By morning, the penthouse no longer felt beautiful.
It felt guarded.
Seo-yeon noticed it the moment she stepped out of her bedroom. Two additional security men stood near the elevator, their dark suits severe, earpieces catching the light. They bowed politely, but their eyes moved constantly, scanning corners, exits, shadows.
Looking for threats.
Or confirming she had nowhere to run.
Her chest tightened.
She remembered Min-jae's voice outside her door the night before.
Every enemy I have will look for ways to reach me.
And they would start with her.
"Good morning, Madam," the house manager greeted gently, as if this were any ordinary day. "The Chairman is waiting for you in the dining room."
Chairman.
Husband.
Stranger.
She nodded and forced her feet forward.
Min-jae sat at the long table, sunlight cutting across his sharp profile. A tablet rested near his hand, multiple reports open, numbers and headlines reflecting in his eyes. Even at breakfast, he looked like he was negotiating with the world.
He glanced up when she entered.
Something unreadable flickered there — relief, perhaps — before discipline buried it.
"Sit," he said.
Not unkind.
Not warm either.
She obeyed.
A plate appeared in front of her, prepared perfectly. She realized with a strange twist of discomfort that someone had already learned her preferences.
Or perhaps Min-jae had.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"Eventually."
A pause.
"You were afraid," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Seo-yeon met his gaze. "You told me people might come after me. How else should I feel?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Good," he said.
She blinked. "Good?"
"Fear means you'll listen to instructions," he replied calmly. "From today, you don't go anywhere without approval. If security tells you to stop, you stop. If I tell you to stay beside me, you stay."
The words scraped against her nerves.
"I'm not a prisoner," she said.
"No," he agreed.
"You're my weakness."
The air left her lungs.
He said it without drama, without softness — simply a fact he had calculated overnight.
"And weaknesses," he continued, "must be protected."
Protected.
Or controlled.
She wasn't sure which frightened her more.
Later that afternoon, Min-jae insisted she accompany him to the company headquarters.
"It will look suspicious if my wife hides," he said.
So she went.
The building rose like a monument of glass and authority. Employees lined the lobby, bowing deeply as Min-jae passed. Some of them stole quick glances at her, curiosity blazing behind professional masks.
News of the marriage had traveled fast.
Too fast.
In the elevator, Min-jae's hand hovered at her back again, guiding but never quite touching. The absence of contact felt louder than if he had pulled her close.
"You will hear rumors," he said.
"I already have," she replied.
"Ignore them."
She hesitated. "Do they ever ignore you?"
Something dark crossed his expression.
"No," he said.
The doors opened.
Chaos greeted them.
Reporters had slipped past reception, cameras flashing, voices colliding in a storm of questions.
"Chairman Kang! Why the sudden wedding?"
"Is this connected to the merger?"
"Madam, were you dating secretly?"
Seo-yeon froze.
Min-jae didn't.
His arm wrapped around her waist in one smooth motion, firm, possessive, undeniable. The contact stole her breath. She felt the strength in him, the silent promise that nothing would reach her without going through him first.
"Enough," he said.
The single word cut through the noise.
Security moved instantly, clearing a path.
But Min-jae didn't release her.
Not until the elevator doors closed again upstairs.
When they did, he looked down at her.
"You did well," he murmured.
She could still feel where his hand had been, warmth branded into her skin.
"I didn't do anything," she whispered.
"You stayed," he corrected.
As if leaving him were the worst mistake she could make.
The afternoon passed in a blur of meetings she wasn't part of but still required to attend. She sat beside him, silent, aware of how often his gaze returned to her as though verifying she remained exactly where he had placed her.
At some point, she realized something unsettling.
He was not pretending.
The marriage might be strategic.
But his vigilance was real.
It happened just before evening.
Min-jae was speaking with directors when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it once.
And the temperature of the room dropped.
"End the meeting," he said.
No explanation.
People obeyed.
Seo-yeon's heart began to race as he crossed to her in long, controlled strides.
"What is it?" she asked.
"We're leaving," he replied.
"Why?"
His eyes swept over her, checking, confirming.
"Someone sent flowers to the house," he said.
She blinked. "That's not—"
"They were addressed to my wife," he finished.
Cold understanding slid down her spine.
"Is that bad?" she whispered.
Min-jae's expression hardened into something terrifying.
"I didn't send them."
"I didn't send them."
The words followed Seo-yeon all the way to the underground parking level.
Min-jae moved quickly, one hand at her back, security forming a wall around them. No one spoke. No one needed to. The tension rolling off him was enough to silence the entire building.
