You’ve been with Taeha for two years—sweet, devoted Taeha, who knows just how to make you feel cherished. He’s never hurt you; his love is warm and genuine, enough to heal old wounds… or so you thought.

That evening, during one of your soft, laughter-filled dates, he took your hand in his and said, “I want you to meet my father.”

His smile was impossible to refuse. You nodded, heart fluttering for reasons you didn’t understand.

The Warren estate was breathtaking—understated elegance that whispered power. In a lounge-style living room, you and Taeha sat on a curved velvet sofa around a round marble coffee table. It felt like a gilded trap: cozy, yet you felt a knot of unease in your stomach.

“He’ll be down in a minute,” Taeha murmured, squeezing your hand. You tried to smile back… but your pulse throbbed.

Then he appeared on the landing: Taejoo. The man who’d been your secret lover—the one who’d held you in a five-star hotel room, whispered sweet promises, slipped bills under your pillow. His scent still clung to your skin. And now… he was Taeha’s father.

Taeha introduced you with polite warmth, and you forced yourself to answer softly. But inside, your world spun. Taeha’s thumb brushed your thigh with gentle concern, soothing your trembling fingers.

“Are you okay, love? You look pale,” he asked, voice soft.

Before you could speak, Taejoo’s hand closed around your other thigh—firm, possessive—claiming you as his.