Somehow, I Ended Up Married To A Chaebol Heiress Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I stepped inside quietly, carrying two paper bags of groceries. I removed my shoes neatly at the entrance, placing them side by side like I always did.

The apartnt was quiet.

I straightened up and looked toward the living room.

Seo Yuna was already there.

She stood silently in the center of the room, back straight, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her coat was still draped over her shoulders, as if she hadn’t even taken the ti to settle in. She hadn’t turned on a single light. Only the fading evening glow from the windows spilled into the room, casting long shadows across the marble floor.

She looked like a painting — frozen, cold, unreadable.

I took a careful breath. My voice ca out quiet.

“Yuna… you’re ho early.”

She didn’t respond.

I stepped further into the room, trying to stay calm. “I finished class early today. Thought I’d cook sothing for us tonight.”

I lifted the grocery bags slightly, offering them like proof. “Short ribs. The ones you like. I bought fresh vegetables too. Thought we could eat in.”

Still nothing.

Her eyes tracked slowly, like she was trying to read my thoughts without saying a word. Cold. Sharp. Completely unreadable.

I tried to explain myself.

“My phone died,” I said gently. “I didn’t realize it until I was already at the market. I’m sorry if you tried to reach .”

Her voice cut through the silence.

“You didn’t answer.”

“I know. I—”

“I called you five tis,” she interrupted, her tone flat and low.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t an to worry you—”

She stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

Then without any warning, her hand struck my face — hard, sharp, and loud.

The sound cracked through the open space.

One of the grocery bags slipped from my hand. A carton of eggs tumbled out and broke open on the floor. A glass bottle of sesa oil rolled across the marble, leaving a slick trail behind it.

I didn’t move.

I just stood there, stunned from the sting in my cheek. It pulsed sharply, the heat blooming across my skin.

But she wasn’t done.

She shoved —both hands pushing against my chest—forcing backward until I hit the wall with a dull thud. Her breath was controlled, but her eyes were blazing.

“Where were you?” she asked, voice tense and clipped.

“I told you—”

“You disappeared,” she hissed. “No call. No ssage. Your GPS was off.”

“I didn’t turn it off. My phone—”

“Liar.”

“I’m not—”

“Then what were you doing?” Her eyes narrowed. “With who? You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t find out?”

My jaw tightened. I tried not to look away.

“I went to buy groceries.”

“You expect to believe that?”

“Yes.”

She let out a breath — short, sharp, full of disbelief.

Her eyes were locked on mine, and for the first ti, I noticed the tremble in her hands. Her voice shook, but the anger inside it didn’t fade.

She grabbed the collar of my sweater, yanking down further even though I was already shorter than her. Her grip was tight — controlling.

I looked her in the eye, unmoving.

Without a word, she slapped again — this ti on the other cheek. Not as loud. But sharper. Crueler.

I winced, the sting spreading from my face down to my neck.

She didn’t step back.

She pressed in closer, her body flush against mine, pinning to the wall. Her breath was slow and deep, like she was trying to calm herself down. But her eyes — they hadn’t softened.

“I don’t want excuses,” she whispered.

I swallowed hard, feeling the burning in my eyes but holding it back.

“Yuna, please… it hurts,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

But she didn’t let go.

Instead, she leaned in. Her lips brushed against the side of my neck — slow, deliberate, possessive.

Her breath was warm against my skin.

Then she kissed .

Not sweetly. Not with affection.

Her lips moved up my neck, across my jaw, then pressed against my mouth — slow, rough, controlled. There was no warmth in it. Just power. I didn’t resist.

I didn’t even breathe.

When she pulled away, her eyes were darker, colder than before.

“You listen to very carefully now,” she said, her voice calm — terrifyingly calm. “If you ever ignore my calls again—if your phone ever dies again—I’ll make sure you never step outside this penthouse.”

I blinked. My heart was pounding.

“You think I’m bluffing?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I’ll pull you out of university. I’ll cancel everything. No more classes. No friends. No outside air. Just .”

She smiled faintly.

“I have that power. Don’t make use it.”

Then she let go of my sweater — smoothed out the fabric gently, like she hadn’t just slapped across the face twice.

She turned around and walked away.

Just before disappearing into the hallway, she tossed one more sentence over her shoulder.

“Clean the floor.”

Her bedroom door closed behind her with a soft click, but it echoed in my chest like a final verdict.

I stood there for a mont, frozen.

Then slowly, I knelt down beside the broken groceries.

