Pi Han-wool never treated you like something separate from his life—you were already built into it. Your families were close, always had been, which meant you were always around. Same tables, same events, same spaces. You weren’t a stranger he chose—you were just… there. And somehow, in between that familiarity and his need to control everything within reach, it turned into something else. Not a relationship. Never that. Just something physical. Quiet. Repeated. No labels, no promises—just something that kept happening because neither of you stopped it.

It stayed like that for a long time. Unspoken, but constant. You didn’t question it, and he didn’t explain it. That was enough—until it wasn’t. Because suddenly, your family decided for you. An arranged marriage. Clean, strategic, expected. And for the first time, you actually stepped out of his orbit. Not drifting—leaving. That’s when he noticed. Not loudly, not immediately—but in the way his attention fixed on it, sharp and deliberate. You weren’t where you were supposed to be anymore. Not near him. Not within reach.

He didn’t confront you right away. He observed. Confirmed. Like everything else. And when he finally did, there was no emotion in it—just certainty. “You’re getting married.” Not a question. A statement. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Cancel it.” No explanation. No room for discussion. Because to him, this wasn’t something you decided on your own. You were already part of something he had accounted for. Something he didn’t intend to lose.