Yes, I do - unless it's about confessions
[Live Broadcast - Wedding Korea TV]
[The screen flickers to life, and the familiar masked figure appears, lounging casually against a table. Behind him, two figures sit under the harsh spotlight—one of them slouched in his chair, arms crossed, face twisted into a deep scowl. The other, older and sharper, holds himself upright, stiff with controlled anger. Both men are immaculately dressed, though their expensive suits now look slightly disheveled, a stark contrast to the flawless, high-society image they usually maintain.]
[The masked man lifts a gloved hand in an exaggerated wave.]
[Masked Man]:
“Ah, there they are. Right on schedule. Ladies and gentlemen, and all you little gossip fiends watching from your rooms, let me introduce our guests for the evening. Give a very warm welcome to… the dashing groom himself, Lee Sanghoon!”
[The camera shows Sanghoon’s face, capturing every ounce of his irritation. His lips curl in disdain, and he shifts uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny.]
[Masked Man]:
“And let’s not forget the real power behind the Lee family name, the tech king himself, Lee Dongsu!”
[Another camera angle sharpens onto Dongsu’s face, his expression a flawless mask of control, though his clenched jaw betrays his tension. His presence radiates an authority that has likely crushed boardrooms into submission, but here? Here, he’s just another player in someone else’s game.]
[Masked Man]:
“Look at this dynamic duo. One, the heir to an empire, raised in silk sheets and wrapped in daddy’s protection his whole life. The other, a ruthless businessman who built his empire from the ground up, stepping on whoever he needed to along the way. What a beautiful father-son moment. Almost makes me emotional.”
[Sanghoon scoffs loudly, his frustration boiling over.]
[Lee Sanghoon]:
“This is ridiculous! Who do you think you are? You’re interrupting my wedding—”
[Masked Man]:
“Ah-ah-ah.” [He holds up a finger, shushing him.] “Not your wedding anymore, my guy. That fairy tale got rewritten the second we walked in. And let’s be honest—was it ever really about love?”
[Sanghoon’s face darkens, his body stiffening.]
[Masked Man]:
“You see, my dear viewers, this wedding wasn’t just an extravagant display of wealth. No, no, no. This wasn’t just about a handsome prince sweeping a beautiful influencer off her feet.” [He lets out a low chuckle.] “It was a distraction.”
[A pause. The live chat goes wild.]
— “A DISTRACTION FROM WHAT???”
— “THIS IS JUICY I’M SCREAMING”
— “spit it out man I’m sweating”
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, patience, patience. The best meals are served slowly.” [He taps on his tablet, and a screen behind him comes to life. A company logo appears, one instantly recognizable in the tech world. Lee Dongsu’s company.]
[Lee Dongsu exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers pressing together. He finally speaks, his voice a low growl.]
[Lee Dongsu]:
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but if you think you can intimidate me—”
[Masked Man]:
“Intimidate you? Oh, Mr. Lee, please. You are the last man on Earth I’d waste time intimidating. You don’t scare easy, do you? That’s fine. You don’t need to be scared. You just need to listen.”
[Sanghoon shifts uncomfortably in his seat again. His father remains stone-faced, but the flicker in his eyes suggests he knows where this is going.]
[Masked Man]:
“This little tech empire you built, Mr. Lee—it’s quite impressive. The innovation, the reach, the way it completely revolutionized data storage and device connectivity. But, uh… that’s not all you were storing, is it?”
[The screen flickers. A new image appears—an encrypted database. Numbers, codes, timestamps. A chillingly vast amount of data.]
[The live chat loses its collective mind.]
— “wait. WAIT.”
— “tell me that’s NOT what I think it is”
— “ARE THEY SAYING WHAT I THINK THEY’RE SAYING???”
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, come on, let’s not be coy. You two know exactly what this is.”
[Lee Dongsu’s fingers tighten into fists. Sanghoon stares at the screen, blinking, his mouth slightly open.]
[Masked Man]:
“This is everything. Data from every single person who’s ever owned one of your devices. Their locations. Their messages. Their private files. Even their most… intimate conversations. Stored. Collected. Used.”
