Han Temu awoke in a luxury hotel suite, the cold of the early morning clinging to his skin like a phantom. A shiver ran down his spine. His head throbbed, his stomach twisted with dull pain, and his whole body ached as if he'd been dragged across the concrete.
The oversized clock mounted on the wall read 4:31 AM.
Panic tightened his chest. He sat up sharply, heart pounding with a terror that came not from the pain, but from something far worse—his family had found him.
Stumbling out of bed, Temu moved quickly, nearly tripping over the edge of the plush carpet. He searched frantically for the bathroom, barely managing to splash cold water on his face. The icy sensation helped, just a little.
He gripped the sides of the sink, breathing heavily.
He was alone.
A wave of cautious relief washed over him. No shadows moved. No angry voices called his name. No footsteps echoed in pursuit. The nightmare had not yet materialized.
His gaze dropped. His suit was still on him, slightly wrinkled but otherwise intact.
His fingers reached into the chest pocket—and pulled out a folded note.
"You were unconscious at the service entrance of the flower boutique Lim Cha-yeon. I sent you to a hotel room and paid for your taxi.
I hope you're alright.
You owe me. I'm not a charity.
— Lim Cha-yeon"
Temu stared at the neat, sharp handwriting. His lips twitched into a tired, bitter smile. The bank card number was written at the bottom of the paper.
Han Temu sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his mind still spinning from the note and the pain that hummed through his body. As the adrenaline faded, something else rose to the surface—hunger.
His eyes wandered to the polished table by the window, where a pristine bowl of fruit sat under soft lighting. Grapes, apples, slices of mango, and something that looked like imported melon. He didn't remember seeing it before, but his body moved before his mind could question it.
He reached out and took a grape.
Then another.
And another.
He didn't notice how quickly he devoured everything in the bowl, only that his stomach seemed to be filling with something warm, grounding. There was no disgust, no hesitation. For the first time in what felt like days, food didn't feel like poison.
The taste didn't matter. The texture didn't matter.
What mattered was that for a few precious minutes, his body didn't hurt as much.
The digital clock on the wall now read 6:00 AM.
Han Temu sat curled on the couch, a folded hotel blanket over his shoulders. The pain had dulled, and his stomach was no longer empty, but his mind refused to rest. Sleep had not returned, only the silence of morning and the slow tick of time.
Then—
Click.
The door handle turned.
Without a knock.
Without a warning.
Without permission.
The door creaked open.
Temu froze.
His heartbeat spiked instantly, louder than the quiet room. His thoughts screamed through all the possibilities. Had they found him? His mother? His father?
His breath caught in his throat as the door slowly opened wider.
He stood up without meaning to, feet unsteady, a cold sweat blooming down his back.
They wouldn't come this early.
Would they?
No… but what if—
The figure never came.
Only silence.
The door, left slightly ajar, stood still for a long moment—then slowly, gently, clicked shut on its own.
Temu stood in the center of the room, unmoving. His pulse thundered in his ears. He didn't move to the door. Didn't breathe. Didn't speak.
Then—
Knock.
A single, sharp rap.
Then again.
Knock.
Then two more, faster.
Knock-knock.
And again.
And again.
And again.
The sound echoed like gunshots in the quiet suite.
Temu stayed frozen. He did not open the door.
His eyes never left the entrance, yet his legs felt rooted to the ground. Time stretched, taut like a wire about to snap.
Then—
The door opened.
Not by his hand. Not by the card key.
It simply opened.
And through it stepped a woman.
Temu's body was frozen, but his mind raced.
The moment their eyes met, something clicked in his brain—her name surfaced like a reflex, not a memory.
Lim Cha-yeon.
She stepped into the room as if it were hers, her coat brushing the doorframe, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She looked at him without sympathy, without warmth—only with sharp calculation, like a person expecting a very late payment.
"I told you," she said coolly, tossing her bag on the nearby chair, "I'm not a charity."
Temu tried to speak, but his throat caught.
His hand went instinctively to his pocket.
His wallet. He opened it slowly.
That was it.
No bills. No cards. Only 14,000 won.
Temu didn't remember speaking.
He wasn't even sure if he had.
Maybe it was a thought that slipped out.
Maybe it was the desperation that leaked from his eyes, or the shaking in his breath.
But when he saw her standing there—Lim Cha-yeon, the exact name, the exact face—his mind dragged up an old, half-formed plan. A plan so reckless he'd never said it aloud.
He had wanted to propose a fake marriage.
And if she demanded it—if it would make her stay—he was even ready to make it real.
Just… if she would agree.
His lips moved, and something left his mouth—he didn't know what.
Maybe it was just: "Stay."
Maybe: "Help me."
Maybe it was her name, whispered like a prayer.
But her expression changed.
Not in anger.
Not in confusion.
Just the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she had just heard something incredibly inconvenient… or incredibly interesting.
She clearly wasn't planning to stay.
Lim Cha-yeon had already picked up her bag. Her coat was half over her shoulder. The look in her eyes was cold, precise—businesslike. Like she had done what she came for, and now it was time to leave.
But then—
Her phone rang.
A soft vibration, followed by a sweet, polite melody that clashed with her sharp image.
She frowned, looked at the screen, and answered with a quiet sigh.
Temu didn't understand much of the conversation.
His thoughts were swimming, slow and foggy.
His ears rang.
Words blurred together.
But one thing pierced through:
"Yes, the future husband."
"…he's a farmer."
"That's what they're saying."
Something about land. A promise. Money. Obligation.
Temu blinked slowly.
Future husband?
A farmer?
His chest tightened.
He didn't know if she noticed he was still listening. Maybe she thought he wasn't even fully conscious.
But he was.
Barely.
And all he could do was watch her, half in a daze, trying to hold on to the one thing he knew—her name.
Lim Cha-yeon.
The fog in Temu's mind lifted just for a second—
Just long enough to catch her words, clear and deliberate, as she spoke into the phone:
"Because the marriage was offered… a minute ago."
The room went silent again.
Temu's mouth opened before he could think.
Maybe it was the haze, maybe it was the heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maybe it was her tone—neutral, cool, but not denying.
And he said, to the person on the phone, or maybe to her:
"It's true. I made her a proposal just now."
"She accepted."