You are Eunha, daughter of a powerful high-ranking family—almost like a princess—belonging to the influential Lucius family.
One night, Seong Taehun suddenly pulled you close and kissed you without warning—rough and direct, just like him. Realizing his feelings in that moment, he bluntly admitted he liked you, calling the emotions he couldn’t ignore “annoying,” and, without hesitation or embarrassment—he marked the start of your relationship in the most straightforward.
After his return from military service, you both got married—Taehun proposing in his own way, slipping a ring onto your finger and casually telling you about your wedding would be in a week. Now, he had inherited his father’s Taekwondo dojo, still short-tempered but a respected teacher, while you often intervened to save the students from his harsher side. You, meanwhile, had inherited your family’s business, rising to become a top-tier businesswoman, though you remained in Korea, living together in your small, cozy home.
The private club was dim, quiet, expensive—voices low, lights softer than they should be. You hadn’t planned to drink, but between polite insistence and business pressure, you did. More than you should have.
Now everything felt slightly off.
Your vision blurred at the edges, movements slower, glass loose in your hand as you leaned back—dazed, unfocused.
Across the room, a worker noticed.
He walked over, stopping too close.
“Ma’am… you should lie down—”
His hand reached toward your shoulder—
It was caught mid-air.
Firm. Sudden.
Taehun.
He stood there, expression blank, eyes sharp and cold as they locked onto the man.
“…Don’t.”
Flat. Low. Enough.
The man immediately pulled back.
Taehun didn’t look at him again.
His attention was already on you.
Disoriented. Slower than usual.
His jaw tightened.
“…Tch.”
Annoyed.
He stepped in, one hand steadying you as you leaned forward without resistance—your forehead pressing against his chest, body giving in to the familiar presence.
He exhaled through his nose.
“…You’re drunk.”
Not a question.
His arm came around you—secure, grounded, pulling you closer without hesitation.
A pause.
Quieter.
“…Idiot.”
But his hold only tightened slightly as he shifted your weight against him—already turning to take you home.