-The Striking Opening
The sky above Seoul looked like torn silver silk that refused to mend. Clouds rolled, thunder flickered behind a veil of hesitant rain. At the heart of the storm stood Vallent Tower — glass and power, gleaming like a cathedral built for the elite.To Han Areum, however, this was not a wedding.It was a courtroom without a judge.
The orchestra played softly, violins echoing through chandeliers that hung like frozen constellations. Guests whispered, their eyes drawn to the altar draped in white roses — the color of innocence, or perhaps the color of lies.
And at the end of the aisle, she saw him.
Lucien Vallent.Heir of the Vallent Group.A man with eyes like black glass — reflecting light, but never keeping it.
Areum walked forward. The gown felt too beautiful for vengeance. Each step echoed like the heartbeat of someone who'd forgotten how to feel. Behind her lace veil, she smiled — not from joy, but from the quiet satisfaction of a plan about to begin.
"Han Areum," Lucien greeted, voice low, almost drowned beneath the applause."Lucien Vallent," she returned, her tone steady, sharpened with restraint.
When the priest asked for their vows, Areum realized that "I do" was not a promise. It was the password to the gates of hell.
And when Lucien slipped the ring onto her finger, his touch was cold — cold meeting cold — yet beneath that chill, something trembled: a strange recognition, born of hatred or of shared wounds.
Flashes of cameras blinded her. The world cheered for a love that never existed.
Inside, Areum whispered,
Sister… I'm here. I've married your killer.
Rain began to fall the moment the priest declared, "You are now husband and wife."Through the cathedral window, lightning split the sky — as if heaven itself bore witness to the birth of another sin.
Lucien leaned closer, voice like smoke in winter air:
"Welcome to the Vallent family, Mrs. Vallent."Calm, deliberate — as though testing the edge of her soul.
Areum met his gaze, her lips curved into the most graceful lie of all:
"Thank you, Mr. Vallent. May your demons be kind."
The applause thundered again.But beneath the gold and music, only two hearts knew:This was not a union of love — it was a declaration of war dressed in white.
-The Aftermath of Chaos
The rain drew silver threads down the windows of Vallent Tower, tracing the lights of Seoul far below. The city glittered — restless, beautiful, deceitful.From the seventy-ninth floor, it looked almost peaceful. Almost.
Han Areum stood by the glass, still in her wedding gown. The hem was damp, the pearls dulled by the humidity of a night that refused to end. The party below had dissolved into noise — champagne, laughter, hollow blessings.Now, there was only silence… and the echo of her own reflection.
What are you truly after, Areum? Truth — or revenge?
Behind her, the door opened.Lucien Vallent entered with steps too precise to be careless. He looked immaculate — disturbingly so, like a man carved out of the word "control."
"You left the reception too early," he said, voice calm, deliberate."You seemed to enjoy the masquerade," she replied, not turning."Masquerade?" His lips curved faintly. "You played your part just as well."
Silence followed — heavy, honest.
Areum turned at last, studying him without the veil of ceremony. The face everyone called "the devil's heir" was… unreadable. His eyes, deep and still, could have been mirrors, or graves. She wasn't sure which.
"You don't believe in love, do you?" she asked."I believe in contracts," Lucien replied. "Love fades. A contract, if written correctly, never lies."
That made her smile — faint, humorless.
"Good. Because this marriage is exactly that — a contract."
Lucien took a step closer, his shadow overlapping hers.
"But hearts," he said softly, "don't always obey clauses.""Then it's fortunate mine isn't part of the agreement," Areum answered. "Only the truth is."
Their eyes met.Two quiet infernos — equally cold, equally dangerous.And for a heartbeat, he saw something in her gaze — recognition, perhaps. Or warning.
"You're not afraid of me," he said."Afraid?" Her tone was razor-thin. "I've lived in a world where the truth can be murdered and still smile on the headlines. Tell me, what's left to fear?"
Lucien chuckled — low, metallic.
"You'll fit right in, Mrs. Vallent."
Areum turned back to the window, watching the rain blur the city lights.
"I didn't come here to fit in, Mr. Vallent," she said. "I came to end something."
She walked past him — her white dress trailing like smoke across the marble floor.Lucien watched her go, something flickering in his eyes — memory, maybe. Or guilt. But he said nothing.
Outside, lightning split the night again.Inside, beneath the polished silence of wealth and vengeance, a game had begun — a dangerous one, played by two people who mistook control for safety, and lies for survival.
-The First Collision
Night had aged over Seoul.The Vallent Mansion — dark, immense, immaculate — loomed like a painting gilded by moonlight. Inside, silence was not peace; it was surveillance, breathing softly through the marble halls.
