It started with silence.
Not shouting.Not chaos.
Just silence in a house that was never silent.
You were coming down the stairs when you noticed it. The servants were standing still. Your mother wasn't in the living room. Even the guards outside looked tense.
Something was wrong.
You walked into your father's study without knocking.
He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of untouched whiskey in front of him. His shoulders looked heavier than usual.
He didn't look up when you entered.
"Appa?" you said softly.
He finally raised his eyes.
And for the first time in your life, you saw fear in them.
Your father was not a weak man. He ran one of the strongest underground businesses in Busan. Politicians respected him. Rivals avoided him.
But today, he looked defeated.
"What happened?" you asked, stepping closer.
He stayed silent for a long moment.
Then he said one name.
"Kim Taehyung."
You had heard of him.
Everyone had.
The man who built an empire in Seoul before turning thirty. The man who didn't shout or threaten — he simply ended things. Calmly.
Your heart didn't race.
You didn't panic.
You just listened.
"He took the Incheon shipment," your father continued. "All of it. And he left a message."
Your jaw tightened slightly. That shipment was worth millions.
"Is he asking for money?" you asked.
Your father looked at you in a way that made your stomach twist.
"No."
The silence returned.
Then he said it.
"He asked for you."
The words did not make sense at first.
"For what?" you asked slowly.
Your father swallowed.
"Marriage."
The room felt smaller.
You stared at him.
"This isn't funny."
"I am not joking."
You stepped back, shaking your head.
"This is business. Handle it like business."
"This is business," he replied quietly. "This is how he wants to handle it."
Anger rose inside you, slow and controlled.
"So he steals from you and then asks for your daughter like I'm part of the deal?"
"He'snot asking," your father said.
The meaning was clear.
If you refused, it would not stop at stolen shipments.
It would become war.
And war with Kim Taehyung did not end well.
You walked to the window, looking out at the large estate you grew up in.
Your home.
Your family.
Your people.
"Why me?" you asked.
Your father's voice softened. "Because he knows you matter to me."
That hurt more than anything.
Not because your father loved you.
But because Taehyung knew how to use it.
You turned back slowly.
"When?"
"Two weeks."
Two weeks to marry a man you had never met.
Two weeks to become part of an empire known for control and blood.
You expected to feel fear.
But you didn't.
Instead, something colder settled inside you.
Fine.
If Kim Taehyung wanted you as part of a deal—
He would learn very quickly that you were not something that could be owned.
"Tell him I agree," you said calmly.
Your father's eyes widened. "You don't have to—"
"I do," you interrupted gently.
Because you understood something he didn't.
Marriage meant access.
Access meant proximity.
And proximity meant opportunity.
If Taehyung thought this marriage would give him power over your family—
He had no idea who he was bringing into his life.
You walked toward the door.
"Arrange the meeting," you said. "I want to see the man who thinks he can buy me."
Two days later.
Seoul.
You stood in front of a tall glass building that overlooked the city.
No guards outside.No loud display of power.
Just quiet confidence.
You adjusted your coat and walked in.
The elevator ride to the top floor was silent.
When the doors opened, a single man stood waiting.
Tall. Calm. Dressed in black.
His expression didn't change when he saw you.
"You came," he said.
His voice was deep but controlled.
So this was Kim Taehyung.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't intimidating on purpose.
But his eyes were sharp. Observing everything.
You stepped forward without hesitation.
"You asked for me," you said evenly. "So here I am."
His gaze moved slowly over you — not disrespectful, not soft — just assessing.
Like you were a business proposal.
"Sit," he said.
You didn't.
"I prefer standing."
For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes.
Interest.
Not anger.
Interesting.
"You agreed quickly," he said.
"I don't like unfinished business," you replied.
A small pause.
Then he said calmly, "You understand this marriage is not romantic."
You almost smiled.
"I wasn't expecting flowers."
Silence stretched between you.
Not awkward.
Just heavy.
"You hate me already?" he asked.
"No," you answered honestly.
"I just don't trust men who use families as leverage."
His jaw tightened slightly.
But he didn't deny it.
"This is how power works," he said.
"Then let's be clear," you replied softly. "I am not weak. And I will not be quiet."
For the first time—
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Good."
Your brows lifted slightly.
"I don't want a fragile wife."
The word wife felt strange.
Unreal.
But you didn't show it.
"And I don't want a husband who underestimates me," you replied.
His eyes locked onto yours.
Longer this time.
Not as rivals.
Not yet as lovers.
But as two people who understood strength.
"Two weeks," he said.
"Yes."
"You'll move to Seoul after the wedding."
"I assumed."
Another pause.
Then he added quietly, "If you ever feel unsafe, you tell me."
That surprised you.
"You're the dangerous one," you said.
His voice dropped slightly.
"Not to you."
The air shifted.
Something small. Barely there.
Not romance.
Not trust.
But the beginning of something neither of you could name yet.
You straightened.
"I'm not marrying you because I'm scared," you said clearly.
"I know," he replied.
And somehow—
That made it more complicated.