The warm water cascading over my head couldn't wash away the thoughts swirling in my mind. Bo-ra's words from the park a week ago echoed like a song stuck on repeat. Since then, she'd gone completely silent. No texts. No calls. Just absence, loud and suffocating.
And yet, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
It wasn't just about her, though. It was everything. The wedding, the company, my inheritance, the legacy I never asked for but was expected to carry. It all pressed down on my chest, heavier with each passing day.
"Why am I even thinking about her?" I muttered under the pressure of the water, trying to drown out my own doubts.
I shut off the tap, steam clinging to the mirror like ghosts of my anxiety. My reflection stared back—Kang Yul, suit-wearing puppet, reluctant heir, a man with everything but freedom.
I got dressed, pulling on the tailored shirt and slacks like a uniform of submission. Every button I fastened felt like another reminder: I had no say in my own future. At least, not yet.
The drive to the office blurred by in a haze of traffic lights and grey buildings. Mr. Kim tried to make conversation, but my answers were clipped and distracted. My mind was somewhere else—more accurately, on someone else.
Bo-ra.
It wasn't normal. The way her laugh kept intruding on my thoughts. The way her eyes had widened that night when I showed up at the hotel, full of surprise, recognition, and something else I couldn't place. Even the way she tucked her hair behind her ear had lodged itself in my brain like an echo.
By the time I reached my desk, I'd made up my mind.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to talk to her.
I knew where she lived—our families were close enough for that. I figured she'd either slam the door in my face or hear me out. I was hoping for the latter.
The sleek glass façade of her building reflected the late afternoon light. I stared up at it for a moment, then forced myself to the door. My finger hovered over the doorbell before I finally pressed it.
A few seconds later, the door swung open.
Bo-ra stood in the doorway, eyes wide, her hair loose and wavy. She wore a casual hoodie and sweatpants—miles away from the composed elegance I'd seen at the hotel.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice edged with suspicion. "How did you even find out where I live?"
"Whoa, calm down. One question at a time," I said, trying to keep the mood light. "Can I come in?"
She crossed her arms, standing firm. "Seriously, Yul. What do you want?"
"To talk," I said simply. "Privately."
She hesitated, eyes narrowing as if trying to read my intentions. Eventually, she stepped aside and motioned for me to enter.
Her apartment was surprisingly cozy. A gaming chair sat in the corner, rainbow-lit keyboard pulsing like a heartbeat. Shelves lined with anime figures and game memorabilia gave the room a personality I hadn't expected. It felt real. It felt... like her.
"Here," she said, handing me a glass of water before sitting across from me. "Start talking."
I took a breath, my pulse thudding in my ears. This was it.
"I have a proposal for you."
Her eyebrow shot up. "A proposal?"
I pulled the brown envelope from my jacket and placed it on the coffee table between us.
"I want us to get married."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then leaned back with a dry laugh. "You're kidding, right? Didn't I make it clear I backed out of this arranged marriage thing? We don't even like each other."
"I know," I said. "But just hear me out. This isn't about love. Not yet. It's a contract. A fake marriage. We act like we're in love until I get the company and the inheritance. Then we divorce. Clean break."
She scoffed. "You want me to lie to our families, the media, everyone—for what? Your empire? Your money?"
"Please, Bo-ra," I said, leaning forward. "I need your help. This isn't just about the company. It's about control—finally having a say in my own life."
"And you think dragging me into this mess is the answer?"
I hesitated, then played my last card. "If you don't help me, I might have to tell Mr. Sung about your secret trips to the online gaming cafés."
Her eyes widened. "Are you threatening me?"
"Maybe," I said with a shrug. "You know how strict your father is. I wouldn't want him to think his precious daughter was sneaking out to slay digital dragons."
"Go ahead," she snapped. "Tell him. See if I care."
I pulled out my phone and pretended to dial.
"Wait!" she yelped. "Okay, okay, I'll do it. But this is strictly business, got it? We get married, you get your company, we divorce. That's it."
Relief washed over me. "Deal."
She glared at me. "No falling in love, okay? Don't even think about catching feelings. I will reject you so hard, it'll make headlines."
I couldn't help but grin. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to fall for you."
"Good. Because I'm not falling for you either."
I leaned back, chuckling. Her stubbornness was oddly refreshing.
We spent the next hour ironing out the fake relationship rules: appearances to keep up, timelines, what to say in interviews. It was surreal. Cold. Calculated.
But as she jotted down notes on her phone, biting her lip in thought, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of something warm.
Just a flicker.
"You promise you won't tell my parents about the gaming thing?" she asked, her voice quieter.
"I promise," I said. "I'm your partner now, remember?"
She sighed. "This is going to be a disaster."
I smiled. "Or the best act of our lives."
She rolled her eyes, but I saw it—the tiny curve of a smile fighting its way to her lips.
And just like that, our fake marriage began. An arrangement born out of desperation and ambition. A lie we'd both agreed to live.
But deep down, I knew. Lies had a way of becoming truths. And the most dangerous part?
I didn't mind the idea so much anymore.
To be continued...