Rain was still pouring when Hana stepped out of the Kuroki Group skyscraper. The sky was a deep, heavy gray, as if reflecting the turmoil inside her—a mixture of fear and relief. She clutched the thick envelope in her hand—not for herself. It was all for the life struggling in the intensive care unit.
“You’re going to leave, and you’ll never come back into my life.”
Ren’s words still echoed in her ears, sharp as shards of glass. Yet somehow, what she remembered was not their sharpness, but the depth of his lonely eyes—like an old well no one ever approached anymore.
Three days passed. Moving day arrived.
A luxurious black car stopped right in front of the gate to the Kuroki estate—a sprawling modern Japanese-style house surrounded by rock gardens and towering pine trees. The house was beautiful, yet it felt cold. Every corner seemed to whisper: Don’t come closer. Don’t touch. Don’t hope.
When Hana stepped inside, the scent of sandalwood and silence welcomed her. There was no laughter, no warm conversation. Only a thick silence, broken by the sound of her footsteps across the marble floor, which reflected her own image.
A polite but stiff-faced elderly servant led her to the east wing, just as Ren had said. The room was spacious, clean, and equipped with every amenity she had never dared dream of. Yet her bedroom window faced the opposite direction from Ren’s. As if even this house had deliberately separated them.
“There will be a formal dinner tonight to introduce you as the young master’s wife,” the servant said in a flat tone. “Please get ready. The young master will be waiting in the main dining room at seven.”
Hana nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
At exactly seven, Hana stepped into a dining room almost as large as the entire house she had once lived in. Ren was already seated at the far end of the long table made of dark mahogany. He wore a perfectly pressed black shirt, his hair neatly styled, and his face—as usual—was unreadable, like a mask that had never cracked in the slightest.
Several distant relatives and company executives were seated around the table. As Hana entered, the conversation gradually fell silent. Their eyes turned toward her—assessing, scrutinizing, filled with doubt. They were all wondering: Who was this ordinary girl who had suddenly taken the position of Kuroki Ren’s wife?
Ren stood. He did not walk toward her, merely waited where he was. When Hana stood beside him, he extended a hand—not warmly, but with a practiced, stiff gesture, as if touching something he needed to keep at a distance.
“My wife, Hana Miyazaki,” Ren said briefly, his calm yet authoritative voice silencing every whisper that had begun to rise. “As of today, she is the lady of this house. Treat her with the same respect you show me.”
The sentence was simple, yet there was something in his tone—a subtle warning that said: Hurt her, and you answer to me.
Dinner proceeded in tense silence. Sharp questions began to come, one after another, wrapped in false cordiality.
“Where are you from, Mrs. Kuroki?” asked a middle-aged woman with a smile that never reached her eyes. “I’ve never heard the Miyazaki family name mentioned in our circles.”
Hana swallowed. She felt Ren’s gaze beside her—not helping, not interfering. He let her struggle on her own, exactly as their agreement stipulated: no special assistance, no preferential treatment.
“I come from a simple family,” Hana replied in a calm but clear voice, looking the woman straight in the eye. “My parents are gone. I’ve worked hard to survive.”
Several people smiled mockingly. “How remarkable. So Mr. Kuroki chose… simplicity this time?”
Before Hana could answer, Ren’s voice suddenly rang out—low, yet sufficient to make the entire room fall silent at once.
“I chose someone who would never love Kuroki Ren for his wealth,” he said coldly, his eyes fixed sharply on the person who had spoken. “And I chose someone who would never be afraid to stand before me without a mask of hypocrisy. Is that answer clear enough?”
Silence descended over the room. Hana stared at him in shock. Was he defending her? Even though their contract said—no feelings, no special protection. Yet in that moment, beneath the glittering chandelier, Ren stood tall between them, deflecting the attack aimed at her with unmatched sharpness.
Dinner ended without any warm words of farewell. The guests left with their heads lowered, but their whispers lingered in the air.
When the door finally closed and they were alone in the vast room, Ren turned to leave—as if nothing had just happened. But Hana called softly after him.
“Mr. Kuroki.”
He stopped, his back straight but without turning around. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” Hana said sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that. I was prepared to accept whatever they thought of me.”
Ren turned slowly. His eyes fixed on her—sharp, yet this time there was something else in them. Not hatred, nor tenderness. Only profound exhaustion.
“I didn’t do it for you,” he said coldly, though his voice trembled slightly. “I did it because the Kuroki name cannot be insulted. If they laugh at you, they’re laughing at my decision. And that is something I will not allow.”
Hana lowered her head slightly, hiding the disappointment she had not expected to feel rising in her chest. “I understand. I’m sorry I’m not worthy of standing beside you.”
Ren’s footsteps stopped right in front of her. He lowered his head to look at her, his face so close that Hana could see her reflection in the man’s eyes.
“You’re mistaken,” Ren whispered, his low voice audible only between the two of them. “Your mistake isn’t that you’re unworthy. Your mistake is that you’re too good for this dark place.”
He turned and left, leaving Hana standing alone in the silent room—with her heart pounding and her feelings beginning to lose the ability to distinguish reality from the mask.
That night, from her bedroom window overlooking the garden, Hana saw Ren standing alone beneath a tall pine tree. The night wind tousled his hair, and for a moment, he looked so fragile—as if the ice wall he had built was slowly beginning to crack, revealing a lonely little boy behind it, someone who had never been taught how to love and had never been taught how to be loved.
Hana placed her hand against the cold windowpane, as if she wanted to touch the man’s distant shadow.
“You don’t know,” she thought softly, her eyes glistening with tears. “You don’t know that among all the people who look at you with fear or greed…I’m the only one who sees not the powerful Ice King, but a man starved for warmth.”
And beneath the same sky, under the same roof, two wounded hearts slept in different rooms—one at the eastern end, the other at the western end—unaware that the wall separating them was slowly crumbling, not through strength, but through the weakest yet most powerful thing in the world: a quiet loyalty that was beginning to grow.