You will marry me. For one year. No questions, no love, no mercy.
Kang Hyun-woo's voice echoed across the sleek glass walls of his office like a gavel, striking the final verdict.
Ji-a sat frozen on the leather chair, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest, she was afraid he could hear it.
He looked like a man carved from ice. Jet-black hair perfectly styled, sharp suit molded to his body, expression completely unreadable. His cold, piercing eyes stared at her like she was just another business deal—something to sign, seal, and control.
Ji-a forced herself to breathe.
"I thought marriage was supposed to involve at least a little love," she said quietly, keeping her voice steady.
Hyun-woo's lips twitched. A smirk. The first crack in his otherwise perfect mask.
"Love is for fools. This is a contract. Nothing more."
He pushed a folder across the glass table toward her. Its gold-embossed logo read: Kang Corporation Legal Division.
Her fingers hesitated before touching it. That was it. The final step in her plan.
One year. One year as the wife of the man who ruined her family.
She opened the folder slowly. The contract inside was thick—over ten pages, filled with cold, impersonal language.
Clause 1: The parties agree to a non-romantic, non-sexual partnership for the duration of twelve (12) months.
Clause 2: The wife agrees to attend all required social functions and public events alongside the husband, to maintain the image of a loving couple.
Clause 3: Either party may terminate the marriage contract early only under the condition of mutual agreement.
Clause 4: Confidentiality must be maintained at all times. Any breach will result in immediate legal consequences.
Ji-a's throat tightened. Her eyes scanned the rest of the document, but her mind wasn't on the words.
It was on her father's face.
Broken.
Humiliated.
The last time she saw him, he was being dragged out of his own office by security. His company—his life's work-was taken over in a hostile buyout by Kang Corporation. Her father had trusted the wrong investor. That investor was Kang Hyun-woo.
Ji-a had watched it all fall apart. Then she had vanished—left Korea, disappeared into a quiet part of China, working in a noodle shop just to survive.
But she didn't forget. She didn't forgive.
And now, she is back. With a new identity. A new story. And a new purpose.
To destroy Kang Hyun-woo from the inside out.
"I have one condition," she said, her voice firm.
Hyun-woo raised an eyebrow, as if mildly amused.
"Go on."
"I want a separate room. No touching. No pretending behind closed doors."
"That's not a problem," he said. "This is strictly business."
A pause. He leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled.
"But you should understand something, Miss Lee. If you agree to this marriage, your life will not be your own. You will live in my house, follow my rules, wear what I say, and smile when I say smile. In public, you will be the perfect wife. Behind closed doors, you will be nothing to me."
Ji-a met his eyes. "That's exactly what I want."
It was a lie. Every word. But he didn't need to know that.
She signed her name at the bottom of the contract.
He signed next.
Just like that, she became the wife of the man she hated most in the world.
Ji-a stepped out of the Kang Corporation building, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Outside, Seoul's sky was a soft shade of grey, the air heavy with the promise of rain.
She took a long breath.
Her plan had officially begun.
A black car pulled up to the curb—sleek, tinted, expensive. A driver in a dark suit stepped out and opened the door for her.
"Mrs. "Kang," he said with a small bow.
She flinched slightly at the title. It didn't feel real. Not yet.
Inside the car, everything was silent. She stared out the window, watching the city blur past. Neon lights, umbrellas, couples holding hands…
It was all a lie, just like her marriage.
She thought about her old life—her apartment with her father, their late-night dinners, the jokes he used to tell. She'd been his only family. And now, he lived in a small rented room, too ashamed to even face the world.
She would fix it.
No matter what it cost her.
The Kang estate was a private fortress on the edge of the city. Gated, guarded, surrounded by trees and stone walls. A place designed to keep the world out—and secrets in.
The driver parked by the grand entrance.
Ji-a stepped out and looked up. The mansion was massive, cold, and modern. Glass and steel. No warmth, no heart.
The front door opened.
Hyun-woo stood there, looking just as composed as always. No smile. Not welcome.
"You'll be staying in the guest wing," he said. You'll find everything prepared. Dinner is at seven. We have a charity gala tomorrow night. I expect you to be ready.
Then he turned and walked away.
Ji-a didn't follow right away. She stood there for a second, staring at the place she now had to call home.
She was alone. Completely.
But she wasn't weak.
The guest room was bigger than her old apartment. Polished floors, king-size bed, a walk-in closet filled with designer dresses and shoes. She ran her fingers over the fabrics. Silk, lace, velvet.
Luxury had never impressed her. Not after what she lost.
On the nightstand, there was a small silver key.
She picked it up and turned it over in her hand.
No label.
No note.
Her fingers curled around it instinctively.
What did it open?
Dinner was quiet.
Hyun-woo sat at the head of the long table, silently eating his steak. Ji-a sat four seats away, untouched soup in front of her.
A butler served each course. No one spoke.
Finally, Ji-a broke the silence.