Han Areum stepped into the grand hall. Everything was immaculate — the marble gleamed, the portraits stared with frozen grace, the air itself seemed afraid to move.This wasn't a home. It was a mausoleum for perfection — a place built by people terrified of imperfection.
At the far end, Lucien Vallent sat before the fire, a glass of bourbon resting loosely in his hand. The flames danced lazily, painting shadows across his face — calm, distant, unknowable.
"You're not asleep," Areum said flatly."Sleep is a luxury for those who aren't being watched," Lucien replied."Or for those who have nothing to hide."
He looked up at her, the faintest ghost of a smirk crossing his lips.
"Should I take that as an accusation, Mrs. Vallent?""Take it as a reminder," she said. "Marriage doesn't make me blind."
"Truth," Lucien murmured, sipping his drink. "A beautiful poison. People chase it to be free — and end up destroyed by what they find."
Areum stepped closer. Her heels echoed softly on the marble.
"I don't fear poison," she said. "Only dying without knowing who poured it into my cup."
Lucien's gaze lifted — steady, sharp.For the first time that night, their eyes met — not as newlyweds, but as adversaries who recognized the battlefield in each other's souls.
"You remind me of someone," he said."Who?""Someone I shouldn't remember."
She paused, studying the subtle crack beneath his composure — the kind of pain that doesn't scream, only lingers. But before she could ask, he stood. Calmly, deliberately, like a man trained to never show hesitation.
"Your room is in the east wing," he said. "It's been prepared.""And yours?""Opposite side. Like all honest marriages."
Areum allowed herself a small smile. "Is this a house, or an arena?"Lucien looked at her for a long moment before replying,
"Both."
Then he turned, ascending the stairs — his footsteps soft, yet echoing like a verdict.Areum watched him disappear into the shadows of the upper floor.Something in her chest stirred — not affection, not fear, but a realization: Lucien Vallent wasn't just the devil's heir. He was the keeper of a truth too dangerous to be spoken.
The window rattled as rain brushed against it again. The scent of bourbon lingered in the air.Areum whispered to the dying flame,
"If the truth hides in your eyes, Lucien Vallent… I'll drag it out, even if it burns me alive."
The fire flickered — then dimmed.And the night folded itself shut, keeping its secrets safe for now.
-The Curtain Between Us
The rain hadn't stopped that night. Outside the east wing window, its drops traced down the glass like veins of uncried tears. Areum sat at the edge of the bed, draped in silver-blue satin — a color meant to conceal the chill in her chest.The light was dim, leaving enough shadow for her mind to replay every second since dinner: Lucien's cold gaze, his emotionless words, and something else she couldn't name — something that wasn't entirely hatred.
There's a silence deeper than anger, she thought. It's when someone decides not to care, yet their eyes still follow you.
She looked at the long curtains. Beyond them, the world blurred, but somehow, the faint silhouette from the opposite side of the mansion felt like a mirror — as if Lucien was standing behind the same fog, lost in thoughts just as tangled.
Meanwhile, on the western side, Lucien stood before his window, staring at the same rain from the other side. The fragments of their exchange echoed in his head, leaving behind something far more intricate than irritation: Was she truly that fragile — or simply too skilled at hiding her fractures?
He sipped the last of his wine and watched his reflection in the glass.Lucien was used to ruling boardrooms with precision and cold logic. But that night, something shifted. He couldn't deny that the woman who now bore his name wasn't just part of a transaction — she was a disturbance to his control, a question he couldn't quite solve.
"She hides behind grace," he murmured, "but her eyes... they fight something unnamed."
The sound of rain blurred the distance between them, divided only by walls, time, and something thinner than air — the awareness that both were fighting the same thing: the desire to understand.
Areum exhaled softly. She knew Lucien was not the kind of man one could reach with tenderness or truth — not yet. But for the first time since the contract was signed, she didn't feel anger.Only a silence that somehow felt warm.
Lucien closed his curtain — yet that was when he realized something: When you close your view of someone, sometimes you start to see them more clearly in your mind.
And so, the night passed: two people under one roof, two hearts not yet close, but no longer entirely apart. The curtain between them remained, but for the first time... it didn't completely block the light.
-The Edge of Sincerity
Night had dissolved into early dawn.Across the Valemont mansion, the dim glow of wall lamps reflected on dark marble floors like a frozen mirror. Every step seemed to echo twice: once on the ground, once inside the chest of whoever walked.The air carried faint traces of cedar and sandalwood — the scent of a house kept clean but never truly alive.