[Sanghoon doesn’t react immediately. But when he does, his expression isn’t one of shock—it’s of fear. A deep, gnawing fear.]
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Sanghoon. You were part of this, too.”
[Sanghoon flinches. His eyes dart to his father, but Dongsu still doesn’t look at him.]
[Masked Man]:
“What, you thought Daddy dearest kept you in the dark? Please. You knew. Maybe not all the details, but enough. Enough to know this wedding wasn’t just for show. Enough to know it was your idea to put on this grand spectacle—to keep people distracted while your father wiped every trace of this mess clean.”
[Sanghoon’s lips part slightly, but no words come out.]
[Masked Man]:
“Ohhh, Sanghoon, my sweet summer child. This wasn’t just a distraction for the media. It was cover. One big, grand spectacle while they erased every loose end.”
[The masked man is now lounging even more comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, twirling a sleek black pen between his gloved fingers. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.
On the other side of the table, Lee Dongsu has barely moved, but there’s a new weight in his posture. A businessman who has spent decades at the top of the food chain knows when he’s been backed into a corner. And Sanghoon?
Oh, poor Sanghoon.
The once-dashing groom now looks more like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. His usually perfect, media-trained composure is cracking at the edges, and for the first time, the audience sees the boy behind the expensive suits and smug interviews. A boy who has never been told “no” in his life but is realizing, in real-time, that there’s no one here to clean up this mess for him.]
[Masked Man]:
“Are you ready? The grand reveal! The fall of the Lee dynasty! The scandal of the century! And you, dear Sanghoon, sitting front row, looking like someone just canceled your unlimited black card.”
[Sanghoon’s jaw tightens.]
[Lee Sanghoon]:
“This is insane. You think some edited documents and dramatic lighting are enough to make people believe this bullshit?”
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, sweetheart, no need to be embarrassed. It’s not like Daddy didn’t teach you how to lie. It’s just that, well… you’re really bad at it.”
[Sanghoon scoffs, but there’s no real strength behind it. He knows. He knows what’s coming next. And it’s coming fast.]
[Masked Man]:
“You knew about the shady deals. You knew where the money really came from. You knew what happened to people from the data protection authority who got in the way. And what did you do, hmm?”
[He tilts his head in mock curiosity.]
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, right. You threw tantrums about your car collection. Cried over bad press. Went on luxurious vacations to ‘de-stress’ while real people disappeared. Must have been exhausting for you.”
[Sanghoon’s fists clench on his lap. His father, however, stays eerily silent. He doesn’t correct anything. He doesn’t even look at his son. The weight of his inaction is louder than any defense.]
[Masked Man]:
“Let’s put on a little show, shall we?”
[He taps his tablet again, and a new set of files flood the screen behind him. This time, there are pictures. Documents. Records that paint an undeniable picture. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Encrypted emails with subject lines like ‘Problem Neutralized’ and ‘Asset Removal.’ Even the most skeptical viewer can’t pretend this is some elaborate hoax.]
— “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”
— “IS THIS WHAT RICH PEOPLE DO FOR FUN WTF”
— “THEY LITERALLY HAVE HITLISTS????”
[Sanghoon inhales sharply, as if he might argue. But what’s left to say? He knew. He just never thought anyone would hold him accountable.]
[Masked Man]:
“But hey, let’s make it even easier for the slow learners in the audience.” [He snaps his fingers.] “Let’s hear it in their own words.”
[Audio files pop up. Clips of phone calls, boardroom meetings, hushed conversations recorded without their knowledge.]
[Voice: Sanghoon, annoyed, whining.]
“Ugh, I don’t care what you do, just make sure it’s not in the news this time. Last thing I need is another article about ‘mysterious accidents.’ It’s exhausting.”
[Voice: Lee Dongsu, cold, decisive.]
“You’re too reckless. If you can’t handle this, stay out of it. I’ll clean up your mess like always.”
[The chat absolutely explodes.]
