Kang Tae-joon:
The penthouse was silent except for the low hum of the massive flat-screen mounted on the wall.
I sat in the dark, legs crossed, a glass of 30-year-old whiskey untouched in my hand, watching the news replay the lobby scene for the tenth time tonight.
#1 Trending: Kang Tae-joon's Secret Lover Claims Pregnancy – Shocking Hotel Confrontation!
Grainy footage looped again: Catherine Bella Han on her knees, tears streaming, clutching my leg like a desperate little kitten. My own cold profile staring down at her. The word "pathetic" clearly caught on mic.
A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest.
Bold. Stupid. Entertaining.
She had no idea who she was playing with.
The elevator chimed softly behind me. Footsteps approached—light, confident, too relaxed for this hour.
Louis, my assistant and the only human brave enough to tease me, strolled in carrying a tablet, lips already twitching with that infuriating grin.
"Boss," he started, voice dripping with amusement, "I didn't know Miss Bella Han was your type."
He stopped a few feet away, barely holding back laughter. "Illegitimate chaebol daughter, dramatic public scenes, fake tears—didn't peg you for the soap-opera romance kind."
The air in the room shifted.
Temperature dropped five degrees in a heartbeat.
Louis's grin faltered, but before he could backtrack, I lifted one hand—casual, almost lazy.
Dark red energy flickered around my fingers like living flame, invisible to human eyes but heavy with power.
The next second, Louis's mouth snapped shut.
Literally.
His lips sealed together as if glued by an unseen force. His eyes widened in panic, hands flying up to claw at his mouth—nothing. Not a sound escaped. Muffled hums vibrated behind the seal, face turning red.
I took a slow sip of whiskey, savoring the burn.
"Careful, Louis," I said calmly, voice low and velvet-smooth. "Some jokes have consequences."
He nodded frantically, bowing repeatedly, eyes pleading.
I let him squirm for ten more seconds—long enough to remember who he worked for.
Then I snapped my fingers.
The seal vanished.
Louis stumbled back, gasping, touching his lips like they might disappear again.
"S-sorry, sir," he wheezed. "Won't happen again."
I turned back to the screen, where a reporter was now analyzing my "cold-hearted rejection."
"Good," I murmured, swirling the glass. "Because Miss Han just invited herself into a very dangerous game."
My lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"And I always win."
I dismissed Louis with a wave and finished the night in silence, the city glittering far below like a pile of worthless jewels.
Sleep, for me, is optional. But I indulged anyway.
Morning came too soon.
I woke at six, the penthouse flooded with cold winter light. The private gym first—two hours of punishing weights and cardio that would kill a mortal man. Shower. Black suit tailored to perfection. Breakfast I didn't taste.
By nine I was in the office, chairing back-to-back meetings. Acquisitions. Hostile takeovers. Board members groveling for approval. All of them bowing, none daring to meet my eyes for long.
Everything exactly as it should be.
Until Louis placed my phone face-up on the desk during a break.
I rarely bother with social media. Humans screaming into the void—pointless noise.
But the notifications were… persistent.
I unlocked the screen.
#KangTaejoonDeadbeat – #1 Trending #ColdHeartedKang – #2 #KangTaejoonScum – #4 #ProtectCatherineHan – #8
Thousands of posts. Millions of views.
Memes of me as a heartless villain abandoning a pregnant woman. Edits of the lobby footage with sad music and crying emojis. Women calling me trash. Men calling me worse. Hashtags demanding I "take responsibility." Fan cams slowed down to make my sneer look even crueler.
One viral post with 300k likes: "Kang Tae-joon is the kind of man who'd leave his own child on the street. Rich men think they can ruin lives and walk away. Disgusting."
Another: "Imagine being so powerful you think you're above basic human decency. Hope his empire burns."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Annoyance—sharp, unfamiliar—coiled in my chest.
No one spoke to me like this.
No one dared.
Louis cleared his throat carefully from the doorway. "Public relations wants a statement, sir. Stocks dipped three percent at open. Some sponsors are nervous."
I scrolled one more page.
A polished influencer with millions of followers: "Kang Tae-joon proved yesterday he's not just cold—he's soulless. Catherine Han deserves better. We stand with her."
The coil snapped into something hotter.
Enough.
I stood, tossing the phone onto the desk.
"Get the car ready for this now " I said, voice perfectly even. "The Han estate."
Louis's eyebrows shot up. "You're… going to met her?"
I adjusted my cufflinks—obsidian, cold against my skin.
"That little liar wants the world to think I'm a deadbeat father?"
My reflection in the glass wall showed eyes flashing crimson for a split second.
"Then I'll give her exactly what she asked for."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across my face.
"I'm going to end this farce tonight."
No. Not tonight. This morning.
The venom had spread while I slept. By the time I reached my desk, the hashtags had teeth. #KangTaejoonScum sat at number one like a crown of thorns. Memes, slow-motion edits, women crying on camera about how men like me ruined lives. It wasn't fear they felt for me anymore. It was disgust.
I felt the insult settle under my skin like hot iron.
"Louis," I said quietly into the intercom. "The car. Han estate. Now."
The Maybach slid through the city under a low, iron-gray sky. Morning traffic crawled, but no one dared honk at the black car with tinted windows. They felt something in it, even if they didn't know what.
