There are few things more infuriating than waking up before your alarm. One of them, I discovered, is waking up after hearing your not-so-fake wife get confessed to by her first love the night before.
I opened my eyes to a stream of morning light slicing through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta against me. My room smelled faintly of fabric softener and heartbreak.
Okay. Maybe not heartbreak. But something close. Like… ego bruising with a hint of jealousy.
I sat up slowly, squinting toward the door.
Silence.
Good. Maybe Bo-ra was still asleep. Or maybe she evaporated into the night with Min-hyuk and his tragically poetic hair.
Ugh. Don't think about him.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a long sigh. My chest still felt tight. Not like I was dying—but like something was weirdly out of place. Like I swallowed a Rubik's cube and couldn't figure out why it hurt.
I wasn't supposed to feel this way. We were fake-married. Emphasis on fake. There were rules. Boundaries. Contracts. One of them was definitely "do not catch feelings."
So why did my stomach drop like a malfunctioning elevator when Min-hyuk said those three cursed words?
I still love you, Bo-ra.
Tch.
I flopped back on the bed, groaning into my pillow like a melodramatic second lead.
Why did that even bother me? She didn't say anything back. Maybe she rejected him. Maybe she laughed in his face. Maybe she kicked him in the shins and told him to go back to the U.S. and stay there.
But then again… maybe she didn't.
What if she still had feelings for him?
I sat up again, this time fast enough to give myself a head rush.
"Nope," I muttered. "Not going there."
But the thought stuck like gum on a hot sidewalk. And the more I tried to shake it off, the more it clung.
I got dressed quickly—white dress shirt, navy slacks, no tie. Just enough effort to look like I wasn't spiraling internally.
As I headed downstairs, I peeked toward the living room. Bo-ra wasn't there. The empty glasses and snack wrappers were cleaned up. The place was unnervingly neat, like last night was just a fever dream sponsored by soju.
Maybe she had evaporated.
I slipped on my watch and grabbed my bag.
Still no sign of her.
Weird.
Usually, by now, she'd be teasing me about my bedhead or scolding me for stealing all the toothpaste.
But today?
Silence.
The kind that made my heart sink and stomach churn.
I opened the front door. Still no Bo-ra.
Was this what guilt felt like? Or maybe regret?
Whatever it was, it sucked.
Still, I left without a word. No note. No breakfast. Just a thousand thoughts crammed into my head and one annoyingly familiar voice whispering: You don't have the right to be mad. You're not even her real husband.
And that was the worst part.
Because no matter how much I wanted to be angry, or jealous, or sad—I didn't have the right to feel any of it.
I was just the guy she married for convenience.
A glorified roommate with a ring.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
---
Bo-ra's POV (brief interlude)
I walked into the kitchen humming a tune, half-asleep, expecting Yul to be rummaging through the fridge like he always did.
But the room was empty.
I blinked.
No sound of running water. No grumbling. No snarky remarks about my bed hair.
Just quiet.
"Yul?" I called out.
No answer.
I walked over to the entryway and saw his shoes were gone.
He left?
Without a single word?
What the heck?
---
Back to Yul's POV
Work was hell.
Not because of the meetings. Not because of the emails. But because she kept popping into my head at random intervals like a pop-up ad I couldn't close.
I was trying to read a report on market trends, and suddenly my brain went:
Did Bo-ra smile at him last night?
I was replying to an investor email, and my fingers typed "sincerely yours" instead of "respectfully," because clearly, I had lost all professionalism.
And when my assistant knocked to ask if I wanted coffee, I nearly said, "Is Bo-ra home?"
Which would've been… horrifying.
I sighed for the hundredth time and leaned back in my chair.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Bo-ra.
> "Did you leave already? You didn't even say goodbye."
I stared at the message for a full thirty seconds.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
I wanted to type something sarcastic. Something chill. Something like:
> "Didn't know I needed your permission."
Or
> "Was trying not to interrupt your quality time with Mr. America."
But instead, I locked the phone and shoved it in my pocket like a coward.
I couldn't bring myself to hit send.
Not when I didn't even understand what I was feeling.
---
That night, I got home late on purpose.
Lights were off except for the hallway lamp. Her slippers were neatly by the door.
She was home.
I exhaled.
Quietly, I tiptoed inside and headed to my room. The last thing I needed was an awkward conversation I wasn't ready for.
But as I passed the living room, I saw her.
Bo-ra, curled up on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders and a bowl of instant ramen in her lap.
She looked up, surprised.
"Oh. You're home."
I nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, got stuck at work."
A beat passed.
"Didn't know I needed your permission," she mimicked, raising a brow.
Crap.
She saw the unsent text.
I cleared my throat. "Didn't send that."
"No kidding," she said dryly. "What's with you today? You're being… weird."
"I'm not being weird," I said way too fast.
She narrowed her eyes. "You totally are. You didn't even bug me once. No sarcastic comments, no stealing my snacks, not even a dramatic sigh."
"I was busy," I mumbled, walking to the fridge.
I wasn't hungry. I just needed an excuse to not look at her.
"You sure that's all?" she asked softly.
I froze with my hand on the fridge handle.
No. That wasn't all. But I couldn't tell her that. Couldn't say I was spiraling because her ex basically poured his heart out, and my heart… kind of hated it.
Instead, I said, "You should sleep early. It's late."
She didn't respond.
I closed the fridge and turned back.
She was still watching me, lips pursed like she wanted to ask something but thought better of it.
And for once, I didn't have the energy to tease her out of it.
I walked to my room.
But just before I closed the door, I heard her whisper, barely loud enough to catch:
"Did I… do something wrong?"
My hand froze.
No, Bo-ra. You didn't.
The problem isn't you.
It's me.
I'm starting to fall for you… and I have no idea what to do about it.
---
To be continued.