The Grooming of a Ghost’s Bride

The lobby of the DG Group headquarters was a cathedral of glass and cold marble, a monument to the terrifying wealth of Kang Do-hyun. As Han Seo-jin stepped through the revolving doors, she felt the weight of a thousand judging eyes. She was still wearing yesterday’s suit—wrinkled from the rain and smelling faintly of desperation—but on her forehead, hidden beneath her bangs, the blood-contract mark throbbed with a dull, rhythmic heat.

"Excuse me," she said, approaching the reception desk. The woman behind the counter looked up, her expression shifting from professional boredom to sharp disdain in a microsecond.

"Deliveries are in the basement, back entrance," the receptionist said, not even looking at Seo-jin’s face.

"I’m not a delivery person," Seo-jin replied, straightening her spine despite the ache in her legs. "I’m here to see Chairman Kang. I’m his new... Personal Liaison."

The lobby went silent. It was the kind of silence that precedes a car crash. The receptionist let out a sharp, mocking puff of air. "The Chairman doesn't have a 'Liaison.' He doesn't even have a regular secretary because they all quit within forty-eight hours claiming the office is haunted. Now, leave before I call security."

Suddenly, the elevator bank at the far end of the hall chimed—a deep, resonant sound like a funeral bell.

The crowd of salarymen and executives parted like the Red Sea.

Do-hyun stepped out. In the harsh daylight, he looked even more lethal.

He was flanked by Executive Director Park, a man who looked like he hadn't slept since the Joseon Dynasty and whose eyes held the same unnatural stillness as his boss.

"You're four minutes late," Do-hyun’s voice carried across the marble floor, cold and effortless.

The receptionist turned pale, her jaw dropping. "Chairman! This woman was just—"

Do-hyun ignored her completely, stopping inches from Seo-jin. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. For a moment, Seo-jin thought he might strike her for her tardiness, but instead, he tucked a stray, damp lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was like ice, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through her that made her knees buckle.

"You look like a drowned rat," he remarked, his eyes tracing the dark circles under her eyes with disturbing intensity. "Director Park, take her to the 'Vesting Suite.' I cannot have my future wife looking like she just crawled out of the Han River. We have a luncheon with the Minister of Land and Supernatural Affairs at noon."

"W-wife?" Seo-jin hissed under her breath as Park gestured for her to follow. "The contract said fiancée!"

"In this country, the rumor of a fiancée is a suggestion," Do-hyun whispered, leaning down so his lips were brushed against her ear. "The rumor of a wife is a threat. I prefer threats. Now go. You smell of cheap instant coffee and regret. It’s distracting."

Seo-jin was whisked away to a hidden floor of the building—a luxurious dressing suite that felt more like a high-end armory. A team of silent, pale-faced stylists descended upon her. They didn't speak; they moved with a synchronized, eerie grace, as if they were puppets controlled by a single mind.

They stripped away her old life—the polyester suit, the worn-out heels, the exhaustion. They scrubbed her skin until it glowed and dressed her in a hanbok-inspired modern silk dress the color of midnight. It was beautiful, but as Seo-jin looked in the mirror, she didn't recognize herself. She looked like a sacrifice prepared for an altar.

"Do you know what he is?" she asked Director Park, who stood by the door like a gargoyle.

Park adjusted his glasses. "He is the person who keeps the balance, Ms. Han. Seoul is a city built on top of ancient graves. When the restless spirits of the past interfere with the quarterly earnings of the present, the Chairman... negotiates."

"And what am I?"

"You?" Park gave a rare, thin smile.

"You are the anchor. A Shadow King needs a tether to the human world, or he becomes the very monster he hunts. You are the leash, Ms. Han. Try not to let him break it."

When Seo-jin was finally led back to Do-hyun’s top-floor office, the sun was high. The office was an obsidian cavern with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Blue House and the mountains beyond.

Do-hyun was sitting behind a desk made of petrified wood, staring at a holographic map of Seoul that flickered with strange, black ley lines.

He looked up as she entered. For the first time, his predatory composure flickered. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, then snapped back to her eyes.

"Better," he conceded. "But you’re trembling."

"I’m standing in a room with a man who drinks 'ambition' for breakfast," Seo-jin snapped, her feisty nature returning now that she wasn't soaked. "And apparently, I’m supposed to be your 'leash.' How does that work, exactly? Do I get a whistle?"

Do-hyun stood up and walked toward her, the shadows in the corners of the room stretching toward him like loyal dogs. "You want to know your first task? It’s not filing papers. There is a Gwishin—a vengeful spirit—possessing the CEO of a rival construction firm. He’s been eating his employees' shadows to stay young. We are going to his gala tonight."

He held out a black velvet box. Inside was a necklace with a blood-red ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg.

"Wear this," he commanded. "It will protect your heart from being stolen. At least, by anyone other than me."

Seo-jin took the box, her fingers brushing his. The dark comedy of her life was just beginning. She had traded a life of being stepped on for a life of dancing with the devil, and as she looked at the monster in the expensive suit, she realized the hardest part wasn't going to be the ghosts—it was going to be surviving the man holding her contract.

"One condition," Seo-jin said, holding the necklace. "I get a corporate credit card. Revenge is expensive, and I have a feeling your 'luncheons' don't serve kimbap."

Do-hyun let out a short, bark-like laugh—the first human sound she’d heard from him. "Agreed. Welcome to the firm, Secretary Han."

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