Jaemin arrived at the office as he did every day—early, with purpose, and with the kind of precision that had earned him the title of CEO. He walked through the glass doors of the Mirae Group headquarters, his stride unwavering, his face an impenetrable mask of calm. His hands, once trembling with uncertainty, were steady now as they gripped the papers on his desk. His focus was unmatched, and every task that came his way was handled with immaculate attention to detail.
There was no room for error in his world now. No room for weakness. No room for distraction. His life had become a series of calculated movements, a performance that never wavered, no matter the toll it took on him. Every day, he buried himself in work—contracts, meetings, numbers, decisions. The same routine that had become his anchor.
But today, like so many others, the nagging weight of Sooah's mental state lingered in the back of his mind. He could feel the pressure of her absence at the edges of his thoughts, the way she seemed to haunt the empty spaces in their home, and even in the questions from both families, eager for answers that Jaemin wasn't sure he had.
His phone buzzed with messages from both sides of the family—the Kang family and Sooah's. The constant inquiries about Sooah's wellbeing had become a part of his daily life. He had perfected the art of deflecting, of masking the truth with carefully crafted words that told just enough to avoid suspicion but not enough to reveal the painful reality.
When his mother called during the morning break, her voice dripping with concern but laced with judgment, Jaemin answered, keeping his tone even.
"Jaemin, your father and I haven't seen Sooah in weeks. Is she doing okay? We haven't heard from her. Is she not feeling well?"
Jaemin leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the desk as he took a deep breath before answering. "She's not feeling well, Mother. She's struggling a bit right now, mentally. I'm in the process of helping her get better. We're trying to figure things out."
His mother's voice softened, though there was an undercurrent of skepticism. "Mentally unstable? Jaemin, you have to do something about this. A woman like Sooah should be strong. She's always been so poised. This doesn't sound like her. You should get her to see someone. A professional."
Jaemin's jaw tightened, but he said nothing for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to hang in the air. His mother's tone was always more about appearances than actual concern, but he didn't have the energy to correct her. Instead, he nodded slowly, though she couldn't see him.
"I've already arranged for that. She's seeing someone. But it's going to take time, Mother. She's going through something right now, and it's not easy. But we're working through it."
The line was silent for a moment. His mother sighed, resigned. "Well, let me know if you need anything. But don't let her become a burden to you, Jaemin. You have to think about your future, too."
Jaemin's grip on the phone tightened ever so slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply responded with, "I'll keep you updated, Mother."
Hanging up, he set the phone back on his desk, the familiar ache in his chest resurfacing. His mother's words weren't new—always the same, practical, and cold. They had never really understood what Sooah meant to him, or what they had been through together. To them, Sooah was just a figure, a symbol of family reputation. And Jaemin... he was merely a tool in the grand design of their expectations.
But for Sooah, it was different. Or at least it had been. Now, his role as her husband felt like a cage—a place where both of them were imprisoned by their own demons. And the hardest part was that there was no way out, no simple solution to the chaos she had become.
His phone buzzed again, this time a message from Sooah's parents. The same question, the same concern. His heart sank, but he answered it with the same rehearsed lines.
"Sooah's not doing well," he typed, his fingers moving almost mechanically across the screen. "She's struggling mentally right now, and she doesn't want to see anyone. I'm working with her to help her get through this."
There was a brief pause before her mother replied, the text short but filled with a kind of unspoken judgment. "We understand. Keep us informed."
Jaemin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as the weight of it all pressed on him. His life was a constant balancing act now—juggling the expectations of his family, his role as CEO, and the complicated, suffocating reality of his relationship with Sooah. Every day, he carried the burden of their unspoken truth: that the woman he loved, the woman he had once promised to protect, was unraveling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The worst part was that he didn't even know if she could ever get better. He had started to doubt it. The psychiatrists he consulted had all told him the same thing: this could only be fixed if both of them were willing to confront the truth and work together. But how could he ask Sooah to face the reality of what had happened between them? How could he expect her to heal when the very love that had once bound them was now the cause of their suffering?
He sat there in the quiet of his office, the weight of the decisions ahead of him pressing heavily on his chest. His phone buzzed again, this time a message from Sooah herself. She rarely texted him these days, always preferring the silence that hung between them, but when she did, it was a plea for reassurance.
"Jaemin, I can't do this. I'm so scared. Please help me."
The words were like a punch to the gut. Every time she spoke like that, it felt like he was losing her more and more, slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts.
He typed a quick reply, keeping it simple, trying to reassure her in the only way he knew how.
"I'm here, Sooah. I'm not going anywhere. Just trust me. You'll be okay. We'll get through this together."
But even as he sent the message, he wondered whether that was true. Would they really get through this together? Or had they already become so broken, so entrenched in their own pain, that there was no way back?
Jaemin set his phone down, the words from the psychiatrists echoing in his mind. This could only be solved by the two of them. But could they? Could they really heal together when the damage had already been done, when the trust between them had already been shattered?
The questions lingered in the air, unanswered, as Jaemin returned to his work, burying himself in the routine that had become his only solace. There were no easy answers here. Only the harsh reality that he was trapped, just as much as Sooah was.