"Why did you pick me?"
He didn't look up. "You were convenient."
"That's it?"
"I don't have time for real relationships. My grandfather wants to see me married. You were the perfect solution."
"And you're not afraid I'll fall in love with you?" she asked sarcastically.
He finally looked at her.
His eyes were dark, unreadable.
"No. You won't."
Something about the way he said it made her heart skip.
Not out of attraction—but in fear.
Later that night, she wandered the halls of the mansion. It was too big. Too quiet. Like a museum.
Then she remembered the key.
She took it from her pocket and tried it at the door at the end of the hallway. It clicked.
Inside was a dark, narrow stairwell leading down.
Her breath caught.
She stepped inside.
Each step creaked softly as she descended. At the bottom was another door. Locked.
She tried the key again.
It opened.
Inside was a storage room—but not just any room.
Photos. Files. Laptops. Surveillance equipment.
And in the middle of the room… a board covered in documents.
Her father's name was written in the center.
Ji-a gasped.
Her heart slammed against her chest as she stepped closer.
There were pictures of her father. His company. Newspaper clippings about the scandal. Bank statements. Legal files.
What was all this?
She picked up a folder. Inside were pages of notes. Plans. Evidence.
But it wasn't what she expected.
It wasn't about destroying her father.
It was about protecting him.
Ji-a's hands shook.
Was this a trap? Or had she misunderstood everything?
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She spun around.
Hyun-woo stood there, eyes cold and sharp.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said.
She swallowed hard.
"What is all this?" she demanded.
He didn't answer. He stepped forward slowly.
"Who are you really, Ji-a?"
Ara's legs gave way beneath her, and she sank to the cold, concrete floor. Her breath came in shaky gasps as the weight of everything pressed down on her like a steel anchor.
"You'll regret this," she whispered hoarsely.
Jaeho didn't flinch. "I already do."
He turned and walked out without another word, the heavy steel door closing behind him with a finality that sounded more like a death sentence than anything else.
She sat there for what felt like hours, but it could've only been minutes. Alone, with nothing but the echo of her thoughts.
She hated him. She hated the man who had once been her childhood friend.
The same boy who used to hide her from bullies was now the one dragging her through her worst nightmare.
Three Weeks Later
The wedding was a lie.
There were no flowers, no family, no smiling guests. Only a sterile, white room inside a government building, a signed contract, and a pair of emotionless signatures.
Ara wore a plain cream dress. It wasn't even her choice—Jaeho's assistant had sent it that morning. She looked more like a quiet secretary than a bride. Her hair was tied in a simple bun, her lips bare of any gloss or color.
Jaeho, in contrast, looked like a man made of stone and secrets—his black suit sharp as a knife, his posture rigid, and his eyes as unreadable as ever.
"Sign here," the registrar said.
Ara hesitated. The pen in her hand trembled.
If she signed this, her life would never be the same.
Her mother's surgery would be paid for. Her father's gambling debt was erased. She would finally have peace.
But in exchange, she would belong to him.
To the man who humiliated her.
To the man who promised to break her if she disobeyed.
She signed.
And with that, Ara Seo was born. A name she never wanted. A marriage she never dreamed of. A husband she couldn't even stand.
The Penthouse
The elevator ride to the top floor felt eternal. The moment the doors opened, she stepped into a world so different from hers it almost felt like fiction.
Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Everything was either glass, gold, or black leather. Cold. Luxurious. Lifeless.
"This is where you'll be staying," Jaeho said, walking ahead without looking back.
Ara followed silently.
"You'll have your own room. We'll keep appearances in public. But otherwise, stay out of my way."
She stopped walking.
"Why are you doing this?"
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Because you're useful to me. And because I don't trust anyone else."
He walked away again, leaving her staring at his back.
So that was it.
She wasn't a wife. She was a tool. A pawn in whatever game he was playing.
She walked into her designated room and shut the door behind her.
It was silent. Too silent.
Ara fell to the edge of the bed and allowed herself a moment to cry. Just one. Just tonight.
Because starting tomorrow, she would become someone else.
Someone stronger.
Someone who would survive being married to her enemy.
The Next Morning
"Mrs. Seo, breakfast is ready."
Ara blinked herself awake, disoriented by the unfamiliar luxury.
A housekeeper stood in the doorway, clearly unsure how to address her.
"I'll be there soon," she muttered.
Downstairs, the tension at the dining table was thick enough to slice.
Jaeho didn't look up from his tablet. "We have a charity gala tonight. You'll wear the dress Minjae prepared."
Ara stared at him. "You expect me to smile for the cameras after everything you've done?"
He finally met her gaze. "Yes."
Her fingers curled around the fork. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're my wife," he said calmly, "so start acting like it."
Later That Night – The Gala
The camera flashes were blinding.
Ara stepped out of the limousine in a floor-length black gown, her long hair cascading down in soft waves. Her eyes were outlined in smoky shadows, lips painted a deep red. For once, she looked the part.
