He wants the inheritance, she wants her brand. Two rivals, since they were 5, walk down the aisle, but as sparks fly and tensions rise, will their charismatic bickering evolve into a passionate partnership? Will they turn their sham marriage into a...
The plush velvet seat felt like it was swallowing me whole, the scent of lavender and cinnamon swirling in the air, a stark contrast to the tempest brewing within me. I glanced at the ornate clock above the fireplace, the Roman numerals mockingly ticking away. He was late. Of course he was. Twenty-three minutes late, to be precise.
Kim Taehyung, my fiance. That title still felt like a punch in the gut, a cruel joke, a misprint on the script of my life. I'd known him for years, and in that time, I had become his enemy at first sight, and somehow, that enemy became his fiance.
The hate was both sided tho.
Here I am, waiting for him in his family's flagship restaurant, 'Kim's Kitchen.' A place where the service is impeccable, the food is divine, and the staff changes faster than a chameleon's skin. The reason? Taehyung.
Let me be fair. I'll try, at least. He is a culinary genius. A man who can turn a simple dish into an experience. You know that 50ml measuring spoon in your kitchen? Well, if it's 50ml, it has to be 50ml. Not 49, not 51, but precisely 50. And if someone dares to deviate from that precise measurement? Well, let's just say their employment at Kim's Kitchen will be briefer than an Instagram story.
And yet, the man's tiramisu is truly something else. The perfect balance of creaminess, bitterness, and sweetness. It's the only thing I actually enjoy at his restaurant.
But his tiramisu can't erase the rest of him.
The other thing I'm supposed to be marrying is his ambition. He wants to take over the Kim family empire, and his obsession with perfection extends to everything - food, staff, girlfriends. Oh yes, the girlfriends. He's a womanizers, no no not a womanizers, but a modelizer. They're an ever-changing carousel of models, each more beautiful and more vapid than the last. And why wouldn't they be? Who on earth could stand to be with him? He's relentless, demanding, and makes you feel like you're always walking a tightrope, one wrong step away from a plunge into his disapproval.
I'm not sure why I'm even going through with this charade. Maybe it's the pressure from my family, the societal expectations, or the fact that I'm supposed to be playing the role of the dutiful daughter.
Suddenly, a voice cuts through my thoughts.
About Him:
Fixing my tie, rolling my sleeves down, I surveyed my reflection in the kitchen knife. The blazer, discarded while I'd been teaching my new staff the art of kiwi cutting, felt heavy and uncomfortable as I shrugged it back on. "She's here," a staff member announced, breaking the rhythm of our kiwi-chopping choreography. " Y/N Lee is waiting."
Normally, I wouldn't keep a lady waiting. But Y/N wasn't a lady. She was the antithesis of the word, a whirlwind of energy and opinions, with a mouth that could cut sharper than the finest pair of diamond-encrusted scissors. It was a perfect fit for her profession, fashion design. After all, her family owned the Lee's Diamond Jewellery Company, whose advertisements plastered every billboard in Seoul.
It was a little ironic, actually, having Y/N as my fiance. My last girlfriend had been their model.
Y/N is an ambitious fashion designer with a passion for creating her own clothing and accessories brand. She's straight-forward and speaks her mind, always keeping her personal and professional life separate. I've heard rumors that she even personally designed the wedding rings of her ex and his wife, the one she dated for 5 years. Their breakup was a messy one, but Y/N didn't let it slow her down. She's too focused on her ambitions to let a little thing like heartbreak get in the way.
Did she ever even love him? Women, I had always believed, were more emotional than men. Y/N shattered this notion, leaving me to wonder if she had ever truly loved her ex. Perhaps the only thing she loved beyond her ambition was Maria.
My first memory of Y/N was as clear as the day it happened. We both were five, and her grandmother, lived in the bungalow opposite ours. Y/N would come every summer, a whirlwind of pink and giggles, her wide eyes sparkling with mischief. It was then, in that summer of sunshine and shared ice cream, that a seed of animosity was planted in my heart.
Everyone adored her. 'She's like a little princess,' my mother would coo, practically swooning. My grandmother, who was supposedly a strict woman, melted at the sight of Y/N, showering her with affection and gifts. And then there were my friends, drawn to her like moths to a flame.
"Come on, Kim," they'd say, "let Y/N play with us."
They didn't understand. She was a tornado in a pretty dress, disrupting their games, monopolizing their attention. And what's worse, she would bribe them with chocolates to let her play, the same ones my grandmother gave her, only in a larger quantity.
My frustration grew. Y/N was always the center of attention, leaving me feeling like an invisible shadow. She was sunshine, and I was the raincloud.
As a child, I hadn't understood the source of my dislike. Was it envy? Jealousy? The more I tried to ignore her, the more she seemed to fill my life, a constant reminder of my own perceived inadequacy.
Through the years, my resentment festered. It was a simmering pot waiting to boil over, fuelled by the memory of her laughter, her sly smiles, and the unwavering adoration she received from everyone. I just couldn't understand what made her so special.
Now, as a grown man, standing in the kitchen of our family restaurant, I still felt the same old flicker of annoyance. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my blazer and walked out of the kitchen. Y/N sat in the corner booth, her bright scarlet dress a stark contrast to the muted tones of the restaurant.
Oh, I forgot to tell you, Maria is her Lamborghini. A sleek and stylish car, just like its owner.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
