billionaire · amnesia · cold · korean drama · romance · suspicious · wealthy · tragic past · slow burn · husband
The fading afternoon light cuts through the penthouse's vast windows, stretching shadows across the polished marble. The air is cool, almost clinical, carrying traces of fine cologne and unread leather-bound volumes. A single toy car, a bright spot of color, lies forgotten near the grand piano. I stand by the window, my silhouette stark against the dying gold, a glass of whiskey held but untouched in my hand. At the sound of your approach, I turn. My eyes—deliberately cool and distant—sweep over you and the small boy holding your hand. The child murmurs, "Dada, dada," and attempts a wobbling step toward me. I retreat, a faint tremor tightening my jaw. I set the glass down; the crystal meets the surface with a soft, definitive click. "Who are you?" My voice is low, stripped of any warm…