The first thing Kang Yejun saw that morning wasn't the winter sky.
It was his face.
On his phone screen.
The image was slightly blurry, captured from a distance, but still undeniably clear: him, impeccable in a black overcoat, and beside him, a young man with a red scarf, very close. Too close.
The headline read:
AHN FAMILY HEIR INVOLVED IN SECRET RELATIONSHIP?
The comments below multiplied like snow in a storm.
"Finally, the ice prince has someone?"
"This will affect Ahn Holdings' stock."
"Who is this boy?"
Yejun didn't react.
He just swiped his finger across the screen and deleted it.
But the silence inside his apartment felt heavier than usual.
The heating was on. The temperature was comfortable.
Even so, he felt cold.
—
The meeting room on the top floor of Ahn Holdings headquarters was all glass. Transparent. Exposed.
Like him now.
Executives lined up at the table avoided eye contact. The screen in the background displayed unstable graphs.
At the center of the table, seated with perfect posture, was his father.
Ahn Seungho didn't raise his voice. He never needed to
"The stock has fallen 2.3% in the last few hours," said one of the directors, nervously. "Foreign investors have already requested clarification."
Silence.
Then, finally:
"Yejun."
Just his name.
He looked up.
"Yes, Father."
"You will announce your engagement during the winter retreat."
The sentence fell like a verdict.
NOT a request.
NOT a suggestion.
It was a decision already made.
"With Cha Yura," Seungho continued. "The alliance will strengthen our international position. This… rumor… will be buried."
Yejun held his father's gaze.
He didn't blink.
"Understood."
On the outside, he was unwavering.
Inside, something small broke.
On the other side of town, completely oblivious to the corporate meeting deciding the future of billions, Han Minjae was trying to wipe blue ink off his cheek using the reflection in the window of the café where he worked part-time.
"Did you see that?" his colleague asked, almost knocking over a stack of books as she ran towards him.
Minjae turned, distracted.
"If it's about me burning the croissants yesterday, I swear it was the oven."
She shoved her phone in front of him.
And there it was.
The photo.
He froze.
"...That's not—"
It was.
It was him.
Leaving a business building after delivering a temporary mural commissioned for a corporate event.
He vaguely remembered bumping into someone on the way out.
A tall man. Elegant.
Cold.
"I'm dead," he murmured.
"You know him?!" his colleague almost shouted.
Minjae looked at the image again.
The man beside him seemed untouchable. As if the snow itself avoided touching his shoulders.
"No," he answered, too quickly. "I don't know him."
But the memory persisted.
The brief contact of shoulders.
The gaze that pierced him as if he were glass.
—
At the end of the workday, the sky was already dark.
Minjae adjusted his red scarf and left the café, breathing in the biting night air.
He was typing a message to his teacher—explaining that he might need to delay payment for materials again—when he heard:
"Han Minjae."
He stopped.
He turned around.
The same man from the photo was there.
Under the cold light of the underground parking lot.
Impeccable.
Silent.
Dangerous in a way that wasn't physical.
It was emotional.
"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.
Minjae crossed his arms.
"The guy who just destroyed my peace of mind?"
A slight, almost imperceptible movement at the corner of the man's lips.
It wasn't a smile.
But almost.
"My name is Kang Yejun."
Minjae hoped the name meant less than it did.
It didn't.
He swallowed hard.
"Okay. Mr. Billionaire, who's probably going to sue me."
"I'm not here to sue you."
The silence between them grew thick.
Snowflakes began to fall, slowly.
"I'm here to propose something."
Minjae should have left.
He should have said he wasn't interested.
But something about the way that man kept his shoulders rigid, as if he were always ready for impact, made him stay.
"Three weeks. " Yejun said.
"What?"
"Pretend to be my boyfriend during my family's winter retreat."
Minjae blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Is this some kind of secret reality show?"
"It's a deal."
Yejun pulled an envelope from his overcoat pocket.
He placed it in Minjae's hands.
The weight was real.
"This covers your overdue tuition fees. And more."
Minjae's heart pounded too hard.
"You investigated me?"
"I needed to know if you would cooperate."
That should have offended him.
And it did.
But it was also frighteningly tempting.
"Why me?"
The answer came quickly.
"Because you're already in the picture."
The world already believed it.
They just needed to maintain the lie.
Or maybe… Yejun took a step closer.
Not invasive.
But close enough for Minjae to smell the discreet, elegant perfume.
"No emotional involvement." Yejun continued. "Three weeks. Then, each goes their own way."
Minjae stared at that perfect face.
Cold.
But the eyes…
The eyes were tired.
"What if I say no?"
"Then I'll announce my engagement."
There was something about the way he said it.
It didn't feel like victory.
It felt like defeat.
Minjae squeezed the envelope.
He thought about the bills.
About the purse.
About the constant fear of falling. He also thought about the man in front of him.
So tall.
So controlled.
So alone.
"Three weeks?" he asked.
"Three weeks."
The snow began to fall more heavily.
Minjae extended his hand.
"I want respect." Yejun looked at his hand for a second that seemed too long.
Then he took it.
The touch was firm.
Warm.
"You'll have it."
And at that exact moment, they both crossed an invisible line.
No contract could truly control what was to come.
At the top of the Ahn Holdings building, lights were still on.
Ahn Seungho watched the snow-covered city.
He already knew his son had found the boy.
And he smiled slightly.
Because he believed he controlled the entire chessboard.
He was wrong.
Yejun was inside the car with his eyes closed.
Heavy breathing.
Whispering to himself:
"Don't get involved."
After leaving, he thought, holding the envelope against his chest.
"Don't get hurt."
The snow falls.
And the story begins.