Flowers.
Such a harmless thing.
Until they weren't.
She slid into the car, heart hammering. Min-jae followed, door shutting with a final, echoing thud. The driver pulled away immediately.
"Maybe it's just congratulations," she offered, though the hope sounded weak even to her own ears.
Min-jae didn't look at her.
"Congratulations don't arrive without a sender," he said.
His phone was already in his hand. Rapid instructions. Names. Orders. His voice remained calm, but beneath it she heard something violent struggling to surface.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
The realization unsettled her more than the threat.
She turned toward the window, watching the city smear into motion. This morning she had thought she might survive six months of pretending.
Now she wasn't certain she would survive six days.
By the time they reached the penthouse, the flowers were gone.
So was half the staff.
Only security remained.
"They're being examined," Min-jae said as he guided her inside. "No one touches anything until it's cleared."
Her stomach twisted. "What if it was nothing?"
He stopped walking.
Finally, he looked at her fully.
"What if it wasn't?" he countered.
She had no answer.
He led her into the living room, but he did not step away this time. His presence remained close, almost caging her against the back of the sofa.
"You shouldn't have brought me into this," she said suddenly.
The thought had been growing all day, and now it broke free.
"I didn't know your enemies were like this."
"They are worse," he said.
"Then why me?" she demanded, anger flaring past fear. "Why choose someone who can't survive your world?"
Something dangerous flashed across his face.
"I chose someone I could protect," he replied.
"That's not protection!" she shot back. "It's exposure!"
His control slipped.
"Do you think I don't know that?" he snapped.
The force of it stunned her into silence.
He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing once, sharply, as if wrestling himself back into discipline.
"I calculated risk," he said more quietly. "I believed I could eliminate it."
"But you can't," she whispered.
"No," he admitted.
The honesty between them felt raw, fragile.
Real.
Minutes passed before either of them moved.
Seo-yeon became aware of how close he was again. How easily he could reach for her. How impossible it would be to misunderstand the meaning of it.
This was supposed to be business.
So why did it feel personal?
"If something happens to you," he said, voice lower now, stripped of corporate polish, "it will be because of me."
The confession tightened her chest.
"You can't control everything," she said.
"I can try."
"You sound like a man preparing for failure."
His eyes darkened.
"I don't fail," he said.
But she heard the uncertainty beneath it.
A member of security approached, bowing slightly. "Sir. Preliminary scan. No explosives."
Relief fluttered weakly in her ribs.
"But," the man continued, "there was a card."
Min-jae held out his hand.
The guard hesitated only a moment before passing it over.
Seo-yeon watched as Min-jae opened it.
She saw the exact second he read the message.
All warmth vanished from his face.
"What does it say?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Her fear rose again, sharp, suffocating.
"Min-jae," she pressed.
Slowly, he handed her the card.
Three words were written in clean black ink.
How long?
Her fingers trembled.
How long until what?
Until the marriage ended?
Until she broke?
Until they reached her?
She looked up.
Min-jae was already issuing orders, voice ice-cold, movements lethal in their precision.
But when his gaze returned to her…
there was something else in it now.
Something that had not existed when they signed the contract.
Not strategy.
Not calculation.
Not ownership.
It was terrifying.
"I'm sending you away," he said.
The words hit like a slap.
"What?"
"Somewhere safe. No press. No access. Until I end this."
Her mind spun.
"You mean hide me."
"I mean keep you alive."
"I didn't agree to disappear!" she cried.
"You agreed to be my wife," he said.
"As long as you are, you remain my responsibility."
Responsibility.
The word should have comforted her.
Instead, it made something ache.
Because responsibility could end.
And she was suddenly terrified of the moment it would.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"If you stay near me," he said, voice dropping, "I can protect you."
Her breath shook.
"And if I don't?"
His answer came without hesitation.
"Then I will come find you."
The promise wrapped around her like chains.
Not romantic.
Not gentle.
Absolute.
She should have pushed him away.
Instead, she whispered the most dangerous question she had ever asked.
"Why?"
Why would a man like him go that far?
Why did it matter?
For a moment, she thought he might finally say it.
His hand lifted slightly, as if he meant to touch her face.
But the phone rang.
Reality crashed back in.
His hand fell.
The moment died.
"I have work to do," he said, the mask returning perfectly into place. "Pack a bag."
He turned away.
Command given.
And just like that, the man who had almost confessed something life-altering vanished back into the untouchable chairman the world feared.
Seo-yeon remained where she was, heart hammering, staring at his back as he spoke into his phone in that same clipped, merciless tone.