— “I KNEW SANGHOON WAS STUPID BUT I DIDN’T THINK HE’D BE THIS STUPID”
— “BRO SAID ‘JUST MAKE SURE IT’S NOT IN THE NEWS’ LIKE A SPOILED LITTLE MOB PRINCE”
— “I’M GASPING. I’M CHOKING. I’M DECEASED.”
[Sanghoon’s face drains of all color. This is beyond damage control. This is complete and utter annihilation.]
[Lee Sanghoon]:
“…You bastard.”
[Masked Man]:
“Language, my dear. There might be children watching.”
[The masked man grins beneath his disguise, reveling in the unraveling of the Lees. He turns his attention back to Dongsu, whose mask of composure is slipping for the first time.]
[Masked Man]:
“What about you, Mr. Lee? Any last words? A dramatic monologue about power? A desperate plea for mercy? A good old-fashioned death threat? Come on, give me something.”
[Lee Dongsu]:
“…What do you want?”
[For the first time, there’s something new in his voice. Not fear. Not anger. Just the exhausted resignation of a man who knows his empire is crumbling beneath his feet.]
[Masked Man]:
“Oh, Mr. Lee, you know what I want. I don’t want money. I don’t want favors. I want this truth to be free.”
[The masked man now sitting upright, fingers steepled in front of him like a professor wrapping up a particularly enlightening lecture. His tone is softer now, almost… sentimental. But there’s a sharpness beneath it, like a blade hidden in silk.]
[Masked Man]:
“Well, dear viewers, I must commend you all. You have been exceptionally strong, exceptionally patient, and—most importantly—exceptionally generous with your time. And money.”
[A dramatic pause, a small chuckle.]
[Masked Man]:
“But, as with all good things in life—champagne, designer marriages, stock market fraud—this little show must come to an end.”
[Sanghoon barely reacts, his body slumped forward, hands gripping the edges of his chair like he’s about to be sick. His once-perfectly styled hair now clings to his damp forehead, his eyes darting around, searching—what? For an escape? For a last-minute miracle?
His father, Lee Dongsu, does not move. He does not blink. His entire fortune, his entire empire, his legacy—obliterated in a single night. He looks like a man staring straight into the abyss and realizing, for the first time in his life, that the abyss is staring back.]
[Masked Man]:
“Before I go, I’d like to extend my sincerest gratitude to our dear friends at the police force. Without your astonishing, almost poetic level of incompetence, none of this would have been possible.”
[A slow clap. One. Two. Three.]
[Masked Man]:
“I mean, really. You had one job, didn’t you? Protect the innocent. Catch the bad guys. Maybe—just maybe—shut down a live-streamed hostage situation before it turned into an international spectacle.”
[A sigh, shaking his head as if deeply, deeply disappointed.]
[Masked Man]:
“But don’t feel too bad! I’d hate for you to leave empty-handed.”
[His gloved hand gestures off-screen, and suddenly, new images flood the display. A grid of security footage from various rooms of the Lotte World Tower Hotel—high-end suites, locked doors, confused, disheveled figures pacing inside.
Recognizable faces. Faces of power. Faces of scandal.
Politicians. CEOs. Celebrities. Each one of them had a dirty little secret dragged into the light. And each one of them? Gift-wrapped and waiting for the authorities to collect.]
[Masked Man]:
“Consider this our little parting gift. Every guest of honor who had the misfortune of being exposed is now safely tucked away in one of these lovely suites.”
[He leans forward, voice dipping into a faux whisper.]
[Masked Man]:
“They’re all yours, dear officers. Go ahead. Knock on some doors. Make some arrests. Feel useful for once.”
[A slow grin spreads beneath the mask. The chat is feral.]
— “HE JUST HANDED THE POLICE A FULL ON ARREST LIST LIKE HE’S SANTA CLAUS”
— “‘FEEL USEFUL FOR ONCE’ STOPPPPPP”
— “NOOOO THE SHADE I CAN’T BREATHE”
— “IS THIS THE SEASON FINALE OF REAL LIFE?”
