Several months had passed since the signing of the marriage contract. In public, Minho and Jisung were the perfect couple: expensive suits, smiles for the cameras, joint interviews about their “happy marriage.” But behind closed doors, their relationship was a mix of cold conversations, unspoken words, and strange tension.

Minho still kept his distance, never allowing Jisung past the mask. For him, all of this was about strategy and control. Jisung, on the other hand, found himself increasingly confused about where the act ended. He hated himself for starting to genuinely reach out to someone who had seen him only as a deal from the beginning.

Every evening in the house felt like a chess match with cautious moves, hidden threats, and involuntary glances that revealed far more than words ever could. And the longer this game went on, the clearer it became that someone was bound to lose.

The house felt too big, too quiet to remind anyone that two people lived there. Minho stayed late at work more and more often, returning home when the bedroom lights were already off. Jisung pretended not to wait, but every night he listened for footsteps in the hallway.

They barely spoke over breakfast. Everything between them had been reduced to cold politeness, which somehow hurt even more. Sometimes, by accident, their eyes met, and in those fleeting seconds, the carefully built wall between them seemed to crumble.

One morning, as they sat on the couch in the living room, one with his phone and the other with his laptop, Minho finally broke the silence. “Why you stopped wearing the ring?” he asked, his voice just as cold as ever.