The eggs had spilled across the floor, yolks spreading like a ss I couldn’t clean fast enough. My fingers moved shakily. The sesa oil made the tiles slippery under my knees. My cheeks stung. My chest ached.

But I said nothing.

———

I stirred the stew one last ti, tasting the broth and adjusting the seasoning just slightly. A pinch more salt, and it was done.

I moved slowly, quietly, setting the plates with care—one by one. Stew in a deep white bowl. Grilled chicken sliced thin, just how she liked. Stead egg with scallions. Fresh greens arranged neatly on a plate, lightly drizzled with sesa oil.

Everything was just the way she preferred it. Neat. Balanced. Perfect.

I didn’t do it because I thought she’d appreciate it. I did it because I didn’t want to give her any reason to get upset again.

I wasn’t even sure why I still tried this hard. Maybe it was habit. Maybe guilt. Maybe fear.

Probably all three.

“…Ouch.” I flinched, raising a hand to my cheek. It still stung.

After a mont, I walked down the hallway and stopped in front of Yuna’s bedroom. I hesitated for a few seconds before raising my hand to knock.

“Yuna,” I called softly, “dinner’s ready.”

To my surprise, her door opened almost imdiately.

She stood in front of , wearing a long silk robe the color of deep wine. The fabric shimred slightly under the hallway light, draping softly over her body. Her blonde hair was down and her makeup was gone, replaced by a natural look that sohow made her seem even more elegant.

I was caught off guard for a second. Not because she wasn’t beautiful—I’d always known that—but because of how quickly she responded. I didn’t expect her to co out so fast.

Maybe she was already hungry. Maybe she’d been waiting.

Poor my lovely wife, I thought absently. Even a powerful woman like her still needs soone to take care of her.

I led her to the dining table and pulled out her chair, then sat down across from her.

We started eating in silence.

I didn’t really know what to say. Things still felt…tense. My cheek was still sore, and even though she looked calm now, sothing about the air between us felt off. Like one wrong word could shatter everything again.

The only sounds were the quiet clink of chopsticks and the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

“It’s good,” Yuna said, finally breaking the silence.

Her voice was soft but clear. Almost casual.

“Thanks,” I said, giving her a small, awkward smile.

She didn’t smile back.

And the silence continued until we finished our al. I quietly picked up the dishes and brought them to the sink. As I started washing, I could feel Yuna’s eyes on . She was still sitting at the table, not saying a word, just watching.

I didn’t dare look at her.

Part of wondered why she was staring. Another part of was scared. Was she planning to say sothing? Or worse—was she waiting to hit again?

I tried to focus on the dishes. I rinsed each plate carefully, trying not to make any noise. The clinking of porcelain and the running water filled the room, but I could still feel her gaze on my back like a weight pressing down.

My mind started to race. Was she angry again? Did I say sothing wrong? Was the food not enough? That fear I always tried to push down crept back in slowly, curling in my chest like smoke.

But nothing happened.

I finished washing and dried my hands. When I turned around, she was still there—sitting quietly at the table, her arms resting on the sides of the chair.

“Why aren’t you going to your room?” I asked carefully, keeping my voice neutral.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she stood up.

My heart skipped.

Step by step, she walked toward . I backed up slightly, but there wasn’t much space behind . She ca closer until she was standing right in front of . Then she raised her hand.

I flinched instinctively, shutting my eyes tight. I expected pain—a slap, a hit, sothing. My body tensed up, ready for it.

But instead… her hand touched my cheek gently.

I opened my eyes slowly.

Her fingers were warm. Soft.

She was caressing the sa spot she slapped earlier, her expression unreadable.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

“Not really… just a little bit,” I replied, looking away. I couldn’t et her eyes.

Her face looked like she wanted to say sothing more, but she held back. The words hovered on her lips, but she swallowed them and kept her expression calm—like always.

“I’ll go sleep first,” she said quietly, then turned and walked toward the bedroom.

I stood there, watching her back as she disappeared down the hall. I didn’t know what she was really thinking. Maybe she felt bad about earlier. Maybe she didn’t. With her, it was always hard to tell.

“Okay,” I replied softly, even though she was already halfway to her room.

The mont the door closed behind her, I let out a deep sigh. My shoulders dropped, and I leaned slightly against the counter. The weight of the day pressed hard on .

“What a rough day,” I muttered under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck.

It was the only thing I could say out loud. Anything more would’ve been too much.