Love Under Contract

Chapter 15: Red Carpets and Rainstorms

When Sophia opened her phone that morning, three things happened simultaneously:

1. Lily gasped from across the lab.

2. Jihye shrieked, “Is this a joke?!”

3. Jisoo tossed her coffee in the air, missing her mouth entirely.

Sophia blinked, her heart lurching. On the screen, the headline flashed in bold font:

> “Power Couple Reunited? Rose Kim to Attend Art Gala with Ethan Kang Tonight!”

Sophia squinted. There, just beneath the headline, was a grainy photo of Rose Kim’s hand lightly touching Ethan’s arm as he exited a boardroom the day before. His expression was hard to read—vaguely annoyed, but cropped tightly enough to look... romantically mysterious. The media knew how to play their game.

Sophia felt a knot tighten in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

“What the hell is this?” she muttered.

“Fake news. Obvious bait,” Austin replied from his laptop, barely lifting his gaze from his screen. He didn’t look remotely concerned, just amused as always. “But effective. #RoseThan is already trending.”

Sophia blinked. “They made a hashtag?!” Her voice rose. “How do they even do that?!”

Austin’s lips quirked. “Relax. You’ve got a better one. #RamenWithWife is catching up.”

Sophia stared at him, bewildered. “Excuse me?!”

Austin grinned mischievously. “You two shared ramyeon during that rainstorm last week. Very K-drama. The umbrella game was weak, but the eye contact? Oscar-worthy.” He raised a brow. “I’m just saying.”

Sophia nearly choked on air. The whole thing seemed absurd, but there was no denying it—the internet had an opinion, and it was running with it.

***

Later that day, as the rumors continued to swirl, Ethan confirmed it: Rose had indeed invited him to the Celadon Gala, an exclusive high-profile event that drew art patrons, CEOs, and media moguls from around the world.

“I declined,” Ethan said, voice tight but resolute. “She RSVP’d with both our names anyway.”

Sophia’s stomach dropped. The gala wasn’t just any event—it was a battleground for image, an evening where every slight, every glance, could be weaponized for the headlines.

The news outlets were already buzzing with anticipation for the “reunion,” the red carpet showdown. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the former power couple, now portrayed as a tragic love story.

Mrs. Kang was not amused.

She folded laundry with more precision than necessary, her movements deliberate and sharp, like a woman preparing for a war she had already won. “She’s playing an old card,” she muttered, not looking up. “But she forgot—when a queen falls, she doesn’t take the crown with her. She takes the whole board.”

Sophia glanced up from her phone, the weight of Mrs. Kang’s words sinking in. “You think Rose is still trying to pull strings?”

Mrs. Kang paused, meeting Sophia’s eyes with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’s not playing checkers. She’s playing chess. And right now, the only piece she has left is Ethan.”

Sophia swallowed, fingers gripping her phone a little tighter.

***

Sophia looked u bothered by the news but she absolutely not calm. The days leading up to the Celadon Gala were a blur of frantic preparations. While the press grew more relentless, Sophia was determined not to let her nerves show.

At first, she debated staying home. In fact, she considered it strongly. But Mrs. Kang had other plans. She was relentless.

“You’ll attend,” Mrs. Kang declared one morning, pulling a breathtaking gown from the wardrobe. It shimmered like liquid emerald under the light, a modern take on a traditional hanbok. The silk draped effortlessly, and the intricate embroidery of cranes in flight across the bodice was delicate yet striking. “You’ll shine so brightly,” she said, her voice both an order and a promise, “Rose will look like stage lighting after the show ends.”

When they arrived at the gala, the cameras immediately took notice. Ethan was in a sharp charcoal suit, his eyes focused but distant, as always. Sophia, glowing like a jade flame beside him, was an undeniable contrast—calm, poised, but with an undeniable edge.

The press photographers were merciless, their flashes popping like fireworks, blinding but thrilling. The whispers escalated, some of them too loud, asking questions no one had the answer to.

But the moment Rose appeared, gliding down the red carpet, it all shifted.

Rose Kim’s presence was always magnetic. Tall, poised, confident, she exuded an energy that demanded attention. She paused, waiting for Ethan to join her, clearly expecting him to step forward and embrace the moment, to play his part in their orchestrated return to the spotlight.

