The morning light filtered through Andrea's balcony, brushing over the rows of green plants she'd been tending since sunrise. The private mansion, surrounded by tall pines and misted forest air, felt almost unreal—too peaceful for what tomorrow held.
She stood barefoot, watering her plants, her thoughts miles away when Layla's cheerful voice broke through the calm.
"Miss Andrea! Your clothes are here!" Layla's tone carried its usual mix of professionalism and mischief. She walked in with three large bags, each one neatly labeled and folded.
Andrea didn't even turn around. "Yeah, yeah... wedding clothes," she said dryly, her voice almost mocking the words. "For the mission."
Layla chuckled, setting the bags down near the vanity. "Mission or not, you should at least pretend to be happy. You're going to look like a bride. Isn't that something you wanted once? A normal life?"
Andrea's hand froze mid-air, droplets of water falling from the pot. She turned slowly, her expression calm but her eyes far away.
"Yes, Layla. I wanted that... a normal life."
Then her lips curved faintly, half bitter, half resigned. "But this is just a fake marriage. After the mission, we both go back to our lives—separate, simple, and quiet."
Layla gave her a long look, one of those knowing looks that said she saw more than Andrea wanted her to. "Sure," she said lightly, walking over to the first bag. "Still, fake or not, you're the bride tomorrow. So, pick something. Sir told me to help. And yes," she added with a teasing grin, "he picked them himself."
Andrea raised an eyebrow, walking over. "He chose? Oh, really?" she said with mock sweetness. "Let's see what his taste looks like."
Layla giggled as Andrea opened the first bag. Inside was an elegant, ankle-length gown—white silk, a deep neckline with crystal embroidery that shimmered faintly in the light.
Layla clasped her hands together. "Ohhh... that looks gorgeous on you! Try it!"
Andrea tilted her head, appraising the gown like a general judging armor before battle. "Hmm... nope," she said, polite but firm. "Too... perfect."
Layla rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine. Next one."
From the second bag, she lifted another dress—this one softer, with lace details, delicate, almost innocent. Andrea's reaction was immediate.
"Aishh—nope. Never."
Her Turkish accent slipped through, sharp and stubborn. Layla burst into laughter.
"You sound like my grandma when she rejects a blind date!"
Andrea sighed, shaking her head as she leaned over the final bag. Her fingers brushed the fabric, and something in her expression changed. The last dress was different.
It wasn't too plain, nor overly royal. It was bold—a strapless gown, silver crystals tracing the bodice, cascading into a silk overlay that split down one side, revealing delicate sheer embroidery. The same dress as the one now hanging from her mirror, gleaming like moonlight and glass.
Layla's mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God."
Andrea ran her hand down the fabric, her voice soft. "If this were my first marriage..." she whispered, half to herself, "then maybe I should live like it's my last."
Layla blinked. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing," Andrea replied quickly, her lips curving into a small smile.
"No, no, I heard that!" Layla said, laughing like a child. "Omo, it's perfect! You'll look hot, boss! Eunwoo won't know what to say!"
Andrea chuckled despite herself. "He'll probably just find something sarcastic to say," she muttered, turning toward the mirror.
For a rare moment, she allowed herself to look—to really look. The woman staring back in the mirror wasn't the soldier, the operative, or the spy. It was someone she almost forgot existed—a woman who could smile softly and still look strong.
"When's the wedding?" she asked casually, keeping her tone light.
Layla was scrolling through her tablet, double-checking the schedule. Her smile faltered a little, then turned awkward.
Andrea caught it immediately. "Layla. When?" she pressed, setting the dress aside.
Layla laughed nervously. "Well... funny thing..."
"Layla," Andrea repeated, stepping closer.
Layla gave up. "Tomorrow," she said, handing the tablet over with a sheepish grin. "In twenty-four hours."
Andrea's eyes widened. "Tomorrow?" She took the tablet, scrolling through the details—venue, guest list, press cover—all marked with Eunwoo & Andrea – Private Union.
Her jaw tightened. "Is he that eager to marry me?" she muttered under her breath, half annoyed, half disbelieving.
