he said coldly, "enemies are not allowed while matters are being decided." He turned sharply toward Yuna. "Escort her out." Yuna flinched. Jin Ho turned to her then—his eyes dark, unreadable, dangerous. "You should've known better," he said quietly. "This place was never meant for you." Her chest tightened. Before anyone could move— The front doors burst open. "YUNA!" The voice cut through the hall like lightning. Everyone turned. Mi-rae stood at the entrance, breathless, eyes blazing. Her jacket was half-zipped, keys clenched in her hand. She didn't hesitate. She ran straight toward Yuna, grabbed her hand tightly. "We're leaving," Mi-rae said. Not a request. A command. "Stop them!" someone shouted. Guards stepped forward. Too late. Mi-rae pulled Yuna hard, and they ran. Past stunned relatives. Past shouting voices. Past a frozen Jin Ho. They burst out into the night. A car engine roared to life. Mi-rae shoved Yuna into the passenger seat, slammed the door shut, and jumped behind the wheel. The tires screeched. The car sped off, disappearing down the dark road in seconds. Inside the mansion, silence fell again. Jin Ho stood motionless, staring at the empty doorway. The grandfather spoke without looking at him. "You lost control," he said. Jin Ho said nothing. Outside, the night swallowed the road— and for the first time, Yuna was free.The moment she stepped into the house, her mother rushed toward her. "Yuna!" Before Yuna could say a word, her mother pulled her into a tight hug, as if afraid she might disappear again. Yuna's breath hitched. The warmth of home, of safety, hit her all at once. At the same time, the front door slammed shut. Her brother rushed in—hair messy, eyes frantic, like he had been wandering the streets for hours looking for her. The second he saw Yuna, he froze. Then he crossed the room in two steps and hugged her from the other side. "Where were you?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "Do you know how scared we were?" Yuna couldn't answer. Her throat burned too much. Her mother finally pulled back, cupping Yuna's face, scanning her like she was checking for injuries. "Sit," she said firmly. Yuna obeyed. Her mother brought a glass of water and held it to her lips. "Drink first." Yuna took a few slow sips, her hands trembling. Only then did the questions come. "What happened?" her mother asked softly now. "Why did you message us like that?" her brother added. "You scared everyone. Even your best friend doesn't understand what you meant." Yuna stared at the water in her hands. The room felt too quiet again—but this time, it wasn't empty. It was waiting. She inhaled. "I didn't know how else to say it," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers tightened around the glass. "Because everything… went wrong." She looked up at them—at the worry in her mother's eyes, the confusion on her brother's face.She told them everything. "It started with a contract," Yuna said, forcing the words out. "With Jin Ho." Her brother stiffened. Her mother's brows drew together. "He needed me to pretend," Yuna continued. "A fake relationship. A legal agreement. I thought it was temporary. Controlled. I thought I could handle it." Her voice cracked. "But then I found out something else." She looked up, eyes shining with disbelief. "His family… sees me as their enemy." Her mother's face went pale. "I don't even understand why," Yuna said desperately. "Mom… how can I be their enemy? What did I ever do?" She turned fully to her mother. "How am I their enemy?" Her mother froze. For a moment, she didn't breathe. Didn't blink. Like the question had struck somewhere too deep. Before she could answer— The door opened. A man stepped inside. Han Jae-seok. Yuna's entire body went rigid. "You," she snapped instantly, standing up. "Get out." Her brother moved protectively toward her. Han Jae-seok stopped in the middle of the room, guilt written all over his face. "This is my mistake," he said quietly. "Everything. And you got involved because of me." Yuna laughed bitterly. "You think saying that fixes anything?" "Their family can go to any depth to destroy someone," he continued urgently. "They won't stop. Jin Ho won't be able to leave this either." He turned to Yuna's Mom and bowed. "Please," he begged. "At least give me a chance to protect her." Yuna's mother stood up slowly. "I will never forgive you," she said coldly. "I will never forget what you did ." Her voice trembled with restrained rage. "But if you can do anything," she continued, "then get her out of this problem. As quickly as possible." Han Jae-seok swallowed. "There