Temu stood up, almost without thinking, and walked to the window.
The city below blinked in sleepy patterns.
Streetlights, neon signs, the occasional car. It's still raining.
He placed his hand on the glass.
The coldness helped. A little.
But the pressure in his chest was growing—
An invisible hand tightening with every breath.
His heartbeat was loud, too loud.
He looked down, and his lips parted.
His voice barely a whisper—maybe not even that.
"What am I supposed to do…?"
He wasn't sure if he said it out loud or only thought it.
But the words escaped, like steam from a cracked kettle.
Behind him, Lim Cha-yeon was still focused, looked at him.
She gave no sign she'd heard.
But Temu…
He felt it—a shift in the air.
Her stillness.
A glance? A pause?
She didn't say a word. She just looked at him. The word is waiting for something.
But his mind wouldn't let go.
She heard me. Didn't she?
He swallowed.
And for some reason…
That thought scared him more than anything else.
It was the first time he noticed a man in a hotel room.
"Was he here from the beginning?" Han Temu thought.
Han Temu went to prepare his parents' money for the new start of his life.
He went down to the reception and copied the number to his name. And he headed home. He understands that a scandal awaits him.
Through the hotel, I called my secretary, who brought my documents, money, and my phone.
At home
My father was standing in the huge living room. He was waiting for his son to say something.
"I need 40 million won."
He just didn't bat an eye, just calmly asked in response
"What for?"
"This is my gift for my future wife."
To which he just chuckled.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, not at all. It's just that I've been thinking about your behavior all the time. We tried to keep you from that."
"From a happy life? Father, do you even understand what you're saying? I am 27 years old. Just a little more and everyone will reject me."
The father sat down and tried to express his thought.
"Don't teach me. It's just that nowadays there's not even a concept of love. only the love of money or the obligations of this or that person. Understand that they try to communicate with our family every day. Different ways."
Han Temu got a call from Lim Cha-yeon's brother.
"Good. Of course, why not."
"I don't have to love her," Han Temu's mother said from the balcony.
He had planned for a scandal, but everything went very well. Her brother informed her that his wife would be staying in the same hotel room. And that there would be a meeting tonight where she would become his wife.
The mother went down to her son.
"why can't you listen to me? A woman is a cunning creature. She won't spare my son."
The father and son rolled their eyes at the same time.
Realizing that he was in his room, Temu began to wonder if everything was going too smoothly. Although he has yet to meet the bride's parents, introduce the bride to the family, the wedding ceremony, the honeymoon and...
In the meantime, Han Temu's mind was spiraling.
He stared at the ceiling of his room, tuning out his mother's complaints. Her voice was like the background music in a horror movie — irritating and relentless. Every word felt like it crawled under his skin and settled deep in his stomach, forming a dull knot of anxiety.
"Women are cunning," her voice echoed in his ears again and again.
"Yes, Mom… and this one probably is too," he thought, though he didn't truly believe it.
Everything was going too smoothly.
He had proposed.
She had accepted.
She signed the contract.
No one screamed.
No one ran away.
No plates were broken.
And now — his mother, loud as always, stood in his room declaring he was doomed.
"Did you even talk to her parents? Or do you just not care who you tie your life to?" she leaned closer, as if trying to peer into his soul.
"I…"
He didn't finish. His father sighed loudly.
"Enough. He's an adult," the man said without looking up from his newspaper.
"You talk to him like he's fifteen."
"It really feels like I'm fifteen," Temu thought bitterly.
He got up and walked out of the room. Staying there was unbearable.
He entered the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and stared at his reflection.
"What am I doing?.."
His face was pale, his eyes tired like someone who hadn't slept in a week.
He touched his cheek, traced his lips with his fingers, as if checking — was he even real? Was this a dream?
He remembered calmly Lim Cha-yeon
Despite his reluctance, Temu returned to the office once again. His workspace was here, in this once-proud building that had once been the pride of the company. He had asked his colleagues to avoid using the phrase "new reality" because he couldn't stand it. It was one of the most annoying buzzwords they used. But as the CEO, his voice was often drowned out by their bustling discussions and corporate statements, as though he were just a small cog in a massive machine.
Every morning started the same way. Temu walked into his office, which looked more like a set from a corporate film. Equipped with expensive desks and chairs, glass partitions, it created the illusion of success and stability, but every detail irritated him. The monitor on his desk glowed lifelessly, with several open Excel tabs displaying the company's metrics he was supposed to track, slowly blurring in front of his eyes. He couldn't understand how other people could derive satisfaction from this. He was nauseous from the tasks he had to complete, and he felt that every morning at the office turned him into someone else — someone who didn't live but merely existed, following the cursed routine.
Client calls. Reports. Expectations from shareholders. Sometimes he lost track of time, sitting at his desk, as though hours and minutes didn't matter. Each call on his mobile started the same: with a dull acknowledgment and a forced smile, as if the job required more acting than intellectual effort. But underneath, he felt his nervous system giving out. With every signed contract or completed task, there was no joy. He only felt relief that he wouldn't have to face another mountain of meaningless work at this stage.
Meetings with colleagues — especially with the team that supposedly managed all of this — were always filled with empty conversation. He struggled to focus on their speeches; their phrases seemed rehearsed and pointless, almost as though they were waiting for his blessing on yet another trivial initiative. Why all of this? Why was he spending his energy on something that, in essence, only maintained the illusion of success, creating intangible benefits for someone else but not for him?
Sometimes he felt as if his life was just one long checklist. Task completed. Next — to the next screen. His managers didn't understand what he was feeling. They looked at the numbers, the profit, the figures. But these dry, soulless digits didn't affect him. All this time, he had been something of a puppet, just playing his role in someone else's game.
And yet, despite all this, Temu couldn't bring himself to quit. Because deep down, he knew: without this, he would lose his place in society.