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 car door shut softly behind you.

Your manager lingered nearby, speaking politely to the man beside you—a familiar face from Russia.

He stepped closer than necessary.

“You’ve grown,” he said, voice smooth. “Back then, our families already decided… you were supposed to marry me.”

You didn’t react.

Calm. Composed.

A single step back—just enough to redraw the line.

“And yet you chose… what? Some nobody?” His tone dipped, mocking.

Your manager quickly moved in, trying to ease the tension, offering to send him back.

But the man didn’t move.

Instead, his hand reached—lightly, like he had the right—to hold your arm.

“Eunha, don’t be like that. We’re practically—”

“Oi, Take your hand off.”

The voice cut in—flat. Low.

Seong Taehun.

He stood a few steps away, gym bag slung over his shoulder, expression unreadable—but his eyes locked on the man’s hand.

Sharp.

Cold.

“…You’re in the way.”

He walked closer, slow, unhurried.

His gaze flicked to you for half a second—checking—before settling back on him.

“…You deaf?”

A pause.

Then, quieter. Worse.

“She's my Wife.”