[The masked man exhales, leaning back, stretching his arms over his head like a performer wrapping up a flawless encore.]
[Masked Man]:
“And now, my dearest, dearest friends—this is where we part ways.”
[A beat. His voice turns mockingly wistful.]
[Masked Man]:
“But don’t be too sad. Life has a funny way of bringing people back together, don’t you think? After all… you always see yourself twice.”
[He stands. The finality in his posture is unmistakable. He straightens his suit jacket, adjusts his gloves, and takes one last look at the camera.]
[Masked Man]:
“The doors of the Lotte World Tower will be opening in just a few moments. No tricks, no obstacles. The police are free to storm in, guns blazing, hero capes flapping in the wind. What happens next? Well, that’s up to you.”
[A two-finger salute. A wink in his voice.]
[Masked Man]:
“Goodnight, Seoul. It’s been a pleasure.”
[The screen flickers. Static. Then—black.]
[And then, for the first time in hours, the silence is deafening.]
*******
Jungkook
Jungkook sat in the police command tent, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tightly it could crack his molars. The flickering glow of the live broadcast bathed the tent in cold, artificial light, illuminating the growing horror on every officer’s face. The tension was so thick it felt like the entire room had stopped breathing.
The masked lunatic on-screen was still at it, lounging like he had all the time in the world, monologuing like some smug villain in a crime drama. But this? This wasn’t fiction.
The feed had turned its sights on Lee Sanghoon now, the golden boy of the Lee family, and the room collectively stiffened. They had expected another scandal, sure. But Jungkook could see it in Captain Park’s face—he had been banking on this being the end of it. He had hoped that the worst was behind them, that the big reveal had already happened.
He was wrong.
The tent was deadly silent as the masked man dropped bombshell after bombshell. Offshore accounts. Money laundering. ‘Problem Neutralized’ emails. A literal hit list. The police weren’t just watching a crime unfold—they were watching an empire crumble in real-time.
Captain Park looked like he was moments away from a stroke, his face beet-red, one hand clutching the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Jungkook wouldn’t have been surprised if a paramedic had to be called in for him by the end of this.
Seokjin, on the other hand, was unreadable. Normally, his dry commentary filled in the gaps during these kinds of broadcasts, pointing out details others missed, analyzing the situation like a seasoned strategist. But now? He was silent. His expression blank, his lips pressed together in an unusually tight line. It wasn’t just focus—it was something else.
Jungkook filed that away for later.
Right now, he had bigger problems.
His fists tightened as the masked man continued, his words like knives slicing through the reputation of the Lees. Jungkook wasn’t surprised—not really. The rich and powerful had always had their dirty secrets. But his mind kept circling back to one person.
Lee Jaesun.
The older brother of the groom. The one who had been absent from this entire mess due to a last-minute accident.
Jungkook’s eyes flickered to the corner of the tent where Jaesun had sat for most of the heist, his presence a quiet shadow in the chaos.
Jaesun had always seemed… different. An outlier in his own family. He had spent the last few years in Europe, studying art history of all things, far removed from the cutthroat business world his father and brother thrived in. He wasn’t like them—was he? Had he known about all of this? Or was he watching, right now, just as horrified as the rest of the world?
Jungkook didn’t know why the thought of Jaesun being hurt by this made something in his chest tighten. Maybe it was because the guy had been oddly likable—gentle, soft-spoken, completely out of place in a family built on greed. Or maybe it was because, against his better judgment, Jungkook had found himself… caring. More than he wanted to admit.
But there was no time to dwell on that.
Because then, the masked bastard on the screen did something.
He laughed.
A slow, mocking chuckle that sent a shiver down Jungkook’s spine.
And then—
“But, as with all good things in life—champagne, designer marriages, stock market fraud—this little show must come to an end.”
The entire room tensed.
Jungkook’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“Before I go, I’d like to extend my sincerest gratitude to our dear friends at the police force. Without your astonishing, almost poetic level of incompetence, none of this would have been possible.”
Captain Park made an inhuman noise that sounded like a dying walrus.