Layla, trying not to laugh, raised her hands in surrender. "Don't get mad, boss. It's just the plan! He probably wants to get the mission rolling."
Andrea exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's impossible," she said finally. "Always deciding everything before asking."
"Hey," Layla said lightly, walking toward the balcony with a teasing grin. "It's only one day. Just smile, wear that dress, and act like you love it. Maybe you'll even enjoy being Mrs. Boss for twenty-four hours."
Andrea shot her a glare. "Layla..."
Layla raised both hands, laughing. "Okay, okay! I'm going! But I'll say this—if it's fake, you sure look way too excited for it."
Andrea turned back to the mirror, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she traced the gown's outline with her fingers. "Fake or not..." she murmured softly, "he won't forget this."
And as the sunlight hit the crystals, she knew she meant every word.
⋆╚╔✦═━───━═✦╗╝⋆⋆╚╔✦═━───━═✦╗╝⋆
The air in the boardroom felt stale — too many fake smiles, too much perfume, too much greed.
I could smell it the moment I walked in.
Minjoon was right behind me, silent as always, carrying the case that would end this charade.
At the head of the table sat Juntae King — my uncle, my father's brother, and the parasite that had been feeding on the company's veins for years.
He smiled like a snake when he saw me. "Oh, my dear nephew. You're early... and bold. Taking my father's chair without being invited?"
His voice was polite, but his eyes were already biting.
I didn't answer him. I didn't need to. I simply sat down — right in the middle. The chairman's seat.
That was enough to make the whole room shift. The air crackled; half of the board started whispering. Power has a sound. I could hear it.
My uncle's tone sharpened. "This meeting isn't yours to lead, Eunwoo. The decision hasn't been declared."
I leaned back, fingers tapping once on the table. Calm.
He wanted a reaction — and I refused to give it. "You mean you haven't accepted reality yet," I said quietly. "That's not my problem."
"Reality?" He laughed, sharp and hollow. "Reality is that you're sitting in a seat that doesn't belong to you."
"Then maybe," I said, tilting my head slightly, "you should reread the will."
The silence that followed was almost satisfying.
I turned to the lawyer. "Go ahead. Enlighten them."
The lawyer nodded nervously, opening the old envelope he'd been keeping for this exact moment. The paper was yellowed, ink still smelling faintly of age and power.
He began, voice trembling.
"According to the last will of the late Mr. Han Jae King, the rightful heir to the position of chairman and CEO shall be his grandson, Eunwoo King, provided he is married. Should he remain single, he is not qualified to assume the title."
A murmur rippled through the room — shock, confusion, disbelief.
I caught my uncle's expression. He was smiling, but his hands clenched just enough to show the truth.
"So," he said slowly, "you can't be chairman unless you're married. And since you're single..."
He spread his hands in fake sympathy. "That means I'll continue running this company. For the good of the family, of course."
That word — family — sounded like poison coming from his mouth.
I met his eyes, unblinking. "You always did like pretending you cared about family, Uncle. But you forget one thing — the will didn't disqualify me. It just gave me a condition."
"And unless you've magically gotten married overnight," he sneered, "you're out."
That's when I smiled. Slow. Dangerous. The kind of smile that always made people uneasy.
"Actually..." I said, standing up and adjusting my jacket, "that part's already taken care of."
I glanced at Minjoon, who stepped forward and opened the black case. Inside were neat stacks of cream-colored envelopes — embossed, sealed with gold wax.
I took one and dropped it on the table, right in front of my uncle.
"What's this?" he asked, voice sharp.
"An invitation," I said. "To my wedding. Tomorrow."
The room exploded.
"What?"
"Tomorrow?!"
"Mr. King is getting married?"
Their voices overlapped, the chaos almost amusing.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just watched my uncle's face pale.
He stood abruptly. "This is ridiculous! You're using marriage to manipulate the company!"
I turned toward him, hands in my pockets, calm as ever. "You think I'd let you destroy what my grandfather built? You think I don't know how many deals you've made behind the board's back? The offshore accounts? The fake subsidiaries?"
He stiffened.