Jaeho offered his arm. She hesitated only for a second before slipping her hand through it.
They were picture-perfect. The power couple.
No one knew the truth behind the façade.
As they entered the grand ballroom, murmurs followed them.
"Is that the new Mrs? Seo?"
"She's beautiful."
"She looks so… ordinary."
Ara kept her smile fixed. She had learned early that power was appearance.
Jaeho leaned in and whispered, "Smile wider. They're watching."
She did.
But under that painted smile was fire.
He could control her circumstances.
But he would never own her soul.
Not again.
Not ever.
And as she lifted her champagne glass in a silent toast to her enemies, she knew:
Keira felt numb. She barely noticed when the driver opened the door, nor when the cool blast of air-conditioned air greeted her inside the sleek building. She walked ahead, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor, heart pounding with every step.
When the elevator doors closed behind them, trapping her inside with Lucien, she dared a glance at him. His reflection in the elevator mirror was pristine, controlled, unshaken. Unlike her.
She folded her arms tightly. "Do you always force women into marriage?"
Lucien looked at her, unamused. "Do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?"
Keira's temper flared. "I didn't ask to be blackmailed into a wedding. This isn't some romantic fairytale, Mr. Vale. I don't want your money."
"You will. Eventually."
The arrogance in his voice stung more than it should've. Keira turned away.
The elevator opened into a high-rise apartment—a penthouse that looked more like an art gallery than a home. White marble floors, towering windows, and an icy silence that filled every corner.
"This is your new home."
Keira swallowed. "You mean your cage."
Lucien walked past her, placing the document folder on the table. "You'll be treated with respect, live comfortably, and in return, we'll pretend to be a happy couple. That's all."
She turned to face him. "Why me?"
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Because my family trusts you." And because you're desperate enough to accept."
She winced. He wasn't wrong. She was desperate.
"I'll sign," she said after a long pause. "But on one condition."
Lucien raised her brow.
"No physical intimacy. No... strings."
His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Fine. I have no intention of falling for my fake wife."
The way he said it sent an unexpected chill through her.
A week later, the wedding was over.
It had been private, quick, and devoid of affection. A few photos, a legal certificate, and just enough smiles to fool the cameras.
Keira sat on the bed in her new room, still in her ivory dress. She hadn't changed, hadn't moved since they returned. She wasn't sure if this was a victory or a prison sentence.
She reached for her phone. Messages had flooded in—some congratulations, some confusion, and from her best friend Allie:
"Keira, what the hell is going on?? You married Lucien Vale? Are you okay?? Call me!"
Keira locked the screen and tossed the phone aside. She couldn't explain what she didn't even understand.
Elsewhere in the penthouse, Lucien stood on the balcony with a glass of scotch. He stared into the city lights, his expression unreadable.
His phone buzzed.
> "Dad's satisfied. He believes it. Good move."
Lucien didn't reply. He hated playing this game. But when legacy, power, and control were at stake, emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford.
Marrying Keira had served its purpose. She was the perfect pawn—compliant, desperate, and just naive enough not to see the full picture.
But what he didn't expect was the way her fire challenged him. The way her pain reminded him of his own.
He downed the drink in one gulp.
He had made a deal with a storm.
Days passed.
They lived like strangers. Two souls orbiting the same space but never touching.
Lucien worked late hours. Keira avoided him when she could. When they did talk, they were clipped, cautious.
Until one night.
Keira walked into the kitchen in her pajamas, unaware that Lucien was already there, shirtless and focused on pouring himself a drink.
She froze.
He looked up.
For a moment, neither said anything.
"Didn't know you were home," she muttered, moving to the fridge.
"I live here," he replied dryly.
Keira rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the reminder."
He watched her pour juice and lean against the counter.
"You hate this, don't you?" he asked suddenly.
She looked at him. "I hate being controlled. I hate being bought."
"I didn't buy you."
"You did," she said flatly. "Just not with money."
Lucien set his glass down. "Then why did you agree?"
Keira's throat tightened. "Because someone I love needed saving." And you were the only one who could."
Something shifted in his gaze.
For the first time, Lucien didn't look like a ruthless CEO. He looked human.
And Keira hated that it made him more dangerous.
"I'll hold up my end," she said. "But don't expect more."
"I don't."
They stood there, silently acknowledging the thin line between them.
Two strangers. One marriage. And too many secrets.
Later that night, Keira opened a drawer in her room. Inside was a photograph—one of her mother, taken years ago.
She traced the edges with her fingers.
"I did this for you," she whispered.
But even she wasn't sure how long she could keep pretending.
And somewhere down the hall, Lucien stood in the shadows, watching her door with eyes that burned with questions he couldn't ask.
He had married her for convenience.
But something about Keira Wright was anything but convenient.
And as the days turned to weeks, and their facades began to crack, Lucien would discover.