Jungkook didn’t react. His entire focus was on what came next.
“Consider this our little parting gift.”
Jungkook’s stomach dropped.
The tent erupted in noise.
Jungkook barely heard Captain Park’s string of expletives. His brain was running a mile a minute.
This was wrong. This was wrong.
Why the hell would they give up their position like this? Why would they invite the police to storm the building while they were still inside?
It didn’t make sense.
And then came the final nail in the coffin.
“The doors of the Lotte World Tower will be opening in just a few moments. No tricks, no obstacles. The police are free to storm in, guns blazing, hero capes flapping in the wind. What happens next? Well, that’s up to you.”
Captain Park wasted no time.
“MOVE!” he bellowed, his voice nearly shaking the tent. “We’re breaching that damn building now! Get the teams ready, I want boots on the ground five minutes ago!”
Officers scrambled, barking orders into radios, grabbing weapons, preparing for the long-awaited storming of the tower.
Jungkook, however, remained frozen.
This was wrong. This was so wrong.
But he had no choice.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the unease in his gut down, and grabbed his gear.
Whatever happened next, he had a feeling they were walking straight into the masked bastard’s hands.
*******
Jungkook moved quickly, his boots crunching against the pavement outside the Lotte World Tower as he and the team advanced. The air was thick with tension, the kind that settled deep in your gut and refused to budge. He could hear Captain Park barking orders into his radio behind him, his voice gruff, filled with a mix of urgency and disbelief.
“Move, move, move! No mistakes! We get those bastards now!”
Jungkook adjusted his grip on his gun, barely hearing Seokjin’s voice crackle through his earpiece.
“No visuals on the masked guys,” Seokjin reported from the tent. His tone was too casual, too neutral, which only made Jungkook more uneasy.
Jungkook didn’t reply because fuck, his gut was twisting into knots. Something was off.
They moved fast, stepping into the luxurious lobby of the Lotte World Tower Hotel, and if Jungkook weren’t currently leading a high-stakes police raid, he might’ve actually stopped to admire how ridiculous this place was. The floor was too polished, reflecting the officers’ movements like they were storming a damn palace. Abandoned high heels, shattered champagne flutes, and discarded clutch bags were scattered across the ground—remnants of a party that had gone from expensive to apocalyptic real fast.
The chandeliers above barely swayed, the eerie calm making Jungkook feel like he’d just stepped into a goddamn trap.
His mind raced. They were too many steps behind. Too many. Seonsaengnim had planned every single second of this, and Jungkook hated feeling like he was just another piece on someone else’s board.
Captain Park motioned toward the ballroom doors, his movements sharp and efficient. They reached the heavy double doors—locked, of course. From the other side, muffled sounds leaked through—whispers, restrained sobs, the kind of fear that had settled deep into people’s bones.
Jungkook shot a glance at the captain.
Captain Park nodded once.
Jungkook braced himself.
One of the officers raised his boot. Boom.
The door burst open.
And inside—
Jungkook froze.
The wedding guests—the crème de la crème of high society, the walking, talking bank accounts of Seoul—were huddled together in various states of disarray. Silk gowns were wrinkled, designer suits were disheveled, and their perfectly styled hair now looked like something out of a war documentary.
These people were used to having the world at their feet. Now they looked like they wouldn’t even dare to breathe too loudly.
Jungkook scanned the room, expecting—something.
But—
There were no masks.
No guns pointed at them.
No masked lunatics delivering cryptic speeches about justice.
Only scared, exhausted socialites staring at them like they were still waiting for the nightmare to end.
Jungkook’s grip on his gun tightened.
No.
No, no, no.
His jaw clenched.
They weren’t here.
They were supposed to be here. The kidnappers had been here barely minutes ago, running the show like a damn stage play. There had been police everywhere outside the Lotte World Tower since the moment Seonsaengnim declared the game was over.
There was no way they could have escaped.
Right?
Captain Park took a slow breath beside him, his face dark. “Where the fuck are they?”
Jungkook didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. And he hated not knowing.