Yeah. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
I leaned forward slightly, voice low. "You play dirty, Uncle. But I play better."
The lawyer cleared his throat nervously. "Then... I suppose, congratulations, Mr. King. Once you're married, you'll be fully qualified."
Board members nodded quickly, trying to stay on the winning side.
"Congratulations, sir."
"Looking forward to the ceremony."
"Chairman King... it has a good ring to it."
I gave a short nod, letting them talk. Let them cheer. They were all the same — followers of power, not loyalty.
I looked back at my uncle. "You should come too," I said. "After all, family should be there when history changes hands."
His jaw tightened. "You think this company will be yours forever?"
"I don't think," I said quietly. "I know."
I turned to Minjoon. "Send the press release. Full public announcement — wedding in twenty-four hours, ceremony private, details restricted. Make sure every business paper runs it by morning."
"Yes, sir."
Juntae's voice cracked behind me. "This isn't over! You're a fool if you think marrying some woman will make you stronger—"
I stopped, hand on the door.
"Not some woman," I said without turning around. "Andrea Yeldiz. The one woman who can actually stand beside me."
And for the first time, I could feel every eye in the room shift — curiosity, surprise, even envy.
They'd heard her name before. The mysterious Turkish agent who moved like smoke and fought like flame.
I smirked slightly. "You see, Uncle... you play with money. I play with people."
And then I left, Minjoon following behind me as the echo of my footsteps filled the corridor.
The boardroom door closed behind us, and I didn't need to look back to know Juntae's face was burning red with fury.
Outside, I exhaled slowly. The air felt cleaner here.
"Boss," Minjoon said, falling into step beside me, "that went better than expected."
"Of course it did."
I smiled faintly. "He's predictable. Always has been."
"You think he'll back off?"
"No," I said, sliding my hands into my pockets. "He'll come harder. Which means we need to be ready."
We walked toward the elevator, and as the doors slid shut, my reflection stared back at me — cold, composed, and a little too calm.
Tomorrow, I'd have the company.
Tomorrow, I'd have the title.
And tomorrow... I'd have to stand beside Andrea, wearing a ring that wasn't supposed to mean anything.
But somehow, it already did.
⋆╚╔✦═━───━═✦╗╝╚╔✦═━───━═✦╗╝╚╔✦═━───━═✦╗╝⋆
The moment Eunwoo stepped out of the boardroom, everything inside him began to shift.
The echo of his own words still hung in the air — "Tomorrow is my wedding."
Even saying it out loud felt strange, like the world had tilted just enough to change everything.
He slid his hands into his pockets, eyes half-shadowed as he moved through the glass hallway.
His reflection followed him — cold suit, sharper gaze, heart unreadable.
Behind him, Minjoon walked quietly, carrying his phone and files like a soldier guarding his general.
Eunwoo finally stopped at the end of the corridor and looked out the window — the city below, glowing under the afternoon light. His voice dropped low, thoughtful.
"She's... an interesting part that came into my life," he said suddenly.
Minjoon blinked, confused. "Sir?"
Eunwoo's eyes narrowed slightly, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Andrea. That girl. I like the fate that keeps pushing us together."
He turned his head, tone calm but edged with something he didn't understand yet. "Ready the venue. We're leaving."
Minjoon nodded. "Yes, sir."
Without another word, Eunwoo walked out of the glass doors and into the elevator. He took out his phone, thumb gliding across the screen before pressing call.
"Hello, Layla," he said, voice even but softer than usual.
On the other end came a cheerful tone, "Yes, boss?"
"I'm coming to pick you," Eunwoo replied, and before she could answer, the line went dead.
He stepped out of the elevator, walking across the marble lobby, suit jacket slightly unbuttoned, tension still running in his veins from the confrontation.
He was just about to step out of the main entrance when a voice stopped him.
"Hey—Eunwoo!"
He turned.
And there she was — Seorii, standing in the sunlight that poured through the tall glass doors.
Her dark hair fell in perfect waves, her eyes bright but questioning. She held a folder close to her chest, the edge of her ID card glinting under the light.
"You're leaving so early?" she asked, smiling lightly, though her tone carried a note of surprise.
