Chapter 2
People say you can get used to anything.
The long lectures, the cold cafeteria meals, the loneliness between classes — yeah, you get used to those.
But you never quite get used to being the husband of a woman like Seo Yuna.
Especially when you're nineteen, and she's twenty-nine, and half the country watches her every move like she built Seoul with her own hands.
⸻
Some days I walk the campus and wonder if people know.
Not because I want attention. I don't.
But because it feels strange to carry something so massive in silence — like living two separate lives in one skin.
I sit in lectures like everyone else. I turn in group assignments. I wait in line at convenience stores.
And then I go home to a penthouse that doesn't feel real half the time.
Kim Haemin — second-year economics student. Married to the woman behind Nara Group.
Most people would think I made it up. Maybe I would too, if I wasn't the one waking up next to her.
⸻
Before all this, I was just… normal.
Late-night instant noodles. Falling asleep over textbooks. Watching the same dramas on my phone until my battery died.
My parents? Gone early. I've got an aunt in Busan who raised me like I was her own, and that was enough.
I grew up not expecting too much from life — and in return, life didn't ask too much of me either.
Until her.
She walked into my world like she didn't even notice the walls.Thɪs
And suddenly, nothing about my life fit the way it used to.
⸻
❖ The Day I Met Her
It was raining hard the day we met. The kind of storm that floods shoes and drowns umbrellas.
I was walking home from class when I saw a black car spun out near the curb, smoke curling from the hood. No one else stopped. I did.
The driver's door creaked open. She stepped out — taller than me, soaked to the bone, blood trickling from the corner of her lip — but she didn't look shaken. Just… annoyed.
"Are you all right?" I asked, stepping closer.
"I think I sprained my ankle," she replied, flatly.
"Mind if I take a look?" I crouched down, checking her foot. "Yeah, there's a bruise forming. Not too bad, but you shouldn't put weight on it."
I glanced around. Rain was still hammering the pavement. "Listen, if you don't mind… hold the umbrella and lean on my back. I might be shorter than you, but I can carry you to that bus stop over there. At least we'll get some cover."
I was half-joking, but I offered my back anyway.
"It's okay," she said. "My driver's already on the way."
"Nope. Don't be stubborn now." I turned my back to her. "Come on. Hop on."
She stared at me for a second—like she wasn't used to being told what to do. Then, without a word, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and climbed onto my back.
I carried her through the downpour to the shelter. The whole time, she didn't say much. She wasn't the panicking type. Just quiet. Observing.
Ten minutes later, four black sedans pulled up in a tight convoy. Six men in black suits stepped out immediately, followed by a woman in heels — elegant, but not nearly as striking as the woman now sitting beside me. Definitely her secretary. She rushed over, umbrella in hand, and helped her boss up like it was standard protocol.
That's when I realized — she wasn't just anyone.
Before she left, she turned to me and asked, "What's your name?"
"Haemin," I said, polite but a little caught off guard.
"I'll remember that," she replied.
And just like that, she was gone.
I didn't think much of it after. Just one strange night in the rain. But two weeks later, that same secretary — walked straight into my university lecture hall. She said my name in front of twenty classmates, handed me an envelope, bowed, and left like it was nothing.
The whole class stared.
The rest of the week, I couldn't go anywhere without someone asking:
"What did you do to catch someone like her?"
"Are you dating a conglomerate heiress or something?"
"Did you save her life or what?"
I didn't have any answers. Not yet.
⸻
The Proposal
Inside the envelope was her business card — heavy, matte black, with her name embossed in silver: Seo Yuna. Tucked behind it was a handwritten note in sharp, neat strokes:
"Thanks for helping the other day. Let's talk."
That was it.
No return number. No explanation.
Three days later, I was standing outside a glass tower in Gangnam, checking if my shoes were clean and if I smelled like laundry soap.
Her secretary led me to a private lounge on the 36th floor. Yuna sat alone, elegantly composed, with her blonde hair tied back, her coat folded beside her, long legs crossed, and a cup of untouched tea in front of her.
"You're on time," she said, without looking up.
"You asked me to come," I replied, trying not to sound nervous.
She nodded once, then finally met my eyes. I didn't know what I expected — maybe warmth or gratitude — but she just looked… curious. As if I were a variable she hadn't quite figured out yet.
"Do you always stop in the rain for strangers?"
"Only when they nearly crash into a streetlight."
A flicker of a smile touched her lips — barely there, but real.
