**Lee Yoon-seo**

In all the versions of my life I imagined — struggling entrepreneur, future girlboss, occasional stress-eater — getting fake-married to Seoul’s most frustratingly handsome CEO was *never* part of the blueprint.

Yet here I was.

Sitting across from Ji Hoon-min. CEO of JH Group. Walking perfection in a tailored suit. A man so polished, his hair probably had a personal assistant.

He crossed his legs, fingers interlaced, gaze sharper than a spreadsheet error at tax season. “I believe the terms are clear,” he said coolly.

I blinked at the thick stack of papers between us — the *contract marriage agreement*. Yes, an actual contract. With real clauses. And signatures pending.

“Clear?” I scoffed. “Crystal, sure. Except for the part where this is absolutely insane.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I leaned back, folding my arms. “Still haven’t answered the main question.”

He raised a brow. “Which is?”

“Why me? Out of all the women in Seoul — influencers, heiresses, that actress you were once rumored with — why pick *me*?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Simple. You’re efficient. Logical. And, from what I’ve gathered... emotionally detached.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wow. Is that your idea of a compliment or a warning?”

“Both,” he replied, lips twitching. “It’s called multitasking.”

I wanted to throw my overpriced oat milk latte at him. But unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong.

This morning, my investor *oh-so-sweetly* hinted that being a single, independent woman in a male-dominated industry wasn’t a “reassuring image” for shareholders. Translation: *Get a man or lose funding.*

Cue the universe serving me Ji Hoon-min on a silver platter — equally desperate to shut up his board members, his family, and the media pestering him about his *‘bachelor status’*.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Fine. Let’s hear the terms.”

He slid the contract toward me, flipping pages like a lawyer mid-trial. “One year. Attend key events together. Occasional joint interviews if necessary. Appear as a happy, functional couple in public.”

“Sleepovers?” I deadpanned.

His pen paused mid-signature. He glanced up, clearly thrown off. “...If the situation requires.”

“Right.” I smirked. “And physical affection?”

His ears — *his actual ears* — turned a shade redder. Barely. Blink and you’d miss it. “Minimal. Only when publicly required.”

“And... private affection?” I teased, enjoying the way his jaw visibly clenched.

“Unnecessary,” he stated flatly. “This is strictly business.”

“Of course it is.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “No catching feelings, then.”

His eyes darkened, voice lowering. “Especially that.”

Famous. Last. Words.

---

**→ Cutaway — Third Person | Tae-oh (Assistant) POV**

Behind the frosted glass, Tae-oh pinched the bridge of his nose, watching the two future lovebirds argue over contract clauses like they were negotiating international diplomacy.

He pulled out his phone and opened the group chat titled *‘Cupid Club’*.

> 📨 **Tae-oh:** “It’s happening. They’re actually signing the contract.”

> 📨 **Hoon-jae (SML/Brother):** “3 months before one of them caves.”

> 📨 **Ah-rin (SFL/Sister-in-law):** “No way. Two months tops. My money’s on him falling first.”

> 📨 **Tae-oh:** “Nah. My bet’s on her. Stoic on the outside, but she’ll crumble when he does the eyebrow furrow thing.”

Tae-oh sighed. *These two are a romcom waiting to happen.*

---

**→ Back to Yoon-seo (First Person)**

I skimmed the clauses, my stomach tight. This was insane. Utterly, irreversibly insane.

But my company... my dream... it needed this. I needed this.

“Any exit clause?” I asked.

“If either party wishes to terminate before the year, a penalty applies,” Hoon-min replied. “But I doubt that’ll be necessary... unless you’re planning on falling for me.”

I blinked. Then let out a laugh. “Trust me, that’s the *least* of your concerns.”

*Liar,* a traitorous voice in my head whispered.

With a steady breath, I grabbed the pen, hovering over the signature line. “Alright, Mr. CEO. Let’s do this.”

His expression softened — just a flicker, barely there. “Ready?” he asked quietly.

“No.” I smiled. “But let’s pretend I am.”

The pen slid across the paper. My signature, bold and final.

And just like that... I became Mrs. Ji Hoon-min.

*Faux. Temporary. Definitely not real.*

...Right?