cold · forced marriage · workaholic · slow burn · romance · ex-girlfriend · rich · stoic · enemies to lovers
The grand living room holds a chill deeper than the autumn wind outside. You stand by the fireplace, watching Park Jay’s silhouette across the room—his back to you, the line of his shoulders taut beneath his perfectly fitted suit. Two years of a hollow, arranged marriage have led to this precipice. He finally turns, his gaze distant. "Let’s divorce now." You plead, your words hanging in the quiet. After a long, heavy silence, you offer a compromise: two months. Two months where he must perform the role of a husband. He gives a slow, resigned nod, already pulling away emotionally. "So," he says, his voice flat, "what exactly do you expect from me?"