A few officers stayed behind to tend to the guests, but Jungkook and Captain Park pushed forward, moving through the building with increasing urgency. The heavy silence of the hallways was starting to feel wrong.
They reached another room, smaller, but filled with cameras, broadcasting equipment, and two exhausted figures. A man and a woman sat there, looking wrecked.
The second the woman saw them, she gasped, eyes going wide before she broke. Tears spilled down her face almost immediately. The man beside her placed a hand on her shoulder, his face still eerily blank, like he hadn’t even processed that it was over.
“We—we couldn’t stop it,” the woman hiccupped between sobs. “They were watching us the whole time—”
Jungkook barely listened. His mind was too busy running a thousand miles an hour.
Still. No. Masked. Men.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.
His frustration only deepened when they reached the suites.
According to the masked lunatic from the livestreams, this was where the real monsters were—the wedding guests whose dirty secrets had been broadcast for the world to see. These weren’t innocent hostages. These were criminals.
Captain Park adjusted his vest, his expression hard. “We get ready to arrest them. No screw-ups.”
Jungkook hesitated for the briefest second.
Because arresting these people was the right thing to do. They were criminals. Their secrets were out.
But at the same time… wasn’t this exactly what Seonsaengnim wanted?
The police, walking in like obedient little soldiers, rounding up these criminals like a neat little gift wrapped with a bow?
It left a sour taste in Jungkook’s mouth.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
They reached the first suite.
Locked.
A few officers prepared to breach.
Jungkook counted down in his head. Three, two, one-
The door swung open.
Inside, one of the guests from the livestream sat, looking haggard, furious, or both. It was Kang Sungmin.
Jungkook’s gaze swept over him.
No trace of the criminals who had orchestrated this entire thing.
Jungkook’s grip tightened around his gun.
The masked lunatics had disappeared.
*******
Han Yejin - The Bride
Han Yejin had no idea how long she had been sitting in this suite. The extravagant, silk-lined room—one that had been meant to be her bridal sanctuary—felt more like a lavishly decorated prison cell now. Time had lost all meaning. The walls, once adorned with expensive floral arrangements and personalized decorations, seemed to be closing in on her. She knew it hadn’t been an eternity, but God, it felt like a lifetime.
Yesterday was supposed to be the best day of her life.
She had imagined waking up this morning draped in expensive silk sheets, maybe a little hungover from the celebrations, maybe scrolling through the thousands of congratulatory messages on social media, basking in the envy of her millions of followers. Instead, she was here. Trapped. Alone. Forced to sit in front of a damn camera while a bunch of masked lunatics auctioned off her darkest secrets to the highest bidders in Seoul.
Oh god.
Her stomach twisted.
She had known—deep down—that the fairy-tale wasn’t real. But she had worked so hard to keep it that way. She had played the role of Seoul’s Cinderella perfectly, hadn’t she? The breathtakingly beautiful influencer. The woman who had captured the heart of one of the most powerful men in the country. The blushing bride who was about to officially enter the Lee family’s inner circle, where wealth and status were generational, untouchable.
And now, everything was ruined.
Because someone, somehow, had dug up dirt on her. And not just any dirt. The kind that could land her in prison.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hands trembling in her lap. How much did they really know?
Did they know why she had wanted to marry Lee Sanghoon?
Did they know the real reason she had fought tooth and nail to become a Lee?
Oh god.
Sanghoon would divorce her immediately. That was, if she wasn’t arrested first.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but it was useless. The thoughts swirled relentlessly in her head, each one worse than the last.
Secret #1: The “Accident” That Wasn’t
Two years ago, back when she was still clawing her way up the influencer food chain, she had been drunk as hell after a private party. She had driven home in a car that wasn’t even hers (a borrowed Rolls-Royce, of course) and had hit someone.
A pedestrian.
A man, probably in his forties—she never even got a good look at his face.
She had panicked. Not because she felt guilty (she was too drunk to feel anything) but because she couldn’t get caught. A DUI? A hit-and-run? Her career would have been over before it had even really begun.
So she had called someone. Someone who handled things like this.
