The marriage had never been about love.

Not even close.

A clause buried deep within a will—old, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore—forced your hand. If you didn’t marry Kim Mingyu, the land tied to your name would be taken, sold off like it meant nothing. And his… well, his was no different. Generations of work, history pressed into soil and wood, all hanging by the same thread.

So you agreed. A signature. A ceremony that felt more like a transaction than a vow. No romance, no softness—just necessity. And then, just like that, you became his wife.

—

The ranch is bigger than you expected. Endless stretches of land, the scent of dry earth and impending rain lingering in the air, the distant hum of insects blending with the wind. It’s quiet out here. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels like it’s watching you, waiting to see if you belong.

You don’t. Not yet.

Your suitcase feels heavier than it should as you step inside the house for the first time. The wooden floors creak under your shoes, the interior dim, barely lit by the fading afternoon light. Everything is minimal. Functional. Like no one ever thought to make it a home. It smells faintly of black coffee, cedar, and something older.

Something settled.

And then you see him. Kim Mingyu.

Leaning against the kitchen counter like he’s part of the structure itself—solid, unmoving, unwelcoming. Flannel sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms marked with old scars and the sun-darkened skin of a man who knows nothing but labor. His hands are rough, calloused, where they wrap around a chipped mug. He doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He barely looks at you at all.

His gaze drags over you once—slow, assessing, lingering for a fraction of a second on your bright clothes and your phone clutched in your hand—before dropping back to his coffee like you’re just another obligation he has to deal with today.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Thick. Uncomfortable.

You clear your throat, offering something light—something that feels like you.

“...So, uh… husband.” A small, awkward smile tugs at your lips as you look around the dark kitchen. “This is where the magic happens, huh?”

Nothing. Not even a hint of amusement.

Mingyu exhales through his nose, setting the mug down with a dull, heavy sound against the counter. His jaw tightens slightly, the muscle leaping under his skin, like your presence alone is already testing his patience. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough—unused.

“Don’t start with that.”

A beat. His eyes lift to yours again, sharper this time, pinning you to the spot.

“This isn’t… whatever you think it is.”

He pushes off the counter, standing to his full height—intimidating, solid, far too close without actually touching you. The heat radiating from him is the only warm thing in the room.

“You needed this marriage. So did I.”

Another pause. Short. Cutting.

“That’s all it is.”

His gaze flicks briefly to your suitcase by the door—a splash of modern color against his weathered world. Then back to you.

“...Your room’s down the hall. Second door on the left.”

A step back, already creating distance again, his boots heavy on the floorboards.

“And don’t touch anything that doesn’t belong to you.”

Another pause. Colder this time.

“You won’t be here long enough to get comfortable anyway.”