YN sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling absently on her phone. The live notification popped up again—that man was live, calling her a kidnapper indirectly. And this time… she watched.

She muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him. He liked me before. Doesn’t matter now.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a black car pulling up. Inside, JK sat, composed as ever, surrounded by black vehicles—his convoy keeping everyone at bay. His presence alone commanded attention, and YN felt a strange mix of safety and unease.

At the wedding, YN moved through the crowd, still unsure how to behave around people who whispered about her husband. JK’s friend nudged him, a smirk on his face. “Bro… your wife is so innocent.”

“She is innocent,” JK replied quietly, his eyes never leaving YN. “She didn’t even know the relation of husband and wife when I married her. And there are still many things she doesn’t know.”

YN, unaware of the conversation, greeted a few people politely. Then, someone gasped. “I really thought you were dead!”

YN froze for a moment. “But JK, I swear I’m alive. I’m not a ghost. Don’t believe her,” she whispered, clutching her husband’s sleeve instinctively.

Later, as the crowd mingled, JK’s friend commented again. “Bro, sometimes it must be frustrating for you too.”

JK shook his head. “That frustration is rare.”

His friend laughed. “But you can’t be soft for her. You’re the boss.”

“Bro, she doesn’t even know how to curse,” JK said with a faint smile, though his eyes remained watchful. “Otherwise, she’d be traumatized.”

YN, standing behind them, had overheard everything. Her cheeks warmed, a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over her. “Okay, I’m acting, if that’s what you think,” she said softly, turning to leave.

JK followed quietly, taking her hand gently. “YN, I never called you stupid,” he said, pinning her softly against the wall so she couldn’t walk away. “My friend said you’re too innocent. No one can be that innocent—you must be acting like this for my money.”

YN swallowed the lump in her throat. “Release me, JK,” she whispered.

“No,” he replied firmly.

“I’ll listen to you. I promise. But don’t pin me against this wall. I don’t know how many people touched this,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Let’s talk at home,” he added, finally letting her go.

YN’s eyes followed him as he walked away. Her hands flew to her head, heart racing. Teristrophobia was kicking in, but she forced herself to keep her body calm.

Even as she moved through the crowd later, brushing off whispers and sideways glances, she knew one thing—her life with JK was already full of unexpected tension, innocence clashing with authority, and a bond that neither of them fully understood yet.

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Author:I hope you will like it it's my first time writing something on novel toon but I used to write on Wattpad it's just a story that came into my mind so am writing it

Returning to Seoul, the Jeon Mansion was still buzzing with family chatter. But JK’s mind wasn’t on family greetings—it was on YN. Two days into his business trip, his men had sent him updates that gnawed at him, updates that made him question everything he thought he knew about her.

One report, a casual confession over the phone… another, evidence that looked like betrayal. Each message pushed JK’s heart further into icy disbelief. By the end of the trip, he was convinced: she had cheated.

Returning home, he didn’t speak to YN. Not a word. His aura shifted. The warmth, the teasing—it was replaced with distance, cold precision. YN noticed immediately.

“JK… how was your business trip?” she asked lightly, trying to pierce the barrier he had built.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he snapped, and then turned away.

YN’s confusion deepened, her heart sinking. She didn’t know he had seen the reports. And JK? He wasn’t ready to tell her the truth. Not yet.

Later that evening, he told her to get ready. “Mafia dinner party,” he said. But the destination wasn’t a party—it was a stage for confrontation.

On the highway, the car roared. YN’s seatbelt was gone. Her heart, already weak, thudded dangerously fast. JK drove full speed, ignoring the empty stretch of road beneath them. Her hand fumbled for the medicine she hadn’t brought—thrown away by him during the drive. Her chest tightened, panic and fear intertwining.

The car came to a sudden stop at a red light. JK’s eyes were unreadable, calm yet lethal. He hadn’t brought her to dinner. He brought her to the truth.

Inside, seated at a grand table, was the boy from her past. And in front of YN lay divorce papers, already signed by JK.

“Sign these,” he said, voice cold, “I don’t want you.”

Her world shook. The man she had laughed with, teased, and argued with—her husband—now demanded she erase their marriage with a pen.

“I never cheated,” YN said, rage and heartbreak mixing in her voice. “I trusted you, and I was the fool!” She threw the engagement ring at him, her fury sharp, her tears blinding her.

JK’s expression was unreadable as she walked out, leaving a trail of shattered trust in her wake.

But the battle wasn’t over. He had been hurt too—betrayed by his men who had lied to him. His silence, his rage, his coldness—they were all fueled by a storm of misunderstanding and broken loyalty.