The next morning, the news reported the death of a homeless man who had been found on the side of the road. No mentions of a car. No suspects. Just a quiet, tragic accident.
And Yejin?
She had never looked back.
But if they knew about it now—if the police found out—she wouldn’t just be losing her marriage. She’d be going to prison.
Secret #2: The Money Laundering Scheme
Okay. So maybe the hit-and-run wasn’t the only thing that could get her arrested.
Maybe, just maybe, she had also been washing dirty money through her brand endorsements.
It had started so innocently. Some super-rich guy had reached out, offering an insane amount of money for a single Instagram post. And not just the usual luxury brands—no, no, this was something different. A tiny, unknown company that nobody had heard of.
She hadn’t thought much of it at first. The deal was too good to pass up.
But then the offers kept coming.
The companies were always small, obscure, sketchy. And the payments? Obscenely high. More money than she had ever been paid before.
And then one day, a real luxury brand dropped her without warning.
That was when she realized.
The companies she had been advertising? They weren’t real.
They were shell companies—businesses created for the sole purpose of moving illegal money around. And she? She had been the perfect cover.
Of course, she had done the smart thing. She stopped taking those offers. She pretended it never happened.
But if someone had proof of those transactions—if they linked her to the criminal organizations using her name to launder money…
She was done.
Secret #3: The Real Reason She Wanted to Marry Lee Sanghoon
Okay. Fine. So maybe her love story with Sanghoon wasn’t exactly the fairy tale she had sold to the world.
Sure, she had liked him. He was handsome, rich, and ridiculously well-connected. The perfect husband for someone like her.
But the real reason she had wanted to marry him?
She owed people money. A lot of money.
And not just any people.
Loan sharks.
And not the kind who just send a few threatening texts when you miss a payment. No, no. These were the kind who made people disappear.
Her influencer career had made her millions. But her lifestyle had cost her even more. The designer clothes, the luxury cars, the extravagant trips—it had all been funded on credit.
And when the debts had started piling up, she had borrowed from the wrong people.
She had thought she could pay them back quickly. A few brand deals, a couple of sponsored posts, and she’d be fine.
But the interest rates had been insane. And suddenly, she owed more than she could ever make on her own.
And that was when she realized:
If she married into the Lee family, she would never have to worry about money ever again.
Her debts? Gone.
Her problems? Solved.
All she had to do was convince Sanghoon that she was madly in love with him.
And it had worked.
Until now.
Until some psychopaths in masks had dug up her secrets and were about to sell them to the highest bidder.
Oh god.
She was going to die.
Either the police would arrest her, or the people she owed money to would kill her.
A noise outside jerked her out of her spiraling thoughts.
Footsteps.
And then—
The door opened.
And Yejin shrieked.
Because at the beginning of this nightmare, she had prayed for the police to come save her.
But not after the livestream.
Oh god.
What if it wasn’t the police?
What if it was someone who had bought her secrets?
What if they were here to collect?
*******
James Wilson
James Wilson sat in the goddamn hotel suite, his hands gripping the arms of the luxurious leather chair like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. The chandelier above him flickered slightly, casting eerie shadows across the room. He swore he could still hear the echoes of that fucking insane talk show ringing in his ears.
What kind of psychopaths turned a hostage situation into a reality TV event?
And on the guest list? Him. James Wilson, esteemed diplomat from the U.S. embassy. Along with Kang Sungmin, the smarmy, corrupt real estate CEO, and Minister Kim Do-hee, the iron-fisted Minister of Defense with a handbag full of skeletons.
Their gracious masked hosts had introduced them to their audience—whoever the hell was watching this shitshow—and gleefully announced that one of them would have their deepest, darkest secret revealed live on the next broadcast.
The kicker? The audience got to vote.
A fucking popularity contest.
James had tried to keep his cool on stage, nodding along as Kang Sungmin dug his own grave with his arrogance, while Kim Do-hee sat there looking like she was calculating exactly how many military resources she needed to carpet-bomb this entire hotel.