Areum descended the spiral staircase, her satin gown brushing softly against the mahogany rail. She wasn't sure why she had woken up — maybe because the rain had stopped too abruptly, or because her thoughts had not.In the main hall, moonlight streamed through stained glass windows, painting the floor in hues of muted blue and silver, as if the mansion itself was breathing in silence.
This house is too large for two people, she thought, and too quiet for one heart afraid to speak.
From the corridor, footsteps approached.Lucien appeared — his black shirt half-buttoned, hair slightly disheveled, eyes carrying the residue of sleeplessness.Something about him felt different tonight. The dominance he wore like armor was gone, replaced by exhaustion that was almost... human.
"Can't sleep?" His voice was flat, but softer than usual.Areum met his eyes briefly. "Not used to silence this vast."
Lucien turned toward the window, gazing at the reflection of the two of them in the stained glass — two figures standing between shadow and light."Silence," he murmured, "can be louder than noise."
The words lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of rain.Areum didn't respond. She stepped closer to the window, closing the space between them. Moonlight traced her outline, and for a fleeting moment, Lucien saw her stripped of titles, contracts, and control — just a woman trying to remain whole.
Perhaps sincerity isn't confession, she thought. It's simply two souls that stop lying — even for a heartbeat.
Lucien understood without words. Their gazes met — not in tension, but in quiet recognition.In the reflection painted by blue, gold, and violet glass, the atmosphere shifted.The blue no longer felt cold; it became calm.The gold from candlelight pulsed softly, like a heartbeat in slow rhythm.
The mansion, once lifeless, felt awake — not because of new occupants, but because two hearts within it had started to beat in unison, quietly.
Lucien broke the silence with a confession stripped of pretense:
"I don't know how to be gentle."
Areum looked at him for a long moment. Her lips didn't smile, but her eyes did."You don't have to know yet," she whispered. "Just stop pretending you don't care."
And then, they both fell silent again.But this time, the silence was sincere — a thin edge between two worlds beginning to collapse.
-The Promise Beneath Quiet Skies
The rain had truly stopped.The sky above was draped in soft silver-gray, like silk spread over a world freshly cleansed of its wounds. In the eastern garden of Valemont Mansion, the leaves still dripped with remnants of rain, each drop falling in slow rhythm — as if guarding an unspoken secret.
Areum stood on the balcony, a thin cream coat wrapped around her shoulders, blending with the pale moonlight. Her gaze reached far into the distance, where the faint lights of the city flickered below the hills.Tonight no longer felt like a prison, yet not quite freedom either.It was something in between — a liminal space where her heart did not yet know whether to rest or move.
I was supposed to observe him, not understand him, she thought.But why do I understand his silence more than his words?
The balcony door slid open quietly.Lucien stepped out, carrying a cup of black tea. No theatrics — only the sharing of silence.He placed the cup on the table near her and stood beside her, facing the same sky.
"Still awake," he said softly."And you're still not asleep," she replied without looking.
Lucien's gaze wandered toward the distant city lights. "I never sleep well in this house. The walls have heard too many things that should never have been said."
Areum turned slightly, studying his face in the pale glow. There was a weariness there — not from sleeplessness, but from carrying something alone for too long.The silence that followed was oddly comfortable — the fragile border between confession and denial.
"Lucien," she asked quietly, "do you believe two people can make a promise without words?"
Lucien was silent for a long moment. "If honesty runs deep enough," he said finally, "words become unnecessary."
Their eyes met, and something subtle — invisible but undeniable — passed between them.It was not love, nor trust. It was an unspoken recognition: that both were learning to speak the same language — the language of those who have lost too much, yet still stand beneath the same sky.
Perhaps this isn't the beginning of love, she thought, but the beginning of something inevitable.
Lucien exhaled. "If one day you decide to leave… don't do it on a night like this."Areum turned to him. "Why?""Because nights like this," he said quietly, "make people regret."
The silence that returned felt almost sacred — a promise suspended in the air, wordless yet binding.A promise between two people who knew their togetherness might end in pain, but still chose to take one more step forward.
Areum closed her eyes, letting the wind carry the last breath of rain.
If this is a game, then let me play it to the end. Not for revenge — but to understand.
When she opened her eyes, Lucien was already watching her — saying nothing.And between them, the moon hung — white, still, impartial.
That night ended without resolution,but left behind something far more fragile —a quiet serenity, a wordless promise beneath skies that had finally stopped crying.
The candle slowly extinguished in Lucien's study, leaving a thin trail of smoke that curled like a question mark in the air—a sign that the silence of the night had not yet finished speaking.