Lee Hana was still trying to process what had just happened.

He remembered the coffee incident.

And he didn’t fire me.

Her legs moved before her brain could catch up.

By the time she realized it, she was already sitting stiffly in the chair opposite Kang Jae-Hyun’s massive glass desk, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Was this a joke?

A test?

Or was she about to be escorted out by security?

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” Hana admitted nervously, her voice barely steady.

“Neither am I,” Jae-Hyun replied calmly as he stood. He shrugged out of his blazer, wincing slightly as he glanced at the dark coffee stain. “But you might as well make yourself useful.”

Before she could respond, he walked to a cabinet near the wall and pulled out a neatly folded shirt.

Then—without hesitation—he began unbuttoning the ruined one.

Hana’s eyes widened.

“Sir! Y-you’re changing!”

She turned her head so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“Relax,” he said dryly. “I’ve had assistants faint in this office. You’re not the first person to see a man without a shirt.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” she snapped. “A warning would help!”

A low chuckle escaped him.

Hana froze.

That was the second time.

Rumor had it the Ice King never laughed. Never smiled. Never softened.

Yet here he was—amused.

Once he’d changed, Jae-Hyun returned to his seat and studied her openly, his gaze sharp but curious.

“You said you’re not the regular secretary,” he said.

“No, sir. Just filling in. My friend is sick.”

“And,” he added coolly, “you’re clearly desperate for money.”

Her face flushed instantly. “Is it that obvious?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached into a drawer and slid a slim folder across the desk toward her.

Hana stared at it.

“What’s this?”

“A contract.”

Her brows knitted together. “For… what?”

Jae-Hyun leaned forward, resting his elbows against the desk. His expression was calm, calculated—like a man negotiating a merger, not about to drop a bombshell.

“I need someone to pretend to be my fiancée for one month.”

The world stopped.

“…I’m sorry,” Hana said slowly. “What?”

“You heard me,” he replied evenly. “One month. You attend events, smile for cameras, and look at me like you’re madly in love.”

She blinked.

Hard.

“You’ll live with me,” he continued. “Wear designer clothes. Say as little as possible to the media.”

Her mouth fell open. “Why?”

“My grandfather,” Jae-Hyun said simply. “He’s threatening to remove me as heir unless I ‘settle down.’ He’ll be returning to Korea next month. I need a convincing relationship in place before then.”

Hana stared at him like he’d completely lost his mind.

“And you picked me?” she asked weakly. “The girl who spilled coffee on you?”

“You’re not intimidated by me,” he said. “That’s rare.”

She swallowed.

“And,” he added bluntly, “you need the money.”

Silence fell between them.

“I—” Hana hesitated. “How much?”

“Ten million won.”

Her breath hitched.

“Ten… million?”

“That’s just the advance,” he said. “There’s a bonus if you play your part well. Room and board included. Consider it professional acting.”

Her heart raced.

This was insane.

Completely insane.

Yet her gaze drifted back to the folder.

Her mother’s hospital bills.

Her brother’s school fees.

The landlord’s warnings.

The nights she went to bed pretending hunger was normal.

She clenched her fists.

“…Can I read the contract first?” she asked quietly.

Jae-Hyun leaned back, watching her with unreadable eyes.

“Of course,” he said. “This is a business deal. I don’t force partners.”

She slowly reached for the folder.

And with that single motion, Lee Hana stepped into a world she was never meant to touch.

“Are you serious about this?”

Lee Hana’s voice trembled as she flipped through the contract, eyes scanning the neatly typed clauses over and over as if they might change if she stared long enough.

“Like… seriously serious?”

Kang Jae-Hyun leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“Do I look like someone who jokes?”

She looked up at him, then back down at the papers. “This is insane. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. And you want me to pretend to be your fiancée?”

“You’re understanding the situation perfectly.”

Her fingers paused at a highlighted paragraph.

“This clause about public displays of affection,” she said cautiously. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he replied calmly, “that in public you’ll hold my hand, smile, and behave like a woman in love. And if necessary—kiss me.”

“K-Kiss you?” Her voice jumped.

“It’s a relationship, Miss Lee. You’ve kissed someone before.”

“That’s not the point!” she snapped. “This feels like a drama plot.”

“And yet,” he said evenly, “here you are. No one is forcing you. You’re free to walk away.”

Her gaze drifted to the numbers at the bottom of the page.

₩10,000,000 upfront.

Additional payments per public appearance.

Performance bonus.

Her throat tightened.

She could pay her mother’s medical bills.

Secure Ji-Ho’s education.

Breathe for the first time in months.

“You said one month?” she asked quietly.

“Thirty days.”

“And after that?”

“We announce a mutual breakup. Clean. Quiet. You return to your life.”

“What if someone finds out?”

“Then I handle it,” he said, eyes sharpening. “But if you betray this agreement, there will be legal consequences.”

She closed the folder slowly.

“…Can I sleep on it?”

“You have until tomorrow morning. Eight a.m.”

Later That Night — Hana’s Apartment

Hana lay awake on her narrow mattress, staring at the ceiling.

Her mother coughed softly in the next room.

Ji-Ho mumbled in his sleep.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the contract, spreading it across her bed.

“Just thirty days,” she whispered.

Thirty days of pretending.