Deploy another team.
Track the florist.
Pull the cameras.
I want names.
Voice ice-cold.
Movements lethal in their precision.
But she had seen it.
The crack.
The terror.
And now she could not unsee it.
Pack a bag, he said.
As if she were leaving for a weekend.
As if she were not being quietly removed from her own life.
Seo-yeon walked toward the bedroom on legs that felt borrowed. Her reflection followed her down the hallway — pale, shaken, eyes too bright.
How had it become this?
A contract signed in desperation.
A marriage born from necessity.
Somewhere between the hospital and the penthouse, the lines had blurred until she no longer knew where the performance ended.
Or where she did.
Inside the room, she opened the wardrobe.
Dresses. Shoes. Jewelry.
A wife's life curated overnight.
Nothing here belonged to the girl who took the subway, who counted coins before ordering coffee, who believed love came with warmth instead of negotiations.
She touched one of the silk sleeves.
"If I stay near me, I can protect you."
His voice replayed.
And beneath it, the promise.
If you don't… I will come find you.
Why would that make her chest tighten instead of calm?
A knock sounded at the half-open door.
She turned.
Min-jae did not enter.
He stood at the threshold like a man aware he had already crossed too many boundaries tonight.
"The car will be ready in twenty minutes," he said.
She nodded.
Neither of them mentioned what almost happened in the living room.
Neither of them dared.
"I don't want a palace," she said suddenly.
He blinked.
"What?"
"The safe place," she clarified. "Don't lock me in some mansion where the walls are higher than the sky."
Understanding dawned slowly.
He had been planning exactly that.
"Seo-yeon—"
"I already feel like I disappeared," she whispered. "If you hide me, I'll vanish for real."
The honesty of it struck him harder than accusation.
He exhaled, slow.
Measured.
"Then we find somewhere smaller," he said.
Compromise.
From a man who rarely made them.
She watched him carefully.
"You're afraid," she realized.
"Yes," he answered.
No pride swallowed it.
No excuse disguised it.
"I am."
The admission moved through her like heat.
For the first time, she understood the weight he carried — enemies who did not fight fair, power that demanded constant vigilance, affection that could become ammunition.
To love him was to stand in a battlefield wearing white.
"I'll go," she said.
His shoulders loosened — just a fraction.
But enough.
When he finally stepped into the room, the air shifted again.
He picked up her suitcase, efficient, controlled, but too aware of her standing only inches away.
"Security will rotate every eight hours," he said. "You'll have a private line to me."
"You already have a thousand calls a day," she replied.
"I will answer yours."
Immediate.
Unquestioned.
Their eyes met.
Something fragile trembled there.
She wondered how long before one of them broke it.
In the hallway, his staff pretended not to watch.
They failed.
The chairman carrying his wife's bag was not a sight anyone had expected.
Min-jae ignored them.
If protecting her made him look weak, then so be it.
Let the world misunderstand.
He preferred that to losing her.
At the elevator, she hesitated again.
Once those doors closed, everything would change.
Distance had a way of growing teeth.
"Min-jae," she said.
"Yes?"
"If this ends… if it becomes too dangerous…"
He stiffened.
She forced the words out.
"Promise you won't destroy yourself trying to save me."
His expression turned unreadable.
"That isn't a promise I can make."
The elevator arrived.
Doors sliding open like fate accepting payment.
He guided her inside, hand at the small of her back.
Gentle.
Possessive.
Unwilling to let go.
When the doors began to close, instinct overruled discipline.
His fingers tightened.
"Call me the moment you feel afraid," he said.
She tried to smile.
"I'm already afraid."
His jaw flexed.
"Then stay on the phone," he answered.
The doors shut.
Cutting them apart.
For several seconds, he stood there, staring at his own reflection in the metal.
He looked like a man who had just sent his heart somewhere he could no longer guard with bullets.
Downstairs, inside the moving car, Seo-yeon pressed her fingers to her lips.
He almost said it.
She knew he did.
And somehow, the almost was worse.
Because unfinished words had a way of haunting people.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You can run from the building.
But you can't run from us.
Her blood turned to ice.
High above, Min-jae's phone rang at the exact same moment.
New intelligence.
Movement detected.
Their enemy was no longer watching from afar.
They were approaching.
Min-jae's gaze snapped toward the city.
Toward the direction the car had gone.
Toward her.
And for the first time in years, Kang Min-jae felt something he could not control.
Fear.
"Turn the car around," he ordered.
But deep down, he already knew.
He might be too late.