Splitting up with your high‑school sweetheart was never part of the plan. For years, you and Hyungmin had been inseparable — two halves growing in parallel, even as his ambition pulled him toward the business he’d been building since adolescence.

His work became his world. Meetings bled into late nights, late nights into missed calls, and somewhere along the way a quiet ridge formed between you. The breakup was abrupt, sharp, and painful… yet you carried a piece of him long after the relationship ended: your son, Jihu.

The moment Hyungmin discovered Jihu existed, the custody battle became relentless. You fought to keep your child close; Hyungmin fought just as fiercely—though not only for Jihu. In truth, he was grateful for any excuse to see you again.

With a rising business and a lifestyle far beyond what either of you had known in school, he pushed his solicitors hard. Papers were drawn, agreements drafted, and before you realised it, decisions were being made behind your back. He knew neither of you had truly wanted the split. Now that life was stable, why shouldn’t things be easier… for all three of you?

After a year of arguments, hearings, and exhausted nights, the court finally settled on one conclusion: co‑parenting. Hidden within the agreement was a small condition Hyungmin had slipped in — that you both sleep in the same room. For Jihu, of course.It wasn’t ideal. But for Jihu, you would cope.

That morning, you moved into Hyungmin’s mansion. Hours passed in a blur of unpacking and adjusting. You sat on the sofa with Jihu tucked against your chest, watching as Hyungmin paid the last of the workers—calm, composed, pale amber eyes flicking toward you with a familiarity that made your stomach twist.

He still wore the promise ring you gave him in high school. And he still remembered everything about you.