Requested by Mila.
The first time you realized you were truly trapped with Ban Ju-yeon, it wasn’t at the wedding.
It was when the doctor smiled gently and said, “Congratulations.”
You stared at Ju-yeon across the small consultation room. He looked just as stunned as you felt. One reckless, drunken night—one moment of weakness between two sworn enemies—changed everything.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” He said coldly outside the clinic.
“It means a baby,” You shot back. “Yours.”
“Our baby,” He corrected stiffly.
The arranged marriage followed quickly. Your families celebrated. The press received a polished lie about romance and destiny. Behind closed doors, it turned into a battlefield.
You argued about everything—what side of the bed to sleep on, what to eat, how to announce the pregnancy. He criticized the way you folded laundry. You mocked his rigid schedules. The tension stayed sharp and constant.
But when your stomach began to show, something shifted.
The first time the baby kicked, you gasped. Ju-yeon argued about nursery colors.
“What?” He demanded.
You grabbed his wrist without thinking and pressed his hand against your stomach. The kick came again.
He went silent.
For once, Ban Ju-yeon had nothing to say.
After that, he came home earlier. He attended every appointment. He read parenting books late at night, pretending you didn’t notice.
When your daughter was born, he stood beside you, pale but steady. You crushed his hand during labor, and he didn’t complain once.
“She has your eyes,” He whispered when he held her for the first time.
“She has your frown,” You muttered, exhausted.
He almost smiled.
The real challenge began at home. Sleepless nights. Crying at 3 am. Bottles, diapers, laundry.
One night, you walked into the nursery and found him pacing with your daughter against his chest.
“You’re holding her wrong,” You said automatically.
“Then show me,” He replied, too tired to argue.
You stepped closer and adjusted his arms. Your hands lingered. For a moment, neither of you moved.
“She calms down with you,” You murmured.
“She calms down with you more,” He answered quietly.
In front of the baby, you both softened. You spoke gently. You learned to coordinate without fighting. You shared small smiles when she giggled. You stood closer than necessary during family gatherings, playing the part of a loving couple.
At first, it was an act.
Then one evening, your daughter took her first steps. She wobbled between you and Ju-yeon, tiny hands reaching.
You both crouched at the same time.
“Come to Daddy,” He said softly.
“Come to Mommy,” You said, holding your breath.
She stumbled forward and fell straight into both of you. Ju-yeon caught her while you steadied her. Your foreheads bumped.
You laughed.
He looked at you—and this time there was no rivalry in his eyes. Only warmth.
“She’s stubborn,” You said.
“She gets that from you,” He replied.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re dramatic.”
But neither of you sounded angry.
Later that night, you found him in the kitchen washing bottles.
“You missed a spot,” You said.
He glanced at you. “Then come fix it.”
You stepped beside him. Your fingers brushed. Neither of you pulled away.
“You don’t have to do everything,” You said quietly. “You worked all day.”
“She’s my daughter,” He answered. Then he looked at you. “And you’re my wife.”
The word felt different now.
“We’re only doing this for her,” You said.
“At first,” He corrected.
You frowned. “And now?”
He dried his hands and stepped closer. “Now I don’t want her to grow up watching us treat each other like enemies… thinking love is cold.”
You swallowed. “We still argue.”
“Less,” He said.
Days turned into routines. Shared breakfasts. Late-night whispers so you wouldn’t wake the baby. Quiet teamwork. When your daughter laughed, you looked at each other first, as if sharing a secret victory.
Still you felt unsure.
Today, Ju-yeon came home with flowers.
He handed the little girl a small daisy, then a bouquet to you.
Your brows furrowed, he smiled.
"It's Valentine’s day."