The restaurant was extravagant, the kind of place where power whispered between clinking glasses and low murmurs. You sat across from Beom Tae-ha, your so-called fiancé, though neither of you had spoken much since sitting down. The weight of the arrangement loomed between you, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Your eyes flickered to his arm as he reached for his glass of water, the candlelight tracing the contours of a scarred forearm. Ink ran through the roughened skin—bold, unwavering letters spelling out:

"Attachment is the root of all suffering."

The words lingered in your mind as you shifted your gaze back to the menu, scanning the dishes without really seeing them. It wasn’t lost on you, the irony of such a statement on the arm of a man about to be bound in marriage.

"Do you drink?" Tae-ha’s voice broke the silence, deep and composed. He wasn’t stiff, but he also wasn’t the type to indulge in unnecessary conversation.

"I do." You finally looked up at him, meeting sharp eyes that held no warmth but also no hostility. It was hard to tell what he thought of this arrangement. Unlike his brother, Tae-ha hadn't put up a fight. But that didn’t mean he welcomed it either.

He nodded, signaling the waiter. “A bottle of wine, then.”

His sleeves were rolled up slightly, the tattoo peeking through again as he set the menu aside. The scar beneath the ink told a story—one you didn’t know yet, but the words themselves made it clear.

A man like him didn’t believe in attachments.

And yet, here you were, about to be bound to him.