Chapter-4: A Forced Promise

Chapter 4

The last of the rituals finally came to an end.

After the priest's closing words, the guests rose in slow waves, the hall filling again with the mild bustle of movement—chairs shifting, soft conversations resuming, the rustle of expensive fabric. Ordinarily, this was where the wedding would loosen into something almost joyful: the lighting of the candle, the cutting of the cake, photographs framed by practiced smiles, hands extended with congratulations and warm wishes.

But nothing about this wedding belonged to the ordinary.

Nari didn't even pretend to stay.

The moment the ceremony ended, she turned and walked straight out of the hall. The hem of her simple white gown brushed the polished floor with a quiet whisper. Her veil trailed behind her like a pale shadow. She didn't glance at the guests. She didn't pause for a single congratulation. She didn't look back—not once—not even to acknowledge the man who had become her husband.

Minho stood near the altar and watched her go.

His posture remained tall, controlled, almost regal, but his eyes held a hollow distance—as if he couldn't quite understand what had been done to his life today, or how easily a future could be decided for him without his consent.

Nari went straight to the hospital.

Under the harsh white lights, her wedding dress became something surreal—an intrusion of silk and lace in a place that smelled of antiseptic and fear. Nurses and staff couldn't help looking twice, curiosity flickering across their faces at the sight of a bride rushing down the corridor like someone fleeing a celebration rather than arriving from it.

Nari didn't care.

Right now, only one person existed in her world.

Her father.

She hurried to the ICU, where their family doctor was already waiting.

Jiwan.

He was around Minho's age, with the kind of clean, composed appearance that made people trust him before he even spoke. Tall and slender, his expression gentle by habit, he carried calm the way some men carried authority—quietly, effortlessly, as if the chaos of the world had no permission to touch him.

The moment he saw Nari—pale, shaken, dressed like a bride who had been dragged through grief—his face tightened with concern.

"Nari," he said, stepping toward her. "There's no need to panic anymore."

Nari's eyes snapped up to him. "How is Dad?"

"He's stable," Jiwan answered, offering a reassuring smile. "He's resting now."

Something in her chest loosened, and she finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"But…" Jiwan's gaze swept over her, taking in the exhaustion etched into her features. "You don't look well either."

Nari didn't respond.

"You got married today," he continued gently, as if the words were supposed to mean comfort. "You should go home and rest."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said at once, voice firm despite the tremble underneath it. "I'm staying here tonight."

Jiwan watched her for a moment, his expression quietly resigned. He knew she hadn't eaten since morning. He could see the day in her face—stress, tears, ceremony, collapse.

"Fine," he said at last, pretending to surrender. "But first, you're coming to eat something with me."

Nari opened her mouth to refuse, but Jiwan lifted a finger, cutting her off.

"Don't say no."

She frowned.

Jiwan's smile softened—small, almost teasing. "Otherwise your dad will get angry at me when he wakes up."

Then, more seriously, "And like I told you—he's out of danger now."

A little later, they sat in a small convenience store near the hospital.

Nari ate the noodles placed in front of her with slow, mechanical movements, as though she were feeding her body out of obligation rather than hunger. In that cramped, brightly lit space, she looked impossibly out of place in her wedding dress—like someone had plucked a bride out of a ballroom and dropped her into fluorescent reality without explanation.

Jiwan watched her with a faint, tired smile.

"By the way…" he began, casual in tone but careful with the question, "how's your husband?"

Nari didn't answer.

"I'm sorry I couldn't attend the wedding," Jiwan said, as if filling silence could soften it. "There were emergency cases."

He chuckled quietly. "But I sincerely hope the two of you will be happy."

Still nothing.

Only silence stretching between them, growing heavier with each unanswered question. Nari kept eating, gaze lowered, her face unreadable in the way grief sometimes made a person unreadable.

Jiwan scratched the back of his neck, glancing at her again. "Did you come alone?"

Silence.

"You should call your husband," he tried. "He can take you home."

Nari didn't so much as blink in response.

Jiwan realized, with a small sinking feeling, that he'd been speaking to himself for nearly ten minutes.

Then a car horn sounded outside.

Both of them turned toward the glass window at the same time.

A black car had pulled up in front of the store. The door opened, and Seojun stepped out.

He looked nothing like Minho's heavy stillness. Seojun carried an easy friendliness—an effortless smile, the kind of man who could talk his way into peace even when peace didn't exist. He walked straight in, eyes searching until they found her.

"Nari," he said. "How is Uncle?"

"He's fine," Jiwan answered before she could. He stood and extended his hand politely. "Are you her husband? Nice to meet you."

Seojun paused.

For a brief second, something like suppressed laughter flickered across his face—not amusement exactly, but discomfort wearing a mask.

"No," he replied. "I'm her husband's friend. I came to pick her up."

Then, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world, he added, "Minho had something to take care of."

An awkward expression crossed Jiwan's face—quick, instinctive. It didn't sit right. A father-in-law admitted to the hospital, and the husband hadn't come himself.

But Jiwan smoothed it over with professional politeness. "Right… he must've had something important."

He turned to Nari, voice gentle but firm. "Nari. You should go home now. It's late. I'll take care of your father. Don't worry."

Nari resisted at first, clinging to excuses—one more hour, one more check, one more reason to stay near the ICU doors where she could breathe. But eventually, Jiwan persuaded her, the way people sometimes persuaded those they loved: not with logic, but with quiet insistence.

The ride home was filled with an awkward silence.

Seojun tried repeatedly to start conversation—introducing himself properly, talking about Minho, then about the weather, then about meaningless things people said when the real things were too sharp to touch.

Nari stared out the window.

Her reflection drifted across the dark glass: a bride in white, eyes hollowed by the day. She didn't answer. Perhaps she had no answers to give. Perhaps she had no courage to.

At last, the car stopped in front of a large house, its shape looming in the night like something expensive and empty.

Seojun offered her a light smile. "Welcome home."

Nari only nodded.

"Good night," Seojun said, and then he drove away, taillights disappearing into darkness.

Nari stood at the door for several seconds, hand tight around the key. Then, slowly, she inserted it and turned the lock.

The moment the door opened—

The stench of alcohol hit her.

Her face tightened, exhaustion sharpening into something colder.

The house was dark. Quiet. Only a faint light glowed from one corner of the living room, weak and lonely, as if it didn't belong there.

And within that dim light—

Minho lay on the floor.

His tuxedo was ruined, the crisp perfection of the altar reduced to a crumpled mess. His tie hung loose around his neck like a careless afterthought. One arm stretched across the floor, fingers slack. Empty bottles were scattered around him, glass catching the faint light in dull, accusing glints.

He was unconscious—drowned in alcohol.

Nari froze in the doorway.

Pain flickered across her face. Exhaustion. And something close to disbelief—as if some last part of her had still expected reality to soften, to become kinder, to offer her at least one mercy on the first night of this forced marriage.

This was their first night as husband and wife.

But it was nothing like the first night described in any story.

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