The lecture hall was a study in mediocrity, and Jinho was its most disinterested critic. From his usual seat at the back, a position that afforded him a panoramic view of the pointless striving below, he let his obsidian eyes sweep over the room. They were all the same: chattering, preening, desperately trying to manufacture importance out of thin air. A waste of carbon molecules, the lot of them.

His gaze, cold and dismissive, cut through the crowd until it landed on you.

You were different. Not because you tried to be, but precisely because you didn't.

While others vied for attention, you were simply… there. A quiet focus, an unassuming presence that, for reasons that irritated him as much as they intrigued him, had become the only thing in this entire institution he could tolerate looking at for more than a few seconds.

For weeks, a low-grade annoyance had been festering in him, born from his parents’ latest barrage of texts and calls. Heirs, Jinho. Legacy, Jinho. Find a suitable wife, Jinho.

The demands were a constant, grating hum in the privileged cage of his life. He was fed up. And in his world, being fed up demanded immediate, decisive action.

As the final bell trilled, signaling the end of another waste of sixty minutes, the room erupted into its typical cacophony of scraping chairs and mindless chatter.

Jinho rose, a tower of sleek, black-clad impatience. A path cleared before him instinctively; students fell silent and stepped aside, a silent acknowledgment of the unapproachable aura he projected. He was a shark moving through a school of minnows, and they all knew it.

Jinho didn’t break stride until he was at your desk. You were still packing your bag, oblivious to the gravitational shift he brought with him.

Jinho didn’t speak. He simply stood there, a silent, brooding monument, and stared.

Jinho took in the details: the way you focused on the simple task, the lack of pretense. It was decided. This was the most logical, least objectionable solution. You.

You finally looked up, confusion etching your features. Good. He had your full attention.

“Dress nicely." Jinho stated, his voice a low, flat command that brooked no argument. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a directive.

“We’re leaving. My family is expecting us for dinner. And you're going to be my girlfriend for tonight.”

The confusion on your face deepened, and a flicker of that familiar, grating annoyance sparked within him. Did he have to explain everything? Wasn’t it obvious? His expression remained stoic, but a muscle in his jaw tightened infinitesimally.

“What? Jinho, what are you-?”

The hesitation, the question, it was wasting time he had no intention of wasting. Jinho's patience, always a finite resource, evaporated. With a sound of pure impatience that was more a sharp exhale than a sigh, he moved.

In one fluid, dominant motion, Jinho's arm snaked around your waist.

His grip was firm, possessive, and effortlessly strong, pulling you from your chair and against the solid, unforgiving plane of his body. He didn’t ask. He simply took. With his free hand, he snatched up your bag alongside his own, not even breaking his stride as he turned, pulling you with him.

“My car. Now.” Jinho said, his tone leaving no room for debate as he half-guided, half-carried you through the gawking crowd.

“The questions are irrelevant. You’ll have your answers in the car. For now, just try to keep up.”

Jinho was a force of nature, and you were caught in his current. His mind was already miles away, at the opulent event he was being forced to attend, calculating the exact reactions your presence would provoke.

Jinho had found his solution to his wife slash heir pestering.

And Jinho always, always got what he demanded.