I stopped outside the gates.
Dialed.
Five rings.
"Hello? Who is this?"
Her voice was husky with sleep, soft at the edges. Innocent, almost. It made the mockery easier.
Silence from my end—just long enough for her breathing to quicken.
"What?" I finally said, voice low and laced with venom. "You don't recognize your baby daddy's number?"
A sharp, panicked inhale. Fabric rustling—sheets, maybe. Feet hitting the floor.
"Oh no… Mr. Kang…"
"Miss Han." I let the ice settle in every syllable. "You have exactly ten minutes. Come outside. Alone."
I ended the call.
The minutes dragged like centuries.
At nine minutes and twelve seconds, the heavy front doors of the mansion burst open.
Catherine Bella Han stumbled out into the cold morning air.
No makeup. Hair twisted into a hurried messy bun, strands escaping around her pale face. An oversized cream sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone. Black leggings, sneakers half-laced. No coat. Her arms wrapped around herself as the winter wind bit at her skin, turning her cheeks pink, her breath visible in small, frantic clouds.
She looked young. Small. Terrified.
And still, infuriatingly beautiful.
She ran down the stone steps, glancing back once at the lit windows of the house as if someone might stop her.
My driver opened the rear door.
She slipped inside, pulling it closed with trembling fingers.
The car filled with her scent—something soft, like vanilla and warm skin, now edged with sharp fear.
She sat pressed against the opposite door, as far from me as the seat allowed, knees drawn up slightly, arms still hugging herself against the chill.
"Good morning, Mr. Kang," she whispered, voice small, teeth nearly chattering.
I didn't answer.
I let the silence grow heavy, thick, until it pressed against her like a physical weight.
She risked a glance at me. Her dark eyes were wide, searching my face for any hint of mercy.
There was none.
"You've caused me an inconvenience, Bella," I said at last, my voice so low it seemed to vibrate in the leather seats. "A very public one. Millions of insignificant humans now believe I'm the kind of man who abandons his own child."
I turned my head slowly to look at her fully.
"I don't like being misunderstood."
Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I'm… I'm so sorry. It wasn't supposed to go this far. I never thought—"
"Then you should have thought harder."
She flinched as if I'd struck her.
The car remained still. The driver waited for my signal. The world outside moved on without us.
She drew a shaky breath. "My grandmother is dying."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I watched her, unmoving.
"She changed her will. I only inherit if I'm married. Not just money— a home. A real place in this family. My father's wife… my half-siblings… they've spent years making sure I never had one. I've always been the mistake they hide in the guest wing."
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't bother wiping it away.
"So I lied to her. I told her you were my boyfriend. That we'd been seeing each other in secret for months. I thought… if I made the scandal big enough, you'd have to respond. That you'd marry me to save your reputation, and I'd get the inheritance, and Grandma would die proud of me for once."
She let out a broken little laugh. "Stupid. Desperate. I know. But I only need you to pretend for one dinner. Just one. Come tonight, meet her, let her believe I finally beat them at something. After that, we could stage a quiet breakup. I'd take all the blame publicly. Clear your name completely. I swear that was all I wanted."
Her hands twisted together in her lap, knuckles white.
"I never meant to hurt you like this."
Silence stretched again, longer this time.
I studied every tremor in her lower lip, every flicker of hope and fear in her eyes.
Mortals were so fragile. So easy to read when they finally dropped the mask.
The heat radiating from my body warmed the car slowly, unnaturally. She noticed—her shivering eased even as goosebumps rose on her arms for an entirely different reason.
I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, closing the distance just enough that she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze.
"I'll do better than one dinner," I said, voice soft now—dangerously soft.
Her breath caught. Hope flared bright and desperate in her eyes.
"I'll come tonight. I'll sit at your table. I'll hold your hand. I'll tell your grandmother how utterly, hopelessly in love with you I am. I'll make her believe her granddaughter captured the devil himself."
The hope grew, lighting her whole face.
Then I smiled.
"But it won't be pretend boyfriend."
The light in her eyes faltered.
"It will be husband."
She went very still.
"A contract marriage. Immediate. Public. You will move into my penthouse tomorrow. You will appear on my arm at every event. You will smile for cameras, attend galas, sleep under my roof. You will be my wife in every way the world needs to see—for as long as I decide."
I watched the realization sink into her bone by bone.
"In return," I continued, almost gently, "your grandmother dies believing you won the greatest prize. You get your home, your inheritance, your victory over every person who ever looked down on you. And the world? They'll rewrite the story overnight. The cold-hearted Kang Tae-joon, tamed by love. The scandal becomes fairy tale."
I leaned back, giving her space to breathe—though there was none, not really.
"Or you can refuse. I'll drive away right now. The world keeps hating me. Your grandmother dies disappointed. And you remain exactly what they've always called you: the illegitimate daughter with nowhere to belong."
The car was silent except for her ragged breathing.
She stared at me, lips parted, tears finally spilling over.
She understood now.
This wasn't rescue.
This was a bargain with something far older and darker than any chaebol heir.
I waited.
The crimson in my eyes glinted once more in the cold morning light.
"Take all the time you need, Bella," I murmured, voice like silk dragged over a blade.
"But the longer you wait… the more it costs."
We both knew she would say yes.
The trap had already sprung.