Thirty days of survival.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Next Morning — JH Group, 7:58 a.m.

Hana stepped into Jae-Hyun’s office, the signed contract clenched in her hand.

Without a word, she placed it on his desk.

“I’ll do it.”

He glanced up, unsurprised.

“A wise decision.”

“I have conditions.”

That caught his attention.

“One,” she said firmly, “no kissing unless absolutely necessary.”

“Define absolutely.”

“When cameras are in our faces.”

He smirked. “Accepted.”

“Two. I keep my part-time jobs.”

“I’ll adjust your schedule.”

“Three. Separate rooms.”

“You think I want to share a bed with a stranger?”

She huffed. “You’re the one paying me to act in love.”

“Fine. Separate rooms.”

She hesitated.

“And don’t fall in love with me.”

Silence.

Then—he laughed. Genuinely.

“I can promise you,” he said, “that won’t be a problem.”

“Why me?” she asked quietly.

“You’re invisible. No scandals. No ambition toward me.”

He stepped closer. “And you follow rules.”

“I’m not a puppet.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “But you’re reliable.”

She swallowed.

“And what do I get?”

“A new apartment. All expenses covered. And enough money to change your life.”

The room went still.

That Evening

Hana returned once more.

She placed the signed contract on his desk.

“I’m in.”

Jae-Hyun opened a drawer and removed a velvet box.

He opened it.

A diamond ring caught the light.

“We need it to look real,” he said calmly. “My grandmother notices everything.”

As he slid the ring onto her finger, Hana’s breath hitched.

Fake or not—

Something had just changed.

The silence inside the elevator was unbearable.

Lee Hana stood rigidly near the corner, her eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers as they climbed higher—sixteen… seventeen… eighteen.

Beside her, Kang Jae-Hyun stood like a carved statue. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Not a single word since they stepped in.

“So…” Hana cleared her throat, desperate to break the tension. “This elevator is really fast.”

No response.

She tried again. “I think it’s racing my heartbeat.”

Still nothing.

She glanced sideways.

He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, as if conversation itself offended him.

Awkward.

Ding.

The doors slid open onto the executive floor.

“Follow me,” he said curtly, stepping out.

“Yes, sir.”

The hallway was sleek and intimidatingly quiet, lined with glass walls and abstract art. Hana’s heels echoed as they stopped in front of a large office.

“This is your desk,” Jae-Hyun said, gesturing to a minimalist workstation just outside his office. “You don’t touch my personal files. You don’t change my schedule without approval. And you speak only when necessary.”

“…Understood.”

“And don’t spill coffee on me again.”

She blinked. “You’re still holding onto that?”

His eyes flicked to her. “Just don’t.”

She muttered, “Copy that, Ice—”

“Excuse me?”

“—nice office,” she said quickly. “Very… icy. I mean elegant.”

He stared at her for a moment, then turned and shut his office door.

Hana slumped into her chair.

“This is going to be a long month.”

Her desk was spotless. Expensive monitor. No personal items. It felt more like a test station than a workspace.

Her phone buzzed.

Minji: You’re alive?? What’s he like?

Hana: Cold. Rich. Terrifying.

Minji: You okay??

Hana: I think so. Pray for me.

Before she could type more—

“Miss Lee.”

She jumped to her feet. “Yes, sir!”

Jae-Hyun handed her a file. “Scan, organize, and forward these to the board secretary. Thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her fingers brushed his briefly.

Both froze.

He pulled back first. “And don’t stare.”

“I wasn’t!”

One eyebrow lifted. Then he disappeared back into his office.

She exhaled. “Focus. Survive.”

At noon, a call came through.

“CEO’s office. Lee Hana speaking.”

“Is Jae-Hyun available?”

The voice was female. Cool. Sharp.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Yoo Mi-Ran.”

Hana stiffened. The ex-fiancée.

She knocked lightly on Jae-Hyun’s door.

“Come in.”

“Miss Yoo Mi-Ran is on the line.”

His expression darkened. “Tell her I’m unavailable.”

The call ended seconds later—with an icy warning.

Hana stared at the phone.

“…Noted.”

Later, during lunch, a man dropped into the seat across from her.

“You look traumatized,” he said cheerfully. “First day?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’m Soo-Jin. HR.”

“Hana. Professional coffee spiller.”

He laughed. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

The afternoon meeting was brutal.

Executives. Numbers. Pressure.

At one point—

“Miss Lee,” Jae-Hyun said calmly, “what’s the projected budget difference on the SeoMin deal?”

Her heart stopped.

“…I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “Correct. You’re not expected to be.”

A ripple of laughter passed the table.

Afterward, he spoke quietly as they walked back.

“You held your composure.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

Her heart skipped. Praise?

Near closing time, Mi-Ran appeared outside the office, her gaze sharp.

“So you’re the new secretary,” she said sweetly. “Be careful. Jae-Hyun doesn’t like distractions.”

Hana met her eyes calmly. “I’m just doing my job.”

Mi-Ran smiled thinly. “We’ll see.”

That evening, Hana returned to her desk exhausted but upright.

Jae-Hyun passed by, pausing briefly.

“You did better than expected.”

She looked up. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get comfortable.”

She smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As he walked away, Hana whispered to herself—

“This world is terrifying… but I’m not backing down.”