That first meeting lasted twenty minutes. She asked more questions than I did. About my major, my aunt in Busan, why I chose literature as a minor.
I left thinking I'd just gone through some strange interview I didn't fully understand.
The second meeting happened two days later, this time in a quieter room — her private office. It was bigger than any apartment I'd ever lived in. There was tea again, this time poured for both of us. She wore something simpler: black slacks and a blouse that still looked more expensive than anything I owned.
She talked more that day. Told me about her schedule, the kinds of decisions she made daily. Nothing personal — no stories from her childhood, no friends, no hobbies. Just facts.
"I work sixteen hours a day. I have thirty-seven direct subordinates. Every hour costs something."
"So… why are you spending time on me?"
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Because you interest me. I don't get interested easily."
"Did you do the same with other guys too?"
"You're the only guy in the world I've had a conversation like this with."
We talked for two hours.
By the third meeting, I had stopped trying to guess her reasons. I showed up at her office again. I don't know if it was just my imagination, but she seemed more beautiful every time I saw her. She was waiting, standing by the window with a pen in her hand and a document folder on the table.
She didn't offer tea this time.
"Let's stop wasting time," she said, turning around.
"Okay…?"
She slid the folder toward me. Inside was a marriage application. Two pens were clipped to the side.
"Marry me."
Just like that.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I've already run a background check on you. You're clean and discreet too. And also, you're not after anything — not that I can't handle people who are."
I didn't know whether to be offended or impressed.
"Is this some kind of social experiment?" I asked.
"No. It's my decision."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough. You didn't hesitate to help me. You didn't gawk when you realized who I was. You carried me without asking for anything, and you didn't follow up afterward either."
"That doesn't mean—"
She cut me off.
"I don't date. I don't waste time. When I want something, I take it. And I want you."
That shut me up.
"Am I just some tool you can buy whenever you want?" I asked.
She took a step closer, arms folded — not aggressive, just certain.
"You're kind and not intimidated by me. You didn't try to impress me either. That's rare. And let me be honest."
She stepped even closer and cornered me against the wall, her finger gently lifting my chin.
"I fell for you the moment we met—call it love at first sight if you want. You're not just good-looking, you caught my heart when you carried me on your back that day. You treated me like a normal person. Since that day, it's been so hard to sleep without thinking about you."
My face burned, but her expression didn't change. No teasing. Just honesty — quiet and plain.
"But I don't have anything special to give you."
"I don't need anything from you. Just stay by my side and love me the way I love you."
After a long moment of thinking, I said yes.
To be honest, I don't know what I was thinking at that time. Maybe it was because I was lonely. Or maybe I had already fallen for her without even realizing it.
I picked up the pen.
And I signed.
She took the form from me with a smile and nod of satisfaction.
"We'll keep it private," she said. "No public announcement. But if people find out, let them. Just continue with university. I'll take care of your expenses after this."
"When are we getting married?" I asked.
"Two days from now," Yuna said like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"What? In two days?" I nearly fainted. "Don't you think that's a bit rushed?"
"I don't like wasting time. What, are you changing your mind already? Any regrets?"
"No—no, nothing like that. Who wouldn't want to marry someone as beautiful as you? It's just… this still feels unreal to me."
Kiss.
Out of nowhere, Yuna kissed my cheek.
"Does it feel real now?" she asked, and I noticed the faint blush coloring her ear before she walked back to her desk and sat down.
"I'll have someone pack your things and move you to my place after everything is completed."
"Yes," I said, still a little stunned by the sudden kiss.
"See you in two days, my husband," she said with a soft smile.
Just like that—
I married Seo Yuna.
⸻
We got married quietly.
No ceremony. No flowers. No friends or family. Just a short visit to the office that issued our marriage certificate and a quiet ride back to her penthouse.
That night, she asked if I wanted to change universities.
"I can pull you out and transfer your credits," Yuna said casually, like she was asking if I wanted to change seats on a plane. "I'll handle everything. Or I can hire a private tutor if commuting feels like a waste of time."
I shook my head.
"No need. I like my school and my friends are there too. I just want to keep something simple."
She didn't argue. She just nodded once, kissed the top of my head, and went back to reviewing construction reports on her tablet.
Monday morning came like usual. I stepped into the lecture hall, found my seat, and pulled out my notes.
Hyunjae dropped into the chair beside me, mid-yawn—until his eyes caught something.
"Wait," he said, grabbing my hand. "Is this a ring?"
I didn't answer right away. I just gave a small nod.
