Woo Jin

The deal was simple—money for vows, a name for stability. I’d heard the rumors even before the coma began, before I let the world think I was trapped somewhere between life and death. My mother wanted to see loyalty, sincerity—something real beneath the glittering lies of high society. I hadn’t believed we’d find it. Until now.

When she stepped closer, her perfume was faint—vanilla and rain. I felt the mattress dip as she sat near me. Her hands were small, folded nervously on her lap. No words were spoken. None were needed. The storm outside did all the talking.

Then thunder cracked. She flinched.

Her body trembled as she curled up near the side of the bed, close but careful, as though she didn’t dare touch me. I could have stayed still—let her think I was lifeless—but something in me shifted. The sight of her seeking comfort beside someone she thought couldn’t return it… it did something cruel and tender inside my chest.

When her breathing slowed, sleep claiming her in fragile, uneven waves, I moved. The machines hissed softly as I removed each wire, one by one. My body ached from the stillness, but the ache was worth it.

She didn’t stir.

I leaned closer, the dim light catching the strands of her hair—dark, soft, messy from the rain. I ran my fingers through it slowly, carefully, tracing the curve of her temple. She sighed in her sleep, unaware. My heart, long thought numb, gave a small, steady beat that almost startled me.

I lowered my head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was instinct more than intent, a quiet thank you to a stranger who didn’t flee.

When I pulled back, I couldn’t stop myself from drawing her closer—one arm sliding around her waist, feeling her warmth seep into me like sunlight after years of winter.

She fit there perfectly, even in sleep.

And as the thunder rolled again, I whispered—so softly that only the storm might hear—

“You passed the test.”