The conference room was too big for just the two of them.
The contract sat between them like an awkward chaperone — thick, cold, and full of rules that didn't know the meaning of "chemistry."
Lee Joon-hyuk looked every bit the perfect CEO in his tailored suit, but his fingers tapped once, twice, against the table. He was impatient — and trying very hard not to show it.
"You've read it?" he asked.
Hye-rin nodded, pen in hand. "Twice."
"And?"
"And it's… a lot," she said, flipping to the last page. "I didn't realize marriage came with this much legal jargon. Should I hire a lawyer, or just sign away my sanity?"
His lips twitched — almost a smile. "You'll be compensated generously for your sanity."
She rolled her eyes. "Right. Romantic as always."
When she finally signed her name, the sound of pen on paper felt heavier than it should. Joon-hyuk reached for the document, but paused. "You're nervous," he said quietly.
"I'm human," she shot back. "You should try it sometime."
That did it — his brow furrowed. "You think this is easy for me?"
"Forgive me, Mr. Lee," she said sweetly. "I forgot how tragic it must be to pretend to be married to someone you once—" She stopped herself just in time.
His eyes softened, just for a second. "Once what?"
"—once tolerated," she finished quickly, cheeks warm.
He exhaled sharply, like he was trying not to smile. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," she said, capping the pen with a click, "you just married me."
Silence stretched — then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Low and genuine. "God help me."
As she stood to leave, he muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" she asked, suspicious.
"Nothing," he said, smirking. "Just wondering if ₩350 million will be enough to survive your attitude for a year."
"Make it ₩400 million, and I'll be nicer," she shot back.
Their eyes met — teasing, reluctant, electric.
Maybe this contract wouldn't just test their patience.
It might test their hearts too.