The room felt as cold as the gaze of the man sitting across the marble table. Ren Kuroki did not move an inch. He only stared at her—sharp and assessing, as though he were looking at merchandise in a market rather than a human being standing before him with a heart pounding from nerves. The black ink on the contract papers gleamed beneath the bright overhead light, waiting for the signature that would change the entire course of her life.
“One year,” Ren’s voice was flat, devoid of tone or emotion—like wind passing through the room without touching anything. “For twelve months, you’ll be my wife in public. You’ll live in this house. You’ll accompany me to official functions. And after that... you’ll leave and never come back into my life.”
Hana swallowed softly. She clenched the hem of her simple skirt, trying to suppress the trembling in her hands. Outside the window, heavy rain pounded against the glass, as though setting a rhythm for her erratic heartbeat. She looked at the man—his face so perfect yet hard as stone, his eyes so beautiful yet as deep as a bottomless abyss. People called him the Ice King. And now, she would become his wife—for one year, without love, without promises, without a future.
“Do you understand?” Ren asked again, a little more firmly this time, as though he was accustomed to being respected and obeyed. “There will be no feelings involved. No jealousy. No questions about my past. And most importantly... never fall in love with me. Because I’ll never be able to return your feelings.”
His words felt like shards of ice piercing her skin. Yet Hana offered a faint smile—a smile filled with resignation, but also resolve. She knew exactly what she was selling today. She wasn’t selling her heart. She was only lending him her name.
“I understand, Mr. Kuroki,” she replied softly but clearly, looking straight into his eyes without lowering her gaze. “I came here because I need help. Not to steal your heart. One year. After that... I’ll leave without looking back.”
Ren stared at her for a long time. Something flickered in his cold eyes—perhaps surprise that she had made no additional demands, attempted no bargaining, and given him none of the affected looks of the other women who had come to him before. The girl before him looked fragile, yet something sturdy stood within her—like a bamboo stalk that bowed beneath the wind but never broke.
He pushed the contract papers and pen toward her. “Sign here. The money will be transferred to your bank account tomorrow morning.”
Hana picked up the pen. Her fingers trembled slightly. She saw the name of her younger sibling engraved in her heart—the reason she was standing here today. She drew a deep breath, then wrote her name in neat, firm handwriting: Hana Miyazaki.
When the ink dried, the contract officially took effect. Ren signed his name as well—Ren Kuroki—two words carrying limitless power, yet seeming so lonely on that white sheet of paper.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll move in here,” Ren said as he folded the papers and placed them in a drawer, as though locking one year of his life inside a tightly sealed box. “You’ll have a private room in the east wing. We won’t share a room. We won’t share the dining table unless there are guests. And one more thing...”
He stood and walked closer until they were facing each other at an intimate distance. Hana could smell the cold sandalwood clinging to him—a scent that was expensive yet somehow lonely.
“...never expect me to be a good husband,” he whispered, his eyes fixed intently on hers as if warning her. “Because I don’t know how to love someone. And I’ll never learn how.”
Hana looked back at him. In the depths of those cold eyes, she saw something else—not hatred, not arrogance. She saw fear. A fear so great that he had barricaded himself behind an ice wall this thick.
“I’m not asking you to be a good husband, Mr. Kuroki,” Hana replied, gentle yet firm. “I’m only asking you to be a man who keeps his promises. And I’ll do the same.”
Ren fell silent. He studied the girl’s face for a long time, as though trying to find a lie there. But there was none. Only a naive, painful honesty. He slowly turned away, his broad back looking utterly lonely in the vast room.
“Go,” he said softly. “Pack your things. And welcome to the hell known as Kuroki.”
Hana watched his retreating back. Outside, the rain continued to pour. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart still racing. She did not know that she had just signed not only a marriage contract—but an agreement with fate that would hurt and heal her heart at the same time.
Because between the lines of those stiff sentences, there was one line that had not been written yet was already engraved between them:
Falling in love is forbidden. But the heart has never read the rules.