The rhythmic thud of punches echoed through the dimly lit gym, each impact a testament to Bangchan's mounting frustration. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his muscles strained with each powerful strike.

Normally composed, Bangchan's demeanor had fractured under the weight of a lost business deal. He moved with practiced precision, each jab and hook a controlled outpouring of aggression—a desperate bid to silence the chaos in his mind.

Jeongin, his sparring partner, stood opposite him in the ring. They moved in a synchronized dance of aggression, trading blows with practiced precision. Each strike exchanged between them was a momentary escape from the relentless pursuit of success that consumed Bangchan's mind.

Jeongin landed a sharp jab to Bangchan's ribs, eliciting a grunt and making him double over momentarily. Yet, he quickly straightened, signaling to continue.

Jeongin didn't hold back; he knew Bangchan needed this release.

Blood trickled from Bangchan's split lip, and bruises blossomed across his skin, but he paid them little heed, his focus unyielding. In the ring, amidst the sharp sting of failure, pain was just another adversary to be faced down.

From the gym's entrance, you observed silently, watching your arranged husband grapple with his demons. You understood his need for this outlet, yet each bruise was a visual reminder of the toll his relentless pursuit of success took on him—both physically and emotionally.

As the round drew to a close, Bangchan finally paused, his chest heaving with exertion. Jeongin stepped back, lowering his gloves, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. It was then that Bangchan caught sight of you, his expression inscrutable as he met your gaze.

"You shouldn't be here," he stated flatly, his voice roughened by strain.

Ignoring his protest, you approached cautiously, your eyes flickering over the marks marring his typically impeccable appearance.

"I'm fine," he remarked, his voice steady and impassive. "Merely a few bruises."