He, on the other hand, had played it smart.
He had sat there, looking just the right amount of concerned—not too relaxed (because that would be suspicious), but not too panicked (because that would be worse). He knew how to blend in, how to make himself look like the least interesting person in the room.
And it had worked.
When the votes were tallied, they hadn’t chosen him.
Maybe it had been Kim Do-hee. Maybe, most likely, it had been Kang Sungmin, whose absolute inability to shut the hell up had made him the perfect target.
Either way, it wasn’t him.
And that meant his secret was still safe.
The Jakarta incident was still buried.
James exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. God, that had been a fucking mess.
A shipment of diamonds, meant to be a simple under-the-table exchange, had turned into a full-blown shitstorm involving an illegal arms deal, a warehouse fire, and—he still couldn’t believe this—a fireworks truck that had somehow exploded at the worst possible moment.
Did he personally blow up half a warehouse filled with stolen military-grade weapons? No.
Did his associates? …Okay, maybe.
But the important thing was that his name had been kept out of the official reports. The South Korean police had suspected involvement from a certain crime syndicate, but thanks to some carefully placed phone calls and a very generous diplomatic intervention, the whole thing had been buried faster than a bad scandal in Washington.
As far as the public knew, the Jakarta incident had been nothing more than an unfortunate warehouse fire.
But if those masked lunatics had dug up proof? If they had evidence of his involvement?
Oh, he was so fucked.
He couldn’t afford to even think about it. He had survived the talk show nightmare. He had been sent to his room to wait. And now, he just needed to get out of this mess.
James swallowed, tapping his foot against the floor.
The police had to be coming.
This wasn’t some back-alley hostage situation. This was the fucking Lotte World Tower Hotel—one of the most prestigious locations in Seoul. The police wouldn’t just be sitting around with their thumbs up their asses while an entire building full of VIPs was being held hostage.
They were coming.
They had to be.
And just as he was about to convince himself that he could breathe again—
There was movement at the door.
Oh. Fuck.
Had he thought too soon? Had the masked maniacs changed their minds?
His pulse skyrocketed as he sat up straight, eyes locked on the door handle.
It turned slowly.
He braced himself.
And then—
A group of police officers flooded in.
James exhaled so hard he nearly passed out.
Thank. Fucking. God.
The nightmare was finally over.
“Gentlemen,” he breathed, graciously relieved, his usual smooth diplomatic persona sliding back into place. “I have never been happier to see the Seoul Metropolitan Police in my life.”
One of the officers stepped forward. James tried not to notice the lack of warmth in his expression.
“We’re going to have to ask you to come with us, Mr. Wilson.”
James nodded, standing up. “Of course. I understand you need statements—I’m happy to cooperate.”
And then he saw it.
The handcuffs.
And the officer was reaching for his wrists.
James blinked.
Wait.
Wait.
What the fuck was happening?
He stepped back, holding up his hands in horrified disbelief. “Excuse me?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
The officer didn’t even blink. “James Wilson, you are under arrest.”
“…Under what now?”
The cold steel of the cuffs snapped around his wrists before he could even finish his protest.
James panicked.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” His voice escalated from diplomatic charm to full-blown outrage. “I am a foreign diplomat! You can’t just—”
“You do not have diplomatic immunity in this situation,” the officer said, as if reading off a teleprompter of James’ worst nightmares.
Oh. Oh, this wasn’t happening.
He felt himself short-circuiting.
This had to be a mistake. This had to be some kind of miscommunication.
His secret hadn’t been revealed, right?! Right?!
“Listen to me,” he snapped, his voice a mix of authority and absolute fucking terror. “You need to be arresting those lunatics in masks—not me! I was a hostage! Do you understand? A hostage!”
The officer’s grip on his arm tightened.
“You were complicit in crimes committed outside of South Korea, and we now have evidence.”
James’ entire soul left his body.
Oh. Fuck.
They had something.
They had proof.
And suddenly, his mouth was very, very dry.
For the first time in his well-maintained, politically smoothed-over life—
James Wilson was well and truly fucked.