## **Lee Yoon-seo**

Of all the things that could wreck a perfectly good Wednesday — a fake marriage proposal wasn’t on my bingo card.

Yet, here we were. Sitting in a glass-walled café, an untouched latte growing cold between us, while Ji Hoon-min — CEO, workaholic, walking perfection in a three-piece suit — calmly slid a *contract* across the table.

A marriage contract.

“...You’re serious.” I blinked, wondering if someone had spiked my coffee.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Completely.”

“You do realize this is the plot of half the rom-coms on Netflix, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied smoothly. “I don’t watch television.”

Of course he didn’t. Robot.

---

I stared down at the document, flipping to the first page. My own name typed next to his. Beneath it, the heading:

> **“Mutual Partnership Contract Agreement — Clause 1: Love Not Included”**

“Catchy title,” I muttered.

He adjusted his cufflinks like this was a quarterly merger. “It’s efficient.”

Efficient. Right. Because nothing screams efficiency like entering into a legally binding fake marriage.

---

“So let me get this straight.” I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You want me to... pretend to be your wife?”

“For one year,” he confirmed, folding his hands. “Attend public events together. Deter gossip. Satisfy both our corporate and personal obligations.”

“And in exchange?”

“You gain stability. Investors stop questioning your ‘single founder risk profile.’” His gaze flicked up. “And... my mother stops trying to set me up with chaebol daughters and K-pop idols.”

“Charming,” I deadpanned. “You really know how to sell a dream, don’t you?”

His lips curved — not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one. “Is that a yes?”

---

I tapped my nails against the table, thinking.

On one hand — fake marriage. Insane.

On the other hand — a solution to the endless investor microaggressions about being an *“unmarried female founder.”*

Plus... rent was due. And scaling my company wasn’t getting cheaper.

And fine — maybe there was also the *tiny insignificant* fact that the man across from me was objectively attractive in the *‘CEO with dangerous cheekbones’* sort of way.

Not that it mattered. Obviously.

---

“Let’s talk terms.”

His brows lifted. “Go on.”

“Rule One: No actual romance.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule Two: No... crossing lines. Emotional or... physical.”

A brief pause. “Define ‘crossing lines.’”

I blinked. “You know what I mean!”

“Clarify anyway. For legal accuracy.” His lips twitched, fully enjoying this.

“Ugh—” I bit my lip. “No... accidental kissing. No... no falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. No... weird lingering stares.”

“That’s... specific.”

“I’ve seen K-dramas. I know how this goes.”

---

He nodded, jotting it down like a lawyer. “Noted. No accidental proximity-induced intimacy.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. No meddling in each other’s private lives.”

His gaze flickered — the smallest hesitation — before he wrote it down. “Done.”

I tilted my chin. “And what about... an exit clause?”

“Termination allowed if either party breaches the no-romance rule.”

My stomach did a weird flip. “Right. Of course.”

---

The waitress dropped off a fresh pot of coffee. Neither of us touched it.

We just sat there — two idiots about to willingly entangle our lives in one of the most ridiculous, chaotic, and mutually beneficial disasters known to mankind.

I sighed. “This is insane.”

“Completely,” he agreed. “So... do we have a deal?”

---

For a moment, I hesitated.

Then slowly — against every better judgment I owned — I extended my hand.

His fingers closed around mine. Firm. Warm. Too warm.

“Deal,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened — just for a second. “Deal.”

---

**→ Cutaway — Third Person | The ‘Cupid Club’ Group Chat**

> 📨 **Tae-oh (Assistant):** “It’s done. They signed.”

> 📨 **Hoon-jae (Brother):** “LMAO. Place your bets. Who falls first?”

> 📨 **Ah-rin (Sister-in-law):** “Easy. Hoon-min. That man’s been emotionally constipated for years — this is his villain origin love story.”

> 📨 **Tae-oh:** “Plot twist: She’s gonna crack first. Watch.”

---

**→ Back to Yoon-seo (First Person)**

“We should schedule a photoshoot,” Hoon-min said, business-like as ever. “Public announcement. Make it believable.”

“Oh joy,” I muttered. “Nothing says romance like staged hand-holding for Instagram.”

He stood, offering his hand again — this time to help me up. “Look on the bright side.”

“Which is?”

His mouth curved — real smile this time. Dangerous. Devastating. Unfair.

“At least I’m very photogenic.”

---

*...And with that, the masquerade began.*