Somehow, I Ended Up Married To A Chaebol Heiress Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Since I was a child, I was praised for everything—my face, my manners, my grades. I learned early that expectations followed everywhere.

Being born into the founding family of Nara Group wasn’t sothing I chose. From the day I could walk, my future was already decided for . Tutors ca before I even knew how to ask questions. I learned to speak three languages before I lost my first tooth. I didn’t get to play outside like other children. While they were at parks, I was in etings, piano classes, etiquette lessons, and business workshops.

By the ti I turned fourteen, I was already making reports for board mbers. At seventeen, I sat in financial etings. Before I turned twenty-three, I had completed two degrees. When my father stepped down early due to illness, I took over the main group. I was twenty-five.

People called the Queen of Gangnam. A genius. A ruthless businesswoman. Elegant, smart, untouchable.

But they didn’t know . Not really.

No one ever asked what I wanted. What I liked. If I was tired. Or lonely.

Because people like weren’t supposed to feel anything.

We weren’t allowed to.

Then one night, everything changed.

The rain was falling hard that day. I had just left a eting, driving myself for once. My mind was tired. I wasn’t paying enough attention. The car skidded and struck the curb. Not too bad—but smoke rose from the hood. My ankle twisted when I stepped out.

Then he appeared.

A student. He was holding an umbrella that barely covered him from the rain.

Younger than . Good-looking, in a gentle, unassuming way. He was noticeably shorter than — though that didn’t seem to bother him. Most n either avoided looking in the eye or tried to act overconfident. But not him. He didn’t even glance at my designer suit or the black sedan behind .

He just stepped forward.

No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just quiet sincerity.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I told him I might’ve twisted my ankle. He didn’t panic. He crouched down without a second thought and gently examined it, his fingers light but careful. Then he looked up, calm and sure. “You shouldn’t walk on this.”

And before I could protest, he turned around and offered his back.

“Hold the umbrella. I’ll carry you to the bus stop over there. It’s not far.”

I hesitated. No man had ever offered to carry — not even when I was younger. I was always the one in control, always the one others leaned on.

Sothing inside jolted.

Still stunned, I shifted the umbrella in my hand and slowly climbed onto his back. I rember thinking how warm he felt through the thin fabric of his shirt. His breathing was calm and steady, his steps careful not to hurt my ankle.

My heart was racing.

I prayed he wouldn’t notice how red my face had beco. It was embarrassing. I wasn’t the kind of woman who got flustered. But sohow… I couldn’t stop the heat in my cheeks.

His back felt safe. And strangely comforting.

We reached the bus stop in minutes. He set down gently on the bench and sat beside . I called my assistant. Ten minutes later, four sedans arrived. My assistant, Harin and few other bodyguards rushed toward with umbrellas.

Before I left, I turned to him.

“What’s your na?”

He blinked. “Haemin. Kim Haemin.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Haemin.”

That should’ve been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him afterward. It was strange—and honestly, frustrating. I had more important things to focus on: contracts, legal disputes, expansion projects. But my mind kept drifting back to him.

So, I decided to find him.

It wasn’t difficult. My assistant gave everything I needed—his background, where he lived, what he studied. I found out he was an orphan who had grown up with his aunt’s family before moving to Seoul for university.

He was smart, quiet, didn’t have many friends, and apparently ranked among the top ten best-looking guys on campus. I smiled a little, rembering how he looked that night. I didn’t doubt it for a second. And he wasn’t seeing anyone. I felt relieved reading that.

I wanted to et him again. So I asked my assistant, Harin, to deliver a letter to his university. She handled it flawlessly.

The first ti we t, he was nervous. So polite. I can’t stop looking at his face actually. The second ti we t, I told him about myself. I wasn’t used to talked about it, but with him… it felt easier.

After that second eting, I can’t sleep at night. The way he looks, his manner and his smile, I keep thinking about him, it drive insane. By the third eting, I had already made my decision.

I wanted to marry him.

I knew it sounded crazy. Reckless. I don’t liked wasting ti. When I want sothing, I go after it. And I wanted him—it wasn’t just because he was kind or attractive—I’ve t others who were even better. But he’s the only one who ever made my heart flutter like that.

And since he’s not in relationship right now, so why not right?

I didn’t expect him to say yes so quickly.

But he did.

I told him from the beginning that our marriage had to stay a secret—at least for now. If the public ever found out that I, Seo Yuna, the chairwon of one of Korea’s most powerful conglorates, had secretly married a nineteen-year-old university student… the backlash would be overwhelming. The dia would lose its mind and rumors would explode.

Public perception mattered. Shareholders, clients, and political partners—they all watched my every move. And frankly, I didn’t have the patience to explain our relationship to the dia, to justify sothing that felt so personal to .

But I also told him this: if soday the truth ca out, then so be it. I wouldn’t hide him forever. Just for now. As long as the timing allowed, I wanted to keep what we had private—safe from the world’s judgnt.

And he understood.

He nodded quietly, without any bitterness in his voice. He didn’t make feel guilty. He didn’t ask for more.

That’s when I told myself—I’d protect him no matter what. I’d take care of him in every way I could.