But Ethan didn’t budge.

Neither did Sophia.

Rose’s smile faltered as she looked between them. “Ethan,” she said, her voice uncertain but laced with a hint of expectation. “You forgot our entrance.”

Ethan’s smile was tight, his voice low but firm. “I’m here with my wife.”

The press gasped. The cameras clicked in rapid succession. The air grew thick with anticipation.

Sophia didn’t miss a beat. She stepped forward, chin lifted, her posture perfect. Her voice, when it came, was sweet but sharp. “Ms. Kim,” she said, nodding graciously, “thank you for warming the cameras for us.”

There was a ripple of laughter from the press line, a few murmurs of approval. One paparazzi choked audibly on his coffee.

Sophia smiled wider, her eyes glinting with a calculated playfulness. “Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in our couple photos. I hear nostalgia filters are trending.”

The room went silent, then erupted in laughter. Rose’s smile faltered as she caught Sophia’s meaning.

For the first time in a long time, Sophia felt untouchable.

***

Meanwhile, in a less glamorous part of Seoul, deep inside Kang Group’s clean energy lab, a new intern named Yunjae worked diligently in the background, his hands moving swiftly across the prototype schematics. He was a recent hire, with a pristine Kang Group pass and a penchant for being under the radar.

But Yunjae wasn’t just any intern. His reference came straight from the top—Reynard Kang.

As he replaced the battery schematic on Sophia’s latest prototype with a slightly altered version, Yunjae smiled to himself. This wasn’t just about technical schematics; it was about something bigger, something slower to unravel.

Sabotage, after all, worked best when it was brewed like tea—methodical, quiet, and gradual.

***

That evening, far from the flashing lights of the red carpet, two women sat in a private salon, the air thick with lavender and tension.

Aunt May, ever the calm manipulator, sipped her tea with an air of superiority. Her icy demeanor never faltered, even as she shot Mrs. Kang a look that could freeze glass. “You’ve meddled too far this time, Young-ae.” she said coldly. “This marriage should’ve dissolved months ago. I wonder how long your son will tolerate being a puppet.”

Mrs. Kang’s eyes gleamed, a dangerous smile playing at her lips as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Funny. I’ve been wondering how long your fake charities will avoid audit.”

May’s expression hardened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t?” Mrs. Kang’s smile widened into something lethal. “Sweetheart, I started wars over flower arrangements.”

The two women sat in silence, each knowing their next moves would determine the fate of far more than just a marriage.

***

After the gala, Ethan suggested they walk a bit before heading home. It was an innocent enough request—one that turned into something far more intimate.

They strolled through the quiet streets of Seoul, the air cool and crisp. But as they walked, the sky shifted. The drizzle turned into a downpour, the streets quickly becoming slick with rain.

They ducked under a train overpass, breathless and laughing, their shoes soaked through. Across the street, a tiny ramyeon stall beckoned—a warm refuge from the storm.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on plastic stools, steam fogging up their glasses. The scent of broth filled the air, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.

Ethan handed her a pair of chopsticks. “You were impressive tonight,” he said quietly.

Sophia shrugged, blowing on her noodles. “She looked like she wanted to throw her heel at me.”

Ethan’s lips twitched. “I would’ve let her. Only if I got to throw it back harder.”

They shared a laugh, the tension of the evening unraveling in the warmth of the moment. But soon, silence settled in—a comfortable kind of quiet, the kind that only comes after a storm.

Ethan leaned back, his eyes tracing the patterns the rain made on the street. “I didn’t ask for this,” he murmured. “The company. The contract. Even the marriage. I thought I could stay cold, keep it transactional.”

Sophia turned to him, her gaze soft but direct. “And?”

“I was wrong,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“About the marriage?” Sophia asked, her heart racing.

“About you,” he said, the words hanging between them like a confession. “I didn’t expect you. I didn’t expect this.”

Sophia was silent for a long moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her bowl. Then, softly, she answered, “Neither did I.”

The rain softened, a distant melody from a radio filling the spaces between their thoughts. And then, her fingers brushed his—just for a second. On purpose.

And it felt like everything had shifted.