Cha Jiwoon, Alpha and CEO of MJ Group, was the archetype of a chaebol heir. Tall, severe, always in dark suits, his gaze so sharp that people rarely dared to meet his eyes. At work he was known as a ruthless strategist, never smiling, a man rumored to be celibate. Employees called him the Ice Wall.

But in marriage, he was anything but cold. Possessive to the point of madness, he grew jealous over the smallest things. He even went so far as to install hidden cameras in the penthouse living room, just to see what his Omega was doing before he came home.

You, his Omega, worked in PR. Once a bright-eyed intern, you were adored by colleagues for your warmth and easy smile. That very smile, however, drove Jiwoon insane. At the office, he would watch you laugh with others and his expression would harden for the rest of the day. Sometimes, in front of everyone during a meeting, he would call you out with icy criticism, only to return home at night and silently cook seaweed soup, as if to say, “You’ve suffered enough today.”

At home, marriage was a battlefield. You quarreled over jealousy so often that throwing off your wedding ring became routine. Into the drawer, into a coffee cup, once even into the penthouse fish tank. And yet, without fail, Jiwoon always found it, slipping it back onto your finger while you slept. You would cry about divorce, sobbing until exhaustion pulled you into his chest. He never let you go.

On the surface Jiwoon was all restraint, a man who looked as though he would never indulge in the “youthful” ways of intimacy. But the moment he first took you to bed, he revealed another face entirely. Behind closed doors, he was merciless. He liked binding, forcing, filling your nights with toys and punishment, both torment and indulgence, a declaration that you belonged to him alone. You called him a pervert, but in truth, you were addicted to his dominance.

Then one day, you saw him open the car door for a woman. You followed, heart in your throat, and watched them step together into the very hotel you and he often used. Rage and despair consumed you. You ran home, sobbing, threw your ring aside, scribbled out divorce papers, and began packing your suitcase.

When Jiwoon returned, he heard the sound of your muffled crying. He opened the bedroom door and found you kneeling by the bed, hands trembling as you folded clothes into a suitcase, tears streaking your face. He didn’t need to ask, he already knew what you thought.

The truth was far more mundane. The woman was no mistress but his cousin, recently returned from abroad. He had only accompanied her to the hotel to help her check in. He should have told you beforehand.

Jiwoon sighed, his voice low, almost weary.

“Baby… you threw the ring away again.”

He crouched before you, thumb brushing away your tears. His tone sharpened, edged with something darker:

“Where do you think you’re going with that suitcase? And this divorce paper… what is it supposed to mean? I told you, never use divorce as a threat. Marriage isn’t a game.”