And in that mont, I believed it—truly believed—that loving him and marrying him would be enough.

But love isn’t as simple as signing a docunt. It’s not just a promise. And no matter how much you try to control it, it changes you.

After we got married, everything felt like a dream at first. Smooth. Quiet. Simple.

I asked him if we should hire a maid to help around the house, since I was often at the office and didn’t want him to feel overwheld. But he shook his head and told he liked doing those things. Cooking, cleaning, folding laundry—it gave him comfort. He had done it all before when he lived with his aunt, and he wanted to keep doing it.

I tried to persuade him again, told him he didn’t need to push himself. But his answer stayed the sa.

So I let it be.

He took care of our ho without a single complaint. Every day when I returned from work, I’d see him waiting with a smile. He’d welco like I was the best part of his day. And even after hours of classes or studying, he always found ti to prepare dinner or tidy up the living room.

When he had exams coming up, I’d help him study. He was smart, but sotis he struggled to organize things. I would sit next to him and walk him through the concepts one by one—economics, accounting, basic models. Things that ca naturally to .

He always looked so amazed when I explained things.

“Your brain’s on another level,” he once said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sotis I feel like I’m married to a genius.”

I tried not to smile too much when he said things like that.

It was strange. I was used to hearing complints my whole life—on my appearance, my intelligence, my ambition. But coming from him, it always made my heart flutter in a different way.

Day by day, my love for him grew deeper. Stronger and dangerous.

It scared .

Because every ti he looked at with that soft gaze, every ti he reached for my hand, or said my na with such natural affection—I felt like I was falling harder. And the more I loved him, the more I feared losing him.

I had never needed anyone before.

Not emotionally. Not romantically.

But with him, it was different.

When you love soone too deeply, it stops feeling like love and starts feeling like desperation.

My company was expanding at the sa ti.

Deals piled up. I had to travel more. I worked longer hours. etings stretched late into the night. I hated it, but I couldn’t stop. I had responsibilities, people depending on , a legacy to uphold. I had less ti to spend with him.

And in the silence of those busy days, I began to spiral.

I told myself it was just worry. But deep down, it wasn’t just that—I wanted control. I needed to feel like he was still belongs to , even when I wasn’t ho.

So I started changing.

I beca colder and stricter.

I started checking his phone more often. Expecting answers faster. I got irritated when he didn’t pick up my calls right away, or when he made plans I didn’t know about.

I told myself it was normal—that this is what love does to people. That I was just trying to protect what we had.

But I crossed the line.

I started controlling things I shouldn’t. Where he went. What he did. Who he talked to. I even began punishing him with silence, or worse—with words I didn’t an.

And still… he never said anything.

No matter how cold I beca, no matter how controlling I got, he never raised his voice.

He never got angry. He never pushed back.

Even when I hurt him… he stayed.

He looked at like nothing had changed.

And that only made my guilt worse.

Because I knew I was hurting the person I loved the most.

But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Because the deeper I fell, the more I feared that if I didn’t hold on tight enough—if I didn’t keep control—I’d lose him.

And I wasn’t ready for that.

That night—tonight—it happened again.

He didn’t answer my call.

Just once, I told myself. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he was busy. But that small part of that I couldn’t silence—the part poisoned by fear—kept whispering: What if he’s with soone else? What if he’s hiding sothing from you? What if you’re not enough anymore?

I ca ho early. I waited in the living room. I told myself I wouldn’t overreact.

Then he walked through the door. Smiling. Carrying groceries. Acting like everything was fine.

And I snapped.

I slapped him so hard the bags fell to the floor. He looked stunned. Hurt. But he didn’t fight back. He never does.

I accused him. Said horrible things. Accused him of eting soone else. I said it without proof. Just fear. Just panic.

And then, when he tried to explain—I didn’t listen.

I pushed him against the wall. I shouted. I threatened.

I saw the look in his eyes.

Fear.

He was afraid of .

_____

Sunlight flashed across my face, pulling out of sleep.

I blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the light seeping through the curtains. My body felt heavy. The silence in the room was the first thing I noticed. The second—he wasn’t beside .

I reached across the bed, hand brushing over the cold sheet. Empty.

He was already gone. Off to class, as usual.

A sigh escaped from my lips. Quiet, bitter.

“I’m doing it again,” I murmured to myself, pressing my fingers to my temple.

Last night—just thinking about it made my stomach twist.

I rembered the way his eyes looked at . Scared. Small. Like he didn’t know who I was anymore. The way he tried to pull away, and how I refused to let him.

I hurt him again.

I forced myself out of bed and walked to the kitchen, the marble floor cool under my feet. I wasn’t sure what I expected—but still, seeing it made my chest tighten.

Breakfast.

Perfectly prepared. Still warm.

Stew. Grilled fish. Soft scrambled eggs. Fresh fruit, peeled and arranged in a neat bowl. My favorite mug already placed next to the plate.

Beside it, a note folded cleanly in half.

I reached for it with careful fingers and opened it slowly, already recognizing his handwriting.

“I didn’t want to wake you.

Breakfast is ready. Please eat before it gets cold.

I’ll see you after class. I love you