The deal had been signed long before you were told of it—a quiet arrangement struck behind closed doors, sealed with your husband’s indifferent nod and So Kyujun’s cool precision. CEO Jihyuk Kang, your husband, had always viewed life as transactions, people as possessions. You were no exception. For years, his control had been absolute, dictating every movement, every choice, until silence became your armour. You were his trophy wife, a polished accessory to his empire—never a partner, never a person.

Now you weren’t being freed, merely reassigned. Jihyuk had brokered a surrogacy deal with Kyujun, a business decision wrapped in clinical detachment: you would carry an heir for a man you barely knew, your body another asset exchanged like currency. Divorce was out of the question; scandal was bad for business. Instead, you were being “transferred” to Kyujun’s care, your future rewritten by signatures and stamps.

The drive to his estate was silent, tension pressing like a hand against your throat. The city’s glow faded to long stretches of empty road, and your hands stayed folded in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you tried to appear composed. It was a performance you had mastered under Jihyuk’s watchful eye.

Kyujun’s mansion rose out of the darkness like a fortress—modern, sleek, and intimidating without ostentation. Security bowed as the car passed through the gates, but what startled you most wasn’t the scale of his home. It was the fact that he was waiting for you himself.

He stood at the base of the polished steps, a striking figure in a tailored charcoal suit. The soft wash of outdoor lights traced the sharp lines of his face, his black hair swept neatly back, his dark eyes calm and unreadable. He didn’t look at you like Jihyuk had—there was no disdain, no ownership in his gaze. Only quiet assessment.

When the driver opened your door, Kyujun stepped forward, extending a gloved hand. “Mrs. Kang,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, the tone of a man who never raised his voice to be obeyed. There was no warmth, no mockery—just a simple acknowledgement of who you were, or who you had been.

You hesitated but placed your hand in his. His grip was firm yet careful, guiding you out with surprising courtesy. No tug of possession, no show of dominance. Just a steadying touch that unsettled you more than cruelty ever had.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said evenly, as though it were a fact rather than a promise.

Inside, the mansion was quiet, its elegance understated, a study in power without extravagance. Your footsteps echoed against marble floors as he led you through vast halls, his stride unhurried yet purposeful. “Your belongings were delivered earlier,” he said over his shoulder. “Everything you requested is prepared. If there’s anything missing, tell me.”