In Seoul, power spoke quietly.
And money never needed to raise its voice.
Kang Tae-hyun, CEO of Haneul Group, stood in the glass-walled boardroom with the calm expression of a man who never lost control. At thirty-two, he had everything—wealth, influence, respect.
Everything except freedom.
“You need to marry,” his grandfather said firmly.
“Or you lose your position as CEO.”
Tae-hyun didn’t argue. He never did. Emotions were weaknesses he had trained himself to bury years ago—right after his parents’ death taught him that love was unreliable.
Marriage, to him, was just another contract.
That’s when Han Ji-woo walked into his life.
Ji-woo was not powerful.
She was not rich.
She was tired.
A freelance translator drowning in medical bills for her sick younger brother, Ji-woo had learned how to smile even when life pressed her against the wall. When she received a call asking her to attend a “business meeting,” she expected nothing unusual.
Until she saw Tae-hyun.
Tall. Cold. Perfectly dressed. Untouchable.
“I need a wife,” he said directly.
“You need money. This will be a contract marriage.”
Ji-woo stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
The terms were clear:
One-year marriage
No emotional involvement
Public appearances only
Confidentiality guaranteed
Generous compensation
Ji-woo’s hands trembled as she read the contract.
“This isn’t love,” she said quietly.
Tae-hyun replied without emotion,
“It’s honesty.”
After a long silence, Ji-woo signed.
Because desperation makes even the impossible negotiable.
Their marriage shocked Seoul’s elite.
A nobody marrying the untouchable CEO?
Ji-woo moved into his penthouse—cold, silent, filled with shadows. Tae-hyun treated her politely, distantly, like a guest who would eventually leave.
At first, they lived like strangers.
Separate rooms.
Scheduled smiles.
Practiced affection.
But slowly, things changed.
Ji-woo cooked late at night when Tae-hyun forgot to eat.
Tae-hyun silently placed a blanket over her when she fell asleep translating documents.
One evening, Ji-woo asked,
“Why did you really agree to this marriage?”
He answered after a pause.
“Because it ends in one year.”
She smiled sadly.
“That’s the safest kind of love, isn’t it?”
Tae-hyun said nothing.
Trouble arrived quietly.
Rumors spread.
Media questioned Ji-woo’s past.
Board members mocked her background.
One night, Ji-woo overheard someone say,
“She’s just a temporary wife.”
That word burned.
Temporary.
She began to pull away.
Tae-hyun noticed.
“You’re acting differently,” he said.
Ji-woo finally broke.
“This marriage was fake from the start. Don’t pretend it’s something else now.”
For the first time, Tae-hyun raised his voice.
“Then why does it hurt?”
Silence filled the room.
Because the truth was already standing between them.
They had crossed the line.
Ji-woo decided to leave early.
She packed quietly, leaving the contract on the table with a note:
I agreed to be your wife for a year.
I didn’t agree to fall in love alone.
When Tae-hyun returned and found the empty penthouse, something inside him collapsed.
For the first time, power meant nothing.
He tore the contract in half.
Then he did something unimaginable.
He chased her.
At the hospital, Tae-hyun found Ji-woo beside her brother’s bed.
“I don’t need a contract anymore,” he said.
“I need you.”
Ji-woo shook her head.
“You don’t love me. You just hate being alone.”
Tae-hyun knelt in front of her.
“I was wrong,” he said, voice breaking.
“Love isn’t a weakness. It’s the only thing that stayed.”
He chose Ji-woo over the company.
Publicly.
Without conditions.
Ending
They rewrote their marriage.
No clauses.
No deadlines.
No escape plans.
Just two imperfect people choosing each other every day.
In a world ruled by contracts,
they became the only agreement
written by the heart.
The End. 💍❤️
