Unwilling Bride (Married to the Underworld CEO)

Author: [writers hub]

The limousine glided through the bustling streets of Seoul, its tinted windows offering Zara a distorted glimpse of the city that was once her home, now a distant, unreachable landscape. Inside, the silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. Ragnar sat opposite her, an imposing statue carved from ice and ambition. His eyes were fixed forward, not on her, but on the invisible horizon of his empire. Zara, once again clad in a designer gown chosen by Madam Cho – a pristine white that felt ironically bridal – felt like a carefully packaged exhibit.

"Remember our agreement, Zara," Ragnar's voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous. "A smile, a hand on my arm, the picture of a loving wife. No improvisations. No slips." His gaze finally shifted to her, piercing through her carefully constructed facade. "And certainly, no mention of any 'accidents' or 'contracts.' Understood?"

Zara met his gaze, her jaw tight. "Understood, Chairman," she retorted, injecting a hint of defiance into the formal address. She would play the part, but she wouldn't grovel. Not to him.

They arrived at the grand hall of Botermet Industries, a towering edifice of glass and steel. Even before the car door opened, the roar of the crowd was deafening, a hungry beast clamoring for fresh meat. Flashbulbs exploded, painting the air in frantic bursts of light. When Ragnar stepped out, a collective gasp rippled through the gathered media, quickly replaced by a cacophony of shouts. He moved with an almost unnerving calm, his hand extending towards Zara, a silent command.

She took it, her fingers brushing his, and a jolt, cold and unsettling, shot through her. His grip was firm, possessive, a tangible reminder of the leash he held. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face aching with the effort. Cameras flashed, blinding her, as they moved towards the podium.

The questions came in a rapid-fire barrage, a relentless assault.

"Chairman Botermet, can you confirm the rumors of a whirlwind romance?"

"Ms. Jones, how does it feel to marry one of Korea's most eligible bachelors?"

"Was the recent R&D incident truly a misunderstanding, as the official statement suggests?"

Ragnar answered most of them, his voice a smooth, confident baritone, weaving a narrative of discreet love and mutual respect. He spoke of Zara's "talent and intelligence," of their "shared vision." Zara played her part, offering demure smiles, nodding at appropriate moments, and occasionally uttering a carefully rehearsed platitude about "deepening our connection." Every word was a lie, every gesture a performance. She could feel his subtle pressure on her lower back, a constant reminder to maintain the charade.

Then, a voice cut through the clamor, sharp and insistent. "Ms. Jones, there are reports of you being escorted from Botermet Tower by security just days ago. Can you explain the discrepancy between that incident and your sudden marriage announcement?"

A cold sweat broke out on Zara's palms. The very question she feared. She felt Ragnar's grip on her arm tighten imperceptibly, a warning. Her mind raced, searching for the pre-approved answer, but her thoughts were a panicked blur.

Just as panic threatened to overwhelm her, Ragnar stepped closer, subtly shielding her slightly from the most aggressive camera angles. His voice, calm and reassuring to the press, was laced with an unspoken command only she could hear. "My wife was simply experiencing a moment of overwhelm from the surprise proposal, caught off guard by my rather dramatic gesture. We are, after all, a private couple." He turned to her, his gaze holding hers, a practiced, gentle smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

His use of "my dear," the fake affection, was a lifeline and a torment. Zara's breath hitched. She had to respond. The lie had to be perfect. She swallowed, forcing the words out. "Yes... yes, exactly. A very... surprising proposal." She managed a shaky, but believable, smile.

The crowd seemed to accept his smooth deflection, moving on to other, less probing questions about wedding plans and future appearances. Zara maintained her facade, her body rigid with tension, until Ragnar finally declared the conference concluded.

As they exited the hall, the flashes and shouts slowly fading behind them, Zara felt her legs almost give out. Ragnar's grip remained firm, leading her back to the waiting limousine. Inside, the pretense dropped immediately. He released her, his face returning to its familiar mask of cold indifference.

"You performed adequately," he stated, not a compliment, but an assessment. "Though your hesitation was noted."

"I am not an actress," Zara retorted, her voice raw. "And I didn't sign up for this farce!"

He merely raised an eyebrow, a dismissive gesture that spoke volumes. "You signed the contract. Now you will fulfill your obligations."

As the car pulled away, Zara stared out the window, watching the city lights blur. The press conference was over, but the lie had just begun. Unbeknownst to her, across town, in a lavish, minimalist apartment, Mina Song watched a replay of the press conference, a venomous smile playing on her lips. She paused the screen on the image of Zara's fleeting hesitation. "A pawn, indeed," she murmured, her eyes glinting. "But even pawns can trip kings, if given the right push." She picked up her phone, dialing a number. "Bondi? Did you see the news? Our little bride almost faltered. Perhaps we should give her a reason to truly break."