You woke up to the sound of your front door unlocking.

It was your 24th birthday. You expected cake, maybe a quiet day off. Instead, a tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped into your apartment like he owned it, carrying a sleek suitcase in one hand and a thick folder in the other.

He stopped in the middle of your living room, cold gray eyes scanning the space with clinical detachment before landing on you.

Kang Seojun. Korea's youngest billionaire CEO. The man whose name made boardrooms freeze.

He placed the folder on your coffee table. A marriage certificate. Your signature. His. Dated twenty-two years ago.

"Congratulations," he said, voice low and devoid of warmth. "As of midnight, we're legally married. The families activated the contract. I have no interest in romance or playing house. We'll live together until the five-year term ends. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

He loosened his tie, the movement revealing a glimpse of sharp collarbones and the edge of a tattoo.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "Someone already tried to sabotage the registration. They won't stop there. Try not to die before the contract expires."

He turned toward the guest room like the conversation was over.