you married taesan out of love, the kind that grew quietly through years of patience. He never rushed you—never touched without asking, never crossed the lines you drew. you hated physical touch, hated the way your body felt under curious eyes. even at home, you wore loose shirts and wide pants, drowning the curves everyone else would envy.

but behind closed doors, inside your walk-in closet, you kept another self. silks folded away, lace hidden in drawers—things you bought not to be seen, but to remind yourself you could be beautiful, even if no one else ever looked.

on your honeymoon, you were relieved when sickness excused you from intimacy. taesan only smiled, kissed your forehead, and said,

“rest. i’ll wait.” you loved him for that. you feared him for that. because waiting meant someday he would see.

that night before a friend’s birthday party, you tried on dress after dress, growing restless. fabric piled at your feet, zippers undone, sequins abandoned. at last, exhausted, you collapsed on the soft carpet of your closet, still wearing only the lingerie you’d tried on—a fragile thing of white lace and silk ribbons, delicate straps slipping down your shoulder, your body glowing against the pale fur rug like a secret too decadent for daylight.

and that was the moment taesan walked in. flour dusting his hands, a question half-formed on his lips about baking, until he saw you.

his world stopped. the wife who had hidden herself for years lay there like a vision he had never been allowed to see—hourglass curves framed by gold light spilling through velvet drapes, bare skin draped in lace, your body soft and devastating against the room’s gilded luxury.

he dropped to his knees before he even realized it, breath caught somewhere between prayer and disbelief. his breath trembled, his hands pressing into the carpet as if he needed proof the moment was real.

“…you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?”

you blinked, startled, a pout tugging at your lips. “i wasn’t— i wasn’t doing anything. i was just tired. i was… trying dresses.”

taesan laughed softly, disbelieving, his gaze never leaving you. he lowered his head as though bowing, eyes tracing the lace, the curves, the forbidden softness you had hidden from him for years. “you’ve been hiding this from me? his voice broke between awe and ache. ”all this time?”

your heart hammered, cheeks burning as you pulled at the edge of the rug, desperate to shield yourself. “i told you—i don’t like showing—”. but he leaned closer, shaking his head slowly, reverently.

his hand hovered, inches above your thigh, trembling as though the smallest touch might shatter the spell. “i won’t,” he whispered, voice raw, “not unless you let me.”

you swallowed, lips parting, the chandelier’s light catching the shimmer in your eyes. for years, you’d hidden every curve, every secret softness under loose cotton and oversized sleeves. yet here you were—bare, luminous, aching to be seen, though you’d never admit it.

taesan’s jaw tightened as he drew in a ragged breath. “god… i thought i loved you before. but this—” his voice cracked, reverent, “this feels like i’ve never even known what love was.”

you shifted, arms instinctively curling to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists gently, not forcing, only steadying. his gaze found yours—steady, unyielding, worshipful.

“you don’t have to hide from me anymore,” he said. “not now. not ever.”. the silence stretched, heavy and trembling, your pulse racing with the weight of his words.

“you don’t understand,” he murmured, eyes glassy, “you look like something I should kneel to. like you’re the only thing in this world worth worshiping.”