บททั้งหมดของ My Pretty Husband: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

“What? Wasn’t Director Byun always yours from the beginning?”Shela lets out a laugh — loud, cruel, unhinged. “Hah! What would someone like you know? You were in a coma. Sleeping through everything. Baekhoon married your sister while I was still in Paris.”“…What?!”Shit. Shit. There it is. The secret I tried so hard to keep — dragged into the light by the one person who never knew how to keep her mouth shut. For a moment, everything goes still. Even my breath. I had planned to tell Dongju. Someday. On my terms. When the timing was right and the truth wouldn’t crush him. But now…Now it’s out. And weirdly, I don’t feel panic. There’s a strange calm washing over me. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion. You know it’s bad. You know there’ll be damage. But all you can do is brace for impact. Dongju must be in shock. Hell, I’d be surprised if he could even form a sentence right now.And me? I’m already preparing for war. If Dongju comes for me after this — if he demands answers — I h

I sit by the window in my office, watching the rain tap against the glass like it’s trying to say something. The sky is gray, matching the mood that’s been lingering in this room for weeks. But today, it feels… different. A soft knock interrupts the silence.“Come in,” I said, not looking away from the window.Mr. Cha steps inside, holding a black folder with both hands. His posture is stiff, eyes steady behind his glasses. “It’s all confirmed,” he said quietly, placing the folder on my desk.I finally turn around. My hands tremble slightly as I open the file. Printed reports, photographs, court statements — all stamped and signed. I don’t need to read it in detail. I already know what it says.“Shela and her mother?” I asked.“Arrested,” he nods. “Found guilty of obstruction of justice, attempted fraud, and perjury. Sentencing came through last night.”“And Madam Kim?”He hesitates for a beat. “Bankruptcy. Asset seizure. The board voted her out. She has nothing left.”I lean back in m

“You did choose it,” he said, quieter now, but firm. “You chose to run.”I fall silent. The words hit deeper than I expect.“You’re afraid of facing them anyone who hurt you. I get it. But Noona, you can’t keep building your future on top of fear.”I close my eyes, biting my lip. “You don’t know what they did to me,” I said, barely above a whisper. “You were unconscious when everything fell apart. I had to carry it all. Alone.”“And now you’re not alone,” he said. “You have me. I’m standing. I’m fighting. Why can’t you trust that I’ll fight for you too?”“Because if they find out I’m alive, everything will start all over again. The media, the threats, the lies—”“Then we fight back together this time!” he shouted, desperate. “I’m not asking you to walk back into the fire. I’m asking you to stop pretending you’re already burned.”I don’t answer him right away. My throat tightens, my hands cold and shaking even though the room is warm. The silence between us stretches, suffocating. “I’m

Me, Dongju, and Baekhoon. The three of us are sitting stiffly in the living room, as if someone pressed pause on the world and forgot to hit play again. The chill of the night seeps in through the old wooden floor, stubborn even beneath the warm glow of the ceiling light. The air smells faintly of cocoa and wet grass. Our mugs are still warm, each half-drunk and abandoned on the coffee table like soldiers who gave up mid-battle.No one says anything. The silence is heavy, loud in its own way — like a drumbeat in my chest. Baekhoon sits across from me, elbows on his knees, his eyes flickering toward me every few seconds like he's trying to read a language he’s long forgotten. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I pretend to wipe a nonexistent crumb off my lap. I can’t look at him too long. His presence burns a little.Dongju keeps glancing between the two of us like he’s watching a tennis match, visibly annoyed. Finally, he throws up his hands. “Come on. Talk. One of you say somet

I narrow my eyes. My heart pounds. “Are you trying to use me again?” My voice rises. “Are you trying to clean up Shela’s mess? Want me to help her escape, forgive her, free her so you can go back and marry her? Is that your plan?” I take a step back. “Fine! I’ll play along. I’ll let her go. I’ll disappear if that’s what you want. But don’t — don’t — ask me to return to that house with you.”He stills. His face drains of warmth. His shoulders square. “I already told you,” he said slowly, “you’re my wife.”“That’s just because we never finished the divorce.”“Exactly.” He walks over to his bag. “And I think you should see something.” He pulls out a black leather case, unzips it, and removes a yellow folder. My stomach tightens as he opens it, revealing a thin stack of crisp white paper. “This is our divorce agreement.” He lifts the document and holds it between us. “See this?” He points to the bottom of the page. “Your signature is here…”I glance down — and sure enough, my name is scraw