is only one way," he said. "She must be legally married. By tomorrow." "What?" Yuna exploded. "Have you lost your mind?" She stepped toward him, fury burning. "You ruin my life and now you decide who I marry?" "Yuna!" her mother snapped sharply. Yuna froze. Her mother's voice softened—but her eyes were firm. "This is the only way I know to keep you safe." Tears filled Yuna's eyes. "You're choosing fear over me Again." Her father finally spoke. "I'll explain everything later," he said gently. "Please… let me do this." He turned toward the door. "Come in." A man entered—calm, composed, unmistakably powerful. Her father placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is a well-known businessman," he said. Then he looked at Yuna. "And tomorrow… he will be your husband." Mi Rae was completely shocked. The three of them—Mi Rae, Yuna, and Yuna's brother—sat together in Yuna's room, the air heavy with disbelief. "This is insane," Mi Rae said, pacing. "If you escape the marriage, Jin Ho gets a chance. But if you don't…" She stopped, looking at Yuna. "You'll be tied to a complete stranger. Someone your father chose." Yuna sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her head without even realizing it. Her thoughts refused to settle. Yuna's brother opened his laptop. Without a word, he turned it toward her. A plane ticket. Booked. Yuna frowned. "How did you do this?" He shrugged. "It's nothing." She looked at him again, sharper this time. "No. This isn't nothing. How did you pay for it?" He hesitated. "With my savings," he said finally. Yuna's eyes widened. "No way. That money was for your shoes, remember? You were saving for them." He looked away. "Nothing is more important than you right now." The words hit her harder than anything else that day. Mi Rae's eyes filled instantly. "You're seriously doing this…" Yuna pulled him into a tight hug. He hugged her back without hesitation. Mi Rae joined them, wrapping her arms around both of them. "You're the best," she whispered. For a brief moment, the room felt warm again. Mi Rae said lightly. "Just focus on packing." They left the room soon after, their footsteps fading down the hallway. Yuna stood alone. She packed her bag quietly, folding clothes with trembling hands, her mind racing. Something felt wrong. And she didn't know why. The next day, Yuna woke up before sunrise. She moved quietly, careful not to make a sound. Mi Rae and her brother were already up, packing last-minute things. The air was thick with anticipation and silent worry. Soon, the three of them slipped out of the house. The car was waiting. Her brother got in first, then Mi Rae, and finally Yuna. The engine started, and they drove straight toward the airport without a word. Yuna sat in the back, her heart pounding. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap. As they approached the airport and she stepped out, her breath caught. A group of men in dark suits were moving quickly, scanning the crowd—Jin Ho's bodyguards. They were already looking for her. Her stomach tightened. Her pulse raced. Her brother grabbed her hand firmly. "Stay calm. Don't panic," he whispered. Yuna swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. Every step toward the entrance felt heavier than the last, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Through the sliding glass doors, the airport seemed deceptively normal—families, travelers, announcements echoing overhead—but Yuna knew danger was close. And somewhere out there, Jin Ho's men were closing in. She had no choice now. She had to get through security, onto the plane, and away… before they caught her.Yuna's heart skipped a beat. Out of nowhere, Jin Ho appeared. She froze. Then, panicking, she tried to run, darting inside the terminal, weaving through travelers. But before she could get far, his men blocked her path. And Jin Ho himself reached out, grabbing her hand. Her brother moved instinctively, pushing toward him, but Jin Ho's grip was firm. In a flash, he slapped Yuna's brother, stopping him in his tracks. Yuna screamed, trying to pull free. But Jin Ho yanked her closer, his hand on her waist, pulling her tight against him. "Take them away," he commanded his bodyguards. In an instant, Mi Rae and Yuna's brother were forced back, held at a distance. Yuna's protests echoed, but no one came to help. Jin Ho leaned close, his voice low, almost a whisper against her ear. "This morning, you thought you could escape… marry someone else. But now… you're in my hands." Yuna struggled, but his grip was iron. She felt trapped, helpless, every thought spinning. Without