Chapter 1 – The Wedding of the Century

They say every man dreams of a wedding like this.

They say it’s the ultimate fantasy—marrying a goddess, standing in a hall glittering like heaven, becoming the headline of the year.

Yeah. They say a lot of things.

But no one asks the groom what he feels when he’s standing in front of a thousand cameras, wearing a smile that isn’t his.

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Flash. Flash. Flash.

I swear the photographers were trying to kill me with light. Maybe that’s how I go—death by celebrity-grade camera flashes. At least the obituary would be poetic: “Lawyer from the countryside, slain by luxury.”

I adjusted my tuxedo for the tenth time, because that’s what nervous men do in movies.

Truth is, the suit cost more than my parents’ house back in Yongdu-ri. If I ruined it with sweat stains, that’d be another debt I couldn’t afford.

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I glanced sideways at her—Hong Hae-in.

My bride. My wife. The woman whose name could buy and sell entire provinces without blinking.

Even now, even here, she looked untouchable. A vision sculpted out of ice and diamonds. The dress was flawless. The jewels on her neck could probably pay off my law school loans… and my soul.

People called her the “Queen.” Looking at her now, I understood why. Queens don’t walk among mortals. They don’t smile unless they have to. They don’t bleed… or at least, they pretend not to.

And here I was.

The farmer’s son who somehow wandered into the wrong fairy tale.

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I should be happy, right?

This is what they call a dream come true.

The villagers back home are probably throwing fireworks, drinking soju like it’s a national holiday. My mother’s probably crying into the phone to every relative we’ve ever had, screaming, “My son married the heiress! We’re practically royalty now!”

And me?

I’m standing here wondering if I made the biggest mistake of my life.

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The priest’s voice floated through the hall like background music. Something about vows, eternity, till death do us part. Great sales pitch. Too bad the warranty on those words usually expires in a year.

I risked a glance at Hae-in.

She wasn’t looking at me. Not really. Her eyes were fixed somewhere far away, like she had better places to be. Her expression didn’t crack—not once.

They called her “The Smile of Queens” in magazines.

But up close, it wasn’t a smile. It was… armor.

And the scary part? I don’t know when she started wearing it around me.

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I remember the first time I saw her.

Back then, she laughed like a kid.

Back then, she looked at me like I was more than just… this.

What changed?

Maybe everything.

Maybe nothing.

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“Do you, Baek Hyun-woo, take Hong Hae-in to be your lawfully wedded wife… till death do you part?”

The priest’s words hit me like a joke only I understood.

Till death?

Buddy, I’ll be lucky if we make it past three years without killing each other.

Still, I said it.

“I do.”

Because what else could I say?

“No thanks, I’d like to return this marriage and get a refund”?

Not when half the country is watching. Not when her father is sitting in the front row, smiling like a man who owns the world.

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Her turn.

“Do you, Hong Hae-in, take Baek Hyun-woo…”

She said it smoothly. Perfectly.

“I do.”

Like it cost her nothing.

Maybe it didn’t.

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Applause exploded. Cameras clicked like machine guns. The hashtag #WeddingOfTheCentury was probably already trending, next to #PoorGuyWinsJackpot.

And then came the kiss.

The grand cinematic moment everyone was waiting for.

I leaned down, careful, gentle. Our lips touched. Warm… but empty. Like kissing a porcelain doll.

And in that instant, I knew.

This wasn’t a fairy tale.

This was a contract dressed in white.

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The crowd erupted in cheers. People cried.

Meanwhile, I was busy memorizing the exit routes in case I decided to run.

---

The ceremony dragged on like a long corporate meeting. Toasts, speeches, smiles. My jaw hurt from pretending to be the happiest man alive.

“Hyun-woo-ssi! Over here!”

“Smile for the camera!”

“How does it feel to marry Korea’s most eligible heiress?”

How does it feel?

Like standing on a glass bridge over a canyon—beautiful view, sure, but one wrong step and you’re dead.

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Every handshake felt like a deal. Every compliment felt like a warning.

You’re lucky, Hyun-woo.

Translation: Don’t screw this up, peasant.

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Later, when the noise faded, we stood alone for a moment on the balcony. The city glittered below like a billion little lies.

“You look tired,” I said, because small talk is what you do when you don’t know what else to say to your wife.

She gave me that perfect smile—the kind people frame in magazines.

And then, so quietly I almost missed it, she whispered:

“Happily ever after… what a joke.”

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My stomach dropped.

Because in that moment, I realized two things:

One, she wasn’t joking.

Two, maybe I wasn’t either.

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The crowd called it the wedding of the century.

Me?

I called it the beginning of the longest war of my life.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t sure which side I was on anymore.

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