Some marriages begin with love. Others begin with a signature no one remembers making. On a night drowned in music, laughter, and too much alcohol, two strangers crossed paths in a crowded bar-never meant to matter to each other, never meant to last beyond the evening. Yin, reckless and charming, wore commitment like a joke. War, guarded and quiet, believed in control and distance. They were nothing alike, and they were never supposed to be anything more. A game turned serious. A dare went too far. And a legal contract-meant for someone else-was signed without thought. By morning, the memory faded. By the next day, they were strangers again. Months later, an accident would drag the past back into the present, exposing a truth neither of them was ready to face: they were married-by mistake. Bound by law but not by choice, they agreed to live a lie while waiting for a divorce that felt inevitable. Yet as days turned into nights, and care slowly replaced obligation, something dangerous began to grow between them. Because what started as a mistake was slowly becoming a choice.
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