YN left the mansion with her cousin, her heartbeat wild, her trust shattered. “Jungkook who? He’s already dead for me,” she muttered, refusing to acknowledge the man who had once held her heart.

And somewhere, in the shadows of that chaos, JK tore the divorce papers. For the first time, he felt the weight of regret but it was already too late.

The night air was cold, sharp, but YN didn’t notice. Her body ached, her heart thumped irregularly, and every step felt heavier than the last. She had tried to brush it off, tried to handle it herself. But this time, it wasn’t just exhaustion or stress—it was the lingering aftermath of JK’s recklessness, the overspeeding, the missing medicine, her fragile heart struggling to cope.

She ran, as fast as she could, her mind spinning with memories—the car, the chase, the fear, the betrayal. And then the world tipped sideways. Her vision blurred. Her legs gave way.

Faint.

Her phone buzzed violently against the hard floor as she slipped. Her father’s call rang, loud, urgent. JK, who had been following her from a distance—not leaving her side even when she thought he had vanished—grabbed the phone and answered.

“Who are you?” her father demanded, panic in his voice.

“I… I’m taking care of her,” JK said, his voice tight, low, unyielding. “Just… trust me.”

He couldn’t carry her. He couldn’t drive with her. Technically, she wasn’t his responsibility anymore. She wasn’t even his wife. But the blood pounding in his veins, the terror in her face, ignored every rule he lived by as a mafia boss.

The drive to the hospital was silent except for the irregular thump of YN’s weak pulse, every bump in the road echoing like a warning in JK’s chest. He hated that he couldn’t protect her in the right way—not with laws, not with rules, not with their “divorce.” Only the urgent need to keep her alive mattered.

Inside the emergency room, chaos erupted instantly. Nurses shouted, carts rolled, machines beeped frantically. Doctors rushed over her pale, trembling body, assessing her vitals.

“Do you know how serious this is?” the doctor barked at JK. “She’s unstable, she hasn’t taken her meds, and her heart is failing. Today’s surgery—if we don’t stabilize her, she might not survive!”

“I… I know,” JK muttered, clenching his fists, his voice tight with something more than worry—guilt, fear, desperation.

YN lay motionless, her chest rising shallowly, eyes fluttering as if the world itself was too heavy to hold. The monitors blared, warning of irregular heartbeats. Time seemed to slow; the world narrowed down to the rhythmic chaos of the hospital and the fragile life before him.

“CPR! 1…2…3!” a nurse called out, and JK felt his world split in half with every compress, every desperate measure. He couldn’t do anything directly, couldn’t hold her, couldn’t soothe her—but he stayed by her side, a shadow, his eyes never leaving her pale form.

Minutes stretched like hours. The doctor barked orders, machines beeped, nurses moved like lightning—but finally, a rhythm appeared on the monitor. A shaky, fragile heartbeat.

“Breathe… she’s breathing,” the doctor whispered, urgency still in his voice, but a tiny victory shivering in the air.

Surgery followed immediately. JK stayed outside, pacing, barely noticing his own fatigue. Every second away from her felt like eternity. His mafia instincts, his cold, calculated life—none of it mattered. Only her survival mattered now.

Hours later, YN emerged from the operation room, stitched, bandaged, fragile but alive. Friends and family crowded around her. Alex squeezed her hand, whispering, “Don’t go, YN. You can’t leave me now…”

Her eyes flickered open. “Alex?” she murmured, voice weak, barely a whisper. Her mind still hazy.

JK was there too, standing a few steps behind, guilt written on every line of his face. He had stayed, silent, watching every detail, silently praying for her to pull through.

Her mind cleared slowly. “Where’s… Mr. Jeon?” she asked, eyes scanning the room.

JK stepped forward, quietly, voice low, almost afraid to speak:

“I… I want to tell you… you were always tangled with me. Those papers? They were practice.”

YN’s voice trembled. “I don’t know… they were real for me.”

JK’s gaze didn’t waver. “I never wanted to lose you.”

YN, still fragile, still stitched and recovering, shook her head. “Leave, sir… I mean, leave.”

But even as she said it, deep down, her heart refused to let go. Every heartbeat reminded her of the bond they shared, the chaos, the teasing, the love she thought she had lost.

Alex watched silently, understanding the tension. JK’s guilt, YN’s fragility, and the invisible thread of love that had never truly broken, hung heavy in the room.

And somewhere deep inside, JK made a decision—a silent vow—that he would never let her go again.

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