Eunwoo tilted his head slightly. "Seorii... you're here."
She nodded. "Yeah. I came to talk to Uncle Juntae about a project."
Then, raising a brow, she added with that teasing softness she always used in college, "But you — are you really leaving in the middle of office hours?"
He smirked faintly. "I have important shopping to do."
"Shopping?" she asked, her tone playful but curious. "Something special?"
Before he could speak, Minjoon, ever the blunt one, cut in politely, "Ma'am, tomorrow is Mr. Eunwoo's wedding."
Seorii froze.
Her smile faltered just a little, lips parting as the words hit her. "What?"
Her voice cracked like a fragile note in silence. "You're joking, right?"
Eunwoo met her gaze and shook his head calmly. "No. It's true. I have a wedding tomorrow."
Her fingers tightened around the folder she was holding, knuckles paling. For a second, she couldn't find the words — her throat tightened, heart pounding somewhere between disbelief and pain.
She blinked, once, twice, forcing the corners of her mouth upward.
"You... didn't tell me before," she said quietly. "That's... early."
"It was decided fast," he replied, voice flat, professional — but something in his eyes flickered when he saw the hurt in hers.
Seorii nodded slowly, but her voice trembled when she asked, "Who is she, Eunwoo? The girl you're marrying tomorrow?"
That question carried more than curiosity. It carried years — of silent affection, shared laughter, unspoken glances in the university hallways. She had known him before the suit, before the empire, before the ice in his tone.
And now she realized she'd lost him to a fate she wasn't part of.
Eunwoo's gaze softened for a second — only a second. Then he looked away.
"That girl..." he said quietly, "is a secret surprise. I'm not going to reveal it now. You'll meet her tomorrow at the wedding."
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes, and walked past her.
She stood there, frozen — staring at his back as he left. Her heartbeat felt too loud, too painful. The sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor was like a door closing on everything she once wished for.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Just air. Just silence.
And then — his steps stopped.
Eunwoo turned around halfway through the hall, something unreadable flickering across his face.
He walked back to her, slow, deliberate, the echo of his shoes sharp against the floor.
When he stopped in front of her, he said quietly, "Don't forget to come tomorrow, okay? You're the only friend I had back in my academic years."
His tone was calm — too calm — like he didn't see the heartbreak he'd just caused.
Seorii nodded, swallowing hard, forcing another smile that didn't belong on her face. "Of course," she said softly. "I wouldn't miss it."
He gave a small nod and turned away again, leaving for real this time.
And when he was gone, the facade broke.
She exhaled, slow and heavy, her hand trembling slightly as she pressed the folder against her chest.
The tears didn't fall — she wouldn't let them. But her reflection in the glass door showed everything she tried to hide.
She whispered under her breath, voice shaking,
"Tomorrow... you'll stand with someone else, but it should've been me."
As then Eunwoo turned around halfway through the hall, something unreadable flickering across his face.
He walked back to her, slow, deliberate, the echo of his shoes sharp against the floor.
When he stopped in front of her, he said quietly, "Don't forget to come tomorrow, okay? You're the only friend I had back in my academic years."
His tone was calm — too calm — like he didn't see the heartbreak he'd just caused.
Seorii nodded, swallowing hard, forcing another smile that didn't belong on her face. "Of course," she said softly. "I wouldn't miss it."
He gave a faint nod and turned away, slipping his hands back into his pockets. His stride was steady, unbothered — the kind that carried power and purpose. Minjoon followed him silently, adjusting his coat as the automatic doors opened.
Outside, the car was already waiting.
Eunwoo stepped in without another glance back, the reflection of Seorii disappearing in the glass behind him as the doors shut.
Minjoon slid in beside him, checking his tablet. "Sir, everything for tomorrow's wedding is confirmed."
Eunwoo leaned back, gaze fixed ahead. "Good. Let's move."
The car pulled away from the building, leaving the golden glass towers behind — and with it, every part of his past he didn't need anymore.
For him, the story was already moving forward.
Whatever feelings others had were just background noise.
Only the mission — and the girl waiting at the end of it — mattered now.