anyone knowing, without her parents or the groom realizing, he dragged her toward the waiting venue. The groom, oblivious, was holding the ring, unaware of the chaos unfolding. Jin Ho's men cleared the path as he forced her forward. Finally, they reached the civil affairs office. Yuna's protests fell on deaf ears as he held her hand tightly, practically dragging her inside. "Now," he said, cold and commanding, "this is where it ends. Your choice doesn't matter anymore." Her chest heaved. Fear, anger, and disbelief collided within her. She was at the mercy of Jin Ho, and everything she had tried to control that morning had been torn away. They entered the civil affairs office. Jin Ho Kwon, tall and unyielding, pulled Yuna Han inside and guided her to a seat, gently forcing her to sit—but with a calm, almost sweet smile, as if she were there willingly. She tried to resist with her eyes, but his grip on her hand was firm. In front of them, the official sat, ready to issue the marriage certificate. Jin Ho leaned close, his voice low, almost a whisper in her ear. "Act nicely," he murmured. "For appearances." Yuna's chest tightened. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered them into her lap. The official cleared her throat. "Your full names, please?" Jin Ho gave his name smoothly: "Jin Ho Kwon." Yuna's throat felt dry. She forced the words out: "Yuna Han." The official nodded. "Are you willing to marry each other?" Jin Ho leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "If you don't… I have your brother and your best friend," he whispered, tilting his head just enough to make the threat unmistakable. Yuna's eyes filled with tears. She stiffened, unable to speak. Nearby, the groom, Seung Min Park, stood silently, holding the ring, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding. The official coughed, breaking the moment. "Congratulations," she said, handing over the certificate. Jin Ho Kwon took it smoothly, clutching it to his chest. Yuna stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt trapped, humiliated, utterly powerless. Without a word, Jin Ho turned and walked away, leaving her there, certificate in hand, her heart pounding with fear, anger, and disbelief. Her vision blurred as she watched him disappear into the crowd, the weight of the morning's events crashing down on her. Yuna walked aimlessly down the streets, her certificate clutched tightly in her hand. Every step felt heavy, her mind spinning with anger, fear, and helplessness. She didn't know where to go, what to do, or how to escape the weight of what had just happened. Eventually, she stopped outside a quiet restaurant. The warm light spilling onto the street was inviting, almost comforting. She slipped inside and sat at a corner table. A waiter brought her a glass of water, but she shook her head, barely noticing. Soon, she was ordering food and drinks, one after another, almost mechanically. Each bite, each sip, dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts… if only for a moment. Hours passed. She barely realized it, lost in the blur of eating and drinking. The restaurant staff grew concerned. One of them whispered to a coworker and, hesitating, dialed a number they thought might help. The phone rang, and after a moment, a calm, confident voice answered. "This is Kang Jae Min," he said. The staff explained the situation briefly. Jae Min's brow furrowed. He didn't know her exact address—but he didn't hesitate. Within the hour, a sleek car pulled up outside the restaurant. Jae Min stepped out, scanning the street, until his eyes landed on Yuna. She looked up, startled, her eyes red from crying. "Yuna?" he called softly, almost hesitantly. She froze. He approached slowly, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he said gently. "I'm here now. You don't have to face this alone." Yuna's defenses melted slightly. She didn't speak—she just let him take her hand. "Come with me," he said. "I don't know your home, but I can take care of you for now." She hesitated, glancing around the restaurant, then at the street outside. Finally, she nodded. Jae Min guided her to the car. Inside, the warmth and safety of the vehicle felt surreal after the chaos she'd endured. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You don't have to thank me," he said softly, glancing at her. "Just… let me help you. For the first time that day, Yuna felt a flicker of peace. She rested her head against the seat, letting him lead her away from the streets, away from fear, into a place where she might feel safe—even if only for a while.