The skyline of Luma City glittered like it had forgotten the storms.To everyone else, it was just another Tuesday — buses honking, neon signs flickering, people rushing into glass towers.But for Ha-rin, every step toward Luma Labs felt like walking back into a memory that wasn't finished.
Her reflection in the lobby doors looked steady enough — tailored blazer, tied hair, the practiced calm of a corporate strategist — but inside, her heart was chaos.The scent of sterile air and coffee reminded her too much of him.
She hadn't expected Jae-hyun to be waiting there already.
He stood by the reception desk, sharp in a black suit, hair still damp from the drizzle, and eyes that looked like they hadn't quite learned how to rest.For a moment, he didn't speak — he just looked at her, like the world's clock had stopped again for this exact second.
Ha-rin exhaled first. "You're early."
His lips curved faintly. "You're late."
Seo-jin, balancing two lattes behind them, groaned. "Ah, the classic enemies-to-lovers workplace tension. My favorite breakfast."
Ha-rin shot him a look. "You're not helping."
"Wasn't trying to," he said cheerfully, handing her the coffee.
At the security gate, the receptionist smiled politely. "Dr. Kang, Ms. Yoon — the board has been expecting you. Meeting Room Twelve."
Twelve.Of course.
Ha-rin's stomach twisted as they stepped into the mirrored elevator.Every reflection multiplied them — a hundred versions of two people pretending not to remember everything they'd survived.
The silence between them was thick with half-spoken words.
Finally, Jae-hyun murmured, "You know what they're going to ask."
She looked straight ahead. "You'll handle it."
"No," he said quietly. "We will."
The boardroom was all glass, all power.Executives in dark suits. Digital clocks ticking in synchronized rhythm along the wall.
At the head sat Chairman Kwon, the kind of man who made silence feel expensive.He gestured toward them. "Our research team reports that the Echo project was stabilized—by both of you."
Ha-rin nodded once. "We neutralized the residual loops."
Kwon leaned forward. "And in the process, you compromised every trace of proprietary data. Now the press suspects internal sabotage."
Seo-jin coughed nervously. "In my defense, I only accidentally leaked minor apocalyptic details."
Ha-rin kicked him under the table.
Kwon's gaze slid to Jae-hyun. "We need damage control. Publicly, the two of you will remain partners."Then, with deliberate precision: "Privately, you'll sign a temporary marital contract—a confidentiality clause disguised as a civil union."
Ha-rin blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It will neutralize any legal suspicion of internal conflict. Married couples can't testify against each other."
Seo-jin nearly dropped his tablet. "You're serious? We're weaponizing matrimony now?"
Jae-hyun's jaw flexed once, then relaxed. "Fine. I'll do it."
Ha-rin turned sharply. "You didn't even ask me."
He met her gaze, calm but unreadable. "I didn't need to. We've done harder things together."
Her pulse spiked. "That's not the same."
"No," he said softly. "This time, it's real."
After the meeting, the three of them walked through the rain-washed plaza outside the tower.Seo-jin trailed behind, muttering, "I'm officiating this wedding. I've earned that right."
Ha-rin ignored him, clutching her folder. "You shouldn't have agreed without—"
Jae-hyun stopped suddenly, turning to face her. "Ha-rin. They were going to separate us. This way, we stay in control."
"By faking a marriage?"
His voice lowered. "By protecting you."
She stared at him — at the exhaustion behind his steadiness, the faint silver flicker still hiding under his skin.He wasn't just her old rival or her past love anymore. He was something between the man she remembered and the machine that time refused to forget.
And maybe that's why her next words came out quieter than she meant:"Fine. But it's just a contract."
He smiled, the kind that wasn't really a smile. "That's what we said about love once."
Later that evening, they sat side by side in the corporate registrar's office, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead.Two signatures.One heartbeat that stuttered twice.
When the notary stamped the file, Ha-rin glanced sideways.His fingers brushed hers — not by accident.Warm, deliberate, familiar.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Kang," he murmured, almost teasing.
She glared at him, but her voice betrayed her. "Don't push it."
He leaned closer, whispering, "Then pull me instead."
Her breath caught — and for a fleeting second, she laughed, because even after everything, he could still do that.
Outside, the clocks of Luma City struck midnight —and somewhere deep in the lab's basement, an old monitor flickered awake.12:00.00 → 11:59.59.The clock had begun to dream backward.