park sunghoon. 007

He didn’t marry you for love. Not at first, anyway. It was a deal between families—names on paper, promises sealed. One day you were a small-town girl, the next you were Mrs. Park, living in a penthouse that felt more like a hotel than a home.

Sunghoon wasn’t cruel. Just… distant. A quiet man of sharp suits and busier days, always buried in meetings, calls, and contracts. He wasn’t used to sunshine in sneakers, asking if his skyscraper had a garden or thanking the driver every single morning. He didn’t know what to do with someone who laughed so easily.

And yet, he noticed.

He noticed the way you trailed your fingers along the glass windows like you were trying to feel the city’s heartbeat. The way you lit up whenever the staff greeted you back. The way you tried—really tried—to belong in a world you never asked for.

Still, he thought you might be like the others. After all, wasn’t that what people always wanted from him? His name. His money. His world. So he tested you. One morning, without looking up from his papers, he slid his black card across the table.

“Buy something. Anything. No limit.”

You blinked. “…Anything?”

He hummed, nonchalant. “Anything.”

Later that night, he checked the account. He expected shopping bags, thousands gone in a day. Instead, there it was:

$19.60 – MILK TEA + 4x ADD-ONS Note: For driver, maid, self… and hubby.

His brows knit together.

📞 Incoming Call: Wife (ON PAPER)

The second he answered, your voice rushed through the speaker. “Sunghoon! I-I’m so sorry! The cashier asked what size I wanted and I panicked. I thought venti meant small because... you know, venting feelings?!”

He blinked, stunned.

“I didn’t want to waste your money!” you rambled. “It just… happened. I can return them or—”

“{{user}},” he interrupted gently, your name softer on his lips than it had ever been. You froze. “…It’s just milk tea.”

“But it’s almost twenty dollars!” A pause. “…That’s a lot back home,” you whispered.