His eyes nearly popped out, then, way too loud. "You're married?! Since when?!"
"Few days ago."
"To who?!"
I nudged him hard under the table. "I can't tell you that. Keep your voice down, idiot."
Hyunjae stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then, "No way. Are girls falling for short guys these days?"
He laughed, still in disbelief. "Seriously, though. Married? You? At nineteen? This is wild."
Before I could answer, the professor walked in. Thankfully, no one else heard our conversation.
At home, life changed more quietly.
Early on, Yuna was still the woman who smiled at me over breakfast, made time to hear about my classes, and set her phone aside long enough to cook kimchi stew on slow Sundays. Those early days, I thought maybe… maybe we could make it work.
But her world was too big to pause for long.
She didn't get rich by accident. She came from conglomerate family, and her company was already a juggernaut. But when she took over fully—secured new deals, expanded into global markets—something changed. Not in the business but in her.
She became… colder.
She began coming home later and later, tension carved into every line of her shoulders. If I asked how the day went, she answered in single words—"Fine." "Complicated." "Handled." If I asked a second question, her gaze went flat. Sometimes she walked past me without a word, straight to her office, door shut until dawn.
Yet—no matter how late—it never failed: she would slip into our bedroom, pull back the covers, and have her way with me. No small talk. No permission asked. A hard, urgent claim on whatever closeness she had left. I could barely read her expression in the dark, but I felt the desperation in her grip, the way she held on as if silence might swallow her if she let go.
Afterward she often turned away to stare at the ceiling until sleep dragged her under. And in the morning, she was gone before sunrise.
Over time, her questions sharpened:
"Where did you go after class?"
"Who were you with?"
"How long will you be out?"
If I hesitated, her tone cooled another degree. Once, when I returned home an hour later than promised—traffic, nothing more—she waited in the foyer, eyes like polished glass.
"Do you enjoy making me worry?"
"Yuna, it was one hour—"
*Slap*
The slap came so fast I didn't register it until the sting bloomed across my cheek. She watched me, breathing hard, then whispered, "Don't do it again," before walking away.
And that night—like every other—she still came to bed. Still took what she wanted. Still held me close, her breath heavy against my neck, as if nothing had happened.
The next morning, I tried to speak to her. She brushed my hand away, already grabbing her bag for a flight. “I’m tired, Haemin. Don’t test me today.”
After that, she started leaving marks on me more easily. Never where anyone could see—just a hard grip on my wrist, or pushing me against the wall if she thought I was ignoring her calls. And always, there were the late-night visits. She would wake me, take what she wanted, then turn away, leaving me wide awake, wondering
I still love her. I know the woman I carried through the rain is in there somewhere. But each night I wonder which version of Yuna will push open the door.
Either way, I wait.
Because no matter how cold her words or how sharp her hand became, I still remembered the woman she used to be—the one who was always gentle when we first met.
And a part of me still hopes she'll find her way back to that truth—before the distance becomes permanent, and the bruises are all we have left.
⸻
"We've arrived, sir."
The taxi stopped at the private basement entrance. I nodded, handed over the fare, and stepped out with two grocery bags in hand.
Parked a few steps away was a silver Aston Martin DB11. It was sleek, perfect in every detail — a gift from Yuna. She said I shouldn't have to take public transport anymore. I said thank you and meant it.
But I'd never driven it.
I couldn't picture myself pulling into campus with a sports car like that. So I kept taking taxis, trains, and quiet back routes.
I preferred the quiet kind of life.
My classes ended earlier than usual today. Instead of going straight home, I stopped by the supermarket near the station. It had become part of my routine — grocery runs on slow days, picking ingredients with no real plan except to make something warm.
I liked cooking. Especially for her.
In the bags were chicken thighs, eggs, thin-sliced beef, fresh spinach, soft tofu, bean sprouts, green onions, and a pack of strawberries she liked to eat late at night.
My phone had died just before I left the supermarket. I made a mental note to charge it as soon as I got in.
The elevator ride to the top floor was silent. Only one unit up here. Just ours.
I keyed in the passcode and stepped inside.
The lights were off.
The hallway was cool and quiet, faintly smelling of air freshener and clean marble floors.
I stepped in slowly, shoes tapping softly on the entryway tile.
And there they were.
Her shoes.
Black pointed heels, neatly placed by the door — the ones she wore to meetings when she didn't want to be interrupted.
She was home.
Early. Unannounced.
My hands tightened slightly on the grocery bags.
She never came home at this hour. Not without a reason.