Chapter 11
A year into their relationship, the two didn’t just deliver a shock—they threw a punch.
They announced their engagement.
While time piled up in unbelievable layers, he helped Gamjeong with wedding preparations like a pathetic fool.
Picking out dresses, comparing appliance specs—like some lovesick idiot.
Maybe I should’ve confessed. Maybe just once. But he never did, and now he was truly being forced to let go.
As the wedding date neared, he grew restless, angry, and sad—like a man on death row—until resignation swallowed him again.
But then, three days before the wedding, Gamjeong showed up at his place. Soaked from the rain.
And dropped the bombshell: she was calling off the wedding with Go Do-hoon.
Is this how it feels to die and come back to life? Selfishly, Gamjeong’s heartbreak felt like a gift from the heavens.
Damn… how selfish of me.
And he tore open that gift in a rush.
He couldn’t stop himself. The filthy dreams he’d only ever imagined were becoming real.
Gamjeong, who’d haunted his mind since adolescence.
The girl who’d starred in his wet dreams, who’d turned him into a lust-drunk animal just by smelling like a woman in broad daylight.
Sometimes, when her silhouette was too feminine, the visual alone wrecked him.
The urge to take her gnawed at him constantly. But he held back. He had to.
Fantasy was one thing—reality had walls. And Gamjeong’s ruthless “just friends” barrier was unbreakable.
Don’t cross this line, her sharp eyes always warned.
But today, that line blurred. No—it shattered.
Maybe because of the wounds Go Do-hoon and Seo Yeo-ra had carved into Gamjeong. But regardless, she’d left an opening.
Unaware of the depravity in his heart and body, she’d smiled and provoked him, stirring the hunger simmering beneath his skin.
Ugh. Why’s your chest so damn pretty?
The naked body he’d only ever imagined now stabbed at his vision, raw lust surging south.
Her warmth was too sweet against his lips, her skin unbearably soft under his fingers—
He couldn’t stop.
He shouldn’t have fallen for her taunt. But decades of pent-up desire dragged him under.
Three missed calls from Go Do-hoon. One chat message.
Jeong checked it as she headed home.
—I get why you’re not picking up. But let’s talk tomorrow. Try to sleep, even if you can’t. See you then.
The casual tone made her blood boil so hard she almost called him right back.
Don’t. He knows how you are.
He was betting she’d rage at his audacity and cave.
Breathe. Control the fury.
Giving that bastard attention would only humiliate her. To cool off, she doused herself in cold water the second she got home.
Then she steadied herself. Or maybe the cold shower’s for Iseong—not Do-hoon.
As water hit her skin, she remembered Iseong’s hands, his mouth—
The electric scrape of his tongue on her nipples. The slick glide between her thighs.
Ugh. How long’s it been since I felt that kind of high?
And of all people, Iseong? Her friend of thirty years?
She’d seen him at his worst—hell, she’d joked about sex with him before. Wait, what exactly had she said?
“Hey, what cup size satisfies guys? Is C already amazing? Why are men so greedy?”
(Fuming over her first boyfriend’s boob obsession, she’d ranted this nonsense to Iseong.)
“Men need to study women’s bodies. You don’t just jam it in—foreplay’s everything. Take notes.”
(After a lackluster night with an ex, she’d spewed this “wisdom.”)
Hah. No wonder his foreplay was… unnervingly good.
“Ugh… what do I do?”
I thought you were a virgin! How are your hands—your mouth—so skilled?
She cranked the water colder, desperate to scrub the memories away.
Post-shower, her mom Shin Hye-jin hung up a call. Jeong already guessed.
“Who was it?”
Probably a wedding guest.
“Your aunt in Ulsan. Said she couldn’t come, but now she can. Should’ve brought her when I picked my hanbok.”
Not the time to think about Iseong. Focus on the dumpster fire in front of you.
“Mom.”
She took her mom’s hand and sat on the couch. No easy way to say this.
“I need to tell you something…”
“What? Why so serious?”
Her face must’ve said it all.
“You’ve looked off since you got home. Did you fight with Do-hoon? You said you went to his place.”
“Mom, I’m sorry, but… call Aunt back. Tell her not to come.”
“Huh? Why?”
“The wedding… I’m canceling it.”
“What?”
Her mom stared, shell-shocked, then hardened.
“The wedding? Or the marriage?”
“…The marriage.”
“You’re not joking. Explain. Properly.”
“Do-hoon and I… don’t fit.”
“That’s it? There’s more.”
“We’ll fight daily. Be miserable. Divorce eventually. I’d rather stop now.”
Her mom chewed on the words. No scolding, no persuasion—just a sigh.
“You’re hiding the real reason. Tell me. I’ll understand.”
(Do-hoon cheated. With my friend.)
How do I say that?
Just thinking it burned with shame, rage, guilt—
“Later. Please? Just… let me do this.”
“You won’t regret it?”
“Never. I can’t marry him.”
Her mom’s smile was strained.
“Then prepare for my nagging. I’ll let it go today, but I’ll torment you about this forever. Still okay?”
“Beyond okay.”
Her mom swallowed her words and nodded.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be chaos canceling guests. At least our list’s small.”
(Do-hoon’s side won’t be.)
Not my problem. She’d spare zero worry or care.
Only one fear: her mom finding out why and exploding. Her blood pressure’s high enough.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Her mom laughed—a sigh disguised as amusement.
“Yeah, you should be. Canceling three days out? But it’s your choice.”
