●The Trouble I Am
I stayed home that day.
Not because I was sick. Not because I was scared.
Just... because I wanted to see how long it would take before he cracked under my boredom.
And I was very bored.
I roamed around the mansion like a ghost in silk pajamas — barefoot, braid messy, dragging my fingers over antique shelves and imported vases while the staff tried not to laugh.
"Miss," one of the guards warned gently, "that statue costs more than a Bugatti—"
"Then maybe you should've bolted it to the floor."
In the kitchen, I stole cookies before dinner. In the garden, I rearranged the plants. In the lounge, I played the piano wrong on purpose until the old lady came storming in.
"You're looking for trouble," she scolded.
"I am the trouble," I said proudly.
She muttered something about brats and heartbreak before stuffing an apple in my hand and shooing me off.
But when I returned to my room, my personal devil was waiting — Kim Taehyung, sleeves rolled up, sitting calmly on the floor beside the bed.
With a bottle of pale pink polish in his hand.
"Your nails are chipped," he said without looking at me.
"So?"
"So sit still. I'll fix them."
I sighed dramatically but plopped down anyway, legs crossed.
He painted each nail like it was a ritual — slow, careful, utterly focused.
"You're ridiculous," I muttered.
"And you're still pretending to hate me," he replied, not even blinking.
"Yet here you are. Letting me braid your hair every night."
"That's because you do it well."
He looked up, lips curling.
"And you're in love with me."
I scoffed.
"I'd rather kiss a cactus."
From the hallway, his men chuckled behind closed doors.
"The boss paints her nails now? Braids her hair too?"
"Man's gone soft."
"Whipped."
Taehyun didn't even flinch.
He just pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
"Let them talk. You're mine."
♡The Storm with a Smile
The peace shattered by early afternoon.
A loud engine. Heavy boots. And a voice loud enough to silence the entire hallway.
"Tae!"
"Tell me you didn't cancel the arms deal for her freakin' fever!"
I turned the corner in time to see him.
The great Kim Junho.
Dressed in black. Boots muddy. Tattoos peeking from his sleeves. Jaw clenched. Hair wet from rain. The youngest heir of the Kim empire, and the exact opposite of my husband in every way — wild, loud, unfiltered.
And furious.
His eyes found me immediately.
"You're her?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Wow. Rude."
He scoffed and stormed past me into the main hall where Taehyun waited like a prince among chaos.
"Hyung, you're losing it," Junho snapped. "You canceled a raid. You sent three men to find her when she was gone for two hours. You hold her bag when she shops—and now you're painting her damn nails?"
Taehyun didn't flinch.
"She's my wife."
"She's a brat," Junho growled. "You're a mafia boss, not a babysitter."
I stepped forward, crossing my arms.
"I'm right here, you know."
"Yeah. And I'm still wondering what black magic you used to turn my brother into this heart-eyed disaster."
"I didn't ask for any of this!" I snapped.
"Yeah?" Junho stepped closer, glaring.
"Then what did you do? Because Kim Taehyun — the man who once burned down an entire warehouse just for betrayal — now braids your hair like a lovesick fool and skips meetings just to walk your damn dog."
Taehyun rubbed his temples.
"We don't even have a dog."
"Exactly!"
The old lady muttered in the corner.
"I like her better than you already."
●The Interrogation
Later that evening, I stepped out into the courtyard for air — the sun low behind the hills, the wind teasing the hem of my dress.
That's when I heard it.
The quiet, steady click of boots on stone.
"Enjoying the empire you married into?" came a voice behind me — sharp as glass, smooth as sin.
I turned.
Kim Junho stood there, arms crossed, all black leather and shadows.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Following me, Mr. Mafia Prince?"
"Protecting what's mine."
"Your brother isn't yours, you know."
"No," he said, stepping closer, eyes narrowed.
"But he's all I've got. And I won't watch him fall for a trap with long eyelashes."
I blinked slowly.
"Are you always this charming with women or just the ones your brother marries?"
He didn't smile.
Didn't blink.
"Who are you, really?"
I frowned.
"You know who I am."
"No. I know what Taehyun thinks you are — sweet, fragile, innocent."
He stepped closer, his voice low and accusing.
"But I've seen agents like you. Spies with glass hearts and venom in their smiles. You show up out of nowhere, no real background, no past, no roots—"
"I lost my memory!" I snapped.
"Convenient."
I stepped back, jaw trembling, but he didn't stop.
"You think I don't see it? My brother, the devil of the underworld, holding your hand through hell like a poet on his knees?"
He leaned in.
"No one breaks Taehyun unless they know where to hit."
I blinked up at him — eyes wide, confused, afraid — those same doe eyes that melted even the coldest part of his brother.
For a split second, he froze.
Like something in my face tugged at something buried in him.
But it passed.
His jaw tightened.
"You're either the perfect victim… or the perfect lie."
"Believe what you want," I said softly, stepping around him.
"But I don't need your approval."
"No," he said coldly, watching me walk away.
"But you'll need my protection when this all explodes."
●The Line is Drawn
That night, Junho met Taehyun on the balcony.
The older brother stood quietly, smoking. Watching the stars like they meant something.
"She's dangerous," Junho said.
Taehyun didn't turn.
"No," he replied softly.
"She's mine."
"Even if she's lying?"
"Then I'll break," Taehyun said, "but I'll never let her go."
And for the first time, Junho didn't answer.
Because even he knew:
No matter what truths they uncovered, one fact was already irreversible —
His brother was in love.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
And that meant war… for both of them.